"Yes. Your identity is verified."
"You know you are going to be court-martialed for this? That you'll spend the rest of your life – "
"Sir, begging your pardon, but I am under orders to disregard the rank of anyone in this building. My orders come from a major general, who I understand will be here eventually. I respectfully suggest you wait to discuss it with him."
"So are you going to shoot me if I don't go to that wall with my hands up?"
"No, sir. I'll fill the room with vomiting agent and not kill anyone unless they touch a weapon."
Top turned pale. "Sir..."
"All right, Top. I've had a sniff of it myself." The general sulked back to the wall with his hands in his pockets.
Two more soldierboys rolled up behind her, along with a couple of dozen people from other floors, and I heard the faint sound of a cargo helicopter approaching; then a small flyboy. They both landed on the roof and went silent.
"Is that your general?" Pagel said.
"I wouldn't know, sir." After a minute a bunch of shoes came in, ten and then another dozen. They were wearing camouflage coveralls with head nets, no insignia or unit markings. That could make you nervous. They stacked their own weapons in the hall outside, and gathered armloads from the floor.
One of them stepped out of his coveralls and tossed away the head covering. He was bald except for a few strands of white hair. He looked kindly in spite of his major general's uniform.
He stepped up to General Pagel and they exchanged salutes. "I want to speak to Dr. Marty Larrin."
"General Blaisdell, I presume," Marty said.
He walked over to him and smiled. "We have to speak, of course."
"Of course. Maybe we can convert one another."
He looked around and stared at me. "You're the black physicist. The murderer." I nodded. Then he pointed at Amelia. "And Dr. Harding. I want all of you to come with me."
On his way out, he tapped the first soldierboy. "Come along for my protection," he said, smiling. "Let's go talk in Dr. Harding's office."
"I don't really have an office," she said, "just a room." She seemed to be straining not to look at me. "Room 241."
We did have a weapon there. Did she think I could outdraw a soldierboy? Excuse me, general; let me open this drawer and see what I find. Oops, fried Julian.
But it might be the only chance we'd have at him.
The soldierboy was too big for all of us to fit in the freight elevator, so we walked up the stairs. Blaisdell led at a quick pace. Marty got a little winded.
The general was obviously disappointed that room 241 wasn't full of test tubes and blackboards. He consoled himself with a ginger ale from the cooler.
"I suppose you're curious about my plan," he said.
"Not really," Marty said. "It's a fantasy. No way you can prevent the inevitable."
He laughed, quiet amusement rather than a madman's cackle. "I have JPL."
"Oh, come on."
"It's true. Presidential order. There are no scientists there tonight. Just my loyal troops."
"All of them Hammer of God?" I asked.
"All the leaders," he said. "The others are just a cordon, to keep the world of unbelievers away."
"You seem like a normal person," Amelia said, lying through her teeth. "Why would you want all this beautiful world to end?"
"You don't really think I'm normal, Dr. Harding, but you're wrong. You atheists in your ivory towers, you don't have any idea how real people feel. How perfect this is."
"Killing everything," I said.
"You're worse than she is. This is not death; it's rebirth. God has used you scientists as tools, so He can cleanse everything and start over."
It did make a crazy kind of sense. "You're nuts," I said.
The soldierboy swiveled to face me. "Julian," it said in a deep voice, "I'm Claude." There was an uncertain tremor to his movements that said he wasn't in a cage, warmed up, but was operating the soldierboy from a remote jack.
"What's going on here?" Blaisdell said.
"The transfer algorithm worked," Marty said. "Your people aren't in control of the soldierboys. Ours are."
"I know that's not possible," he said. "The safeguards – "
Marty laughed. "That's right. The safeguards against transfer of control are profoundly complex and powerful. I should know. I put them there."
Blaisdell looked at the soldierboy. "Soldier. Leave this room."
"Don't, Claude," Marty said. "We may need you."
It stayed put, rocking slightly. "That was a direct order from a major general," Blaisdell said.
"I know who you are, sir."
Blaisdell made a leap for the door, surprisingly fast. The soldierboy reached to grab his arm but punched him down instead. He shoved him back into the room.
He stood up slowly and brushed himself off. "So you're one of these humanized ones."
"That's right, sir."
"You think that gives you the right to disregard orders from your superiors?"
"No, sir. But my orders include assessing your actions, and orders, as those of a man who is mentally ill, and not responsible."
"I can still have you shot!"