by Dale Brown
"I have a feeling Jon will get whatever he wants,"
Paul said with a grin. Then he asked, "And you?
Anything different from what you've been telling
me, Patrick? "
"No. Go home, help raise my son, and think
about the future," Patrick replied. "General Samson
at Dreamland still wants me as his vice commander
at the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center,
but he's given me until October to decide whether
or not to take the assignment. Jon and Helen'll need
a lot of help trying to rebuild the company."
The thought of them made Wendy smile. "It's so
great that they're a team now," she said. "I love
seeing them so happy together."
Patrick nodded, but he had something else on his
mind. "Bro, there's something I've been meaning to
tell you for along time . . . "
"You don't have to tell me, Patrick," Paul said. "I
think I know what kind of things you've been doing
the past several years-though I've got a feeling I've
only sensed the very tip of the iceberg. But there's
something I want to tell you too. I know how much
you like Jon and the company and all, but I think
you're much happier in the Air Force, doing all the
cosmic stuff you were doing. You're a general. Go be
a general again. Get out there to your base, wherever
the hell it is; march in front of your troops, call
them to attention, and lead them. You're certainly
not too old to strap on a jet once in a while and fly a
few more bomb runs, but I'll bet there are some
pretty shit-hot kids out there ready to do their part.
You've just got to teach 'em how it's done."
Patrick looked at his brother quizzically. "And
how the hell did you get to be so smart, kid?"
"Just trying to be like you, bro," Paul said. "Just
trying to be like you."
The Sky Masters, Inc. Gulfstream had departed
from Mather Jetport several minutes earlier,
bound for San Diego. Paul McLanahan was back on
Highway 50, heading to his first afternoon on the
job, when his cellular phone rang. When he picked
it up, he heard a warbling sound, so he pushed
the function and 1 keys to engage the autodescrambling
function on the special Sky Masters
cellphone and waited for the warbling to go away.
Then he said, "Hi, Jon."
"Hi, Paul," Jon Masters responded. "They're on
their way?"
'Yes.
"What did Patrick say?"
"Nothing definite," Paul replied. "I think he
wants to take the Air Force job, but he also wants to
give being a dad a try. My feeling is he'll come back
to work for you for a few months, but he's not going
to let October come and go without some hard soulsearching."
"I thought so," Jon said. "Listen, I have some
mods I want to try on your arm-and-shoulder prosthesis
. I'll be back out your way next week. Should
only take a couple of hours over two or three nights.
You won't miss any work."
"What kind of mods?"
"Oh, I think you'll like them," Jon replied. "A bit
better interface with the suit, some weapon-control
functions I want to try."
"What about the suit itself?" Paul asked.
"I'll bring the latest version along with me," Jon
said. "A bit better slow-penetration protection, better
power-management functions and readouts,
some different features to try to bring the weapon
systems on board."
"Good," Paul said. "My office has been receiving
a lot of new information on a resurgence of meth
producers moving into the state, and especially in
the north. I have a feeling the Tin Man needs to get
out on the street and countryside a bit more."
"The National Interagency Counterdrug Strike
Force out of San Luis Obispo has an operation that I
think might be perfect for you," Jon said. "Are you
familiar with NICI?"
"Of course," Paul said. NICI, located on the central
coast of California, was a combined federal,
state, and local law-enforcement training-andeducation
center where members of the military,
federal agencies, police units, and district attorneys
came together to learn the latest about the illegal
drug trade and how all the different antinarcotics
agencies could work together more effectively.
What was not widely known was that every year
NICI took the best and the brightest one percent of
its thousands of graduates and formed a strike team
that ran actual counterdrug operations throughout
the United States. "I can't wait to get started."
"You give the word and your support team will
be rolling and ready to go," Jon Masters said.
"You've got the word, Jon," said the new Tin
Man. "You've got the word."
