Dawn of Tears - 20. Into Utah

Note to Readers: On the day that I bought a loaf of bread in Tuscon, twelve thousand eight hundred and six elderly people were found dead in their homes, nursing homes, and retirement center. It was the first day of the elderly and infirm search that was organized nation-wide as Guard units stood down from civil patrols. The headlines of newspapers the next day had me on the front page, with that damn loaf of bread, and articles further down the page on the results of the first search for the elderly and infirm. It was a sobering picture, and one that I felt deserved more mention than me and a stupid loaf of bread.

What was never mentioned though, is that the high number of deaths among the elderly and disabled were actually a good thing for the country in the long run. It's inhumane to acknowledge that, but from a simple look at the numbers it is immediately obvious that non-productive parts of society are harder to support in tough times. The government never intentionally sought those deaths, but neither did we complain, and other than missing grandma and grandpa at the holidays, neither did the people. This was one of the changes to come out of the Crisis, and it was a subtle one that many people missed.

Dad didn't, and neither did Henry and I

"US Air Force Flight, sorry about that confusion." A terse voice sounded over the headset I was donning by the electronics warfare console in the cockpit. The back-up pilot was at the console, working hard on recording the radar waves hitting the plane, moving the jamming systems into full standby mode, and watching the threat receivers for another missile lock-on like the one that had just hit us for a brief second.

"Don't activate unless we see smoke." Colonel Hayworth ordered aloud before switching to the radio. "Utah National Guard, this is Air Force Liberty flight. You are warned that any more similar 'accidents' will result in us returning to friendly space and, in accordance with the orders of the President of the United States shall be considered an act of civil war, warranting any response up to, and including the nuclear bombing of every inch of this state. This warning shall not be repeated. Do you understand?"

"Free State of LDS Guard Flight acknowledges receipt." The same voice said tersely, and I think I noted a hint of incredulity in it.

"They accelerated to Mach 2 and intercepted us moments after we got them on radar. I don't think they expected to detect a radar system capable of detecting them at that range so they panicked a bit. They lit us up briefly, trying to scare us into using any jamming equipment we might have, testing our defenses. We didn't react to the provocation." Colonel Hayworth said quickly to me as I sat in the spare chair at the EW station, belting myself in immediately. Major Unger sat in the single jump seat as the Colonel activated the plane's speakers and told the crew and passengers to buckle up and secure loose objects in case of evasive maneuvers.

"Colonel, if they fire…" Major Unger started to ask, but Colonel Hayworth responded before he finished the question.

"We're looking at four F-15 Interceptors there." Hayworth said. "They're carrying no fuel tanks, not even conformal tanks. They have two AMRAAM and four sidewinders each, plus cannons. They're faster than we are, but we've got more range. Their ground control ordered us to slow by over a hundred knots so I'm thinking they're low on fuel and just gave them enough to escort us in. Their high speed run when they found out we'd already detected them means they burned up more fuel. If we'd turned on our jamming equipment they might have had a chance to adapt to it before we used it for real. That didn't happen, and we've got enough chaff and flares we can stream from here to the border. We've already called and there's going to be some of our F-15's right on the border until we call them off. If we survive the first salvo, we can go almost the speed of sound, just short of it. They can go faster, but if they have as little fuel as I'm thinking, they'll either have to turn back after a few minutes or ditch their planes."

"What was that message you gave them?" Major Unger asked.

"The President told me personally that if they shot at this plane, he'd nuke the entire state and he wanted them to know that." Colonel Haywood said with a grim smile as he turned around briefly. Dollinger had the stick at the moment. "I made it sound a little nicer than that."

"Dad sure is free with those nukes." I murmured, more to myself than anyone in the cockpit, but I heard several people chuckling. I spoke louder next though. "So why am I up here?"

"Salt Lake Control demanded that you be ready to respond to a transmission from their government." Colonel Haywood responded.

"Shouldn't they speak to Major Unger or Secretary Holt?" I asked. I hadn't seen the man since we left Alabama, but he was technically the lead negotiator.

"They said they'd talk to you and you only." Colonel Haywood spoke as a new male voice sounded in our ears.

"United States Air Force plane, this is John Brigham Control." The male voice said.

"US Liberty Flight Lead, we copy." Colonel Haywood replied.

"Have you gotten Mr. Jacobs yet?" The radio voice asked.

"Roger, Salt Lake control. He's here and connected to our radio." Colonel Hayworth said, refusing to acknowledge the new designation of the airport."

"Mr. Jacobs, please stand by for Deacon Roberts." The voice said, and there was silence for a few moments.

"Hello, Mr. Jacobs, are you there?" A new voice said in a way that told me he was not use to radios.

"This is Dylan Jacobs." I said coolly. "I assume this is Deacon Roberts?"

"Yes, I have the honor of serving the President as his Deacon of Foreign Relations." Roberts said in a voice that reminded me of a father lecturing his child. "I have been told there are three planes flying in our space. We only expected one."

"My plane and my support crew planes are flying in accordance with the plans we filed with your people last week." I said. "I reviewed those documents myself before they were transmitted, and read the confirmation that was received. The United States is proceeding in good faith, Deacon."

"Your pilot has threatened us with nuclear weapons!" Roberts's voice was angry now.

"Your pilots engaged their fire control radar on this aircraft." I retorted. "In situations such as these, such an action could lead to conflict that would see many die needlessly. It was either incompetence, or recklessness that led to that action, sir, and I do doubt seriously that any American pilot would be so incompetent."

"Our pilots are among the best in the world." Roberts retorted, and I wondered if he was just angry or stupid.

"Then the reckless action of your pilots endangered the lives of everyone on this flight and the entire purpose of this mission, the peaceful resolution of outstanding issues." I said. "This is not the time for games, sir, or posturing to show how strong either of us can be. It is the time for calm, rational thinking, and careful consideration of the words we each will bring to the table."

"In light of recent events, the President is reconsidering the wisdom of these talks." Roberts said in a snide voice.

I was at a loss for words, but at that moment Paul Holt walked into the cockpit. He looked like he'd been sleeping and had just woken up, with his neat hair actually sticking up slightly. I gave him a brief rundown, and he gave me a response that I needed.

"Consideration of any action is always a good thing." I said slowly but clearly. "Please make sure he is aware that this is the only opportunity he has to talk while things remain as they are. Any further delays to these talks will only result in an absence of dialogue when dialogue can resolve outstanding issues."

"I will relay your message." Roberts said. "Please continue on your flight now."

We waited nervously for another fifteen minutes before Roberts came back on the radio. When he did come back, it wasn't exactly with good news. Holt was certain that they were pushing us, trying to see what they could get away with. The one time that I tried to turn things over to Holt, their response was extremely negative. Major Unger moved back to the Operations cabin where the speakers made sure they heard everything we said and Holt took his seat in the cockpit as some serious negotiations began even before we landed.

"We do not understand why you feel the need to bring so many armed troops, and why you seek to bring tanks as well." Roberts was saying. "Are you an invasion force or negotiators?"

"Utah has been visited by many government officials in the past, and although the security forces are dressed in fatigues instead of black suits, this is nothing different than you have seen before." I replied with Holt's advice.

"We cannot provide enough space for so many people." Roberts switched tactics now. "Nor do we wish to upset our people with armed convoys moving through our city while you are here."

"I would ask if a few armed vehicles now are more upsetting than the alternative." I said in a sweet voice.

"Perhaps it would be best if our talks took place at the airport itself." Roberts offered, and Holt gave me a non-committal shrug. I switched to the intercom and asked Major Unger and Paul their thoughts. They both said they'd prefer not having to drive constantly and risk ambushes along the way.

"I do believe we would not be averse to holding the talks at the airport." I said.

"Excellent, than you will not need the vehicles in your extra planes." Roberts said very quickly and I realized we'd been had on that.

"We need those back-up teams." Paul said firmly when I switched back to intercom.

"This makes me far too nervous." Major Unger said.

By this time we were now circling Salt Lake City and the sun was setting. A quick conversation with Alabama indicated that dad was pretty much leaving it up to me to land without the support security staff. It was a big risk, but I really, really wanted this to work. I knew plans were already being drawn up to lead an assault on Salt Lake City in late September if this didn't work, and with so much riding on public confidence in our ability to get things done, losing this now could be a blow to people's confidence in us, and the effects could be disastrous, not only for the present, but dad's plans for the future. I hadn't decided to support them, but neither had I decided to disrupt them.

"Tell the support planes to head back, Colonel." I told the pilot after thinking things through another five minutes. I doubted they'd try anything before our first meeting with Deacon Roberts. Whatever tricks they might try, it would be after we met, after I had shaken hands with the man, and after I'd used my abilities. I knew just how much strength to use that wouldn't be immediately noticeable by him or others watching him and would last for several minutes before I gave him a command.

"Are you sure?" Colonel Hayworth asked in a very calm voice. "Dylan, I know that when you're young, you sometimes feel like you can't be hurt, that you'll always win. You've been very lucky in the past. You're a smart young man, think things through, don't be rash in this. There are other options; maybe they'll change their minds in a month or two."

"Diplomacy is never an all or nothing art." Holt told me from his seat. "There's plenty of time for talk in this."

"The United States cannot afford setbacks right now." I said in as firm a voice as I could.

"One failed diplomatic mission isn't going to ruin anything." Holt replied. "I remember the missions on Northern Ireland, to Israel, most of them failed. The world didn't end because they failed."

"This isn't Northern Ireland, nor is Israel." I told him. "Neither is the United States the same, confident country it was back then either. No matter how much we might not like to admit it, we are fragile. Things are hanging on a thread for us, and any setback can damage the fragile balance we're holding. You know that right now our administration is being viewed as extremely successful, and that's generated a lot of public confidence. For better or worse, Henry and I are being shown as Dad's golden boys, miracle workers. We've batted a thousand so far. You heard that newscast last week? There were about five or six people who made statements that were all variations on how the Jacobs family were working miracles and that as long as that we were succeeding, they knew the country was improving."

"That's just public opinion, it doesn't count when you're negotiating with people who aren't your own." Hold said immediately.

"These are Americans." I shot back. "When the South said they wanted out, we said no and more Americans died in that war than ever, until last Thanksgiving. Idaho, Colorado, and Wisconsin are all back in the US without a major war being fought. Utah's last, and we started this mission. If we turn back now, it shows we're afraid of them, it weakens the confidence of America in their government, and it weakens our nation as a whole. Colonel, order those planes back to a base now."

"Yes, Mr. Jacobs." Colonel Hayworth said immediately while Holt stared at me with an unreadable expression.

"Mr. Holt, don't get pissed at me because I decided to move forward, or because they're refusing to talk to you." I said to the career diplomat.

"I'm not." He replied immediately. "You're right. I was thinking the old way, not really being honest with myself of what the impact could have on the public morale. I was also wondering how you took a back seat during the Japanese negotiation."

"I was there learning." I answered him. "They didn't really want to talk to me, the situation there and the one here are totally different. They aren't really interested in talking to us here. They probably assumed we'd back off at a security threat to me, but I don't think they're really dumb to try anything. They know the response would be devastating for them. If they get me to leave with my tail tucked between my legs, they show they are superior to us and maybe weaken the resolve to bring them back under the federal government. They have Mormons that have been coming back to their state by the thousands over the last few months, but they also have many more that are staying put for reasons I'm sure you'll figure out on your own."

"They don't have nukes though." Colonel Hayworth stated, more question in his tone, though.

"No, the only nukes in the state were rendered…unusable." I admitted. "Given time they can fix them, or build new detonation systems. That's why we're on a timetable to get them back peaceably or by force by the end of the year.

"My briefing didn't mention anything about that." Holt said softly.

"Dad told me last night." I told him. "He was advised against it, but he thought I should know, that knowing might help me make better decisions, and Mr. Holt, you need to know as well because I'll be leaning on you a lot through this."

"You're definitely right to take the risk." Holt stated.

"I need to change into a civilian suit." I said, rising from my seat.

"Uh, Dylan, you need to tell them we're agreeing to their conditions." Holt reminded me.

"You tell them." I told him with a smile. "I have a feeling we won't be meeting their 'President', but this Deacon Roberts and he'll seek to stall us. It's me they want to talk to, it's me that they want to embarrass. They've changed the rules, and I'm going to change them again. They won't speak to me again until we meet their 'President'. Tell them we'll require ground power connections and a ladder. We won't park at a terminal. I want us to be able to see anything they throw at us. Colonel, as long as we're on the ground, two pilots are on duty in the cockpit. I don't care how boring it is, but if we need to get out of here in a hurry, I want a full crew up here."

"Good idea." Colonel Haywood said with a smile.

"Paul, you demand a comfortable setting for the first meeting within walking distance of where they park us, but tell them we're too tired to meet tonight." I continued. "If they want the first meeting to be Deacon Roberts, it's you he gets. Their 'President' shows up, I show up. If they say it is deal breaker, then we'll take off. That we can spin in our favor, much better than leaving now. Also, tell them any armor gets deployed within sight, we'll deploy troops with anti-tank weaponry to defend ourselves in case any more of their people get reckless."

"You were paying attention on the Japanese trip." Holt said with a smile, and I returned it. "Go get changed and relax."

I was in the middle of changing in my cabin when Paul (Connors, not Holt), came storming inside, his face nearly red with anger. I was very glad for the next ten minutes that the cabin was more heavily soundproofed than the cabin next door, and that there was a small office between us and the conference room because we both said some pretty heated things. It just wasn't the protectiveness of his bond to me talking either, it was the 'big brother' and security detail commander that was also angry at me and our growing familiarity over the last few weeks had resulted in a full blown argument now.

It felt great to get rid of some of my edginess, and the fact that those bonded to me still mostly thought for themselves, and felt their own emotions, and argued with me made me happy as well. I could have stopped the argument any time by saying 'Paul, I order you to stop.' I didn't though, because I wanted people who thought for themselves, not blind followers or automatons.

Blind followers would have doomed me to an ending like Adolph Hitler, Jim Jones, or someone like that. I wanted to die an old man in my own bed, from natural causes. Not that I really thought I'd ever die, of course. I was far too young.

I finished dressing as the plane touched down at the airport. Paul immediately shut all the window shades and told me not to open them until we were again in the air. Dressed in a blue suit a few minutes later, I entered the conference room to find Holt seated along with all the officers onboard, including Colonel Haywood (but not the co-pilot or back-up pilot). Losier, a Special Forces Corporal from my detail had been in the security office when I passed through and shut the door behind me.

"Have a seat Mr. Jacobs." Major Unger ordered in a stony voice. I sat down and looked at each of their faces carefully, seeing set, determined looks in all of them, including Paul Connors.

"Mr. Holt, has there been any response from our friends yet?" I asked the diplomat who looked at Major Unger quickly.

"We have some other issues to discuss, first." Major Unger said firmly. "An Army Warrant Officer does not issue orders to an Air Force Colonel."

"I apologize for issuing you an order while I was still in uniform, Colonel." I said and the man nodded with a small smile. "Major Unger, I am in civilian attire for a reason. This is a diplomatic mission, and this plane and its crew are here to meet my needs. Mr. Holt is the Chief Negotiator assigned by the State Department, but I am here at the direction of the President of the United States. You are assigned as my Chief of Staff. Normally a Chief of Staff works for senior officer, or senior official, but these aren't normal times. When I am in uniform, you are extremely right that my military rank prevents me from giving orders to superior officers, but I am no longer acting in a military capacity. I had a similar problem before Idaho, you were there. I do not think we need to go over those issues again."

"If you put on a uniform while we're still here, my first order will be for this plane to take off and get us out of here." Major Unger said, looking at me with a set determination.

"Then it's a good thing I changed." I said with a smile and he nodded.

"You're learning Dylan." He said in almost a fond voice. "It's only been a few months, but you're learning so fast that it's almost scary."

"Try being on this end, Major." I said. He laughed at that, and it broke the tension in the room. I took a deep breath, and launched into an immediate explanation about my thoughts on the situation, what I felt was happening, what their goals might be, and how I saw our situation to be. Midway through, Losier appeared and motioned for Paul to join him. When he came back, he informed us we'd been surrounded by a several squads of soldiers, but no armor, no heavy machine guns, and no rockets or shoulder-fired missiles. There were however, snipers on the nearby rooftops.

"It's a standard deployment." Paul stated as he concluded. "None of it is much different than what we'd do if they came to Alabama."

"That's good news at least." Major Unger said with a grunt.

"So, I've told you what I'm thinking." I said. "Now, tell me what you're thinking."

Mary Collins served dinner to us while we debated, thought out loud, and poked holes in each other's arguments. Dinner was barely over when Holt was called to the communications shack for an incoming message and returned to tell us that Deacon Roberts would be meeting him tomorrow morning, early in the morning in the nearby terminal. That set off more discussion as we discussed exactly what could be said, agreed to, and so forth during the meeting in the morning. By 2100 hours that night, I was exhausted. We were running on local time, but my body still worked on Alabama time which was two hours ahead. I actually groaned when Martha told me that since I wasn't going to the morning meeting she would inform the professors that I was available for a two hour morning class and possibly an afternoon class as well.

The meeting broke up soon after that, but I had a few words with Paul before he left, telling him to make sure that Killmer was one of the four guards that would be escorting Paul. I wanted them to see them, and to think they had someone on the inside of our team. Depending on how long we were here, there might be an opportunity to use him to our advantage. Paul agreed immediately since he'd stayed behind to suggest the exact same thing.

Despite being tired, I had a hard time sleeping after I'd changed for bed. The new tattoo was itching and it hurt a little every time I tried to lie flat on my back. Jimmy came in through the bathroom about an hour after I lay down, and immediately knew I was having trouble sleeping. He'd gone into the security office where Davies was on duty and a few minutes later I felt a surge of excitement in my head that had come from the little knot that was Michael Rogers.

Seconds later the door opened and the cute little Navy Seal came strutting into my room where I was sitting on the edge of my bed. Jimmy hadn't come back in after he left, and I'd been curious what he was up to, but Michael pretty much answered that question. He had a small jar of salve in his hands and told me to lie down on my stomach. While I did that, he stripped out of his uniform, leaving only a t-shirt, his boxers, and a pair of socks. I groaned when he straddled me, pulling down the back of my pajama bottoms and underwear before rubbing the salve onto my tattoo. I groaned aloud again when he began to rub my back, kneading the tight muscles there.

"Relax, Dylan" He whispered into my ear a few moments later.

"I'm not horny, Michael." I said softly, groaning as he hit a tight spot right below my shoulder blade.

"This isn't about sex, silly boy." He responded lightly, slapping my side gently. I giggled at his tone. "This is about relaxing. You're too tense, too serious. Just relax and enjoy this."

I did, and I had no idea whether I'd drifted off to sleep after minutes or after an hour or two. What I did know is that I slept peacefully, and was totally relaxed. It seemed that Michael was not only deadly with those hands, but quite skilled as well.

I woke up feeling great though. I lay there in my bed, stretching for a few, and enjoyed the feeling of relaxation that I was feeling. I'd never really had a massage before and I was definitely finding that I liked the results. I must not have woken up late though, because there was no one rushing me around or trying to wake me up. I saw why though when I reached up and turned on the lights using the dimmer switch above my bed.

It was 0300 hours.

Since I'd been waking up at 0500 hours every morning in Alabama, I realized that my body had thought it was time to wake up. I didn't feel like going back to sleep, so I got up, took a very quick shower (even though this plane carried more water, I had no idea how long we'd be here), and got dressed in my PT gear.

"You're up early." Thoreau, the lean nineteen year old Special Forces soldier from my detail said softly as I opened my door into the security office.

"It's 0500 back home." I said by way of explanation and he just nodded.

"Everything's been quiet all night." He said. "They're not even trying to be subtle about their positioning, no moving around, just people on a boring watch detail. They change entire shifts every eight hours, but they're keeping two full squads on duty at all times. It looks like they've set up a command center in the building itself. The ground connection's been running fine as well. No power surges or anything else to try to damage the plane's electronics."

"Well if they do try, the circuit breakers will stop any problems." I said, looking at the screens of the perimeter that he was spending most of his time on. The cameras were of really good quality, and so small they weren't obvious if you didn't know they were. The Utah soldiers were far enough back that they couldn't storm the plane without giving us time to respond, but not so far that we couldn't pick out individual faces, something Thoreau was doing right now.

"They're all tense, on edge." He stated after sweeping through another set of faces. "I don't think they're fully trained. The way they're working, it's stilted, like what you might get from troops halfway through boot camp. Their sergeants are good though."

"Make sure you note that in the log." I said. "We can see if the day troops are better."

"The ones earlier were." Thoreau noted. All the men on this station were looking at our potential opponents, studying them, analyzing everything they could. They were even taking still pictures of the faces they could get so they could compare then and see if it was the same groups on duty at the same times, or if they were being rotated. They'd been drilled, not only by their military Special Forces training far beyond what soldiers normally learned, but by the Secret Service for the past few weeks. The Secret Service was paranoid when it came to protecting their charges and had passed their habitual studying of everything they could about threats to security on to the security detail.

"I'm going down the weight room." I said and he nodded politely.

"Horning is already up and heading down there as well." He said with a slight grin. The tall, blond, well-built soldier from my detail barely fit into the office here with all the muscle mass he carried and had been helping me workout for weeks. I'd already started to see an improvement, and enjoyed the session. Horning, who'd had a crush on me even before he was bonded enjoyed them as well since it was one-on-one time with me.

With the ties that bonding created between me and each of these twenty-four men and women it was important that they each get some time with me on a regular basis. It made them happier, more comfortable, but with so many of them it was impossible on a regular basis. Paul had set up rotations that allowed for many ways to have that happen, but Horning as my workout partner with weights got more than most of them, and that always made him very happy.

The gym area was much smaller when you were actually using it rather than just looking at it. The plane was taller than most other models, and the cargo bays were higher as well, but Horning still wasn't able to stand up totally straight down here, which was why it was a good thing most weights were used sitting down or lying flat on your back. Horning was working on the exercise bike already, warming up and a slight sheen of sweat was just forming on him when I entered the room.

"Still on Alabama time, eh?" He asked with a smile as I entered. I smiled back and nodded in answer, taking the bike next to him. We chatted as I warmed up on the bike about the workout we'd do this morning, and since it was so early he asked if I wanted to go longer than the normal sixty minutes. I agreed, and nearly an hour and a half later was glad I had. It felt good to sweat, although I'd waste more water by showering again. I made a mental note to wait until after my morning workout to shower. I knew that the Guard cabin would smell like a locker room in a couple of days, despite the constant 'towel' baths most of them would use to clean up with.

When I went back upstairs I noticed that both Darby and Knight were now up as were Roerich and Hegel. I managed to stop and talk with all four of them for a short while. Everyone seemed relaxed, but alert as they began getting things ready for the day in the Operations cabin. I'd learned that there was always something to be done, even this early in the morning. For instance, sometime during the night, our daily updates had come in and been copied by whoever was on duty in the Communications shack. Darby and Knight were already sorting them out, placing them in folders marked "Top Secret" or "Secret" or other indicators. They'd be distributed to the appropriate staff people, including me, after breakfast. Hegel was working on reports from the aircrew of supplies used yesterday, while Roerich was typing something into the laptop computer he'd been assigned.

Training made the military an effective combat machine, but it was the paperwork that kept a military operation running smoothly. I'd once that being something like a yeoman or a clerk was a relatively safe, boring, and somewhat unimportant job, especially when it came to the work like that done by the men on the security detail. However without the work these four men did, there wouldn't be food for the soldiers to eat, bullets for their guns, and the officers wouldn't know what was going on around them so they could make decisions they needed to make.

I left after a few minutes, moving forward to the Guard cabin and was struck once again by the odd contradictions that these men could show. Almost all were combat veterans, and had experienced training that most people would not withstand. While they were moving about, waking up and getting ready for the day, they were both serious and almost playful at the same time. The fact that they were all bonded to me had changed them a little, tied them closer to each other in subtle ways that just weren't present in military units normally.

By now, after weeks of getting use to each other, they moved and interacted with each other like they had known one another for all their lives, like they'd been a family forever. Even Scott Kevins, who had many scars from knife fights and was the most hot-tempered of the group, got along with the overly-religious Killmer, although they did fight a lot. For some reason, they shared the twinned tubular seats that also formed into beds. I could hear Kevins quietly teasing Killmer about his morning prayer routine, and Killmer just as quietly teasing Kevins by inviting the other man to join him in his morning prayer.

Everyone was pretty much betting that the two were going to fall big time for each other.

That was another thing about the bond I was learning, and struggling to understand. My first dad had been pretty open about sexual matters, talking to me in depth, even at a young age about such things. However, it was a topic that wasn't discussed openly in the Jacobs family besides dad's warning about 'if you do it, don't ever get caught'. It was also not something I learned much about from my professors, and there weren't many people besides Henry I could talk to about the sexual dynamics that were forming amidst my circle.

Before I had bonded them, almost every member of my circle had been what most people would call 'straight'. They'd had no interest in members of the same sex. The bonding had changed that in them, altering them in many ways. Henry, who was straight, had postulated that it was something to do with my own sexuality that altered my people when I bonded them.

The members of my circle were no longer interested in sexual activity with people who weren't bonded to me. They could feel a connection to each other when they touched, a connection that was an echo of their bond to me. While every member of the group remained attracted to me sexually, they also felt attractions to each other, even those who'd always identified themselves as being strictly heterosexual. I knew that most maintained casual liaisons with each other (Knight and Darby were frequent partners, but then the overly sexual Darby was frequently seen visiting others, including the air force women every chance he got). The women were popular, and it was a good thing I'd told everyone to make sure there were no pregnancies or that would have been a danger. Still, men who'd never have looked at another man no longer seemed to have inhibitions towards the other men within the circle. I was curious to see if, over the years they were together there'd be permanent relationships forming between them.

The concept was oddly comforting for me, as if the ability to form permanent relationships with each other somehow lessened how much the bonding had changed their lives for them and reduced the guilt I sometimes felt.

After speaking with them for a bit I headed back towards my cabin, enjoying the smell of freshly brewed coffee that filled the conference room. Mary Collins was up and she was just finishing the preparations for my breakfast. She smiled; telling me that by the time I was done the food would be ready. As the crew chief she took the job of seeing to my food and other needs throughout the day, rarely letting anyone else handle those tasks. She also told me they'd arranged for a local crew to come and empty the waste tanks, and that Major Unger was considering topping off the water tanks, but was concerned about poison or something else being used. The security detail would be paying close attention to the workers, as would a member of the aircrew to make sure nothing was being done to the plane that wasn't appropriate.

By the time I finished my second shower of the morning, the conference room was filled with all the officers and Mr. Holt. People were eating quietly, reading over the different briefing reports we'd each received, and it was only when everyone had finished eating that we discussed the meeting that would begin soon. Professor Tim Sheffield showed up when we were almost done, reminding me it was time for my lessons. He had a large bag full of books and a laptop that we often used during the lessons. I sighed, causing several people to laugh and the man followed me into my cabin.

All my lessons were pretty much taught in private. The door to the security office was always kept open by Paul's insistence for security, but other than that we were rarely disturbed. For the next two hours, worries about Utah, the negotiations starting while I was learning, and all the other issues faded to the background as we delved into two of my favorite topics: History and Sociology.

"I think you'll be ready for your first final in both subjects by next week." Tim Sheffield said. He was an older man, in his early fifties with silver hair, and was as lean as any of the officers on my staff. Most of our lessons were filled with a lively discussion as we explored the details of whatever topic we were studying and were among my favorite of all the subjects I studied.

"Exactly how will these tests work?" I asked him. I wasn't tested until the end of a course of study, so I hadn't faced them yet.

"We've been discussing that and we've decided that we need to be extra careful to make sure that no one can call into question that you're learning as well as you are." He answered seriously. "Frankly, you understand these topics in more detail and depth than most of our students. Most of your tests are going to be five to ten short essay and two long essay questions that you will write by hand. You'll take the test in our lounge, and it will be video recorded so that we can prove you had no help or any other assistance. The instructor giving your test will grade it, and then we'll send the test and video back to campus where another instructor will grade it as well. The combination of the two grades will be your final grade for the course."

"That's pretty complex." I stated in some surprise.

"Yes, but we don't see too many students like you, Dylan." He replied with a smile. "You absorb facts, theory, and information like a sponge and then you turn around and spit it back out with analysis and a good understanding of the topic. Most kids we see with your intelligence develop an arrogance, a belief in their infallibility that leaves them with big holes in their understanding of how things work and why. They think that because they can absorb facts and spit them back out that they're smarter than everyone else and that they're never wrong. You don't have that flaw, and your work will show that. Frankly, people back at the campus won't believe what we're telling them so we have to make sure that we can prove you don't share those weaknesses."

"My first dad read a lot of books on child prodigies when I first tested so high." I said softly, my eyes unfocused as I remembered my birth father. "I remember that after he'd read most of them he sat me down and we had a long talk. He told me that I could know every fact in the encyclopedia, but if I didn't know how that information applied to the real world, to real situations, it was as useful in my head as it was sitting on the shelf. He always pushed me to apply things I learned to the world around me. We use to have long debates at home about how things applied to the world. When I decided to stay in regular school he also told me how other kids would react to my intelligence, and how if I misused it, I'd make enemies instead of friends."

"It sounds like he played an important role and did a pretty good job of handling your intelligence." Professor Sheffield said with an approving nod. "I would have been honored to meet him."

"He would have been ecstatic that I was being taught by Harvard." I said with a chuckle, and he laughed as well. The phone rang then, and I picked it up immediately. The lesson time was already over, or no one would have run this phone except for actual combat starting. It was Paul telling me that Holt was on his way back and would be onboard in ten minutes. I hung up the phone and looked at it for a moment, thoughts spinning through my head.

"This is all going to end up in a history book, someday, isn't it?" I asked the Professor who smiled back at me. We'd been working of the Whiskey Rebellion that happened under Washington's Presidency that afternoon.

"That is an assumption that is well within the bounds of likely occurring." Professor Sheffield said with an amused voice. "I'd dare say that it will probably be in the first books published on modern history just like 9/11, the Iraq War, and the events of the last few months"

"I wonder if Washington realized that people would be looking at the decisions he made and would be analyzing them and how it affected what he actually did." I asked and got a very approving grin in return.

"That's something that has been asked leaders who have ever faced a major crisis." He answered my question directly, something I always liked about him. "Almost every single one of them said that the thought occurred to them at one time or another and actually scared most of them more than the crisis they faced. Most of them said they eventually decided to let history judge for itself their actions and just did the best job they knew how to do."

"I thought the answer might be something like that." I said. "Still, I have to admit that every time I think about it, I get scared as hell."

"There's never been someone as young as you so centrally involved in the problems of a modern nation." He told me softly. "Don't let that get to you though. You've got a great mind, and a good, solid understanding of how to apply what you know. Focus on that, and don't get overconfident that you know everything there is to know. Keep that in mind and you'll keep doing fine."

"Thanks Professor." I told him honestly. He left at that point and I sat at my desk for another few minutes before entering the conference room. Holt was just arriving on the plane and entered the conference room a few minutes later. All the officers except Paul were there. Paul would be debriefing the detail that had accompanied Holt while we talked with him. I was surprised to see that Holt looked very relaxed, and pleased as he entered the room.

"I take it things went well?" Major Unger asked.

"Things went very well, yes." Hold said with a very pleased grin as he unbuttoned the suit jacket he was wearing and sat down.

"It was just Deacon and Roberts me actually meeting." He said with that smile. "Usually at these things you have twenty people on each side and you spend forty minutes just saying hello. We got right down to business though. He laid out their approach to things, and while it's not what we wanted to hear, it is a good start to opening talks."

"What is their position?" I asked immediately.

"They're of the opinion that they are an independent state and have no real benefit to coming back under the federal government." Holt answered, his smile lessening slightly as he spoke. "They view this as an opportunity to normalize relations between them and their neighbors. He was quite firm in his forwarding this position, saying that he saw no other alternative. They no longer wish to live with the restrictions place on the expression and tenets of their faith, but they also see no reason for armed conflict or why they can't have good relations between the two nations."

"Mr. Holt, there are not two nations to have relations with." I reminded him sharply.

"Of course, I was just relating his viewpoint." Hold said immediately. "However, they are at least talking, and talking directly without threats or other problems. We should engage them in dialogue."

"So what comes next?" I asked.

"They have suggested a dinner tonight." Holt answered and I was surprised. "He suggested they could hold it in the airport and invited all of our staff, including you, Dylan."

"Is their 'President' going to be there?" I asked.

"No, he isn't." Holt answered. "Don't get offended just yet. No one sees their leader unless they are a member of their faith. That's the way they work now. Deacon Roberts is his right-hand man and more than fully authorized to act as his voice in these matters. Continuing to refuse to meet with them at this point will only hamper the effectiveness of this negotiation.

"I don't like all of us going into this terminal for a dinner." Major Unger said firmly. "It puts all of our eggs in one basket."

"Neither do I." I agreed immediately.

"He did hint that if we wanted to hold the dinner here, they wouldn't object." Holt said in an almost smug tone. He had reason to be smug since I wouldn't have expected that.

"How many of them would be coming?" Major Unger asked suspiciously.

"It would be Deacon Roberts and two other Deacons." Holt answered immediately. "They'd bring a few soldiers of course. If we insist on having some in the room, which I don't doubt Lt. Connors will insist on, they'll probably ask to have an equal number in the room. The rest can probably stand somewhere else. Deacon Roberts made mention that he heard we had some kids aboard and said he'd be delighted to bring a few of relations as well to meet them. I believe he means it as a peaceful gesture, a show of good faith that they mean no harm."

"How many kids are they talking about?" Lt. Ellington asked in a concerned voice.

"I think he mentioned three." Holt said. "That'd be equal with the three besides Mr. Jacobs that are here and I don't think he sees you as a kid, Dylan."

"I think that we'd just want Jimmy present." Major Unger said firmly. "He's the most mature of the boys."

"So you think we should do this?" I asked him quietly.

"I think that it will be better to do it here." Major Unger said. "Colonel Haywood, myself, Lt. Ellington, Dylan, and Jimmy would make twelve here, which the table seats. I'd think Mr. Connors would want two guards, and two of theirs won't make this too crowded with the three stewardesses serving. They can be armed too without being too obvious."

"I agree." Martha said firmly. "It will look good."

"Okay." I agreed after a moments of thought.

For the next few hours, we debated so many strategies, ideas, and methods of approaching this dinner that my head was aching from all the permutations we were creating. Holt had gone to the communications shack and told them to transmit our acceptance of a dinner meeting, and our invitation to join us on the plane. The reply was almost immediately, and even included the names of the people they were bringing, and their ages, but a list of dietary considerations as well. The list was copied and given both to Sergeant Collins who had six hours to prepare a very fancy dinner and to Paul Connors who had to consider security issues. Paul had joined us after debriefing the guards and was going crazy over having armed people on the plane.

He insisted everyone in the conference room for dinner be armed, only compromising when Major Unger recommended securing pistols under the table where each of our people would be sitting. The seating arrangement was debated several times. Whether we would sit on opposite sides from the guests or would mix people together. Holt insisted on mixing people up while Paul and Major Unger insisted on sitting opposite in order to maintain clearer fields of fire if things got rough.

Lt. Ellington finally ended the debate when she let out a disgusted curse about thinking only about possible danger instead of succeeding in our mission, which was diplomatic. Holt was wearing a pleased grin when everyone finally agreed that we would be sitting in alternating positions, a member of our team next to a member of theirs, with me at one end of the table and Roberts at the other end.

After lunch was over, everyone cleared out to take care of their different tasks that needed to be done before the actual dinner. Lt. Ellington had some press releases to send to keep the news service up to date on the progress we were making. Major Unger had a report to write for the Joint Chiefs that I would countersign before it was transmitted. Holt had his own report to file as well.

I had math lessons, but before those began Paul Connors followed me into my office to give me a report from the guards who had gone to the meeting with Holt. I knew that he was unhappy about something from his certainty at the meeting about there being a danger from this dinner. I was fairly certain he would tell me now, and I was right.

"Killmer was contacted." Paul said simply when I was seated and the door was shut to the cabin. "He's a smart soldier even if he doesn't have combat experience. When they got there, they checked out the meeting room. There was only one entrance and when Roberts suggested they should talk in private, Holt agreed. Guards from both sides left the room and waited outside. The only other person to enter the room was a young girl that brought in some food and water. After an hour, Killmer said he had to use the restroom and one of their guards showed him the way. When he was done, a man he knew came in. It was one of the Deacons that will be at dinner tonight, who is also Rogers' uncle."

"So they did try to make contact with him." I said slowly.

"Oh, yes, you might say that." Paul said with a smile. "Killmer said his uncle grilled him quickly about his faith, making sure he was still faithful and then asked how he got this assignment. Killmer told him the story we recommended and the man seemed very happy. Killmer said he'd planned to kill you, but when he heard about this mission, he decided to wait until he could hear from someone directly. His uncle told him to be patient, and that when the time came he'd know when to act. He also told Killmer not to kill you, that they had other plans to use you."

"So they do intend to act." I said with some surprise. I didn't think they'd be that stupid.

"Dylan, I think they may have someone like you, with your abilities." Paul said and I reacted with a surprised look. "No one touched any of the guards, or tried anything, but why else would they want you alive?"

"There's lots of reasons they would want me alive." I told him. "That alone does not mean they have someone like me."

"But that girl, she was about thirteen, just the right age, and why else have a girl bring in the food instead of someone else?" Paul asked. He had a point, but I still doubted it.

"First of all we don't even know if girls can have this power." I said. "So far, we've only found boys."

"But you still haven't figured out who had controlled Rogers before you interviewed him." Paul reminded me. "You just don't know that a girl can't have your powers yet."

"True, but Paul, what if I do my probe wrong on him?" I asked. "I can't risk having to eliminate the danger he would be posing if he felt me probing him. I can't do that without more reasons to suspect him than that he had contact with a thirteen year old girl. If I did that each time someone around me came into contact with a kid I'd end up risking having to bond or kill too many people."

"Holt was awful eager for this dinner and the seating arrangement." Paul said quickly.

"He's a diplomat." I reasoned just as quickly. "He's taken a bad start and turned it around so of course he's eager to make it work. You didn't hear the diplomats in Thailand debating every aspect of the Japanese negotiations. I did, and what Holt was doing was not even as eager as the debates I saw there. He's not acting out of character at all."

"Still, you've gotten pretty good at being subtle." Paul pressed on. "I don't doubt you won't be felt by him if you just do a light touch. That's all I'm asking."

"No Paul." I stated firmly. "I won't risk using my abilities unless it's necessary and there's not enough here for me to think it's necessary. Plus there's something we're not thinking about here, and that is if Holt is controlled, even if I have you or one of the other bonded test him instead of me, he will still recognize it in you. We'll lose the advantage we have by knowing they may be trying something. We'll be armed, we'll be ready and they don't know that we know. If any of us touch Holt to figure out if he's controlled, we lose that surprise."

"Okay, if you insist." He finally agreed. "But I want you to wear an armor vest under your suit. We've got a light one that stops pistol bullets just fine and no one in the room will have anything more than a pistol, even the guards."

"I'll agree to that." I said immediately. I agreed more out of a desire to make him feel that I was safer than I thought it was necessary. It was not a moment later that Professor Madeleine Hildebrand arrived for my Mathematics lesson. She was of medium height, plump and with her gray hair done up in a bun. She always had a stern look on her face and only smiled when she was deep into an explanation of calculus. Math had never been my favorite subject, but with her enthusiasm for the subject I found myself doing better than I had imagined. It didn't hurt that she used plenty of examples that related to problems I was familiar with, and that I was her only student. Her habit was to explain something to me, giving several examples, and then have me work on several problems, going over each one after I'd finished it, telling me what I did right, what I did wrong, and then having me explain the thought processes that had led to do it the way I had done.

The result was that I sped through the course material in my weakest subject as fast as I was speeding through my other subjects. It was quite gratifying, and enjoying a subject I'd previously groaned my way through as being tedious but necessary. Professor Hildebrand seemed to sense my growing enthusiasm, and that in turn fed her own love of the subject. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing, when she announced at the end of our lesson that the next math session would be my test on the course and she gave me a list of things to study.

Immediately after she left, I was called back into the conference room where we went over our plan of action, possible problem points and emergency procedures, followed by a mock run through of the dinner itself. We did four run-throughs of the dinner, pretending to eat and making conversation with the people on either side of us (the support staff played the roles of our dinner guests), and we planned for everything from our guests pulling hidden weapons and attacking to a nice, peaceable ending.

By the time we'd finished with that little exercise, it was time for everyone to get dressed in their dinner clothes. I returned to my cabin and found that one of the stewardesses had taken out another suit, pressed everything, and had it ready for me to put on. When I was dressed in the civilian attire, and back in the conference room, all the officers attending the dinner were dressed in their dress uniforms and a very sober-looking Jimmy was dressed in a suit as well. He was nervous at being included in the dinner, and our constant drilling the past few hours had him ready to drop to the floor at a moment's notice. Still he was only fidgeting a little and returned my smile when he looked in my direction.

"Our guests our walking this way." Colonel Hayworth's voice came from the cockpit. It had been decided to not include him in this dinner, preferring him to be in the cockpit. Paul would stay in my cabin, with Jones and Halpern. They could be in the conference room in seconds, and from the security station between my cabin and the conference room, they could see everything going on in and around the plane. The station was being manned by Davies. Tapers was leading the men stationed where the Guard cabin connected to the narrow VIP passageway, and except for the two guards in the cabin, the rest of their guards would stand in the forward entranceway. The cockpit would be fully crewed, and locked. The communications area was our weakest point, but Darby, Knight, Roerich, and Hegel would be in the forward galley, armed and ready to rush upstairs or deal with any of them that sought to come down there. They may be supply and paper pushers, but for the last week they'd been receiving training from the security detail, and Paul had pronounced them 'fit' as emergency back-ups. He made it a point to say that they were even more qualified than me for a lot of things.

Holt moved to the main entrance hatch, where he would greet our guests and I let out a sigh as I stood in the conference room waiting for them. Paul was tense, I knew, expecting something to happen tonight, but this was just the first meeting. After Idaho, I doubted anyone would try to kill or kidnap me on a first meeting like this. I mean hadn't everyone learned their lesson by now?"

No, I thought to myself. This dinner is going to go good and there won't be a single thing wrong unless I happen to drop my fork or one of the pistols secured under the table happens to fall off. Nope, this was going to be easy and maybe even a good dinner. Mary's roast beef was always delicious, and she was serving a very nice fruit juice that she said brought out the flavors as good as the wine would have.

Nope, this was going to be a good dinner.