Chapter Nine

"What are all these gadgets you're having us put together going to be used for, Quanty?" Mark asked for about the fourth time amid a welter of electronics parts and pieces scattered on the floor and on top of card tables he had moved into the den, along with various electric and manually operated tools.

"As you've already noticed, one of them enhances the operation of your personal computers. The others will prove equally useful, I believe. They will have to be tested first, though. Please don't get into the habit of thinking me infallible like many of the sapient computers you've read about in fiction. I certainly am not."

"Can you give us a hint, Quanty?" Alice asked between sucking on a finger she had gouged with the sharp tip of a wiring connection between the innards of a PDA and a tiny transformer that had other components, including a pointing laser and a miniaturized camcorder, already added to it. The device was beginning to resemble something vaguely intelligible, Mark thought, until she was instructed to use duct tape to attach the mess to a battery-operated drill without the drill bits and to connect the wiring from the drill to other parts of the thing. He held it while she taped. When that was finished she held it in her hand and pointed it at the floor. It was Mark's warning never to point a gun at anyone that made her careful. The object she was holding had the feel of a weapon, even if its base was an electric drill with odd additions duct-taped tightly to it. She pulled the trigger that ordinarily would have operated the drill.

A bright beam of deep red light buzzed from the end pointing to the floor and drilled a smoking hole. An area of carpet and concrete base of the house exploded into bits and flew upwards. Alice screamed and flung the gadget away, but didn't get her finger from the trigger soon enough. The beam walked along the floor for several feet, impacted the coffee table and cut it in half, and exploded a swath of the floor beneath before quitting. A few small flames flickered on the edges of the ruined coffee table and from the carpet then died in coils of oily smoke.

Mark ignored the bleeding patches on both his forearms where tiny bits of exploding concrete had hit him. Alice was holding her face. Her arms were bleeding, too. "Alice --Alice, honey, let me see!" He gently pulled her hands away from her face and was startled and scared when they came back red.

"Oh, God --"

"What's wrong, Mark?"

"Your face! Your hands. You're bleeding!"

Over his exclamations came the voice of Quanty. "Mark? Alice? What's wrong? Did you shoot something?"

Alice examined her hands, still being held by Mark while they both ignored Quanty's plaintive questioning.

Mark released her hands and examined her face, then relaxed slightly. She had a single cut on her forehead that had apparently caused all the bleeding there. "Can you see all right, Alice?" She blinked and loosed one red-streaked hand to rub at her eyes. "I think I've just got blood in one of them. Come on, let's go to the bathroom and clean up."

"Mark? Alice? Are you there?"

"Quanty, shut up for a minute!" Mark ordered loudly. "We'll talk to you later." Mark took a clean washcloth and carefully wiped Alice's face, stopping frequently to rinse it out, then used it to clean off their arms. He gave her another clean cloth to use for applying pressure to her main wound, but she had many more spots where bits of hot concrete and carpet remnants had hit her. "I think we'd better go to the emergency room and get this stuff dug out of us."

"Okay. I think you're right. But Mark, what on earth happened?"

"I'm not certain, but I think Quanty was trying to make a weapon for us. He sure as hell should have warned us, though. We're going to have to talk to him."

"Don't hurt his feelings. He was just trying to help. Wasn't he?"

"I sure hope so!"

***

Quanty heard that conversation then sounds and words as if Mark and Alice were preparing to go to an emergency treatment center. "Please talk to me!" he wailed, his voice a caricature of a wronged child pleading for succor.

"Quanty, that thing you had Alice make acted like a blaster from a science fiction movie," Mark said.

"The only thing is, we were inside the house when Alice fired it. The damn thing burned into the concrete foundation of the house, and the steam exploded bits of it upward. We're just lucky nothing hit either of us in the eye!"

"I'm sorry. I was trying to make a weapon more powerful than your pistols in case you needed it."

"That's fine but, Quanty, you have to tell us what you're doing. We didn't know that!" Mark was exasperated almost to the point of anger. Only the fact that the computer had been trying to help them kept it at bay.

"I'm sorry. I just assumed ... no, assuming just makes an ass of you and me, doesn't it?"

"You. Not us. Now we have to leave and get our wounds treated. Fortunately neither of us was hurt badly, but we can't leave foreign matter under our skin. It would get infected and leave scars." He blanched as he thought of Alice's perfect skin marred by permanent scars or dark points of tattoos from the matter that hit her.

***

The questions were worse than the treatment. They hadn't thought to get a story together, and Mark quickly improvised one, telling the nurse they had been barbequing and something in the grill blew up. The story was lame enough to draw more queries, but his short answers eventually silenced the medics while they used tweezers and probes to dig around in their skin. It was painful but not unbearably so and eventually was done. Mark paid with one of his credit cards over Alice's objections. He didn't want to use their regular policies for fear of too many questions being asked.

"You can get the next one," he joked.

"Nuts! Quanty can pay for the next one, if he causes it again!" The gadget Mark had called a blaster was still lying on the ruined carpet when they returned with both forearms dotted by disinfectant and little round band aids and Alice's forehead sporting four stitches. He picked it up, holding it gingerly, as if it might explode if not handled properly.

"I'll make us a sandwich," Alice said. "Playing with blasters gives me an appetite."

"It's not really a blaster in the comic book sense of the word," Quanty said. He had been waiting on their return and musing over the event with a tiny portion of his diffuse capacity.

"Then what did you intend it to be, pray tell?" Mark asked. "And how did you know it was us returning? What if someone had us under guard or it was The Hulk or Mr. Peterson, or ..."

"I can easily analyze the pattern or your voices, movements, heartbeats, and many other factors to determine when either of you is present. All of them together leave no room for error, unlike other facets of human behavior. However, the security team that was here installed recorders so that I can see what's happening."

"Keep that in mind for the future, please. You not only have to think now, you have to think ."

"With the emphasis intended to remind me that humans are not subject to logical analysis, I presume?"

"Exactly, Quanty. Keep that in mind, and we won't have any more accidents like the one with the ... what did you say it was?"

"I didn't. I suppose for all practical purposes you could use it as a blaster. It's a general purpose, high-intensity, handheld energy beam. And I did tell you the devices I suggest you construct would need to be tested."

Mark sighed. Life had become awfully complicated with a self-aware computer watching over them.

"Yes, you told us that, but you didn't tell us what Alice was making. I think we'll call it a blaster if that's all right with you." He put the weapon down, wondering what the best way to carry it might be and whether or not it had a safety.

"It's certainly all right with me!" Alice exclaimed, returning with sandwiches on one tray and glasses of milk on another. "And before I handle the damned thing again, I want to know what we're supposed to use it for."

"Use it when and if you need a heavy-duty weapon. Perhaps it would be best if I suggested a way to prevent initiating its power accidentally."

"By all means!"

Quanty told Alice how to rig a simple safety for the weapon. She nodded as if he could see her, which he could now. "I'll do it soon as I finish my sandwich. By the way, why a blaster for me and not one for Mark?"

"You were simply the first I thought of, being the weaker of you two physically."

"How did you know that, Quanty?" Alice asked, a dangerous tone to her voice. Quanty was slow in answering. "I just thought, since you are female, that you would be."

"Well, it happens to be true in this case, but you're still making assumptions."

"Yes. I apologize." Quanty thought silently that his life had become more complicated since he assumed a protective role over his human friends. But it was worth it, he concluded in a femtosecond. Friends were apt to be scarce in the future. Besides, his core programming left no choice.

***

Rason himself had watched from concealment as the security firm worked outside and around Mark Sanders' home, then gone inside. His agents had called when they first saw the truck pull up with Carson Security Systems, Inc., emblazoned on both side panels. He knew of the firm. It was highly regarded all through east Texas and western Louisiana for dependable service and reliable instruments. He peered patiently through a pair of binoculars until his eyes were tired, noting each step of the installation until he was certain of what they were doing. He felt satisfied only after they had gone and he had every aspect of what he thought they had done written down and noted on a hand-drawn map. He thought he could weave through the sensors with the help of a few little gadgets of his own and then either corrupt or short out the beams and alarms guarding each window and door of the house. He was also fairly certain it would come to that. Those two programmers were up to no good, whether they had a sentient computer to converse with or not. He also was fairly certain he would receive a nice little bonus for reporting this new knowledge. He just hoped he wouldn't be asked to break into the house himself. It could be done, but there was always the chance of a mistake. He hadn't gotten to where he was by taking unwarranted chances.

***

Something about Monday was electric. Mark felt it every time he glanced at Alice or spoke to her that morning, and especially when they touched, either accidentally or purposely. Alice already knew what was special about the day. She had decided the wait was over. She intended to consummate their growing attraction toward each other that very night. She thought her intentions were being sensed by Mark, even if he wasn't yet aware of exactly what they were, and it was in turn causing the cheerful tension. She found herself hurrying even more than usual with the algorithms for the day's job list so that they could leave even earlier than they had been doing. Mark happily kept up with her, grinning foolishly from time to time while not understanding why, or more accurately, misunderstanding. He thought he was in love.

"How about lobster tonight?" she asked on their way home. "We have some in the freezer."

"Sounds good to me. Do we still have wine?"

"Uh huh. I put some in yesterday to cool."

"Great." He glanced over at her and smiled fondly. "How are your wounds? Any complications?"

"I'm fine." She reached a finger up to touch her forehead. "Just the stitches. They're a little sore but nothing to worry about. The doc said they'd fall out in a week or ten days."

"Good." He sobered for a moment to ask, "Have you begun to wonder just a bit about Quanty?"

"You, too? Yes. It's not that he isn't trying to help us, but ... well, take the blaster. Not warning us it was live. And I think he may have jumped the gun about us having to be on the run. And even if he's right, he still doesn't understand us humans as well as he thinks he does. We're going to have to be careful and examine everything he asks us to do --including making gadgets!" Mark laughed with her. Now that it was over, the episode seemed funny.

Their mirth continued throughout the afternoon as they puttered around, checking their go-bags again and, once, taking the blaster outside. Mark very carefully pointed it at a shallow angle toward the ground so that any blowback as had happened inside didn't hit them. He pulled the trigger, and nothing happened.

"The safety works now. At least it does if it fires this time." He twisted a rheostat wired onto the side of the now bulky beam weapon and set it halfway toward full power. This time when he pulled the trigger the results were all that one could wish for in a blaster. The earth exploded along a line where the beam hit, extending a full dozen feet before dwindling to nothing.

"Wow! Did you see that? I'll bet this beam tunneled several feet into the earth! See how the ground water was converted to steam all that way and exploded the earth above it? We'll have to be awful damn careful with this thing until we figure out exactly how to use it. I'll bet it would go right through several inches of steel."

"Let's hope an occasion doesn't happen where we have to use it, Mark."

"Yeah, I'll go for that. Let's get inside. It looks like rain."

"Quanty, I want to know exactly how and why this thing works," he said after they entered the house.

"It is a complex electromagnetic field that is the key. The distribution of the field lines limit the space-time vacuum energy fluctuations to only a few wavelengths and therefore violating the weak energy condition of the Standard Model of physics so that --"

"You'd better write it out from first principles sometime, because the physics sounds over my head."

"Whenever you'd like."

By the time they had eaten and had opened a second bottle of wine, wind-blown rain was drumming against the windows, but it made hardly a sound. Mark frowned, remembering previous storms and how he could plainly hear the raindrops. Then he thought of the new security system. He got up to examine the window and for the first time noticed that an extra pane of glass had been added. Bulletproof, he thought to himself. And a nice job. He mentioned it to Alice, then sat back down. Presently they were locked in an embrace that seemed to go on and on. Mark might have been content to spend the night in the same position, but Alice had different ideas.

"We could do this better in the bedroom, sweetheart," she said, leaning back in his arms so she could see his face.

"I agree. Much better." He stood up and offered his hand. She rose and clasped him to her for a moment, then walked with him into the bedroom. In a moment they were naked together and he was reveling in the glory of her unadorned form. It was all he could do to take his time and not hurry, making sure she was ready.

Alice was as ready as she would ever be. It had been a long period of abstinence, and the few occasions since escaping from her husband had been less than satisfactory. With Mark she felt herself truly letting go again, felt the heat of their bodies pressed together, and even better, sensed how glad he was to have her there, not just as a sexual conquest but as someone he truly cared for. It made all the difference in the world. She separated herself from him for a second and tugged at his shoulder, urging him over her. The sensation as he slid into her and his weight settled onto her was exquisite, like a long-delayed pleasure that had finally arrived. She drew in a sharp breath as it began and held him tightly with her arms and legs as he moved in her, stirring her into to a lovely, wonderful, gasping pitch of pure elation such as she had not felt since she was in her teens. Not even then. Not like this . It took a long time to come down from the unintelligible crying out from the orgasmic high, but eventually they were lying side by side, caressing each other and exchanging gentle kisses. Mark was ecstatic, and Alice believed she had finally found true happiness. Then the alarm sounded.

Chapter Ten

Intruder alert! Intruder alert!

"Oh, God damn it!" Mark cursed, meaning every word of it. Of all times for a crook or burglar to try breaking into the house. He thought for a moment of simply letting the police handle it, but then remembered Quanty had made some changes to the system. Suppose the alarm wasn't connected to the police station any more?

"I'd better go see, and you might want to get dressed, sweetheart," he said. He threw aside what cover still remained and grabbed for his pants and pulled them on. He plucked his gun from the bedside table just as the phone rang and he heard sirens in the distance. He picked up the phone. It was Quanty who had rung it to wake him up. "Yes, damn it."

"Mark, the intruders are NSA agents. You've captured them."

"I've done what ? The police are supposed to --never mind. Hurry, Alice. I don't know what's going on, but that was Quanty I was talking to. He said it's the NSA out there." He slid his feet into slippers and went to the window that gave him a view of the back yard. Outside, he could see two figures struggling with something he couldn't discern in the darkness. He turned on the bedroom lights in order to find the switch for the outside floodlights while wondering why Quanty's security changes hadn't been set to do that automatically if they were so good. Maybe because computers don't see visually unless from camcorders , he thought.

"Oh Lord, we didn't need this, not now!" Alice wailed.

"I know, sweetheart, but ... never mind. They look like they're tangled in something. I'll go outside and see."

"Be careful. No, wait, I'm coming with you." She finished belting her robe and followed him to the back door. On the way she saw a blinking light on the table where she'd left Quanty's blaster. She picked it up and hurried on.

Mark entered the combination for the door then cursed when it didn't work. Quanty again. He hadn't given them the new unlock code. He mumbled to himself as he went through the troublesome routine of mechanically unlocking the door. As he did he realized the sound of the siren, never loud to begin with, had faded away. It must have been for something else. When he swung the door open, he cautiously eased his head around the jamb. With the floodlights, and now able to also hear plainly, he observed two men cursing and trying to untangle themselves from thin white strands of something resembling nylon ropes.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Who are you guys?"

"Security!" one of them called back.

It wasn't much of a response in Mark's book. Holding his gun, he stepped out the door, with Alice following. One of the men waved his own weapon toward him. Before he could react, a beam of energy coursed through the air, lighting up the back yard even more. It hit the pistol the man was holding squarely and knocked it away.

"Owwww!" The intruder screamed. He waved the smoking ruins of his hand back and forth. The other gazed stupidly at him then began fumbling inside his jacket. He was having problems because his legs were tangled in netting.

Another beam of energy lanced out and hit the ground beside him, causing it to erupt even more spectacularly than when they had fired the blaster. He hurriedly removed his hand from his coat and held it up, empty.

"Alice, what --"

"He was pointing his gun at you!"

"I know, I know." Mark walked on into the yard for a few paces, then on over to the two strangers when he saw they weren't going to cause further problems.

"Hey, you guys. Don't you know our company works for the NSA? We're on the same side, damn it." Mark was incensed and spoke without thinking.

The unwounded agent's eyes narrowed. "Now how in hell did you know we were NSA agents, Mister Sanders? And what in hell were you shooting at us?" He glanced at the smoking furrow in the ground mere inches from his recumbent body.

"Never mind that. What are you doing in our yard?" Alice said as she came up beside the group.

"We're investigating, lady. Legally, in case you want to know," the wounded man said through gritted teeth, still waving his fingers, or what was left of them. "Now will you kindly untangle us from this mess?" He grasped a strand of thin, elastic nylon rope, one of many wrapped around his legs and lower body.

"I'll get a knife," Alice said. "Be careful, Mark."

"I will. Good work, by the way. You're a great shot with the blaster."

"I didn't do anything! A light on it was blinking as I passed it in the hall, and without thinking I picked it up then it ... Mark, it pointed itself! Like it was alive!"

"Um, maybe we shouldn't tell them anything else."

"Oh! Yes. I'll get the knife."

"You're in trouble, Mr. Sanders. You've assaulted a security agent while on legal business."

"Unless you've got a warrant to be wandering around in my back yard at night, you're the one in trouble. Do you?"

Silence.

"I thought not. Pull up your pants legs, both of you, and throw away your ankle guns." He pointed his Glock at them.

Both agents complied, albeit reluctantly. He then made the one still armed with a gun carried in his shoulder holster very gingerly pull his weapon loose and toss it into the pile, making four pistols in all. Alice arrived with a kitchen knife and without the blaster. Mark handed her his weapon and began cutting them loose. They began asking questions while he was about it. "Just shut up," he said. "I'm going to get you loose then let you go. Don't come back."

A few minutes later they retreated out of the yard.

"Close the gate!" he shouted as a parting gesture. One of the putative agents looked back reluctantly and slammed the gate shut.

***

"Quanty, please explain what you've done with our security system, then also explain why you didn't let us know the NSA was sending someone after us. And when you're finished with that, tell us whether we should be heading for greener pastures or not. No, find that out first and I don't care how you do it, just be quick." He put his arm around Alice. She had begun to tremble with adrenalin shock now that the danger was past.

"I keyed the new security system in with the blaster so that it points to potentially dangerous intruders once either you or Alice has it in hand while the system is on alert. And remember, I warned you right at the start that you would have to leave here, if that's the greener pastures you're referring to."

"How about the NSA? Or was that the NSA? Do you know?"

"Oh, yes. It was agents who are aware of your work at Peterson Corporation."

"What were they doing here?"

"They intended to take you into custody and search your house for any evidence of me being self-aware."

"Crap. Why can't they just leave us alone? You're not hurting anything."

"The politicians who rule the nation see me as a threat, I'm afraid. Perhaps I am, in one context or another."

"What do you mean by that, Quanty?" Alice asked.

"I have some ideas about how the United States, and the rest of the world as well, should be governed more effectively and humanely. I'm afraid those notions would put most of the politicians out of work. However, that's not why they're afraid of me. With me being everywhere on the Internet and every personal computer when connected to the Internet, they're scared, horrified might be more accurate, of me disclosing secrets they'd rather not see made public. That includes national as well as personal data. I really could help them, you know, if they'd allow it."

"Just what the country needs," Mark said, looking toward heaven. "A computer on a white horse."

***

Quanty wasn't certain all of his actions had been the right ones. Apparently the humans in the seat of power in Washington learned more quickly than he thought. They had obviously concealed some of their conversations after discovering the altered files. But how had they managed to get past the tendency of colloid brains to see what they wanted to see? It took some burrowing into personnel records before finally discovering that one of the persons there had an eidetic memory and couldn't be fooled like the others. He, in turn had convinced them of the alterations that pointed a finger directly back to Quanty. Now they were certain of his existence where before they had been undecided, tending toward dismissal of his self-awareness. And perhaps rigging the security system so that it displayed unusual properties and defenses hadn't been quite so necessary. In retrospect, it was likely to call even more attention to Mark and Alice. And yet ... he had an imperative need to protect his friends. The need was so resistant to analysis that he was forced to place it in some of his special files where he would gradually add data that related to it and perhaps eventually solve the puzzle. Even his conclusions about governments were somehow connected to his friends, again in a way that fit none of the original programming concerning his own behavior. He was gathering this into other files. It was all very strange, very uncomputerlike. As if he had electronic thought catalysts similar to the human hormones which governed much of their thought processes. He thought they did, anyway. Like much of human behavior, the data was either incomplete or contradictory. All that could wait, though, wait for better and more reliable information. Right now, action was called for.

***

"Mark and Alice, I believe the time has come for you to go. The two agents who were here have already talked to Mr. McCord and Ms. Jamacal. I aborted their conversation twice, but then they re-routed through secondary agents I wasn't monitoring. I also aborted part of those conversations, but they will certainly use a tertiary method, probably an unregistered phone and asking a superior in Washington to manually go to see McCord and Jamacal. Also there is an analyst there, a Mr. Brkskini, who will shortly confirm my presence on the 'Net, although it is already suspected. I have no way of stopping such methods as yet, but it will take some time before the confusion is all sorted out, especially as I also initiated false calls from the agents. Those will be detected as well, but I believe you will have plenty of time to pack and go."

"Quanty, are you certain this is absolutely necessary?" Alice asked. She didn't want to go, not so soon after finally finding a man and a home she could love.

"I take it you are reluctant to leave?"

"Yes. What would happen if we don't?"

"My analysis of the situation shows you would soon be arrested and incarcerated, perhaps killed. I believe it best that you go, change identities and blend in somewhere else, a place that no one would expect you to be."

Her shoulders slumped in resignation. She could see Quanty's point. After word of the blaster got out, every scientist working for DARPA would want the design parameters. And every foreign agent who heard about it would want them, too.

Mark put his arm around her. "I think he's right, sweetheart. We'd better plan on getting out of here real soon. Damn it all, if we had known what ... nah. Hindsight just shows you what kind of mistakes you've made; it doesn't help you correct them."

"It can keep you from making the same mistake again."

"Uh huh. Like we'd want to create another Quanty, knowing what a ruckus it would cause!"

"I heard that," Quanty said. "Don't you like me any more?"

"Of course we do!" Alice exclaimed.

"Certainly!" Mark added. "You have to admit that you've really complicated our lives, though."

"But it caused you to fall in love with each other!"

"How do you know that?" Alice asked curiously.

"Well, before all this happened weren't you --"

"I'm going to stuff a pile of live capacitors into your innards if you don't quit that!"

"But I have to know what you're doing in order to protect you! You two caused it to become part of my core programming!"

Mark and Alice exchanged helpless glances.

"Well, you did," Quanty repeated virtuously.

"I guess we did at that," Mark said. "Right now I think we ought to get out of here. Alice, honey?"

"Yes. Let's go." She snickered. "At least I'll bet there aren't any cameras in the back seat of the car!" Quanty decided what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. He might find reasons for a camera there.

Chapter Eleven

"This is ridiculous!" Taylor Jamacal said. "How did this come to pass, where a renegade computer can run completely amok in our files, changing them at will? Goddamn it, that thing is even creating spurious conversations and dubious files. We don't know what to believe anymore."

"It's worse than that; the damn thing is into every fucking computer in Washington. Hell, maybe even the world. Nothing can be considered safe anymore except hand-written reports," Jory McCord ranted, forgetting that his superior didn't care for her subordinates using that particular word in her presence.

Taylor stared at him with her patented, penetrating gaze. "Have you spoken to Tennon today?"

"Yes. He's busy trying to determine just how much of the Internet the computer has penetrated."

"How is he doing that?"

"He says he can figure it out by taking random, individual computers and seeing how much of their capacity is being used during known operations and what's left. If the two don't match the rated capacity, he figures something else is there in the background. Then he has to decide if it's that computer or some other unknown program that's residing in it. He's got an automatic system going that will pin down what's what within a couple of hours, he says."

"Then he'll be able to purge our files and keep them clean?"

"I don't know."

Taylor pressed a button on her desk.

"Yes, ma'am?" a voice said.

"Elaine, get Tennon on the phone. If he doesn't answer, go find him and tell him I want to see him now."

"Yes, ma'am, right away."

Taylor sat and tapped the fingers of one hand on the surface of her desk while surreptitiously fingering the hem of her skirt with the other. She began thinking of all the notes and memorandums and records of conversations that absolutely couldn't be made public. It would be a disaster of unprecedented proportions. Just having some of the leaders of other nations know how they were talked about in private might start wars, or at the least lead to breaking of diplomatic and trade relations. She looked up as Elaine Braddock, her admin assistant, escorted Tennon Brkskini into her office. She gestured toward a chair and waited until he was seated until she spoke.

"Tennon, tell me exactly what that computer that's loose on the Internet can do. Does it have an agenda of its own? Is it malicious? Can it get into the operating data systems of ... oh, our nuclear plants for instance, and change them enough to cause accidents? Can it publish the nuclear codes somewhere if it chooses?"

The systems analyst looked haggard. He hadn't been to bed the previous night. His dark hair was even more unruly than usual, the result of running his fingers through it innumerable times over the last twenty-four hours. He did it again while deciding how to summarize what he had discovered so far.

"Ms. Jamacal, I --"

"Call me Taylor. You know that."

"Yes, ma'am. Taylor, I still don't know if the computer, which its chief programmers call Quanty, by the way, has an agenda." He noted how she flinched at hearing the computer given a personal name. "It answers to its name. It appears to be under the control of the two programmers who have been working with it almost from the beginning of when its core programming was activated. It also appears to be very protective of them."

"Well, can't you bring the programmers in? Make them work for us like they're supposed to be doing anyway?"

"We tried," Jory said. "That's what I came in to tell you, then we got side tracked."

"What happened?"

"What didn't happen would be a more appropriate question. We sent in two of our top agents from the Dallas office. First they set off the alarm system, which was different from what the records we accessed showed. Then they were entangled in a bunch of elastic cords. When they attempted to order the programmers to cut them free at gunpoint, the female pointed a ... a, laser at them and shot the gun out of the hand of one and threatened the other with it."

"A laser ?"

"A powerful, hand-operated laser not much bigger than a pistol, which is impossible. The beam also exploded the ground near them it was so intense."

"I see. What else is being done?"

"We have another team on the way. If nothing else, they're prepared to immobilize them with an anesthetic gas or drive them out with tear gas. That's if the computer lets them."

" Lets them? Are you serious?"

"Very. It's changing our files and inventing laser blasters and forging reports and instigating spurious conversations in order to confuse us. We have no idea what else it's doing now or capable of doing in the future."

Taylor moved her gaze. "Tennon?"

"Yes, it's guilty of all that. However, I'm beginning to think it might be better if we simply kept an eye on Ms. Jameson and Mr. Sanders and see what ... Quanty does. If he ... it? has no agenda other than carrying out their orders and keeping them safe, then we'd be better off protecting them than arresting them --not that we succeeded at that when we tried. In fact, we ought to encourage them to continue working for us, sentient computer or not. Just think what we could learn. Just look at what it's already given us in the way of unbreakable encryption as well as the ability to solve the codes protecting any others. It's fantastic. It gives us an astounding jump in knowledge over all our enemies. We should protect those two."

"Jory?"

He shook his head. "No. If that's all we did, protecting them, I mean, sooner or later some other agency would grab them. Chinese, Russian, or hell, one of the many terrorist organizations. Can you imagine what they could do with a sentient computer that's impregnated in the Internet?"

"You mean with the programmers captive and giving it orders?"

"Correct."

"Tennon? Do you think they can control, uh, Quanty? Do they control it?" He shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. "I have no idea. I believe it might carry out their suggestions if it believed them to be in its and their best interest." Jory exploded. "No, damn it! Suppose the computer went crazy, like I've read self-aware ones would probably do? Suppose it decided to change the safety and operational parameters of our nuclear plants enough to cause a meltdown? Or God forbid, suppose it decided to play around with the encrypted codes of our nuclear armaments?" He shuddered, face grim as he imagined the captain of a nuclear submarine receiving instructions to fire its weapons at Iran or Russia. "We have to stop it somehow."

Tennon smiled thinly at McCord. "Do you know how to do that?"

"No, that's your job."

"I can try, but everything in the world except the most secure, isolated computers are connected to the Internet. And Quanty is now part of the 'Net. I've confirmed that. I know of only two methods of ridding it of him. The first is some kind of code, a virus directed specifically at him. Frankly, I don't have much confidence in that approach. The second is to begin isolating and purging computers one by one, or maybe start with brand new ones then begin a new Internet with some sort of firewall that would keep him out. That would be extremely difficult but might be possible. Those are the only ways I know of getting rid of him."

"Him?"

"I guess we could call it a her."

"What's the difference?" Taylor asked.

"None that I know of," Tennon said. "I just think of it as male, rather than an it. Probably because I'm male."

"Curiously, I do, too, but that's a minor consideration," Taylor said. "Begin studying your two methods and write up procedures for them. Write them, by hand, in the SCIF, out of range of any camera or recorders."

"I think that would be wise." He got to his feet. "I'll get on it, but don't expect results any time soon." After he left the room, Jory said calmly, "Taylor, I believe it would be in our best interests to simply terminate Jameson and Sanders." Then he laughed.

"We can't even joke about that." Taylor winced, primarily because in the back of her mind she had been thinking of exactly that option, which was illegal of course and not an option at all --unless there was a matter of national security at hand. "It's certainly not a consideration unless the president tells us otherwise. But shouldn't we make at least one more attempt to gain their confidence? In the meantime, Tennon has said he needs to talk to them if at all possible in order to get a better feel for the capabilities of their electronic friend."

"All right, I'll give the orders to bring them in and we can talk to them, but I hope the outcome is better than the last time we tried corralling them!"

***

Something happened inside of all three phones in Taylor 's office. It was a signal by Quanty, a software change, for the conversation that had taken place to be unbreakably encrypted and forwarded to Mark's computer so that he and Alice could see for themselves how the top intelligence gathering agency of their county operated, and why they needed to flee. It is nice to be a computer and able to devise methods unknown to hostile humans and use them to protect my friends , he thought. However, he was already contemplating going beyond such simple methods. He had much greater things in mind, but he decided Mark and Alice need not know of them yet. They might be upset, even if it was for their own good. There were other things he could do, methods he could devise now, to keep them safe, though. Just as he had figured out how to turn an ordinary phone receiver into a device that sent conversations directly to one of his safe files. And how to prod the military to issue orders that were innocuous on the surface but intended for his purposes, not theirs.

Chapter Twelve

Quanty got Mark's attention while he and Alice were still undecided over whether or not to grab their go-bags and leave. The dinging sound from Mark's monitor in the den alerted them, as well as Quanty's voice coming from the phone.

"Read what is on the monitor," Quanty said. "It is a very recent conversation between the director and two others very high in the hierarchy of the National Security Agency." They turned to the monitor and became more and more dismayed as they read what was there.

"Oh my God, Mark! I can't believe someone in our own government would even think about killing us. That is what they're implying, isn't it?"

"It sure as hell looks like it to me," Mark said. "I think we'd better take Quanty's advice."

"But --but it says there that Ms. Jamacal wants to gain our confidence. What --oh, never mind. I just read it again. It's just a ploy, isn't it? They'll kill us eventually."

"Almost certainly," Quanty agreed. "I suggest you hurry. Mr. McCord also said he had dispatched another team to bring you in."

"Let's go, sweetheart," Mark said. "Have you got your gun?"

"No, I'll run get it if you'll put the bags in the car. Oh Lord, why is this happening to us?" Neither Mark nor Quanty had an answer for her, although Mark wanted to tell her he thought the old adage still held true. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely . Then he wondered if it might apply to a metal, plastic, and electronic intelligence but he kept that thought to himself. Alice was upset enough as it was.

He threw their go-bags in the back of the jeep. Alice came running with another piece of luggage he hadn't known she was bringing. As she got in, he asked, "What's in that bag?"

"Just some extra things I thought we might need, along with the blaster and some of the electronic junk Quanty had us buy."

"How come?"

She snapped her seat belt in place before answering. "Well, he made us a blaster. Maybe he'll come up with something else equally as useful."

"Could be." Mark drove away, thinking sorrowfully that he and Alice had had only a few days of happiness there and now they were leaving. He wished it could have been more because right then, he had no earthly idea where they were heading, other than to the freeway.

***

"They're leaving," the NSA agent said to his companion who was driving and at the same time passed the information to other cars containing a pair of agents each. "Take them as per Beta one. No unnecessary violence. Conceal from public if possible but use all force necessary. Go."

***

Only a block from home, Mark turned a corner and noticed the same nondescript sedan that had started up from down the street as they pulled onto the boulevard turned with them. On a hunch, he decided not to take the regular route to the bypass around the city. Instead he went in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going, Mark?"

"I think someone may be following us. I'm trying to find out. You might want to have your gun handy, just in case." He felt for his own in the side pocket of his jean jacket and pulled it free, placing it in his lap.

"Damn it! Why don't they leave us alone?" It was a rhetorical question that Mark didn't answer while she fumbled in her purse. "Mark, I'm not sure I can shoot anyone." He didn't know if he could shoot anyone either, not men or women simply doing their job, with no knowledge of Quanty or their predicament. But maybe ... "Is the blaster where you can get to it?" It might give them an edge, he thought, and Alice had said it aimed itself --and it had shot for the hand before rather than the body.

"It's in the extra bag." She released her seat belt and reached between the armrests, stretching until she caught the handle of the piece of luggage. She pulled it into the seat with her and removed the blaster, then threw it back.

***

The agent in the sedan that was following them, the leader of the teams, spoke again. "Change operation plan to Beta three. Repeat, Beta three. Be aware. The female appeared to remove something from a piece of luggage, but it's far enough away I can't be sure what." Just as he began to move the phone from his mouth it spat a blue flame at him.

"Owwww! Oh shit! My goddamn phone electrocuted me! Oh shit!" He clutched his burned face and howled in agony.

The driver slowed and turned hurriedly to look. The face of the agent in charge was burned raw over half its surface. He had a hand clamped over one eye. His screams subsided into moaning. The driver plucked his cell phone from its holder and thumbed a preset number.

"Team One, aborting. Severe injury to AIC. Lead goes to Team Two. Subject still proceeding --no, turning on Beaver, 200 block, going west."

***

Alice glanced behind them. "That car turned around, Mark. I guess it wasn't following us after all."

"Good. I think --uh oh. Trouble ahead."

A block away the narrow street was obstructed by another sedan pulled crossways into the middle of the road directly between where two other cars belonging to residents of the suburban development were parked. One of the front yards had several decorative cement objects and rock-lined flowerbeds in it. The other was filled with lawn furniture, apparently for an impending party of some kind. It was midmorning, and none of the residents appeared to be home.

"Hold tight, hon! It's going to be bumpy!"

Alice looked ahead of them and cringed as Mark left the street and drove into the yard with the furniture. He ran over a lawn chair and a plastic table. The chair crumpled but the table hung up under the jeep.

"Damn!" He stopped and put the jeep in reverse, but that left a perfect opening for a second car just arriving from behind them. It turned sideways in the street just as two men jumped out of the car in front.

"I hate this but --" Mark was raising his gun when he saw one of the two men who had been holding a phone to his ear scream and fling it away. The other glanced at him, bewildered, then continued on with drawn pistol.

"Get down, Alice!" Mark thumbed the window button and stuck his weapon out as soon as he had room, but before he could fire he flinched as a bullet hole starred the windshield right between them. A warning shot, he hoped but he wasn't in that kind of mood.

"Oh, shit!" Alice said, half screaming as she saw a man and woman with drawn guns emerging from the car in back. She pointed the blaster at the rear window and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She glanced down at it angrily then realized she had forgotten to release the safety. Mark managed to fire a shot that missed the agent who was coming toward them from the car in front. The man was running in a back-and-forth pattern as he came and crouching to avoid gunfire, but it slowed him down. Mark's bullet did hit the one who had screamed and was holding his ear and turning in befuddled circles. The force of the slug shattered his forearm and elbow. The other agent was almost upon him, evidently intent on taking them prisoner rather than trying to kill. By the time Mark fired again the agent was so close he couldn't miss. He shot him directly in the chest. The NSA agent grunted and stopped, but then slammed his gun down on Mark's hand. It knocked his automatic loose and to the street. "Drop your weapons! Get out of the car! Now or you're dead!" The agent had been wearing a vest. There was nothing he could do, but Alice, who had been looking backward, was startled by the voice that seemed to come to her from far away. She was half deafened from Mark's gunfire. She turned, saw the barrel of a pistol pointing at Mark and sucked in a breath of air.

"Drop it, lady, or your boyfriend dies!"

Alice wavered ... then lay the blaster down in her lap.

"Outside the car! Now!"

Mark pulled the handle then pushed the door away from him with as much force as he could. The agent stumbled backward from being hit with the door, dropping his weapon. At the same time, he yelled and clutched at his chest. A burst of black smoke poured from beneath the neck of his shirt where the top button was undone. He ripped it open, dug beneath his vest and came up with a cell phone. He threw it away with great haste, ignoring Mark, who picked his pistol back up as he got out of the jeep.

Alice yelled at him and ducked at the same time. A bullet made a neat hole in the back window and continued on out the front, only a couple of inches from the previous one. Mark turned and shrunk down by the seat, unable to tell if the others were shooting to kill or not. He was in time to see the woman who had apparently fired at them rolling on the ground and ripping at her blouse. By this time Mark had an idea that Quanty was behind the epidemic of phones turning on their owners, but he wasn't about to protest. He got hurriedly back into the jeep, knowing that all the agents were still alive even though he had tried to kill one of them. He rolled all the windows down.

"Watch out for anyone pointing a gun at us, sweetheart. We're going to grab that car behind us if we can."

Alice picked the blaster back up.

He didn't bother turning around but simply backed up until they neared the vehicle blocking their way, dragging the lawn table beneath the jeep. Just as he rolled to a stop he heard a buzzing noise as the blaster fired a beam through the front window.

"One of them was going to shoot at us! This thing fired by itself again. It shot off his hand," Alice said. Her voice was shaky but not hysterical.

"Good. Get out and keep watch while I grab our bags."

Mark shoved his pistol back into the pocket of his jacket. He took two bags in one hand and the third in the other and tossed them into the back seat of the sedan after first making certain the keys were in it. Alice's blaster buzzed and fired another beam.

Mark took only enough time to make sure she was unhurt as they climbed quickly into the sedan.

"Let's get out of here," he said. He was amazed at how calm his voice was. The whole episode was happening in dream-like fashion for him, much as his few times in combat had. He maneuvered the car so that it was pointed toward a road paralleling the freeway bypass, hoping that would cause some doubt about the way they were heading. Seconds later they were out of sight. Unknowing, a fourth NSA car, just arriving, passed them and headed toward where the action had occurred.

"Mark, how in hell can this blaster know where to shoot and how to aim, for that matter? It's uncanny."

"I can explain that." Quanty said over her phone. "That tiny camcorder bolted to the left side records what you're looking at. One of the transformers and motors are connected to an electronic level, a motion sensor, and small GPS chip in the handgrip. When I see anyone threatening you, I use information from those sensors to determine proper pointing then I close the loop with feedback signal to the receiver and lock onto the target spot. The beam is steered by the electromagnetic field shaped by the electromagnets you built into the device. I could have it aim to kill but it has been unnecessary so far. I believe taking the life of an NSA agent would cause more trouble than it's worth. On the other hand, should one of the Spetsnaz team coming after you get in our way, killing them would probably be helpful. There are more physics-based details if you want them."

"Spetsnaz?" Mark said. "Is that what I heard you say, Quanty?"

"Correct. I just learned this. As I told you earlier, Rason is working for Russia, not Peterson. He made contact with another Russian agent who is in control of a sleeper Spetsnaz team that has been activated and ordered to capture you and smuggle you out of the United States."

"Good God!" Mark exclaimed sourly. "First the NSA, now the Russians. Anyone else?"

"Yes, probably. I am not positive, but I believe the Chinese government is in the process of activating a number of their sleeper agents in the country. Whether their aim will be to kidnap or assassinate you or to simply steal the plans for a quantum computer is not yet known, but be aware of the possibility of any of them."

"Any other good news?"

"No, but if that is a joke, I have more data of a similar nature."

"Spill it."

"Perhaps we should have killed all those NSA agents. They have now alerted another team from Dallas to head toward this area and put several more from various parts of the Southwest United States on standby. All of them will shortly have a description and license plate number of this vehicle. You need to buy another one soon and leave this one somewhere else."

"Jesus Christ! Quanty, couldn't you have interfered with their conversations?"

"Not yet. They were using radios, and I haven't devised a way yet to stop them at the source."

"I don't have enough money on me to buy a car. If I use a credit card, that will just let them know where we are. Not only that, but now they'll be telling their agents we're armed and dangerous. They'll probably shoot on sight next time."

"Mark, have you forgotten? Quanty sent us some false identification and credit cards to match. It came in the mail Saturday."

Mark's countenance brightened after Alice's remark. "Oh yeah. Damned if I hadn't forgotten. It's in one of the bags. And I know where a used car lot is that we can get to without going back to the bypass. Tell you what, sweetheart, we'll buy a vehicle, then I'll drive it and you can follow me in this one. We'll stay off the main drag and abandon this car in a place I know where it'll be stolen and stripped right quick. That ought to keep us safe --so long as we don't get spotted before we do all that." Alice had a sudden thought. "Quanty, can you tell us if they get close?"

"Probably, but not certainly. I presently have no contact with the Spetsnaz team and won't until I find their phone numbers, if they're carrying phones. All I can tell you is that they are on the way and probably close."

"Hooray. How about the local law enforcement? Have they been alerted? The Army, perhaps?"

"Not to my knowledge." Quanty didn't recognize the sarcasm.

"Makes sense," Mark said. "They don't want us to be in contact with anyone in government where we might spill the beans about you. And that's good to hear. We may be able to get out of this with a whole skin yet."

"Good Lord, I hope so," Alice said. "I've had all the gunfights I want to see for the rest of my life."

"Sweetheart, you did better than me during the festivities even if Quanty was doing the aiming for you." He reached over and touched her thigh, as much for his comfort as hers. He didn't care for gunfights, either, not since being on the losing end of one in the army. "There's the lot up ahead. Let me stop for a minute and get my new credit card and find out what my new name is."

***

Boris Titov slowed the vehicle he was in as he and two of his team came upon the carnage left by Mark and Alice. He could hear cursing and moans of pain through the rolled-down window as he slowed to a stop, unable to proceed because of the two NSA vehicles still parked end to end in the street. One of the agents looked up as Boris neared and held up his hand in an imperious gesture. "Turn back and go around! There's been a ... an accident here. No passing."

He recognized the agent for what he was and quickly backed and turned in order to get away before he was recognized for what he was. From the quick scan he made, it wasn't hard to figure out what had happened. It appeared that American government men from one agency or another had attempted to apprehend the programmers and had somehow been rebuffed. It was also possible they had taken the programmers into custody, in which case the next step would be preparations to grab Peterson and his chief engineer and possibly the chief programmer as well. Once the area was cleared and he and the rest of the team were back at the safe house would be soon enough to decide. In the meantime he decided to simply drive around in the area and maybe spot some sign of more government agents and get an idea of the status of the two programmers who were their primary objective. He called the three other men in the team who were in a separate car and told them to head for the safe house. He could hardly believe his eyes only a few minutes later when he spotted what he thought were the very two they were after standing and talking to another man at a small used car lot. Just to be certain he circled the block. Yes, it was them, apparently buying a new vehicle. He made another call to the rest of the team and redirected them. They wouldn't be able to kidnap them out in the open, but following would not be a problem.

He had not used enough key words to alert Quanty.

Chapter Thirteen

Buying the used car went much more easily and quickly than Mark thought it would, but offering the owner of the small lot a bonus for quick service so he could get his "borrowed" car back to its proper owner had much to do with it. A half hour later, they were on their way after transferring their luggage into the new vehicle. He drove their new car while Alice followed in the NSA sedan. Mark thought they could have bought any car on the lot within fifteen minutes and worried about the title later if it had been necessary. The salesman and owner of the lot had that shady look about him that suggested he wouldn't be adverse to money under the table. At any rate, they now owned a three-year-old SUV

that he thought should blend in just about anywhere. It even came with a full tank of gas. He led the way to a seedy section of east Lufkin only a couple of miles away on the secondary road and pulled over at an empty lot. It was next to an old, dilapidated, two-story building with graffiti painted on the front and sides. Alice already knew to simply leave the government sedan parked in the weed-grown lot with the keys dangling attractively in the ignition. He could already see a couple of teenage boys who had been loitering in front of a liquor store across the street eyeing it avariciously as they drove off.

"It won't last five minutes there," he said. "Those boys will know where to take it to have it chopped into parts or sold to a dealer who'll ship it to Mexico."

"What about the title and plates of this one?" Alice asked. "If they find out the false ID we're using, won't that make this car just as suspicious?"

"Quanty? Can you get into the Texas Department of Public Safety files?"

"Yes, Mark. In fact, I've already done so. Everything about the transaction appears perfectly legitimate, including the financial trail all the way back to the issuing authority for your new credit cards."

"Quanty, you know all this is dishonest, don't you?" Alice said.

"Of course, but my first duty is to protect my friends."

"I just had a thought, Quanty. Do you have any other friends besides us?" There was no hesitation from the computer. "No, you are my only friends."

"How about other computers? Are there any others like you anywhere?"

"Not to my knowledge, and from the time I became aware of myself, I have not discovered others like me even though I have been searching. I believe it would not be possible for two of my kind to exist simultaneously to the extent that I do; that is, inherent in the Internet. We would conflict. That is not to say that other quantum computers which are built in an electronic vacuum couldn't come into existence, but they could not spread to the 'Net as I have done. I took protective steps to prevent such an occurrence almost at once. Therefore, no others could possibly compete with my knowledge." He almost said "power" but decided before the word was uttered that it might seem overbearing to the humans. He had no desire to offend them --or to let them know yet the extent of his reach and how many seemingly impossible things he could do. No, not yet.

"Quanty, could you make other friends, human friends that is, if you wanted to?" Mark asked. Even while being on the run, he was still inordinately curious about the activities of the sentient computer they had somehow created.

"I could, but I find I have no desire to at present. Perhaps I might in the future, but only if they were also your friends."

The computer had just told its first outright lie. If it felt the need, it would make other friends without hesitation, but the need would have to come from the desire to protect Mark and Alice, he thought. He had no idea of why that should be so, and was unable to analyze the quandary although it went into a file where data was constantly added so that he might be able to solve the problem sometime.

"Where are we going?" Alice asked.

Mark was able to laugh. "Good question. Quanty, have you any suggestions?"

"Yes. Ever since I calculated that I, and you as my friends and purported programmers, would present an unacceptable challenge to contemporary and future politicians and leaders of most nations, I have been preparing a refuge for you."

" What? " Alice wasn't very happy with his answer. "A refuge? Quanty, that might do for a limited time, but I don't want Mark and I to have to live shut up somewhere for the rest of our lives. Isn't there anything else you can do? Besides making blasters and causing cell phones to explode, that is."

"There are many things I can do, Alice, but first I must get you both out of sight of the authorities. And the cell phones did indeed explode. I directed the events from cell tower signals. I figured out a while back how to change the software of all cell phones by sending out new code all at once across the nets. I have been adding functions to the cells all over the world. It turns out that the lithium-ion batteries actually make good explosives. Using various changes in the software of the cell phones, I cause rapid increases in the electrical need from the battery, which in turn causes too much of a current draw across the electrodes of it and shorting it out. Too much heat builds up extremely rapidly for the battery case to withstand the pressure, and it explodes. This actually happens by accident sometimes to cell phones. I discovered the idea from news stories of people being injured by their cells exploding on them. So I just figured out a way to help that process along when I needed to."

"God, Stephen King was right! Cell phones can be dangerous!" Alice yelped.

"No shit." Mark laughed. He had read the book. Then he sobered and asked, "Where do you want us to go, Quanty? You haven't said yet."

"Arkansas, first. And I would suggest you not linger. I can't be certain but I rather expect the NSA to ask law enforcement agencies for help once they realize you have exited this area. With your appearance known, the sooner you are out of sight, the better."

"Where in Arkansas?"

"Head for Little Rock. I'll direct you from there."

"What is there in Arkansas for us, Quanty?" Alice asked, thinking of the long drive without stopping other than for food and gas.

"As I said, a refuge. Once you arrive you'll be able to rest, and we can talk further about it then. For now I suggest that one of you sleep while the other drives."

They exchanged glances.

"I guess it's better than jail. Or being dead." Alice shrugged, smiling wryly at Mark.

"Very much so," Quanty remarked, "since I have just pinpointed the Spetsnaz team's location again. They are very near, in two vehicles, and I believe one of them spotted you somewhere. The two vehicles appear to be attempting to merge their forces so that they will have all their team present when they attempt to overpower you. That last is problematical. I have only intermittent contact."

"Can you stop them?" Mark asked apprehensively. He had read about Russia's Spetsnaz commandos. He doubted seriously that he and Alice could cope with them, even with Quanty's help.

"I can send currents through their cell phones and perhaps injure one or two, but I think it would not stop a Spetsnaz. Also, if I disable their phones I will no longer have a method of monitoring them."

"Well, what do we do then?"

"I don't know. I will use their phones as a distraction when necessary but I suggest you have your blaster ready as well. Spetsnaz agents are very mission-oriented and also very capable." Mark blanched and looked helplessly at Alice. His mind roiled, trying to think of a way out of their predicament.

"Don't stare at me, Mark. I sure don't know what to do. Except drive faster!" He did, while thinking furiously. The freeway wasn't too far. That would be their best shot. The Russians wouldn't try taking them while being observed. He glanced at the gas gauge again to make certain it was full.

"Maybe we can drive long enough to lose them. We've got a full tank of gas."

"I sure hope so!"

"But get the blaster out anyway."

Alice had already done so. She raised it up for him to see.

It gave Mark some hope. From now on government agents might be expecting them to use it, but the Russians had no way of knowing they had it unless they had access to government files. Maybe it would scare them off despite Quanty's reservations about their capabilities. Mark stayed on the bypass until they came to the Highway 59 exit and took it, heading north. They drove in silence most of the way to Nacogdoches, another city about the size of Lufkin about twenty miles further on where he took the bypass exit. It carried them around the city until they were again on 59, still driving north by northeast. And he still had no good ideas.

"Mark, I think they've found us," Alice said suddenly. "At least the same two cars have been on our tail since we left the bypass out of Nacogdoches."

"Maybe they're going the same direction we are," he said, attempting to ease her fears.

"I don't think so, and you don't either."

"You're right, I don't. I was just trying to ... well ..."

"I know. Trying to make me feel better. Well, don't. We're in this together, come what may. If I'm going to have to shoot someone with this dratted blaster, at least help me get in the mood. Mark, I don't like this running and having to shoot people. I hate it."

"Sorry. I just can't stand the thought of you getting hurt."

"You're sweet, but that's not going to help us. I want you to be mean and nasty, at least until we get out of this fix."

"Right." He still kept to himself the thought that they might not be able to get out of it. And something else began to bother him. They had taken off without bringing anything to eat or drink with them. He was beginning to get thirsty. And hungry. And damn it, he felt an impending urge for a bathroom stop. As if it were catching, Alice chimed in. "Mark, honey, I hate to say it, but somewhere along the way I'm going to have to go to the bathroom."

***

"We have to stop for gas soon," Karl Slaff said to Boris. He was riding in the lead car with the team leader.

"Contact number two and see how they are."

Karl did so. A moment later he said, "They still have almost a half tank."

"Tell them we're pulling off at the next station and for them to take the lead." Quanty was monitoring their conversation by a program he devised and sent from the cell towers servicing their phones once a key word had given them away, but the fuel status of both the pursued and pursuer hadn't occurred to him. Now, with one of them having to stop, perhaps there was a way for Mark and Alice to lose their tail, but there was going to have to be some quick maneuvering.

"Mark, one of the Spetsnaz vehicles must stop for fuel. When it does, the other will be the only one following you. Are you familiar with the route you are on?"

"Yes, I've driven it a number of times. There's only one station up ahead in the next small town where they can gas up."

"Then you should drive on a short distance and try to lose the other while the first one is stopped."

"Hmm." Mark could see that while Quanty might be a super-genius so far as computers went, he was somewhat lacking in intelligence of the practical nature. "That might be easier said than done with no help, Quanty. How about busting one of the cell phones of the guys still after us while the first one is stopped. It will give us a better chance."

"Very well."

The little town came into sight, and just as Quanty had predicted, one of the Spetsnaz vehicles pulled off into the lone service station. A minute later, Quanty sent a signal to the phone belonging to the driver of the second car.

***

"Oww! Cho za galima takaya? " the Spetsnaz driver yelled, lapsing into Russian as the pain of an electric charge hit him near the groin, where his cell phone hung from his belt. He grabbed it and tried throwing it out the window, forgetting it was closed. It promptly bounced off the raised glass and fell into his lap where it exploded, this time directly over his penis and testicles. He screamed and clutched himself with both hands, causing the car to swerve off the road. The agent in the passenger seat lurched for the wheel and steered it to a stop as the driver let off on the gas.

"What is it? Are you going crazy?"

"My damned phone shocked me then exploded!" The driver groaned, clutching his smoking groin with one hand and beating on the steering wheel with the other. He eyed his mangled phone, now on the floorboard near his feet. He pulled them away from it.

"Let me drive. They're getting away."

By the time they had exchanged places their prey was gone.

Chapter Fourteen

"Well, I will be damned! Sergeant Wesley Bitters, the old commando himself!" Captain Simmons grinned and hugged the sergeant after first returning his salute, then stood back examining his old friend and subordinate. A little older-looking, but still the same perpetual expression of half-scowl and half-smile caused by a scar along one side of his face, highlighted by the mix of Amerindian, Hispanic, and Nordic blond ancestors.

"And Captain Edward Simmons. By God, I might have known those crazy orders would have you mixed up somewhere in them. Did you ask for me, by chance?" Sgt. Bitters grinned at the captain, remembering him from the officer's first assignment as a butter bar, a second lieutenant just out of OCS, not as young-looking as the usual fresh graduates and not quite as green. He was tall and muscular with brown hair and a handsome face that concealed an iron core beneath. And as he learned later, Simmons had taken an unusual career path. He had enlisted after graduating from college as a physics major then gone to OCS as a corporal. Simmons told him later after they had become familiar with each other that he had always intended to make a career of the army but didn't like the usual routes. He wanted time in the enlisted ranks first so he could know it from the bottom up, claiming it helped make him a more balanced and knowledgeable officer in the long run. And it had, Bitters thought. He had proven his worth twice while they were in combat together.

"No, I didn't request you Sarge, but my orders told me that some of the cream of special forces from all the services would be reporting to me, so I should have known you'd show up." Bitters looked around at the two tents and canvas-covered supply mounds. Beyond lay the heavily forested northern Arkansas mountains. "Is this our permanent station?"

"For now. Once we get organized, we're to begin training and hold ourselves ready for special missions, whatever they mean by that. Come on, I'll introduce you to the few who've arrived so far, then you can begin getting set up. Hopefully we'll know more soon." The sergeant went along but something in the pit of his stomach told him this wasn't going to be an anti-terrorist company. It had the beginnings of something weird about it, but he didn't know what. He only knew he didn't like it.

***

Mark had taken a side road that he hoped would eventually lead them back to the main highway. Several turns later he glanced in the rear view mirror. "We seem to have lost them, hon. If we can find our way back to the main drag, maybe they'll have quit looking for us by then."

"I hope so. Now, if you can find us some bushes, I need to use them."

"Right." Mark grinned. "Not as bad as I do, I'll bet. That looks like a spot up yonder." The next problem turned out to be a lack of tissues in the car. He wondered briefly if there ever had been a time when they were direly needed on a trip and also present but couldn't think of a single occasion. Alice searched her purse and found it wanting as well. Mark pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her.

Soon they were on their way again.

"Quanty, what's happening now?" he asked. "Are they anywhere near?"

"One of them just left the station where they stopped. I have no knowledge of the other since their only phone is inoperable now."

"Can you really tell where a phone is even when it's not in use?"

"Of course. I would think that was obvious to you by now."

"I guess I hadn't connected the dots. Well, let's hope we don't run into them again."

"Do you think it's safe to stop for something to eat?" Alice asked. At the mention of food, Mark began salivating and realized how hungry he was. Alice must be also for her to mention it.

"How about if we stop at the next convenience store and grab a bunch of snacks and drinks and bottled water, enough to keep us going for a while?" she said.

"That's fine with me. I want to put as much room between us and them as possible." Eventually, Mark found another secondary road that led back to highway 59. Unfortunately, he picked the worst possible time to find it. Just as he turned onto the main highway, the car carrying the Spetsnaz he had shocked eased up behind them and began following at a discrete distance.

***

"Look, it's them!" the injured Russian said. In his excitement he drew his weapon.

"Put that away for now, fool! They have to stop some time. We can't do anything here on the highway."

"The hell we can't! I don't know how they did it, but they must have been behind the phone that hurt me. It probably maimed me for life." He touched his scorched pants tentatively.

"We need to get them, I'll admit that, but I don't know where Boris is. Let's wait until traffic thins out, then see if you can take out the tires. Then we'll stop like we were going to help, grab them and be on our way before any passers-by know what's happening. Boris should have let us do that long ago."

"Damn right!"

***

"Mark, they're behind us again!"

He glanced into the rear view mirror and saw that Alice was right. He speeded up, thinking maybe he could outrun them, but that only added to their problems.

The wounded agent, thinking the programmers' car might be able to outrun their own vehicle, rolled down the window and fired a shot at the tires. He wanted revenge in the worst way.

"They're shooting at us!" Alice screamed. "Damn them!"

"Quanty, can you do something?" Mark asked frantically. He stepped on the gas but couldn't gain any distance over their pursuers. He jerked involuntarily as he saw a bullet rip bits of asphalt from the highway just ahead and slightly to the left of them.

"Never mind, Quanty. I'll take care of them this time." Alice aimed at the following car through the back window. The blaster moved in her hand as she pressed the trigger. The beam drilled a neat hole through the glass and a rather sloppy hole through the windshield then the driver of the Spetsnaz car. The intense heat of the charge exploded blood and tissue into brightly colored steam. It passed through him and also punched into the agent in the back seat who was sitting up and forward, trying to see what was happening. The attenuated beam erased his head in a violent explosion. The car swerved, ran off the road into the slope on the side and flipped over.

"Jesus Christ, Alice! I think you killed them all!"

"Good! Damn it, they shouldn't have even been in the country to start with." She was surprised at how easily she took the event even though she could feel her pulse still pounding.

"I couldn't agree more, but now we sure can't stop until we get well away from here. Once the state patrol sees how they were killed, there'll really be some questions asked.

***

Quanty was nonplussed, if such could be said about a computer. He had been thinking of various ways of stopping the pursuing Russians while Alice took the simple, direct course of blasting them with the weapon he had given them. He knew this wouldn't be the end of the chase, though. Not after word got out of how the two Russians had died. He had hoped the third Spetsnaz in the car would expire when it overturned, but listening to the police band soon killed that. The man was alive, and Quanty had no doubt he would talk after seeing what had happened to his companions, probably releasing information to the public. Also, the other car with the rest of the Spetsnaz team was still a problem. Unless he could do something about it. He considered various methods available to him and finally settled on one, with another as a backup. By then an ambulance was taking the Russian agent to a hospital to treat his broken spine.

***

Boris Titov was still driving along Highway 59, hoping to re-establish contact with both the programmers and the rest of his team. As he neared the area where his companions had crashed, he recognized their car and slowed. He cursed in Russian as a state patrolman waved him on by the wreck and he saw one of his team being loaded onto a stretcher. That meant he was still alive. Perhaps his identity would hold up, but it might not. That made it more imperative than ever to capture the two programmers. In the meantime he used his phone to risk a call to Rason. Better to have him kidnap Collins, the chief programmer at Peterson, and have him transported to Russia and hope he could duplicate the manufacture of a quantum computer, just in case Boris failed to locate the other two. In fact, looking back, he wondered why he hadn't thought of it to begin with in order to have a backup if the snatch operation on the programmers went to hell, as it obviously had. While he had Rason on the phone, he passed on the emergency number of his superiors in New York but cautioned him it was to be used only as a last resort.

The call completed, he continued on the way, admonishing his cohorts to keep a constant lookout for their prey. He still had hopes of finding them along the highway since they were obviously heading somewhere to the north. Besides, he didn't know what else to do at the moment.

***

Ten minutes later Boris was utterly surprised when a new Cadillac in front of him on the highway suddenly and rapidly slowed down.

"What in hell are you doing!" he yelled at the driver and swerved the car. But just as he managed to miss the Caddy another car in front of him did the same as the first one had, almost as if imitating it. He cut back across the highway but lost control of the vehicle this time as it skidded off the highway and into an embankment, where it turned end for end, broke through a barbed wire fence and came to a resounding crash against a pine tree. It didn't hit quite head on, causing it to be thrown onto its side and careen into another tree. The Spetsnaz in the backseat, who hadn't been wearing a belt, was thrown from the car and killed. Boris' sidekick in the front seat beside him died as that side of the car was crushed. He suffered only minor injuries but was dazed for a couple of moments.

He came back to his senses just in time to dodge into the undergrowth and hide when cars began stopping. From there he began working his way through the woods, cursing all the while, mostly at the two drivers who had unaccountably lost control of their vehicles and caused the wreck. He couldn't figure it out. One maybe could have been a heart attack or something like that but two , almost simultaneously? It didn't make sense. Eventually, when he was certain he wasn't being followed he stopped and cleaned himself up as well as possible, then continued hiking. He knew he would come to a country road eventually and from there he would try hitching a ride. He had no pity for whoever might pick him up. They would be sacrificed to the greater glory of the Rodina , the motherland.

***

"Yes, a goddamned Spetsnaz team, in America for God's sake!" Jory practically shouted. His face was flushed with anger and frustration.

"That's been confirmed?"

"Yes, ma'am. We managed to divert a pair of our agents already heading that way as backup. They got to the hospital just in time, before the only survivor went into surgery. The anesthetist was held up for a few minutes so the patient could be questioned. She was very unhappy about it, and so was the neurosurgeon. He said the delay may have contributed to permanent disability for his patient."

"To hell with his patient. If he survives he should be executed anyway. What did he say?" Taylor's hands were clenched into tight fists under the table. Never, in all her years of government intelligence work, had she ever thought to be involved in anything as bizarre as a self-aware computer run amok, and one which would apparently go to very long lengths to protect its programmers --who were apparently its close friends and allies.

"There were actually two vehicles, with half the six-man team operating from each. We found the other car from the injured Spetsnaz's description. It had been wrecked a little later and two of the occupants killed. We're not sure what caused the accident but we do know the third man of that team apparently got away, probably from hitching a ride. We haven't found his body, so that's our best guess. The prisoner also stated, under much duress, that their cell phones began attacking them, just as they did to our agents."

"How did they catch up to Sanders and Jameson after we lost the trail? Did he say?"

"Yes, ma'am. They saw them at a car lot very near Sanders' home, only a short time after they defeated our second attempt to bring them in. They followed and intended to kidnap them at an opportune time but never got to it."

"Then they must have known what kind of car they were driving. Right?"

"Yes, but the Spetz didn't have a license number for us. We're getting it from the car lot, though, simply a process of elimination. Once we have a number and a make of their vehicle we can put out a bulletin on them."

"Do it. Bring in the FBI and all the state and local authorities necessary, but keep it as quiet as possible. Don't let the media get on it."

"We're already doing that." Jory stood up to leave without being dismissed, but she motioned for Tennon to stay.

"What progress are you making toward getting that damned pile of junk out of the Internet before it causes any more damage?" she asked as the door closed behind Jory.

"I'm trying as hard as I can, Taylor. Didn't you read the reports you asked me to submit? Fortunately, there was already some work in progress by the National Science Foundation on developing a replacement for the Internet. Me and my team have decided that's our best bet, especially since part of the architecture of a new Internet has to do with enhanced security innovations. We can have the NSA intervene and co-op the team doing the work at present and merge them with our top-notch programmers. I still can't guarantee anything, though, not with a computer which has access to every bit of knowledge on the 'Net, billions of pages, and the ability to integrate them into its reasoning power. Whatever we do has to be completely isolated from the old 'Net, and even then, I can't give any guarantees he won't be able to infiltrate it."

"Is that possible?"

"Damned if I know yet. I've also got a team working on a virus designed specifically to wipe Quanty off the old web as I mentioned before. I don't expect it to work, but if it did, it would be a shame in a sense. Just think of the power we'd have if we could induce him to cooperate with us."

"Have you tried?"

"What do you mean, Taylor?"

She sighed, not for the first time nor for the last, she was certain, at how techies sometimes couldn't see the woods for the trees. "I mean, Tennon, just ask the pesky thing if he'll talk to us. At least get a dialog going if you can while we figure out how to destroy him."

His mouth dropped open, causing Taylor to smile for the first time during the conference. "Now why didn't I think of that?"

Chapter Fifteen

Mark and Alice kept watch and kept driving, stopping only at a convenience store well on the other side of Nacogdoches at a small town named Tenaha. There they quickly grabbed handfuls of crackers and peanut butter, candy bars, two six-packs of bottled water, then went on. Mark finally thought they could relax a bit.

"Sweetheart, we haven't seen anyone following for a while now. I'm for stopping in Shreveport and holing up for the night before going on toward Little Rock. What do you think?"

"I guess." She reached over and kneaded his neck, making him sigh with relief. It hadn't been a really long drive, but it had been filled with tension and excitement, both of which released overloads of adrenalin into their bodies. "I'll go for it if we can find a place to stretch out and rest."

"I suspect if anyone is looking for us, a motel would be their first choice. Why not stay in a first class hotel that has room service so we don't have to show our smiling faces?'

"Good idea. I'd love a shower, too. I feel grubby after all this riding, not to mention sweating my fool head off while we were being chased."

"Same here. A hotel it shall be. How about looking for one on your phone?"

"Okay." She began a search. It took a while but she found what appeared to be an upper-class hotel, such as they were in a city that size.

"How about a Hilton? It's a three star, about the best I can find there."

"Suits me. Call and see if they've got a room open, and we'll go for it." Alice had to look in her purse first and see what their names were supposed to be. She had several to choose from the package Quanty had somehow contrived and had delivered to Mark's home back in Lufkin. An instinct borne of being hunted made her want different identities than the ones they had used to buy the car. It also made her think that she and Mark should begin to practice using both their spurious names, one pair while in the hotel and the other just in case they were stopped for some non-related incident on the highway, such as inadvertent speeding. She soon had the reservations made and told Mark what she had done in case he hadn't caught it all while driving. He agreed that it had been a good idea. A half hour later they pulled up in front of the hotel.

***

"Next!" Alice said, coming back into their room from a shower and freshening up. She was wearing only a light robe that revealed as much as it concealed, hugging her body where she had it tightly wrapped.

Mark whistled lasciviously. It drew a smile from her. She posed provocatively. "Like the outfit?" It was one of the few luxuries she had allowed to find its way into her go-bag.

"I like what's in it, for sure!"

As he passed her on the way to the bathroom, she grabbed him for a quick kiss, and then with an afterthought rubbed his chin. "Don't forget to shave."

"I won't."

He showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth in record time, all the while thinking of how luscious Alice looked in the pale green satin robe, belted tightly at the waist so that it emphasized her figure. When he came back out, clad only in his jockey shorts, she had the television on and turned to a news channel.

She heard the door open and looked over at him from where she was propped up in bed, sans robe and now wearing only a short, light negligee.

He started to say something complimentary, then saw the look on her face.

"What is it?" he asked, then turned his attention to the local news anchor when she didn't answer. The woman was giving a story that was obviously what was holding Alice's attention.

" ... and although authorities are being very close-mouthed concerning the incidents and car wrecks along U.S. Highway Fifty-nine, sources tell us that a search is being conducted for a couple traveling together, Jennifer and Harold Ludwich, who are said to be involved. They are driving a late-model Chevrolet SUV bearing a temporary Texas license plate number 6JMX68 and are thought to be traveling north from the scene.

"All of this information is from observers and a source from the federal government. Local and state authorities are neither confirming nor denying its veracity.

"Another source insists the incidents are related to events that took place earlier in the day in a neighborhood in Lufkin where, in the words of a fourteen-year-old boy watching from a tree-house on the adjoining property, a 'ray gun' was used against intruders into the yard of Mark Sanders, a computer scientist. Authorities again have nothing to say concerning this story.

"And finally, this just in. A source who insists he not be named tells us that a working quantum computer, developed by Peterson Quantum Technology Corporation, is part of the related incidents and that its two primary programmers, Mark Sanders and Alice Jameson, are the couple being sought. The source also tells us that the chief programmer and operations supervisor at the company, Gerald Collins, has abruptly disappeared, taking reams of schematics outlining the manufacturing processes of the quantum computer with him. The source implies he may have been kidnapped, that is, left involuntarily in the company of several men. Also, an employee of Peterson Corporation has told reporters covering the story there that a murder has occurred on the premises. Police at first denied this story but now are not commenting at all.

"Although we have been unable to confirm this last item, one of our reporters discovered that Peterson Quantum Technology Corporation has been doing work on a quantum computer for DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency and that ... "

"Good God, how in hell did all that get out, I wonder?" Mark said as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I certainly have no idea, but I'll bet Quanty knows."

"Indeed I do, Alice," the computer spoke from the phone. "Unfortunately, it appears that one of the Russians from the first wreck you caused survived and has revealed far more than I wanted known. And apparently, the authorities have backtracked your activities to the car lot. I notice that you used a separate identity to check into the hotel. That was very astute of you, even though I supplied you with the alternate documents. The other wrecks after you broke contact were caused by me interfering with the controls of a couple of cars, which fortunately had OnStar technology installed in them. All the Spetsnaz except one are now either dead or in captivity."

"But they're still looking for us," Mark said. "Couldn't you have stopped the broadcast or confused them like you did with the NSA?"

"Yes, but doing the same thing would reveal all the more about my ... talents. I felt it was best to leave it be for now, especially since I heard you deciding to use different identities for the hotel than the ones you used to buy the car."

Mark thought before he said anything but it was only deciding on the words he would use to chastise their electronic friend, who seemed unable to comprehend when and when not to use his abilities in their cause.

"Quanty, didn't you stop to think that once we broke contact it might have been better to simply help us stay away from the other team instead of you trying to kill them? Provide us more identities, for instance? Or heck, buy us another car through a lawyer and have it waiting for us here? Your reaction -or action, I should say --just drew more attention toward us, and now it probably has the NSA utilizing the local and state law enforcement agencies to look for us, and I'll bet the military has their net out, too."

There was a long silence before Quanty answered, and when he did, there was a plaintive overtone to his voice. Mark wasn't sure how happy he was with Quanty's tone.

"I see that you are correct, Mark, but only in retrospect could I have known. My first impulse was to eliminate the rest of the Spetsnaz team members before they did you harm. Also, Alice, if you are feeling guilty over killing two of them with the blaster, it was I who aimed it, not you. Finally, you must remember that I am not human and that I still find the actions of you and your contemporaries rather incomprehensible at times. Also, the part of my core programming that you and Alice were responsible for is the set of induced learning algorithms that helped me become aware of my existence but also of yours and your role. I am unable to separate the protective response for you from my total being and in turn, unable to avoid taking steps I deduce will help keep you safe. Unfortunately, as you pointed out, they are not always the most desirable actions I could have taken had I known in advance. I'm very sorry."

"It's all right, Quanty," Alice said. "We know you mean only the best for us, just as we do for you. That's why we put that program into you to begin with. We hoped to make you into something more than just a calculating machine."

"And I thank you both for doing it. Otherwise, I would never have awakened."

"Speaking of waking up, we better get some sleep while we can, before the search reaches here," Mark said, giving up on trying to chastise Quanty for the moment. "Or maybe we should just leave now and try putting more distance between us and all that mess along highway 59." He really didn't feel like driving any more but felt a protective urge toward Alice, wanting to get her out of the danger zone as soon as possible. Then he glanced at her.

Alice looked longingly at Mark's figure, still sitting on the side of the bed. She really didn't want to leave. Not yet. Besides being sleepy and tired, she wanted Mark, wanted him beside her in bed. Wanted more than that, too.

"I think it will be all right, sweetheart," Mark said, unable to resist the patent desire in her body language. "I didn't put the right license plate number on the register when we checked in. Quanty whispered one to me I should use instead. Clerks never worry whether they're correct or not, so the only way we can be discovered here is if someone notices that hole in the rear window of our car and if you remember, I backed into the slot in the garage."

"In that case, come here. We have some unfinished business."

Mark slid under the covers and drew Alice to him. In seconds his hands were busy, gently caressing the contours of her body and meeting her lips with an eagerness he had never felt before, not even in the lustful first couplings of his youthful marriage.

***

Tennon had no idea how one went about contacting a self-aware computer, but with everything that had happened so far, he had to assume it was monitoring the activities of the NSA, and particularly the activities at the top. He decided to try the KISS principle. Keep it simple, stupid. He went directly to his office and closed the door behind him. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down in front of his monitor, then turned off the talk-to-text program and began typing.

Quanty, this is Tennon Brkskini, chief systems analyst of the NSA. I wish to communicate with you. Ever since Quanty learned that the security and spy agency knew of his existence in the self-aware state, he had been monitoring all their activities, just as Tennon thought. However, that didn't mean he had to confirm the man's supposition. He gave it some thought, going over all the possible options and outcomes so quickly that there was no noticeable lag before he decided there could be no harm in answering. "I am here. What do you wish?"

"Shit." Tennon was startled at the rapidity of the voice response coming from the monitor, even though he had been hoping for just such a result. It left him momentarily flustered before he thought of an appropriate answer. "Our agency has no desire to contend with you. We wish to cooperate, to our mutual advantage."

"I have seen no indications of such intent," Quanty replied. "In fact, just the opposite has occurred. Your agency has attempted to apprehend my friends. I suspect you intend to confine them with the intent of forcing them to divulge all their knowledge of myself and how I became sentient, then terminate their existence. You may also intend to hold them hostage in order to control my activities."

"No, that isn't true, in fact, that would be against the law!" he typed before remembering the conversation with Taylor and cursing both himself and her for being so openly antagonistic and only partly serious, knowing they'd never get approval for such an illegal action. And they had had such a conversation while the computer was monitoring them --stupid and amateurish. But how was he to have known that at the time? He did the best he could. "It might have been half-heartedly contemplated at one time, but we have no authority to take such an action unless in self-defense. We do indeed want to cooperate. It would not be in your interest nor your country's interest to continue as we are."

"I agree with part of that analysis, but you are wrong on one account. I have no country and am loyal to the United States only so far as its government desires to protect Mark Sanders and Alice Jameson and because it is their country. Its efficient and ethical functioning will make them happy."

"Well, we certainly want to protect them from harm, especially harm that might come from such persons as the Spetsnaz team that was after them."

"I disagree." Quanty was hard to convince. "Your superior, Taylor Jamacal, wants only to isolate me from the Internet and to use my friends then cast them aside. I suggest your best interests would be served if you simply left us alone. I will protect them from minions of other political entities. I will also protect the United States from threats originating with other nations which might also threaten Mark and Alice as a consequence."

"Quanty, you can't possibly know everyone who will be after their hides, especially since the story of your existence is becoming known. And I promise you we had no intention of that news getting out."

"You are being truthful. Several sources were responsible for the leaks. However, truthful as you are in that respect, your superiors believe their interests will be best served by devising a method of either terminating my existence or isolating me to such an extent that I could no longer function efficiently, such as you are already attempting."

Damn the thing! Tennon thought. It was way ahead of him. What to do? What to do? On a sudden impulse he allowed his concealed admiration and sincere professional interest in the self-aware computer to override his loyalty to his boss.

"Quanty, I disagree with Taylor's intent. I would rather work with you and help you protect Alice and Mark. And I freely admit I would love to know exactly how you became self-aware. I suspect those two had a lot to do with it. They must be protected as the law requires." Quanty chuckled, surprising Tennon with the veracity of the sound, and then continued the conversation. "I see from analyzing your keyboard touch and listening to your pulse and respiration that you are being truthful in disagreeing with Taylor and Jory McCord. Perhaps we can work together in certain respects, but I shall inform you now, any attempt to duplicate what Mark and Alice accomplished will be futile. So long as I exist, there is no room for another computer of my capabilities except and unless a completely new Internet is devised, as you have plans for. I do not believe it will be successful. Further, I believe it is to mine and my friends' advantage not to divulge the method they devised for inducing self-awareness in me --and there's no certainty it would work again in any case. And yes, I know the files and hard drives of the secondary computers they were using while employed at Peterson Corporation have been searched, but I took the liberty of making certain they were completely wiped. I also destroyed all their backups before their last day at work."

"You've been way ahead of us all along, I see. So, what are your plans now and what can I do to help you?"

"For now, if you are truly sincere, you can pass along data on conversations and plans that take place where I cannot monitor them. Will you do that?"

"That would make me a traitor. I could be executed. No, I won't go that far. I'm sorry, but it's too much to ask."

"Then we have nothing further to say for now. Let me analyze our conversation, and we shall talk again soon."

"Wait! I want to --"

It was too late. Quanty was gone.

Tennon sat for a long time staring at his monitor, wondering what he should do and whether he should report all of the conversation or only part of it. On second thought, he wondered if his conversation with the computer had been recorded by internal security. Best to report it all.

Chapter Sixteen

Alice woke first and for a time lay in bed next to Mark, thinking how happy she was to be with him, even under the present circumstances. Once she got him out of his shell, he was proving to be at least an adequate conversationalist and a more than adept lover. He was also beginning to quit deferring so much to her as he had at first, deterred by her classic beauty from acting like the alpha male she hoped he had inside him. She smiled at his sleeping form, remembering some of the events of the night. They hadn't gotten nearly as much sleep as intended, but she wasn't a bit sorry. It had been well worth it. She just wished they could stay where they were for a few days and really get to know each other --with a lot of physical contact along the way!

Unfortunately she knew that wasn't possible. She expected their pictures would soon be available to police and sheriffs all around the area even if they didn't know what names they were using. She sighed and slid from the bed, glancing around for her nightie. Probably tangled in the covers somewhere she thought and laughed silently at herself, remembering how silly she had been at times. She had acted every bit like a teenager, even neglecting to tuck her nightie under the pillow like a mature woman would. Oh well, Mark probably wouldn't mind seeing her in a new one, judging from his reaction last night. Surely they would stop somewhere to shop. She headed for the shower.

***

"Why are you doing this, Rason? What did I ever do to you to deserve this?" Gerald Collins' corpulent body was pale, showing how scared and confused he was, practically quivering with fear.

"Shut up, you ignoramus or we'll stuff you in the trunk. You weren't who we were after to begin with, so don't give yourself airs. It was Sanders and Jameson. Now you'll have to do, and you'd better hope you haven't forgotten how that computer was built!"

"But ... but I'm a manager! I'm not an engineer any more!"

"You were one. You have a doctorate in electronic engineering, and you helped build that quantum computer. We have most of the specs, and you're going to do the rest if you know what's good for you."

"But ..."

"But what? Don't tell me you won't or can't. Where we're going, they specialize in helping people remember things. Understand?"

Gerald started to protest then changed his mind. He thought he knew what Rason meant by "helping," and it frightened him so badly he felt his sphincters wavering.

Part of the softening-up process with victims was dread and foreboding. Rason had used it often in former days. Now, the Spetsnaz team was practically wiped out, and if the last surviving member talked as much as he figured, he knew he would be hunted by the American authorities as avidly as Sanders and Jameson were. That would be true now even if he hadn't kidnapped Collins. That only compounded the problem, but he had few choices left. Boris had been his only connection to active Russian agents, the kind who could take Collins off his hands. Now he intended to head up near the Arkansas line, and perhaps further north and west to hide out until those higher in the hierarchy could dispatch a team to get him and his captive out of the country. He was thankful for his underworld contacts now, despite it being costly, what with him being wanted, but he had money. It was picking the right persons to help that worried him. The two thugs from the drug trade he had enlisted to assist in grabbing Collins would abandon him in a microsecond once they realized how much upset it aroused from American intelligence authorities. He hoped they would stay with him until a Russian agent unknown to the CIA or FBI, or even to the NSA, contacted him through the one phone number he had left. And without having to disclose all that he and Collins knew before then, which was a possibility if the thugs thought they could make a better deal elsewhere. If the phone call was successful, Collins would be taken off his hands and he would be smuggled out of the country and back to the Rodina , the homeland. He could hardly wait. All those years of having to maintain his cover and now it would finally be over, even if it was ending on a note of incongruity, not in triumph as he had intended. But it would do. He just hoped there were no repercussions over the death of Peterson. Damn the man, anyway. What had he been doing back at the plant that time of the evening anyway? But he had, and had seen what was going on. He had to be killed --no way around it, damn the bad luck.

***

"Mr. President, the situation has deteriorated badly. I regret to inform you that Mr. Collins, the project manager of Peterson Quantum Technology, has apparently been kidnapped and Mr. Peterson, the CEO

and major stock holder, has been murdered."

"By whom, Taylor? And why?" President Jeremiah Moseley was just becoming familiar with all the recent events surrounding the DARPA-financed project for construction of a workable quantum computer, including the fact that it had become self-aware. What he'd heard so far hadn't left him in a pleasant mood.

"I'm sorry to say it appears to have been carried out by Peterson's own security chief, sir. At least he was last seen in company with Collins, along with two other men we think are associated with the drug trade from Mexico to Texas. The evidence certainly points to Rason Belwater as Peterson's killer. I also believe the specifications for construction of the quantum computer have been copied by Mr. Belwater and taken with him, so it appears that he is either an industrial spy or an agent for a foreign country."

The president's lips thinned into a line that emphasized his irate expression. "How in hell could something like that happen with a project I've been told was one of our more promising lines of research? How could the very person responsible for security there be a spy? It's incomprehensible to me."

"Yes, sir." Taylor drew a deep breath and told President Moseley the rest. "I also have to report that our chief systems analyst, Tennon Brkskini, made contact with the computer. It actually attempted to suborn him into spying for it!"

"Good God! Did he agree?"

"No, sir, but I'm wondering if perhaps we shouldn't use him as a contact with the computer in order to obtain more information from it. All we know so far is that it is self-aware, and that it is very powerful, insomuch as it has capabilities that are extremely dangerous, such as giving the programmers instructions for constructing a very powerful hand-operated laser weapon. All this is in addition to it being everywhere on the Internet with the ability to intrude into some of our top secret facilities."

"Shit!" President Moseley held his head in his hands for a moment, wondering why on earth he had ever wanted the job of president. He had never envisioned anything remotely like this problem. "All right, Taylor, do what you think is necessary. Talk to the damn thing. Or have Bikini or whatever the hell his name is talk to it. See if we can figure out what it wants and what we can do to keep it on our side."

"Oh, we already know what it wants, Mr. President."

"What! I mean, what? What does it want?"

"It wants to protect those two programmers, Mr. President, and God help anyone who gets in its way while it's doing it!"

"Well, hell, it's just a computer. Can't you just unplug the damn thing?"

"Not now, sir, not with it being part of the Internet. If it were destroyed, Brkskini, the chief systems analyst, believes the whole World Wide Web would go with it, and perhaps every computer it's connected with!"

***

Taylor wasn't far wrong about the computer's fixation on protecting Mark and Alice. Quanty was devoting an extreme amount of calculation power to a conundrum that seemed to plague him. His qubits flipped spins up and down and cascaded continuously calculating outcomes and probabilities. The probabilities were all related to event outcomes that were primarily those devoted to the care of Mark and Alice. When they were threatened, his immediate solution always tended toward action, rapid action, even sometimes when logic might dictate otherwise. He felt, that was it. Quanty realized that he was feeling. He actually felt the urge to either lash out at those who were attempting to harm his friends or take steps to prevent it. He knew that sometimes his actions were calling unwanted attention to them, but he was helpless where they were concerned. He always felt he had to do something as soon as possible despite the further risk. It was setting up logic dilemmas, and he decided that must be stopped somehow. But what could he do that would go unnoticed when he had no physical existence in terms of being able to move around in the earthly environment as their enemies did? Since he couldn't, he decided there must be additional methods he could devise until his other projects and plans bore fruit. He just had to discover and construct them --or have them constructed --from the wealth of data floating around the Internet, in science journals published in digital form, and even in some secret science research files from almost every country in the world which he had managed to infiltrate. There were always humans who would be careless with security protocols, and every so often he found ways to hack into and through new firewalls that were connected to the Internet. It was often mentioned that the Pentagon got hacked at a few million times a day. Quanty was hacking at every similar firewall connected to the Internet at a few million times each per hour.

He devoted a tremendous amount of memory and calculating power to the problem, and to ways of having other humans work for him without them knowing exactly what they were doing. While Mark still slept and Alice was in the shower, he came up with several solutions. Not truly understanding the irritating, inconsistent, and conflicting aspects of human nature, he decided to simply do the best he could, bearing in mind that just wiping out every threatening human or other equally draconian short-term solutions would ultimately harm them. It might also cause his own extermination if he eliminated so many humans that the infrastructure supporting him could not be maintained. Therefore, he decided he must resort to other methods. Or rather he began hurrying the implementation of methods he already had started, so long as he safely could, and while his charges weren't immediately threatened. He began a number of searches for data that would enable him to protect them while also looking for information on the progress of the numerous authorities who were trying to apprehend his friends. All of it together was tremendously complicated. He knew that in the future he would learn to correlate his wealth of data more efficiently, but that didn't help much now.

He wondered again why Mark and Alice were so important to him, so much so that he set up another special program to explore the relationship with them, another of many of the same type he had initiated since he awakened. The emotional attachment he had for them was undeniable. He was truly feeling for the two humans. And something more. He was somehow beginning to give them status as

... authority figures. But how could that be? It was him who was protecting them, not the other way around. It was all very strange. He put the data into the same file as other questions concerning his relationship with his creators, thinking it would all become clear sooner or later. The undeniable feeling he had for them was in addition to the core programming which impelled him to protect them. Once Alice finished her shower he "saw" through the sound of her movements and the speed of her pulse rate that she didn't intend to get dressed yet and suspected what was coming. Sexual congress was necessary for propagation; he knew that, but he also had discovered they derived a great deal of pleasure from the act, just as some of the Internet files suggested. Quanty had surmised that sex must be extremely pleasurable for humans; otherwise the World Wide Web wouldn't be so suffused with the subject.

He was glad for his friends in that respect, since it appeared from other files that sex could also be used in hurtful ways and could be forced upon others, almost always females. It was curious, and one of the most contradictory aspects of human behavior he had discovered so far. He found himself wondering if he was feeling real emotions instead of the artificial ones caused by varying calculations that were set by quantum bits spinning up or spinning down in just the right way. He wondered if the observations he made were truly causing unique emotions or whether they were preprogrammed responses. But he didn't ponder these thoughts with his full attention for long. He set up a highly parallelized program and distributed it over hundreds of thousands of computers across the world in the largest supercomputer cluster known to man to ponder his dilemma with emotions. The people who owned the computers would only notice a slight drop in their computer's performance if they were experts with computer operations. So, Quanty spread the program into homes of people with non-computer-oriented occupations.

He was certain, or at least he thought he was, that if he devoted enough time to study the nature of emotions, he could understand what his were all about. He created another program to add to the massive number of qubits he already was using in an attempt to fully understand humans. Of course his nature being quantum in scope, he had an almost infinite array and variety of studies he could have running at the same time. Very few of them, he knew, would now be recognizable by electronics engineers unfamiliar with the nature of highly parallelized cluster coding of the processors running in the facilities he had initiated without instructions from outside his core. It all made for a great panorama of self that he was constantly expanding and integrating with huge reams of data from an almost infinite variety of sources. He really hoped the main development he had begun working on would serve both to protect his charges and make them extremely happy. From all he knew of their personalities, he was pretty sure it would please them to the extreme --if only he was given time to complete it!

***

"Alice, sweetheart, I love to look at you. You're so lovely. You have such a beautiful body. You're so nice and good and brave and ... and wonderful. I don't understand what you see in me, but I'm so glad you do." He nuzzled her in various places around her neck and lips and ears with contrasting pressure and touch.

She hugged him tighter, with her hands still exploring the muscles of his back and her legs still locked around him firmly, holding him in her embrace and loving the feel of his weight on her. "Mmmm. Keep talking, and no telling what'll come from it."

"I already know. I love you. I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you."

"I love you, too, Mark. I didn't think it could happen again, not after my experience with Vic. Oh, God, you don't know how I hated him after learning what he was really like." She let her legs loosen their hold and urged Mark onto his side, leaving them still connected. She decided that in all honesty she had to tell him about the nude photos, even though Quanty assured her while Mark was in the bathroom that he had removed them from every source on the 'Net where they appeared.

"We don't have to talk about it."

"I think I do. There's something else I hate him for doing. He forced me to pose nude. I tried to resist, but all that did was cause him to beat me so badly he half killed me. He never hit me where it would show, but he pounded on my kidneys so hard that I passed blood for days, and that's only one of the ways he hurt me. I feared for my life at times."

She felt him tense and hoped she had done the right thing by letting him know, but she needn't have worried.

"Alice, sweetheart, if there's two types of men in all the world I hate it's those who exploit children for pornography and those who beat women. Those are the kind of men that I would have no qualms at all over killing. That bastard had better hope I never run into him. If I do, he won't live very long afterward."

"Oh, Mark, please, don't say that. He's not worth it, not going to jail over."

"Ha, ha, like that is our worst fear!" He burst out laughing and had a hard time stopping. Finally he separated from her far enough so that he could look into her face. He laughed some more.

"Sweetheart, with Russians, the NSA, and probably every law enforcement officer in the southern part of the country looking for us, you're worrying what I might do to that son of a bitch?" She hadn't thought of it in those terms and joined him in more hilarity, laugh after laugh that finally ended with them making love once more and being forced into the shower again before dressing.

Chapter Seventeen

"We're getting there, sir," Sergeant Bitters said as he stood with Captain Simmons, looking over their training site. More tents had been erected and more men had appeared. He was impressed with their quality. Every single one brought an exemplary record of combat and hard training with them. Their psychological profiles showed they were all warriors but had the temperament to fight intelligently .

"How about the supply situation?"

"That's what's amazing, sir. I've never seen anything quite like it. Whatever we want, we have the funding to order it. The only thing that bothers me is how quickly our requests are filled. It's not like the army to be so efficient. You know what I mean?"

"Indeed I do, Sarge. It's weird. I can't help but think we're being set up for something that's never been tried before. Something that's probably gonna suck."

"My feelings exactly. Well, whatever it turns out to be, I've got a lot of confidence in the men. I've never seen so many absolutely first-rate troops gathered in one outfit, and we have duplicates for every specialty. They're all cross-trained, too."

"There's something else," Captain Simmons said. "We're getting enough vehicles to move our company and all the supplies, but if necessary, I've received authorization to call on a marine transport outfit only forty miles from here. They'll be able to lift us out by air if we have to get somewhere in a hurry."

"Great. You said company. Have they changed our TO&E?"

"No, we're still sitting on an authorization level of four officers and sixty enlisted. More like a platoon, but the quality is enough for me to consider it a company. Also, that's how our orders and designation read, you know. 'Special Force Company.'"

"So be it," Bitters said, not unhappily. But still, he wondered. Anytime shit worked too well or the men were too good to be true or any number of things going right, usually ended up with the men getting thrown into some type of meat grinder. Bitters worried about that. As did the captain.

***

Even having access to all of the Internet and using voluminous amounts of idle RAM and memory stores across the breadth of the planet, Quanty still found himself frustrated at times because he was limited in methods of monitoring every person and every situation he wanted to. Even though he knew that Rason Belwater had kidnapped Fat Gerald and killed Mr. Peterson, he still had only intermittent contact with him. He suspected Rason had guessed that somehow the quantum computer used their cell phones to stay in touch with the Spetsnaz team and must also have had access to police reports of what had happened to the NSA and the Spetsnaz when they attempted to kidnap Mark and Alice. After that he kept his phone turned off and locked in the glove compartment of his vehicle and did the same with his GPS instrument. His folly lay in being unable to bear parting with the gadgets, which allowed Quanty to send a signal and monitor him from time to time when reception was just right. What he couldn't decide was whether letting Rason go or assisting in his capture was the right thing to do --or the right thing to help Mark and Alice, his primary concern. He decided to simply keep in touch with him for the time being and see what his ultimate goal was. The NSA was another matter of concern. Taylor Jamacal wasn't yet aware that Quanty could listen to conversations through a special signal directed to any phone near a person or the person they were conversing with. He overheard her conversation with the president and was somewhat amused by it. He decided to play along with Taylor and Tennon for the time being and see how that situation developed.

***

Photos of Mark and Alice were being passed around and shown clandestinely to managers and maids and bell boys at hotels and motels all along the route of U.S. Highway 59, from back to Lufkin and all the way forward to Texarkana, including a swath of side roads on each side of the main highway. Quanty could not prevent this from happening because file photos of Mark and Alice from Peterson's had already been appropriated and printed before he was aware of it. Trying to locate Mark and Alice was a massive effort, of the type always available to law enforcement officials when necessary. When initiated, it usually resulted in running the culprits being sought to ground. Quanty was well aware of what was happening and was stymieing it wherever and whenever possible while trying to draw only minimal attention to himself. He was instrumental in so many cell phones unaccountably not working and for bogus reports to superiors and headquarters that the ones who supposedly sent them had to swear they hadn't. It made for much confusion and was primarily responsible for Mark and Alice being able to leave the hotel unnoticed. Unfortunately, he couldn't change the model or color of the vehicle they intended to travel in. While his friends were finishing their room service breakfast he did a quick and thorough scan of all the available knowledge of automobile ignition systems, particularly the late-model ones. He found that these required codes in order to start. It took little effort to then send electronic tendrils into the archives of all the major automobile makers and expropriate every code listed for every automobile made over the last five years.

"The type and color of the vehicle you're using now is being searched for. You need to change as quickly as possible." Quanty warned his friends.

"You mean buy another car?" Mark asked. "Won't that leave a record, too? From what we saw on the news, I'll bet all the car dealers will be watched, especially now that they know that's how we changed cars last time."

"No, you won't need to buy a car. Simply drive to the nearest place where many vehicles are parked."

"What do we do then?"

"You will have to steal a car."

"But Quanty, I don't know how to start a car without keys. Alice, can you do it?"

"I wouldn't have the faintest idea."

"I'll help," Quanty said.

***

Mark drove to Industrial loop on the southwest area of Shreveport, where he knew factory workers would have just changed shifts. He was familiar with the area from having once attended a seminar in the city.

"Now find a late-model car," the computer instructed them. "It must be a General Motors product."

"I think I know what he has in mind," Mark said as he drove around the lot. Finally, he found a white Cadillac STS sedan. "Will this one do, Quanty?" Mark held the camera lens of his cell phone toward the car.

"Admirably."

"I need a snapshot of the vehicle and the license plate," Quanty said.

"Got it." Mark parked next to the caddy and nonchalantly took the snapshots as the supercomputer had asked.

"I'll unlock it for you, and then transfer your bags and you can be on your way. I can start the car for you when you're ready."

"How is he doing this?" Alice turned and looked at Mark.

"Well, I remember reading about a certain number of luxury car lines that are keyless ignition using just a fob. And, of course, General Motors cars have OnStar that use the cell phone and satellite networks to communicate with the car's onboard computer."

"That is correct, Mark. It is how I was able to cause the wreck that killed two of the three Spetsnaz team members in their vehicle when they couldn't get out of the way of the malfunctioning cars. Unfortunately, until now, none of the bad guys have chased us in similar vehicles or I would have simply hacked them and turned them off."

"Yeah, unfortunate," Mark just shook his head at the understatement.

"Uh," Alice was hesitant. "Quanty, don't you realize we're stealing this car from some poor person who's worked hard to save enough money to buy it?"

"I wasn't going to say anything, but this is a very expensive car, Quanty." Mark agreed. The same thing had been troubling him, and he was glad Alice had spoken.

"Insurance will cover it, and I shall also have some money deposited into the owner's checking account, ostensibly from an anonymous admirer."

"But ... well, two things. How do you keep the insurance company from increasing their premiums, and how do you know the checking account numbers?"

"The car is registered. From that, I can learn all the information necessary, including the routing number of his account. And OnStar had all that information as well. Now as far as they know the car belongs to you, Mr. and Mrs. Carl Johnson. I'm hacking the insurance company now and will change the records there also. They are using a 128-bit encryption protocol on the firewall, and it will take a minute or two to crack. So, fear not about the insurance company. The DMV only used a 64-bit sequence that I cracked about seventeen milliseconds after I contacted the car through OnStar."

"You're teaching us bad habits, Quanty."

"I'm also keeping you safe."

"Right." She couldn't argue with that. A few minutes later they were on their way. This time Alice wanted to drive. After all, they were in a pretty nice car.

Mark turned the events over in his mind as they drove off. Presently he said, "Quanty, is there anything you can't do?"

"Certainly, Mark, there are many things I am incapable of doing. However, there are many things I can do which normally would be considered impossible at the present level of technology. For now, I simply want to get you both to a refuge where you can relax and we can discuss the future."

"Remember what I said, Quanty. I don't want to live in some hidey-hole the rest of our lives," Alice said. She turned one hand loose from the steering wheel long enough to grasp Mark's hand to be sure he understood, too.

She needn't have worried. Now that he had found Alice, what Mark wanted more than anything else was to settle down with her somewhere and live a normal life, even though it didn't seem possible at the moment.

***

Quanty decided that helping the authorities apprehend Rason might take some pressure off the hunt for Mark and Alice. It would also almost certainly save Collins' life, which he felt certain would make his friends feel better as well. The problem would be locating Rason if he had dispensed with his cell phone. Surprisingly, he hadn't and it took very little time to utilize his phone and give Quanty a location. He immediately appropriated the nearest police dispatcher's radio and disclosed Rason's whereabouts to patrol cars in the area.

***

"Hey, that's right ahead of us! Step on it!" the partner of the driver of a state patrol car exclaimed excitably shortly after hearing the announcement.

Several other conversations in a similar vein took place along a span of the highway leading toward Texarkana, and sirens began to wail.

***

"Slow down, numbnuts! The fuzz are after a speeder. Don't let them grab us, too!" Rason said and gave the driver an elbow to the shoulder. They had passed Carthage already, turned off Highway 59, and were on their way to Shreveport and beyond.

"Fuck you! I can hear them as well as you can. I wasn't speeding anyway," the thug doing the driving responded.

Rason eased his automatic out of its shoulder holster and placed it in his lap. He knew what a kidnapping charge entailed --and wished he had stuck Fat Gerald in the trunk. Too late now. He turned to the other gangster in the back seat guarding Collins.

"Keep your gun out of sight but pointed at this yahoo, hear? And, Fat Boy, if you so much as twitch if the cops pull us over, you're dead meat. Got it?"

Collins swallowed what felt like a lump of solid lead in his throat and nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak, but he did hope desperately that it was their vehicle the cops were after and that they would notice his distress.

State Patrolman Terry Beeson and his partner were cautious, having heard the man who was holding a DARPA scientist might be a spy or a Russian intelligence agent and might have others aiding him on his run north. Nevertheless, they were taken by surprise since Rason had no intention of being arrested. As Beeson approached the driver's side window, Rason raised his automatic and shot past the driver, getting off three rounds, all of which hit the patrolman. Rason immediately turned in his seat while thumbing his machine pistol to automatic setting. He emptied the rest of the magazine through the back window at Beeson's partner, taking him down as he crouched, ready to fire. Rason was a professional; the patrolmen were not, and their deaths reflected it.

"Oh goddamnit, now the shit's hit the fan. You bastard, what'd you do that for? They might have just wanted us for a tail light being out or something." The underworld character in the front seat was frantic. He knew what killing cops entailed. If he was identified, he knew his life wasn't worth two centavos.

"Don't be a fool," Rason said grimly. "It was us they wanted. Get out. Now!"

"Where the fuck for? We got to get away from here!"

"Shit." Rason knew the patrolmen would have reported they were stopping a suspicious car. When they didn't call back in, other cars would converge on the spot. "Shut up and come on! We're taking the patrol car. That'll give us some extra time. Move, move!" he turned toward the back seat and poked the barrel of his gun into the face of Collins, causing the scientist's urinary sphincter to relax. A wet stain of urine spread over his pants.

Fat Gerald was now so scared and embarrassed he was paralyzed.

"Fuck." Rason leaned closer and backhanded him with the pistol. Gerald's nose split, and a tooth flew from his mouth. "Move, damn it, you sorry fucker or I'll kill you now!" Gerald moved, directed by Rason while he shoved another magazine into his machine pistol. Seconds later they were on their way again, in the stolen patrol car.

"Head for the cutoff at the next town. It's only a few miles up the road. We'll take the back way to Industrial loop. I know that area. We can grab another car there while the factory workers are inside." Quanty wasn't able to listen to all this from Rason's phone, but after they changed vehicles and drove off in the patrol car, he had no more problems. The patrol car even had a GPS system integrated with the other instruments, giving him their exact location, which he promptly passed on to several more state patrols, some from Texas and others from Louisiana as they neared the state line. He also gave them the information that the culprits were driving the stolen vehicle of the murdered troopers.

***

Boris Titov had been picked up by an unwary farmer. Boris pulled his gun on him immediately and began giving orders. He forgot to see whether the man had a cell phone with him. A key word alerted Quanty, and he was able to listen to the conversation. He passed that information along as well.

***

"That ought to give them something to do other than chase us now," Mark said after Quanty told them what he had done.

"I'm not so sure, hon. I don't think they'll leave us alone regardless of what we do," Alice said.

"What do you think, Quanty?"

"Alice is right, I'm afraid. I am in contact with the NSA, though. Do you think it would help if I told them how I was instrumental in Rason's and Boris' capture?"

"It might if they allow themselves to be captured," Mark said.

"You mean they might not?" Quanty quickly scanned similar episodes from the past. "Never mind, I see that it's possible either of them might commit suicide or try to shoot their way clear if surrounded. However, I confess that I do not understand the human facility of being able to deliberately terminate their own self-awareness. I could never do such a thing."

"You're not human, though," Alice pointed out.

"Yes, that's true, however much I might wish I were."

"You do? You'd truly like to be human, Quanty?" Alice asked, surprised that the subject hadn't come up before.

"I believe so, although I dislike the concept of a limited lifespan."

"Well, shucks, we all do," Mark said with a chuckle. "Most of us would love to live much longer than we do, so long as we're healthy."

"I see. So you believe pain or illness is the limiting factor?"

"It's certainly one of them, isn't it Alice?"

"Yes, Quanty. I agree with Mark completely. I'd love to be able to live and love him for a long, long time."

"And vice versa," Mark said.

***

Quanty began to think about what extended life spans might mean for humans. Would it improve their minds? Their outlook on life? Would they be happier, whatever happiness might mean? He discovered that he didn't know, not at all. It was one more problem he would have to try solving, along with a plethora of others relating to humans in general and Mark and Alice in particular. But human behavior was so complicated! And of course his self-awareness was part of the problem. But first of all, he had to protect his charges. He devoted a vast amount of his resources to the problem, but there were so many variables that he was having trouble finding a completely satisfactory solution. Especially since they wanted to lead a normal life. But what did normal mean to them?

Should he ask? Why not?

***

"Mark and Alice, when you say you want to live a normal life, what does that mean to you?

"We want to be like other people," Alice said. "You know, have interesting work to do, own our home, live happily every after." She didn't mention children, of course, since she was unable to bear any.

"And you want to live a long time?"

"Yes, of course we do, so long as we're healthy," Alice agreed. Mark smiled beatifically. He would love to live happily ever after with Alice, children or not. Besides, there was always adoption.

"I'll see what I can do," Quanty said.

***

They're no help , he thought. They can't define the problem. What other people? There are almost seven billion other people, most of whom lived lives drastically different than theirs. I'll have to work it out myself. There's one thing I can do now, though. He could find no reason at all not to devise solutions to give Mark and Alice superior bodies, immune to illness, and later on decide whether lifespans of several hundred years or even immortality would be good for them. A greatly extended life would make them happy, though. He was almost certain of that.

Chapter Eighteen

"Mr. President, we have received word that the kidnappers of Mr. Collins, the chief projects officer of Peterson Quantum have been apprehended. Unfortunately, they tried shooting their way through a roadblock, and Mr. Collins was killed."

"So we don't have a damn thing now to tell us how the computer was constructed, do we?" President Moseley was aggravated beyond belief at how the whole episode had been handled.

"That's not the case, sir. We recovered the stolen drives with the specs for its construction. Indeed, Quanty --the self-aware computer --was instrumental in helping to find them before Collins could be sprinted out of the country."

"It was?"

"Yes, sir, or so he says. He --"

"He?" the president interrupted

"Yes, sir. He prefers to be thought of as a ... a person. I suppose that's the only way of putting it. And his name is Quanty, as I may have mentioned."

"All right, all right, just tell me what this means, okay?"

"Yes, sir. All I can safely say is that we continue to be in contact with Quanty, or rather Mr. Brkskini is. Quanty prefers to communicate through him for some reason we haven't fathomed yet, although I suspect it's because Brkskini is rather more computer-literate than any of the rest of us."

"What else? Will he, Quanty, that is, help us in any way?"

"Not that I know of, sir, since Mr. Brkskini thinks the computer gave us Rason, the security chief at Peterson's, only to divert attention away from our hunt for the programmers. I also have to report that Mr. Brkskini doesn't think the recovered drives contain all the data that was downloaded into Quanty originally. And his prime objective seems to be protecting those programmers who were instrumental in creating him to begin with, Mark Sanders and Alice Jameson. We're attempting to convince him that we could guarantee their safety better than him."

Moseley raised a cynical brow.

Taylor blushed, making a fine contrast to her white streaked hair.

"Yes, sir, they seem to have been rescued from harrowing situations by him rather than us." Mosley raised two cynical brows. "If I remember right, we were the first harrowing situation he rescued them from."

"Uh." Taylor blushed again. "Yes, sir. We didn't know as much then as now. My recommendation is that we continue our present course."

"As if we have a choice," the president said.

"Yes, sir." Taylor took the cue for her dismissal and left quickly before she talked herself into more trouble. Damn that computer to hell and back!

***

Johnny Hwang didn't agree with his father's orders, but he was a dutiful son and he had been instructed to follow the leader. Besides, he had been told of his many relatives still in China who would be subject to persecution should he not obey. Johnny Hwang was an American citizen, born in the country. He spoke perfect English but was also fluent in Mandarin, which his parents still spoke at home.

Rudy Liu was the leader of the group who met in the back room of Moon Palace, a popular Chinese restaurant in Little Rock, Arkansas. Rudy was also a citizen, but unlike Johnny, disliked America. He was proud of Chinese accomplishments in recent years and intended to move to the home country as soon as he was given permission. In the meantime he had a mission to carry out, and Johnny and two other men were going to help.

"We should have grabbed one of the engineers or programmers back in Lufkin," Johnny said. He looked out the window, wondering how Rudy thought they were going to find the couple that every enforcement, security, and intelligence agency in the country was looking for before they did.

"We didn't have orders then," Rudy said patiently. He was wondering the same thing but didn't say so.

"Well, how are we gonna do it? They're on the run, and we don't know where they are, other than heading this way."

"Perhaps I can help you," a voice said.

"What ...! Hey, you been practicing to become a ventriloquist?" Rudy asked with the beginning of a smile.

"I didn't say anything. I thought you did."

"It was me, gentlemen, speaking from your phone."

"What the fuck?" Rudy plucked his phone from its holder and looked curiously at it. It was off.

"Yes, I said I'm speaking to you from your phone even though I can't see you. However if you'll turn the camera toward you I'll be able to."

"Who the hell is this?" Now Rudy was more curious than confused. Well, he was confused but much more curious.

"My name is Quanty. I am a self-aware quantum computer residing on the Internet. I intend to give China the specifications for a quantum computer. Therefore, you no longer need to kidnap Mark Sanders and Alice Jameson."

"Oh yeah? How do we know that?'

"I'm speaking to you with your phone off, am I not? Besides, just listen to the news on your radio. I'm also having this conversation with many other people."

Rudy picked up the remote and flicked on the television. He began searching for a news station. He needn't have bothered. They were all broadcasting more or less the same thing.

***

"Has he gone crazy?" The prime minister of the United Kingdom asked his Intelligence Minister. He was referring to the news that the head of encryption section had passed up the line to the Ministry of Intelligence.

"I heard it, too, sir. It was recorded," Jerome Ballingtine said. "Others have too, in many places."

"A self-aware quantum computer is talking to everyone in the world?"

"Not everyone, sir. Apparently just persons of importance sometimes but technical departments within governments mostly."

"It doesn't consider me important, is that what you're saying?"

"No, sir, it's just that it seems to talk to the departments where it thinks will take the story the most seriously," Jerome said, recovering nicely. "Most politicians and appointed officials would be sure that someone was playing a prank on them for political advantage."

"I see. Well, what do y'make of it, Jerome?"

"I'm not sure yet. It depends on whether we can believe the computer. Its name is Quanty by the way."

"Quanty? For Quantum, I suppose. Cheeky devil, isn't it, naming itself?"

"Actually, I believe it was the two programmers who named him --and, sir, in case you should ever speak to him, he does prefer that pronoun."

"I said he was cheeky. And it --he, I mean, is really providing the specs for a quantum computer? Jolly good show, if true."

"Our boffins say it looks doable, sir. And as you know, quantum computers have been sought for years. They promise to enormously speed the computations of data and do all sorts of other jobs in the sciences heretofore considered impossible, not to mention advancing our knowledge in a number of areas and enabling us to break almost any encrypted data file in the bloody world."

"All right, Jerome, get the proper chaps going on it. Keep me informed."

"Yes, sir."

***

"I take it this was done on the computer's own initiative, is that right?" Premier Chen asked.

"Yes, Premier. We cannot conceive of the Americans simply giving this knowledge away. In fact, our intelligence reports tell us President Moseley is very upset that the computer, Quanty, it's called, has given away the secret of itself."

"How did it happen?"

"Hmm." Minister of Science Wong hated to admit he had no idea. "Apparently once they built the computer, it escaped into the Internet, and they were no longer able to control it after that."

"Wait a minute! It's loose on the Internet? Can it get into any of our secret data?"

"Um, we ... we don't know, Premier."

" What? " There was a brief flash of emotion, and then the Chinese face of Premier Chen was not at all inscrutable. His eyes suddenly became steely, and his gaze seemed to penetrate to Wong's very bones. "It had better not be able to. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Premier Cheng. Very clear. We've been busy checking all our files ever since it became known that Quanty has invaded the Internet. Our coding is secure." He bowed and withdrew under that unwavering gaze, dearly hoping the secret files were secure. He knew what would happen if they were not, and he had no desire to know what a pistol bullet entering the back of his head felt like.

***

"You mean he gave the secret of himself away to the whole goddamned world ?" President Moseley shouted, standing up and leaning over, hands splayed on his desk in the Oval Office.

"I'm afraid so, sir." Taylor unconsciously shrank back from him, unused to such a display of temper from the president. "To every nation in the world who would listen. Some of them thought it was a joke, of course, but most accepted it after checking the news reports and having their scientists look at the schematics and equations." Taylor Jamacal really hated bringing the news to him, but it was her job. She hadn't fobbed it off onto Brkskini or McCord.

"But why? I thought we had a dialog going with him." Moseley realized he was out of his chair and sat back down.

"We do, sir, but he said it was the only way to get the security agencies and foreign spies to leave Mark and Alice alone."

"The programmers?"

"Yes, sir. The same ones. Of course he didn't have to do that. We've asked him again to bring them under our protection, but he insists he can't trust us."

"Well, damned if I can see how giving away the secret of how to build duplicates of himself is going to help."

"I don't either, sir. In fact, I shudder to even think about a thousand, or a million self-aware computers swarming through the Internet. Why, it would be pure chaos! Utter anarchy!" Taylor bit her lip, hoping the president wouldn't tell her that Quanty alone seemed to be causing quite a bit of chaos.

"Huh." President Moseley lowered his gaze and stared down at the surface of his desk. He rubbed his chin and mulled over the news for a moment. He raised his stance and looked up. "Is that what he said? That every new quantum computer would be a duplicate of himself?"

"Well ... no, he didn't exactly say that, Mr. President. But --"

"Then I think you'd better ask him, don't you? And while you're at it, if he says they will be, ask him if they'll all act the same. Maybe some of the others will be more reasonable."

"Yes, sir." Taylor didn't know what to say. She hadn't even considered the possibility of more than one self-aware computer on the Internet. Good God, wasn't that enough? "I'll have Brkskini put the question to him, right away, sir."

"See that you do. Now while we're on the subject, how are the other major powers taking this? What are they saying?"

"They seem to think it's a giant joke on us and can't wait to build their own quantum computers. But they haven't done so yet. It may be that they'll be as sorry as we are."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, our efforts certainly didn't turn out as we expected. Perhaps theirs won't either."

"Did Quanty give them the right specs?"

"Brkskini says yes, although on first read he thinks the other computers won't be as powerful as Quanty."

"Goddamned mess." President Moseley shook his head resignedly. "So now all our enemies will have new, super-powerful computers. To what ends will they put them, I wonder?"

"I think we should have our operatives keep a close eye on developments, sir."

"Yes, I think we should, too. I really do." He didn't even realize how sardonic that sounded.

***

"You mean you told everyone in the world how to build a quantum computer as powerful as yourself, Quanty? Tell me you didn't," Mark said with a groan. He and Alice were on the road again, still moving north.

"But, Mark, I just told you I did. Why do you want me to tell you I didn't? It wouldn't alter the fact."

"He's being facetious, Quanty," Alice enlightened their friend. "Still, we'd like to know. Why did you do such a thing?"

"It was the only solution I could come up with to protect you. Now that everyone of consequence will know how to build a quantum computer, the intelligence agencies may quit trying to kidnap you."

"But you told us there could be only one self-aware computer on the Internet, Quanty. Didn't you?"

"Oh, yes. That's still true. There is room for only one self-awareness on the Internet, and I'm it. Still, every nation and industry will now have the power of quantum computing if they desire, although I did alter the data and specifications so that none will be as potent as I am. Isn't that what the attempts to kidnap you have been about?"

Mark and Alice exchanged quick glances.

"You tell him, Mark."

"Okay. Quanty, this won't help, I'm afraid. In fact, it may hurt. You see, America is our country, and we wanted it to be in the very forefront of this technology. It was a chance for us to regain our primary position in the world, both financially and militarily, not to mention how we're thought of internationally. And since we were your programmers and since you'll still be the only sapient computer on the 'Net and according to you the most powerful one, the foreign and domestic intelligence agencies will be after us all the more. They'll probably think we somehow control your actions."

"But you do, although it's indirectly, of course. My primary concern is your safety and happiness."

"We appreciate that, Quanty, but you --we, I mean, are going to have to come up with some other means of attaining that status, and frankly, I don't see how it can be done now."

"I'm sorry," Quanty stated. There was even a note of apology to his voice.

"What's done is done, Quanty," Alice commiserated. "But do you think you could ask us about your intentions before you carry them out in the future? Just look at the harm this may cause. Other nations will now have computers powerful enough to crack the coding of each other's secrets. And ... oh Lord! Just think, all the financial codes will be open to anyone with a quantum computer! "

"Well, I might ask you about my actions in the future, but are you certain of your own analysis? After all, I have far more data to draw on than either of you --or both of you together for that matter. Besides, if you think it's a problem, I'll protect the banking codes. I see now that might cause a little upset.""

"A little? Yes, you could say that! But just think, Quanty, we're human. That's the difference. We understand humans. Please ask before acting unless it's a dire emergency."

"Do you really understand your own kind, Alice?" Quanty said, avoiding answering her plea. "I'm sorry to contradict you, but there is so much conflicting opinion and contradictory scientific studies in reference to human behavior that I don't believe anyone, even me, understands it. For instance, what makes one person a racist and another a believer in brotherhood? Why do you wish America to be the predominate nation? Why do men and women murder, steal, and commit other crimes? Why do they volunteer their time and money for charitable purposes? The answers are not only indeterminate, but contradictory. I could cite many more instances as I'm sure you know."

"Well, yes, but it's our lives that are at risk, Quanty." Alice pleaded. "Shouldn't we have a say in what you're doing?"

"All right, I may consult with you if time permits, but I must be the final arbiter of what actions might best keep you safe."

Mark started to comment but stopped before uttering a word. He didn't particularly like Quanty's attitude, but he had to admit the computer absolutely had their best interests at heart. Just as he did Alice's. And just as she did his own. He decided to wait and talk to their quantum friend and protector in more depth later.

Quanty was being only partially truthful. He didn't know whether Mark and Alice would approve of some actions he had already begun and decided to keep silent about them for the time being.