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even that old, Cannon had said grimly. But Cannon had not described her to me. And when I saw her now, I gripped the arms of my wheelchair and tried to hold back my surprise.
    It was her! Put on the platinum wig, smear lipstick across the lower part of her face, and it was the mysterious nurse who had visited me in the hospital! Only now she was the picture of dignity.
    She spoke calmly. “If this young man can control a robot capable of going places humans can’t, wouldn’t he make an ideal soldier?”
    A hush fell on the reporters. They all looked at the general.
    â€œHe is not a soldier, Ms. Borris,” Cannon answered.
    â€œAre there others like him?” she asked.
    â€œMs. Borris,” he said firmly, “for reasons of national security, I cannot—”
    â€œCan you tell us about an incident on 04.01.2040 at the World United Federation Summit of Governors?” she persisted.
    My guess was that only someone like Ms. Borris dared interrupt the general, for he didn’t give her the same cold, hard stare he’d given the man who had been escorted out. Instead he seemed to squirm.
    â€œAnd can you confirm or deny rumors that robot soldiers were involved in an assassination attempt?”
    â€œUnlike you,” Cannon said, biting back his anger, “I am not in the business of selling rumors to the public. Again, for reasons of national security, I cannot confirm or deny.”
    Muttering grew rapidly through the crowd, moving like a wave of water. Cannon had not denied it. And I guessed Ms. Borris was not known for asking questions unless she had a good source. To all the reporters, then, the general’s refusal to answer said a lot.
    â€œAnd lastly!” Ms. Borris now had to shout to be heard. When the others realized she wasn’t finished, they quieted instantly. “General, is it true that children have been forced into robot control as slaves in a tantalum mine on the Moon?”
    â€œMs. Borris,” the general said, the intensity of his voice like the crack of a whip, “I thought a respected reporter like you would not have to stoop to creating your own headlines to sell newspapers.”
    â€œYes or no, General,” she insisted. “Child slavery? If a child like Tyce Sanders is able to control a robot, who controls the child? And who controls those who control the child? Especially if the interests of national security make it so possible to keep this secret?”
    The general drew a deep breath. “Interesting speculation, Ms. Borris. Perhaps you might be on the verge of a new career as a fiction author?”
    â€œHardly,” she snapped back. “Not when this is far more bizarre than fiction. My sources tell me—” She didn’t get a chance to finish.
    Without warning, four soldiers stampeded through the middle of the crowd, shoving reporters in all directions. Without hesitation those soldiers leaped upon the stage. Two of them grabbed me out of my wheelchair. The other two yanked the wheelchair away and began running with it.
    I watched helplessly as they sprinted toward the nearest exit with my wheelchair, leaving me behind. My feet dangled off the ground as the two soldiers held me by the arms.
    â€œHey,” I said to the nearest soldier. “What’s the—?”
    â€œNot a word in front of the cameras,” the soldier growled. He leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “There’s a bomb. In your wheelchair.”
    The wheelchair they had run with.
    Ten seconds later a loud boom from outside shook the entire room.

CHAPTER 7
    â€œTyce, what do you think we’re up against?”
    This came from Cannon. He and I were in a huge Combat Force helicopter, skimming along the Atlantic shoreline as we flew from New York City to Washington, D.C., where I was supposed to meet with Ashley before we moved to a Moon shuttle launch site in Florida. The roar of the engines was far too loud for us