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StormFalcon
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    The password shield vanished.
    Ethan blushed. He shouldn’t have seen that. He knew it was wrong. He didn’t say anything, though. He didn’t want Dr. Irving to be mad at him like everyone else.
    On-screen, hundreds of spheres appeared and jostled into an ordered pattern.
    “We only partially understand this technology,” Dr. Irving explained. “The Ch’zar can change the density of the insect’s exoskeleton.”
    The spheres on the computer squeezed together supertight.
    “It takes enormous energies,” Dr. Irving said, “but under life-threatening stress, or if a pilot is strong enough to mentally coax his bug to induce this transformation, a layer of insect armor only molecules thick can become a thousand times harder than diamond. It is tougher than yards of solid titanium. A teaspoon of such material would be so heavy, it would take our most powerful hydraulics to budge it an inch.”
    Ethan stared, fascinated.
    No wonder he could rip through steel and stone as if it were wet tissue paper when he was inside an I.C.E. suit.
    “You seem interested in the science,” Dr. Irving said.
    Ethan brightened. “I won blue ribbons at my school science fair—one for a robotic arm and one for the biology of the nerve. This stuff is light-years ahead of that. Yeah, you bet I’m interested!”
    Ethan imagined himself designing new suits, insects that flew or burrowed or swam underwater. Could he make one that rocketed into outer space?
    “I could use a bright assistant.” Dr. Irving tapped his lower lip. “Perhaps in a few years, though.” A serious look darkened his wrinkled face.
    Ethan sighed and understood.
    “In a few years” meant after Ethan had reached puberty … when he wouldn’t be flying outside anymore.
    If
he was going to ever fly again after the incident with Paul.
    There was a very real chance Ethan would never breathe fresh air again or feel the sun on his face.
    As if he could read Ethan’s thoughts, Dr. Irving said, “I could speak to Colonel Winter on your behalf.”
    He reached for the communication handset on his desk. Before he touched it, it buzzed.
    The call code “099” glowed on the handset’s display. It came from the base’s Command and Control Center.
    Dr. Irving frowned at it. He waved Ethan back and took the call.
    “This is Dr. Irving. Yes, it is that dire.”
    He tapped on his keyboard.
    The window showing the superdense molecules winked off. A new window opened. Dr. Irving glanced over his shoulder at Ethan and made another “back up, please” motion.
    Ethan stepped away a respectful distance, but not before he glimpsed a map with red dots. It was the map that had been in Colonel Winter’s office. The same one Dr. Irving and the other adult officers had stood around muttering things about “dire consequences” and “fallback contingencies.”
    Ethan was no military strategist, but even he knew this couldn’t be good.
    “There are no errors,” Dr. Irving said into the handset. “Yes, I’ll be right up.”
    Dr. Irving shut down his computer and stood. “I’m sorry, my boy. I’ve been summoned. We’ll talk about biology and you helping me another day.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Ethan wanted to remind Dr. Irving that he promised to talk to the colonel on his behalf, but for once the doctor looked every bit his age, his skin ashen, the sparkle in his eyes now a glassy sheen.
    He smiled at Ethan, but it was a weak attempt to cover up his worry.
    Something was seriously wrong here.
    Dr. Irving left the laboratory as Madison walked in.
    She almost bumped into him. They exchanged a few hushed words, he hugged her, and then he hurried on his way.
    Seeing them side by side, Ethan noticed the same wicked intelligence reflect in their eyes. And that hug … they had to be related. Could he be her grandfather? Everyone else at the Seed Bank had grown up together and knew who was related to who. Not knowing simple, stupid things like that just made Ethan