"There is NO way you're getting me into that dress!" Tran declares, folding her arms in front of her chest and giving Anna Richards a stern look. "Not in this life, and not in the next."

 Mira starts up slightly at Tran's outburst. Loud noise, her mind screeches at her. She had lulled herself into a pleasant state of open-eyed sleep on the office couch, something she had perfected from her nights of working at the college newspaper until 3 a.m., only to get up again for an 8 a.m. class. Stretching slightly and yawning, Mira reaches for her boots, which she kicked off so as not to scuff up the couch's upholstery.

 I'm getting old, the 27-year-old thinks. I used to be able to work all night and not find myself yawning through the next day. I've got to get more sleep.

The only thing small about the office manager at AI Inc is her stature. Of Vietnamese descent, the twenty-something Tran Ngyuen has a personality to fill a room, and a voice to match. Though albino, she has dyed a black streak down the length of her hair, which she shakes in disbelief, causing her large earrings to flap wildly. Tran totters around the desk to hand the bridal catalog to Mira. "Look at this! Can you believe she thinks I'll wear this in her wedding? God in heaven!"

Mira takes hold of the catalog and tries to focus on the dress Tran is stabbing at with her purple fingernail. For the 50th time since she heard about the wedding, Mira silently thanked God she wasn't involved in the preparations. Weddings were not her schtick. She knew that from the minute she suggested that everyone just go to the justice of the peace for the ceremony and be more concerned about the party afterwards. That idea had gotten her a lot of pity looks and a few "Oh you'll understand better when you're getting married" comments. I doubt that, Mira thought to herself. But she resolved to be a little more patient with the issue at least for Anna.

Mira yawns, looking first at the catalog and then at her fellow investigator, who is trying not to laugh at Tran's antics. Anna's wedding was six months away, and the plans for the bridesmaid dresses had been the object of hot debate between herself and Tran, who was Anna's maid of honor. This subject was a periwinkle blue number which involved a very large bow at the back of the dress. Dowdy by Tran's standards of dress, but not too horrible.

 "Well, I don't know," Mira says, holding up the magazine, trying to imagine Tran with a big bow on her back. "I'm not the best person to ask about this stuff. I pretty much live in jeans and T-shirts." She flips through a few more pages of satin, taffeta and moiré silk, concoctions each page getting more farfetched.

It's hard not to yawn again as the two women scrutinize Mira's reaction. The nightly surveillance at the Salvatore apartment had yielded nothing but a dog accident and two broken nails as Cassandra unpacked her archaeology books. Certainly not the dirt Mira had been hoping for. At least Salvatore's mother had agreed to talk to her -- which would make Lakota Whiteyes' "unauthorized" biography of Odyssey even sweeter.

If she could just get going on the framework of chapter three, Mira sighed inwardly to herself. She had already completed most of the research on Odyssey's first appearances in public and the disastrous museum fight.

"Excuse me, ladies," Martin DuQuense says, poking his head out of David Armitage's office. "Mr. Armitage needs to steal Mira for a minute – if she's free?"

"Ooh, saved by the bell," Tran says sarcastically, snatching the catalog out of Mira's hand. Though her manner was as brusque, Mira knew it to be Tran's way of joking. The agency's office manager was capable, and in the month and a half since she'd been working there, Mira had learned that Tran would always pull through with resources -- she was the best organizer there was. 

Tossing the magazine back to Tran, Mira smiles. "Hey, when the boss calls, you gotta respond," she says, shrugging her shoulders and doing very little to hide her eagerness at being removed from the wedding discussion. "But I did like the dress on page 298."

The silk concoction on that particular page is a slim, body-hugging gown with a slit up the side. Definitely more risqué than the periwinkle blue, bowed gowns they were looking at before. "Hey, I like it," Tran says as Anna shakes her head vigorously.

As Mira turns to join DuQuense, Tran tells Anna, "Dr. Emori asked for you to meet her at her lab this morning, after you finish up with the Rubicon transcripts. Apparently there's more she needs for you to pick up at the library."

 Anna sighs. "Right. Almost a decade of higher education, and I spend all my time running errands," she calls as she heads towards her office. Anna Richards is one of five I investigators currently employed at AI Inc, and was trained as a lawyer. A tall, thin (artificial) blond, she's recently announced her engagement to AI Inc accountant Randolph Everson after a six-month courtship and the preparations have turned the office into a Bride magazine nightmare. Tran had already loudly convinced Anna to give up on the idea of six flower girls, thank God, and Mira was secretly glad she didn't know Anna well enough to be involved in her preparations.

"Just think, when you complete your M.A. you'll get even better things, like collating research," Mira jokes as she walks toward Armitage's office.

"Don’t I know it," Anna mutters, unlocking her office door and stepping inside.

Martin had arrived at AI Inc. a few minutes early today, only to find the company's owner pondering a fax in the foyer of the office. Behind the forty-year-old Armitage, the city of San Francisco was waking up. The AI Inc. offices occupied a floor in a high rise near the financial district, and were modern and airy, decorated with a mixture of Scandinavian and antique-store styles - streamlined teak tables were laden with knickknacks and oriental jade statuary. It made for an interesting – and somewhat cluttered -- effect.

David Armitage was omnipresent at the agency, and had been since Martin had begun work a few weeks ago. Enthusiastic about his new career, Armitage -- a recently retired Navy captain, also recently come into his father's vast estate -- was professional and efficient. From Martin's careful observation, Armitage's greatest talent was finding the right people for the job, and for making them feel appreciated. Everyone at the agency, like Martin, seemed to have a past that made them ideal for the semi-secrecy which surrounded AI Inc -- the paperwork that surrounded Martin's hiring had been very exacting about the fact nothing learned during the course of his tenure at AI Inc. could be revealed to outsiders -- and the relaxed but professional air of the office lent itself to easy camaraderie.

"Ah, Martin!" Armitage had said when he noticed DuQuense's light step on a Persian carpet. "Glad you're here so early. I think I've got a case I'd like you to work on, with Mira. I'll wait till she gets here to talk to you about it. But I'm curious," he says, gesturing for DuQuense to follow him into his office. "How are things going? How do you like working here with us at AI Inc.?"

Following his employer into the office, Martin adjusts his tie unconsciously and sighs inwardly, "Honest or safe?" Looking at the Annapolis diploma and other certificates on the walls, he made his decision, "He's got integrity written all over his office - Honest."

Running a hand through his reddish-brown hair, he answers, "I haven't really done anything to like or dislike yet - but I figure that's only normal. The people are... interesting. A bit too casual for me to be really comfortable with them, but I guess that'll change over time." He shrugs, "I'd have to have expectations before they could be met - or let down."

Armitage nods as Martin speaks. "Things here are casual, aren't they? The legacy of my father's foundation of the company, I think. I suppose I could run this place like the Eisenhower, but what would be the point?" He shrugs, then smiles. Armitage's father was something akin to legend around the office, among the support personnel, who were hired first. Apparently a fiery old man, nearly all of them would mist over when Ralph came up in conversation.

"Run it however you feel best," Martin shrugged. "It's your company, your rules. If I need to make adjustments, then I will. " Stopping for a moment, he looks around the room, then back at the man behind the desk, "Would it be too much trouble if I asked about having the little statues and figures moved out of my office? Every time I close the door I'm waiting for something that costs more than I will make in the next ten years to fall off its shelf and crash to the floor."

Armitage laughs. "It's a paltry attempt to clear out some of Dad's boxes -- he had this stuff everywhere in his house. Sure, move it. Take it home and give it to your daughter. Whatever you want."

"Ahhh... I think I'll just get them boxed up for storage," Martin replies. "Considering some of them look like fertility statues – and are doing things I'm not sure a ten year old needs practical experience with - that sounds like the best way to go."

Martin and Mira are seated in leather chairs in front of David Armitage's mahogany desk. In a cage nearby, a large parrot whistles at both of them before their employer begins to speak. There are several pictures of David with other men in uniform, including the current Secretary of the Navy, Alexander Johnson. A smaller picture of Armitage with two kids in soccer uniforms sits on his desk -- his children, now in their teens, live with their mother in New Hampshire, and Armitage sees them only on holidays and during the summer.

"Argh, I'm sending you to Davy Jones’s locker, argh," Mira says, getting up and walking toward the parrot. "I can't believe you haven't taught this parrot useful naval terms, " she jokes. "Argh, Davey Jones’s locker," she repeats a few times more. "All hands on deck, all hands on deck," she repeats a few times as well. The parrot appears unresponsive to her efforts. "I just don't understand why he doesn't say it."

"General quarters, general quarters! All hands to battle stations!. This is not a drill!" the parrot squawks, as soon as Mira turns her back.

Armitage shrugs and throws his hands up. "You know what's sad about that? I don't remember teaching it to him. I think he saw it in 'Tora Tora Tora' or something. Scared the crap out of me the other day, when I was napping on the couch."

"You should teach him to say that when someone he doesn't know enters the office," Mira suggests. "He'd make a great guard bird."

Giving up on her efforts, Mira returns to her seat. Dressed in jeans, a blue-T-shirt and cowboy boots, she looks at home in the leather chair, but very out-of-place for San Francisco's urban chic.

Running a hand through her short brown hair, she focuses her attention on Armitage. "So what's up?"

"I've been waiting to see if the money would come through for this assignment," Armitage says bluntly, "Before I gave it to anyone. Frankly, it sounded a little strange, and I've seen some strange things in my day." The handsome, gray-haired man leans back in his chair, adjusting a jade figurine perched on top of his computer monitor.

"We've been commissioned to uncover evidence of a secret government warehouse, located in Nevada," he says to Mira and Martin. "Obviously, this is right up your alley," he says to Mira, making a reference Martin doesn't recognize. "Supposedly this is a storehouse for all sorts of interesting things, as well as being a research laboratory."

Mira snorts somewhat at the reference to her previous "work." Let's just hope this comes out better than my last foray into the government's Nevada operations, she thinks to herself.

"Hmmm." Mira mumble out loud. "Research for what?" Maybe they have copies of the research Dad was doing. If I could just locate more evidence, I'm sure the Guardian would print that article.

Armitage appears to be hedging a bit, before he continues, "The catch is this: well, it's supposedly located underneath a, well, a rest stop, somewhere on Interstate 80." He shrugs. "If our client weren't as reputable, and as willing to pay highly, as she is, I would have laughed in her face," he says honestly. "But I think there's actually something to it. That's all the information we have on it. Your assignment is to locate the warehouse, and retrieve an...item from it. You are to do this without detection, obviously, and you have the secondary goal of discovering anything relating to something called 'Project Redwing' while you are there."

"Which rest-stop?" Mira quickly interjects. "There's about a dozen or so stops that are remote enough not to draw too much attention. Do we know exactly which one or do we need to find that out ourselves? We'll need extra gas and spare water would be good to. I think we should take my car. It'll draw less attention. I can check with some people before we leave. See what I can find out. We'd better tune into 'Dreamland' broadcasts for the next few nights. See if Campbell mentions anything about project Redwing. "

"You won't hear anything about Redwing," Armitage says. "I've been looking into it for the past three months, and have come up with zilch. That, by the way, has nothing to do with our client. I'm just hoping there will be a happy coincidence and you'll discover information about Redwing while you're in. I'll get into that later."

"OK - information about Redwing, if we're lucky," Mira nods. "Anything else on a Redwing besides a code name. Is it an aircraft or a weapon? They don’t always label things neatly at these government research areas," she adds, remembering the files she had to go through just to find a hint of her father's research project.

"Hmm," Armitage says noncommittally. "As for rest areas, there are actually only seven on Interstate 80 in Nevada, all of which are located close to railroad lines," he says, pulling out the official Nevada state map. "I think we can discount those which are close to Reno, for the simple fact that they'd be too easily spotted. Which leaves us with one at the intersection of 80 and 95, by the Humboldt sink; one between Lovelock and Winnemucca; two between Winnemucca and Battle Mountain; and two between Battle Mountain and Elko. Those last two," he adds, "Are on opposite sides of the interstate from one another.

"Bit of overkill, two on that stretch of highway," Mira comments.

"The trick is not getting spotted, you're right on that, Mira. There's nothing but sagebrush miles from any of these rest stops. I'm not sure your car will be much better, though, or if you want it getting traced back to you, potentially. I've made arrangements for you to rent a tan Bronco. You'll have to drive out, that's for sure. It's about four hours from Reno to the last set of rest stops, if you drive the speed limit – 75 the whole way." 

"Well, unless we want to stand out, we'd better go a lot faster than 75 mph. Just about everyone does 90 mph on that stretch highway."

"That's one worry out of the way," Martin relaxes slightly as he begins to go over plans in his mind. "I won't be pulling dust out of the 'Vette for a month anyway. 

"If I were going to pick one of these," Armitage says, "I'd be suspicious of the two between Battle Mountain and Elko, in Eureka County," he points to a spot on the map. "It's the only place there are actually rest stops on both sides of the road, they're the most remote -- 30 miles from Battle Mountain, 72 miles from Carlin -- and also, they're in a valley in which geothermal power is harvested. For what, God only knows, but there's a plaque up commemorating the use of geothermal power. Emigrant Pass isn't too far to the east, and I think your best bet would be to scope the place out, then try to make your way through the desert unseen." Armitage shakes his head. "I was there yesterday -- flew to Salt Lake, then drove back, just to see if I could spot anything suspicious. I didn't," he adds. "Mira, I'll trust your instincts on the best way to approach things."

"Well, there's two air strips near there," Mira says, pointing them out on the map. "The one near Battle Mountain makes since because of the mining operations there. "But this one," she says stabbing at the small town of Crescent Valley, "Well, that's kind of weird, considering the Battle Mountain air strip is so close."

 "That's true -- and you'll notice that the road isn't maintained much further south than Crescent Valley, either."

"We could always use the Beowave Geysers as a cover. Pretend like we are camping out there," she suggests.

"There aren't many geysers left," Armitage says, shaking his head. "That's what's being tapped for geothermal power. But there are a couple, and that's a good cover, and ought to get you close to some of the plants, if they aren't being guarded." 

"Yes," Mira says, tapping the desk thoughtfully. "Sierra Pacific Power has joined up with an Idaho company. They bring in most of their power from dam generators outside of Nevada. They have a major line that comes down from Idaho. It broke a few years ago and left some people without power for days. I doubt that they are using the geothermal power being generated there. More than likely it's going somewhere else. But we can do some quick checking."

"Hmmm..." Mira continued, "let me check with the Air Force's latest environmental impact forms. They requested to withdraw a ton more air space and land this year for military use. I'll check and see what land and airspace they control in that area. It won't confirm anything, since 85 percent of air, space and land in Nevada is controlled by either the military or the BLM, but it will give us some idea of whether or not they value the area. It would also be interesting to see if any mining claims have been filed near that area. I'd be interested in knowing if the military has prevented any digging in that area. Since the BLM allows mining claims to be filed on land they control, if the mining claims have been denied, it would give us an indication of how much area the military may be protecting."

Armitage nods. "That's a good idea. You may also want to check with some geologists about that area, maybe stop at UNR for the day and do research in the mining library there. Locals will know more than they let on in Nevada, and if you're lucky you might be able to pry it out of some professors. Do you still have university contacts, Mira?"

"A few, but they're mostly with journalism professors," she says. "Still I can check."

"Before I say something stupid here that I'll regret later," Martin asks, a pained expression crossing his face as he leans forward in his chair, shifting position slightly, "I want to get this straight - You did just say that, essentially, we're being hired to find Area 51,or Hangar 18, or whatever they call it nowadays; break in; and steal something like a Martian tripod from the War of the Worlds or the 50 mile per gallon carburetor - right?"

Mira stares slightly at Martin, surprised. Then composes herself. Not everyone knows what you do, she chides herself. You'd probably think the whole Area 51 thing was just a joke, if you hadn't seen what you'd seen.

"Well....basically, yes," Armitage responds, nodding, a quick, reassuring glance to Mira. "Theft doesn't exactly describe this assignment, however. What you're being asked to retrieve is something that was taken illegally from our client about five years ago." Armitage opens a drawer in his desk, and pulls out a manila envelope.

Armitage pulls a picture from the envelope. "This is what you're being asked to recover." The picture shows a wooden box, painted olive green, and inscribed with white Nazi symbols. "No, it's not the Arc," he says, somewhat defensively. "This box is about two feet square, and about a hundred pounds, if my client's memory serves her correctly. I'm not exactly sure what is inside it, but exercise extreme caution."

"A hundred pounds huh," Mira says. "That's going to be a pain to haul out of there. So what do you mean about extreme caution? If we're going to be hauling this out of that place and take it on a trip back through the desert, I want to be sure it's not going to explode or do anything else funny on the trip. Is there a special way we should handle it?"

"She’s right - What if the contents have been removed?" Martin asks, studying the photograph. "If the people running this place have emptied it out for study we're going to have a hell of a time finding the proper contents if we don't know what we're looking for. Did the client give us anything else to work with?" Pausing, he looks back up at Armitage, "And what do you mean by 'not exactly'?"

Armitage shrugs. "Well, theoretically it contains an alien artifact which crashed in Africa during Rommel's campaign. I'm not entirely convinced of that, but our client is, and she's not sure of what it does. I'd take precautions for radioactivity in the least."

"I think that you'll know what I mean when you see it," Armitage says. "This... artifact...ought to be pretty distinct." He sighs. "I don't want you two getting killed on this, not for some alien artifact I've never seen myself. You know that you're more important to me -- and the company -- than a $1 million dollar contract. I can always refund our client's money, but I can't replace you. Be careful out there, and take whatever you need. I'll make arrangements with a pilot in Battle Mountain, and have him on standby for you, in case you need to get out of there fast."

"Ummm.. pardon my ignorance here," Martin says, looking at his companions for a moment intently. "Ignoring the countless federal regulations we're talking about breaking here, exactly what kind of trouble am I looking at? Are guys in bad black suits with cheap sunglasses going to be showing up at my house for the next three generations of my family looking for me?"

"Actually, they drive tan vehicles and wear desert cammies," Mira says.

"Potentially," Armitage says, with a sidelong warning look at Mira. "That’s why you need to be careful. This isn’t your run of the mill investigation – anything concealed under a rest stop, of all places, has been built and is maintained without the knowledge of the legitimate government. I expect Mira can brief you more on this on your way out to BFE Nevada." Armitage stands up. "I have a luncheon I need to be attending in Fallon, to welcome the new Base Commander. My plane leaves at 10:30, so I’ll have to talk to both of you later. You know the protocol, and Tran will coordinate your efforts with the people we’ll have in Battle Mountain."

"Bring some good tapes," Mira suggests. "The only radio stations after Reno are religious, farm reports and country music."

Armitage smiles. "Don’t I know it, after that drive I made yesterday! And don’t forget some very obnoxious psychologist who has a show that goes for hours and hours in the afternoon!" He shakes his head. "Luckily, I’m flying in with Admiral Johnson, so we’re going directly into Fallon, and I’ll be spared the agony of driving anywhere." He shakes hands with the two investigators, and walks them out of his office. Tran hands him several files before he walks out the glass doors and to the elevator bank.

"Very well, " Martin notes. "Any ideas on how long this will take?" he continues, looking at Mira questioningly. "I've got to arrange for someone to watch my daughter."

"That's difficult to say," Mira says. "Here, why don't we go over to my office so we can get organized." She continues talking as she goes down the hall. "It'll take us a few days to get out there, survey the area and get an idea of what is going on. However, we don't want to stay too long. It will attract attention. If we can't get the actual rest stop investigation done in three days or less, I suggest we abort. Now if we factor in drive time, maybe a day in Reno to check on some things. I'd say five to six days."

Rising to follow her, Martin nods to his employer on the way out the door. "I'd better plan on a week then," he says as Mira finishes. "Mom will be thrilled."

"So you have a daughter," Mira continues, smiling. Never thought of Martin as the family type, she thinks. "How old is she?"

"Dorothy's ten in August," he replies, a rare smile crossing his face, making it seem a touch softer.

"Ten, let's see, has she been overcome by the Sailor Moon mania or is she just really interested in horses?" Mira asks. "Do you want coffee?"

"Animals in general I think," he replies, the smile still softening his face. "She doesn't watch much television, so Sailor Moon hasn't really caught hold." Almost as an afterthought he adds, "Tea if you have it, I never could manage coffee unless it was loaded up with so much creamer and sugar that I might as well be drinking ice cream."

"We should all go riding sometime. I hardly ever get the chance her in San Francisco, but I used to ride all the time when I lived in Nevada." That was back before I had all these other problems, Mira thinks. It seems so long ago.

"She's the horseman in the family," he replies, "I'd just be the comic relief. But she'd probably like that a lot."

"Good, we'll have to do that when we get back." Mira smiles, the thought of Martin on a horse was humorous. Too bad Mike Johnson couldn't see it. And he always complained that it took me forever to learn to ride, she thinks. I imagine he'd have some creative things to add about Martin's horsemanship. Mira grins at the thought.

"Weekends are better than weekday afternoons," he adds, losing his smile abruptly. "She's in school until four thirty."

"That's fine. Weekends are better for me too. Besides," she whispers conspiratorially, "I don't want to be accused of causing her to neglect her studies. You didn't mention your daughter's name?"

"Dorothy, Dorothy Camille," he answers, the smile back for a moment.

"Here's the tea," she adds, after rummaging through a couple of drawers for the box of tea bags.

"Thanks," Martin answers, taking the tea and dropping a bag into the proffered mug. "My partner got me hooked on this stuff years ago, and I've never broken the habit."

"So Martin," she says, turning toward the investigator. "Shall we plan what we're going to need on this trip. I've got the state-issued road atlas for Nevada in the back of my car. It's got all of the roads marked off, including the dirt ones. That should help us start planning."

He nods, producing a small notebook from an inner coat pocket and jotting down items, "All right... I've got enough surveillance equipment for the two of us, and I can handle my clothing and things like that - but if we're going to be camping out I haven't got the first bit of equipment for that. What else are we going to need?"

"I've got enough camping equipment, but we're going to need food," Mira says, pulling out a legal pad and jotting things down. "I don't relish having to shoot dinner. Also, well, to be blunt, I'll be bringing a weapon. I usually don't go off-roading in Nevada without one. Will you be bringing a gun?"

He looks up, as if surprised by the question for an instant, and then nods, "Yes. Will we need anything larger than a handgun?"

"Hey, I may be from Nevada, but that doesn't mean I've got a small arms supply from the NRA in my truck," Mira jokingly replies. "I do have a rifle, I'll bring it along , but I don't know how much use it will be. But once we cross the state line no one would be surprised if we had a hunting rifle in the Bronco. The handguns should probably stay out of sight."

"Fine with me. What about the non-lethal stuff - chemical sprays and the like?. I'm not to thrilled about having to shoot some government employee who just happens to look up from his issue of Playboy at the wrong moment, but I really don't feel like looking over my shoulders for these guys for the rest of my life either We'll need something in case we walk up on them or vice versa."

"My goal is not to be seen," Mira emphasizes. "If we do get seen, I think it's all going to go to hell from there. I'm not particularly well loved by the military and I'd like to avoid any confrontation with them. If you've got some non-lethal alternatives I'm all for them. But to be honest, I'd prefer not to be noticed by them at all. In the end it would probably be a lot healthier for us if they don't know we’re there. If they spot us, they won't hesitate in using force to detain us. Perhaps deadly force, if they feel this facility's security warrants it."

"Works for me, I'd rather avoid a fight if I can. If it helps any, I'm not so sure they'll come after us in the middle of a rest stop with automatic weapons blazing," Martin offers, "even one as out-of-the-way as this. If I were them, I'd just follow us to a more deserted stretch of the Interstate and do the shooting there. Dump us in the desert afterwards, and we'd just be highway carjacking fatalities if anyone ever found the bodies." He shrugs, "On the other hand, no one ever said they'd be smart about it."

"Don't underestimate them," Mira says, toying with her pencil. "They don't care who they hurt to protect their secrets and projects. Besides, if they catch us, I imagine it will be while we are still inside their facility."

"Then we'll just have to be careful, odds are they won't have a horrendous security set-up covering the exterior considering the nature of their cover. They probably count on secrecy as their first line of defense, and things like cameras and motion sensors on the entrances, wherever they are, as a secondary line."

"Well, we'll get a better idea when we get there," shrugs Mira.

"You're right, no sense in overplanning - it won't survive contact with reality no matter how much we work on it anyway. Anything else?" he questions, underlining his last entry.

"Yes, I think we need to outline what we'll be checking on before getting out in the field. This has the potential to be a dangerous assignment. We should have as much information on this as possible."

"I can check into money movements and land purchases in the area, " he offers. "Someone has to own that property, and it probably isn't the state."

"I'll do some digging and see if I can get any other ancillary information on Project Redwing and this mysterious box. I'll also check those military records and the BLM/mining records for any unusual activity. It would also be good if we could get a records on that geothermal plant."

"I think I can manage that as well." He pauses for a moment, then continues. "What kind of cover were you thinking of using?"

"I'm thinking that a cover story of geology students from UNR might be a good idea." Mira pulls out her Rolodex. "I suggest that we dig up some names of real students from UNR, just in case anyone checks. I'll see what I can do on that front. I've got a few friends who still live around the campus."

"Fair enough." He pauses, and then snaps his fingers, "Almost forgot - how much money are you bringing?"

"A couple of hundred a piece should be good, but, bring the charge card," she suggests.

"Bad idea," he advises, shaking his head. "Most people don't realize how easy money is to trace, particularly when you use a credit card. Three keystrokes and they've got a geographic and temporal record of your purchases. Go on and withdraw the cash and let me have it - I have a friend who owns a club in here in town and I can swap the bills out there for some that have been in circulation for a while."

"For that matter, why not use a stolen card? One that hasn't made the hot list yet? People out in that area will remember someone who flashes around a lot of money. If we do go with cash, make sure it's in $10s and $20s. Only Salt Wells or the Lazy B is going to think nothing of breaking a $100 and I don't think we'll be visiting those establishments."

"Even worse. People are looking for stolen cards to show up as being used, twenty-four and seven - being busted by the fraud division while carrying the box isn't going to help anyone. They'll just reclaim it while we're in jail and it'll vanish so deep no one will ever find it... Right about the time we both have 'accidents' or 'fights in the shower' with three or four professionals."

Mira says, "I came from a small town and I can tell you, gossip and news of any type travels faster than an NHP trooper in a Highway 95 speed trap. We'll be noticed going through the area. The thing is to be noticed as students and not someone poking around. We should stop by in Beowave and ask about the geysers while surreptitiously trying to pick up any info we can."

"Fair enough, you know the country, you call the shots." A flicker of something crosses his face for the briefest of instants before he speaks again, "Friends or lovers?"

Mira turns bright red at Martin's comment. "Wha..." she stammers. "This is completely business. I didn't mean to insinuate anything other than... Oh," she thumps her head. "You mean are we posing as friends or lovers!" She laughs. "Sorry, I was -er - confused. I think it would be easier to maintain a cover just as friends."

Martin nods, studying his tea for a moment to give Mira the time to recover gracefully, "Just be prepared for them to think otherwise," he warns slowly. "Even in the big city most people would assume otherwise. In small-town rural areas, it'll probably happen too - and I don't know how cosmopolitan they'll be about it."

"Oh, Martin," Mira laughs. "They're just nosey, not conservative. Don't forget, prostitution is legal out in this area of Nevada. They just want to know what everyone's doing. I don't doubt they'll be talking about us. I'd be worried if they weren't. I'm just hoping that they’ll be willing to talk about what's going on at those rest-stops or the geothermal plant."

"I suspect they will," he admits. "People love to talk - part of the human condition. Everyone loves knowing something about... " he stops in mid-sentence and sighs. "Radiation... We forgot about something to take care of that."

"Then there's all the stuff we'll need. I'll check with some people who might know about this rest stop. But we've got to figure out how we're going to move a 100-pound object," Mira puzzles.

"I'll carry it," Martin says simply.

Mira raises an eye at that. "Martin, it's all well and good to be a strong man. But if you get a herniated disk because you're lugging this thing, I won't be able to carry you and the box."

He chuckles, "I'm too old for that kind of game. I've got an Army cargo frame for packing loads on your back left over from a training course I took five or six years ago - I was planning to just lash the thing down and go with it."

Mira grunts. "If I have to carry you out of there, I'm putting in for hazard pay. Who knows, if it's an alien artifact, it might just float."

'I've never been that lucky," he sighs. "I've carried heavier loads before, with the hipbelt and the frame it shouldn't be too bad. Just don't expect me to be running the forty in record time."

"Why do you think the government wants this anyway?" Mira says, gesturing at the picture. "And I wonder why this client wants it back so bad. Most people would just give it up as lost, but she's paying a good amount to get it back."

"Does it matter?" Martin asks.

"Of course it matters!" a rather indignant Mira responds. "I'm sure David wouldn’t approve of us giving a potentially dangerous artifact back to someone who may be planning something bad with it. Besides which, it would be wrong to liberate the item in question if we were only going to do something worse with it - even if it was an unintentional mistake. I'd like to know more about what this thing were trying to steal does. Information is power and we might need it later. Besides, someone needs to find out the truth of what may be happening out there."

"The truth?" Martin asks a touch bitterly. "The truth is, no one pays a million dollars to steal anything from the government for any reason - not unless there's either money or power involved in it, and enough of it to make the risks worthwhile. Even using cutouts like us won't help if Uncle Sam figures out someone's lifted an alien death-ray from some storage depot, legal or not." His mouth twists as if a bad taste had suddenly invaded it. "The truth is pain - pain you have to carry around with you every second, because if you ever forget about it, ever let it go, then it's lost - and everything you went through to learn it was for nothing." Stopping suddenly, he looks down at his tea and grimaces, "Sorry - you didn't ask for that."

Mira shakes her head. "You're wrong, Martin. I would pay a million dollars or even more, if I could get some certain information away from the government. Some things are worth the money," she says, a look of sadness crossing her face. "Not everyone does things just for money. There are other motivations like truth and justice. Some people try to do things just because they are right."

"Don't bet your life on it," he sighs. "I tried the 'truth, justice, and the American way' thing - and they just chewed me up and spat me back out again to laugh at..."

"I don't know what caused you to think that all the world is in for is profit or power, but that's not always true. And maybe, in this case, the person who wants this artifact back is trying to do what is right with it."

"Like I said," he replies flatly, "Don't bet your life - or anyone you care about's - on it. I'm not. Not again."

Mira listens to Martin, but she doesn't understand. How could he give up on people, she thinks. Sure I wouldn't trust the government or the military on this. I'm positive they're up to no good here. But to not trust anyone.... I know David would never send us into a situation he didn't think we could handle. You've got to be able to trust your friends, she thinks to herself. Well, maybe Martin will loosen up a bit on this trip.

A moment passes, then another, before Martin looks up again, only the faintest shadow marking the blue of his eyes. "You didn't ask for that either," he apologizes slowly. "I didn't mean to unload on you - sorry again."

"Don’t worry about it," Mira says. "We’ve got a ton of things to do to get ready – Give me a call in the morning, and I’ll pick you up."