By Blood Alone by William C. Dietz Page A

latter. She flew the transport by means of a neural interface, “felt” by means of its sensors, and “saw” through multiple vid cams. The request took her by surprise. She applied power and banked away. Air fanned the battlements. A sentry lost his hat. The reply was automatic. “Sir, yes, sir!”
    “Good,” Booly answered. “And one more thing.... When they ask where I went ... tell ’em you don’t know.”
    The pilot didn’t know ... but it didn’t seem polite to say so. “Sir, yes, sir.”
    “Thanks,” Booly said. “I appreciate your flexibility.”
    There was a vid cam mounted in the passenger compartment, and the pilot checked the officer’s expression. He not only acted nice, he looked nice-not that it mattered. Still, most bio bods treated her like an extension of the hardware she lived in, so it was nice to encounter someone who didn’t. “No problem, sir. Welcome to Djibouti—armpit of the universe. We’ll be on the ground in two minutes.”
    “Thanks,” Booly said dryly. “I can hardly wait.”
     
    Major Vernon Judd watched the transport veer away, frowned, and brought the glasses to his eyes. They fed him the aircraft’s range, heading, and ground speed. He spoke from the side of his mouth. “Get hold of the pilot. Ask him, her, or it what the hell they’re doing, and order them back. And I mean now !”
    Captain Nancy Winters thought the words “Bite my ass,” but knew Judd would be only too happy to oblige, and said, “Yes, sir,” instead.
    The observation tower was equipped with radios, a door to block the steadily increasing heat, and a well-maintained air conditioner. It felt good to step inside. The duty com tech was a sergeant named Skog. He liked Winters, and he smiled. “Ma’am?”
    “Get that transport on the horn and find out what they’re up to. The major wants ’em to land here.”
    Everyone assigned to the fort knew a new CO was on the way-and had known from the moment that his orders were cut. They also knew about Booly’s combat record, the reason why his name had gone to the top of the shit list, and any number of other things, at least some of which were true.
    That being the case, the major’s nervousness was somewhat understandable—even if he was a worthless piece of shit. Skog flipped a switch, consulted a list, and addressed his boom mike. “Transport mike-sierra-foxtrot-one-niner-eight, this is Mosby control, over.”
    The reply could be heard on an overhead speaker and had the precise, slightly stilted sound of a voice synthesizer. A sure sign that the pilot was a borg. The vast majority of box heads chose to maintain their original genders, and the flight officer was no exception. “This is one-niner-eight ... go.”
    Skog looked at Winters. She nodded. “Tell her to return and land in the compound.”
    The noncom relayed the message and monitored the reply. “Sorry, Mosby control, but that’s a negative. My number two engine shows yellow-and I need a class three facility or better.”
    Winters nodded. The fort’s pad was rated class four, which meant there were no maintenance functions, and the aircraft was prohibited from landing. A rather sensible precaution, since a disabled fly form would occupy fifty percent of the pad and limit their capacity to deal with an emergency. “Tell the pilot we understand-and that a ground vehicle will meet her at the airport.”
    The com tech said, “Yes, ma’am,” and sent the necessary message.
    Major Judd was fuming by the time Winters returned. “Well? Where’s the transport? What’s going on?”
    “It had to divert,” Winters said calmly. “To the Djibouti airport. Some sort of mechanical problem.”
    “The hell you say,” Judd grumbled. “Damned incompetence, if you ask me. Take the pilot’s name.”
    Winters bit the inside of her cheek and said, “Sir, yes, sir,” but knew the XO would have forgotten the whole incident by dinnertime that evening.
    Judd, angry at the thought of a long,