Orphan's Triumph

NINETEEN

I FROZE ASTRIDE THE GATE.

A surveillance ’bot whirred around to face me, a dragonfly with a six-foot Plasteel wingspan.

Unlike a county-mountie surveillance ’bot, the turret on this one, which followed my every twitch, in unison with the ’bot’s optic sensors, mounted a six-barrel micro-gun in place of a nonlethal dazer.

A voice boomed from the ’bot’s speaker. “Get off the fence, raise your hands, then back away twenty feet.”

I did.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m invited for dinner.”

Pause.

“Why didn’t you come to the front gate?”

“I had to rent a manual-drive car, so I couldn’t use the guideway. The car ran out of juice back over the hill.” I jerked my thumb back down the road. “You can check.”

“Who are you?”

“Lieutenant General Jason Wander. My ID’s in the car.”

Pause.

It seemed neighborly to fill the silence. “I declined the mobile recharge coverage.”

The ’bot’s turret whined, and I heard the microgun’s safety click off. “Nobody declines the mobile recharge coverage.”

The ’bot hovered, I sweated, and my upraised arms grew heavy.

During the pause, I could hear my interrogator breathe through his open mike, and his voice came through faintly. “Yes, ma’am. That’s who he claims to be. The car checks out, a rental… completely discharged.”

Pause.

“He says he declined it, ma’am.”

Another pause.

“Yes, ma’am. Only an idiot.”

My interrogator sighed, more loudly, then spoke to me. “She says it can only be you, General.” The ’bot’s safety clicked back on. “Sit tight, sir. A tilt-wing will be out to pick you up in three minutes. We’ll tow your vehicle in and charge it. Welcome to Eisenhower Farm.”