9ND INTERVALS<br > HOURS PRIOR.<br >Hostile. REPEAT<br >;uggest you contact<br >UNGU in Hamara<br >on flying operation<br >~ IN. Use all means<br >peration. DO NOT<br >?O NATURE OF<br >"FICIAL PROTO-<br >TE IN HAMARA<br >C) FOLLOW.<br >Ies your immediate<br >;r you deem wise.<br >oUow under Code<br >ake is tough. RE-<br > .anzibar knows we<br >~d. May also know<br >trieve satellite and<br >~t date but antici-<br >[. B. Arley<br >erospace Security<br >he Pentagon<br > 170047<br >CHAPTER I<br > He awoke with a slow rise to awareness， his eyes opening<br >gradually against the pain of daylight， staying in slits， taking it a piece<br >at a time， testing， feeling for friendship. The murky colors of red and<br >yellow still spun out of his brain in peculiar gyrations， pinwheels of<br >blinding pain， leftovers from the bad dreams， mixing as they moved.<br >Sometimes they were like circus downs somersaulting in a blaze of<br >amber and gold and then snapping into pillars of flame again. He<br >would never get the flames out of his head. He knew that.<br > And then， as if he d been jabbed in the ribs， he sat up， propping<br >himself on both elbows， feeling the sudden intrusion. The motors.<br >Not a part of his dreams now. Real. Popping against the morning<br >chill， hammering useless fists against cold combustion chambers， chil-<br >dren awakened before it is time， tttming cranky and irritable under<br >the prodding. Like always. Every morning. And he was half glad they<br >had awakened him， half sad about it too. For it was good to be free<br >of the tyranny of his dreams， but he hated the sound of the planes<br >too， for what they meant， like military drums ordering the march into<br >hell. His hell. His creation.<br > He turned his head slowly to get the room before him， noticing<br >how the blood-red sun splashed the rough mahogany plank walls and<br >ran off across the rustic floorboards like volcanic lava creeping re-<br >lentlessly down the mountainside， a slithering reptile of deliberate<br >intent. What forbidden fruit today， you slimy， subtle beauty of the<br >garden?<br > He continued to lie there propped up， not bothering to kick his<br >legs over the side of the bed， taking in the room with one gasping<br >yawn， scratching his scalp through the tangle of long hair， picking at<br ><br >