Free Target Utopia by Dale Brown

to keep contributing to Dreamland and the Air Force and above all his country—those things had made him into a man to be admired, a real leader.
    He would make an excellent President.
    But should she urge him to run? He’d have to give up a lot, from the trivial—his skybox at the Nationals—to things that had no price, like time with their daughter.
    Breanna curled her feet under her, then tucked the robe around her. It was thick and warm, and reminded her of him.
    She hadn’t taken it by mistake.
    She felt an urge to tell him about the plane—he’d know right off if the maneuvers were thesame as those programmed into the Flighthawks. He also might have a theory on why that was. Just a coincidence? Or much more?
    But she couldn’t.
    If he ever did run for President, how many things would they never be able to share?
    â€œNeed a refill?” Zen asked.
    â€œNo, it’s full.”
    Zen balanced the cup between his legs and wheeled himself back to the table. All these years, and he still insisted on an unpowered chair. There was more than a little macho masochism in him.
    â€œWhatever you do, whenever you do it,” said Breanna, “Teri and I are with you.”
    Zen smiled. That was one thing that hadn’t changed, ever, and the way his eyes shone, it was clear it never would.
    â€œThanks, babe,” he told her. “You think we can go back to bed?”
    â€œYou think we can sleep after all this coffee?”
    â€œWho said anything about sleep?”
    â€œHold that thought,” said Breanna, rising. “I have to make a phone call.”
    D ESPITE THE HOUR , Ray Rubeo answered on the first ring.
    â€œRay, it’s Breanna. I—I’m sorry to wake you.”
    â€œYou didn’t. I’m working.”
    â€œOh. OK. Listen I just talked to Danny. He said that Turk Mako has a theory—”
    â€œLet me guess. He sees parallels between the UAVs and some of our aircraft.”
    â€œWell, yes,” said Breanna, surprised. “Did you talk to him?”
    â€œNo. But I’ve noticed the parallels myself. I understand the implications,” he added. “I’m taking it very seriously.”
    â€œI’m sure you are,” said Breanna. Rubeo took everything seriously.
    â€œIs there anything else? I am in the middle of constructing a model.”
    â€œNo, that’s it. I’ll talk to you in the morning at the Cube.”
    â€œVery well,” he said, hanging up.

11
    Malaysia
    T URK ROLLED OVER on the thin mattress in the trailer room. Though exhausted, he found it impossible to sleep. After he’d returned from the mission—the Malaysians were bivouacked in tents near the trailers—he’d gone over the mission several times, first for Danny, then the Marines, then Danny again. By the time they were done, his brain was practically buzzing with the encounter; he saw it from all angles, even the enemy UAVs, though of course this was impossible. His mind wouldn’t let go.
    While he could get sleeping pills from thecorpsman assigned to the Marines, Turk didn’t like to use them, or even the more conventional aids available in the form of bourbon, scotch, and beer. He stared at the ceiling, but his thoughts just wouldn’t stop, and finally he got up, pulled on his boots—he slept in his clothes—and went out to see if a walk might help.
    He heard someone throwing up in the bathroom. The door was open and he saw Lieutenant Rogers kneeling in front of the bowl.
    â€œYou OK in there?” he asked.
    â€œDamn food killed me,” said Rogers between heaves. “I feel like my stomach is being turned inside out.”
    â€œI’ll get the corpsman,” said Turk.
    Rogers groaned, then went back to throwing up.
    Turk headed toward the administrative trailer to look for the duty officer and find out who and where the medic was.
    He was about halfway there when he heard a whistle