This surprising reaction was only heightened when the ship's alert system went off, letting us know that we were beginning to descend and needed to get ready for a new and perhaps deadlier kind of action. Our enemy now would not be some computerized antiballistic missile system that since its deluded inception had been destined for failure, but real pilots fully intent on shooting us down. Apparently there had been other such encounters: indeed, according to various radio transmissions intercepted by Tarbell in months past, Malcolm's ship had assumed a sort of mythical status among the world's air forces and navies. And, given the very powerful ordnance that the warplanes of such countries as England and the U.S. were now routinely carrying, along with the skill of their airmen, escape had sometimes been a near thing.

So it would be on this occasion. As we dropped into the cloudy skies over the North Sea near the 59th parallel we were almost immediately intercepted by Royal Air Force fighters. The planes struck dark, angular silhouettes against the setting sun, giving them an intimidating appearance. When I turned to Larissa I saw her sizing them up with a nod and a defiant smile; but concern was evident in her look as well.

"Gideon," she called to me, "see if you can find out what's happening forward, will you?" She clutched the control handles of the cannon tight but did not fire. "My brother doesn't like to use lethal force in situations like this, but those boys are too damned close for my taste."

Rushing down the ladder and through the corridor, I entered the nose of the ship to find Malcolm and Colonel Slayton at the control panels, Slayton calmly but quickly tapping information into one of the guidance terminals. "They're the new Joint Strike Force Ultra-stealth models," he said. "First-day-of-war, highly survivable aircraft, armed with aim-10 Predator missiles that can carry biological, nuclear or conventional warheads." He turned to give Tressalian a very serious look. "We may not be able to get out of this without returning fire."

Malcolm—who, I now noticed, looked somewhat feverish—seemed deeply troubled by this statement; before he could answer it, however, Tarbell's voice came over the shipwide address system. "They're hailing us," he said; and then he patched the voice of one of the pilots through: "Unidentified aircraft: you are in violation of British airspace. Accompany our escort to the nearest field or be fired upon."

Touching a keypad on the console in front of him, Malcolm firmly replied, "English aircraft: as far as we're concerned this is Scottish Republican air space. You therefore have no authority to challenge us." He turned to Slayton. "Can we outrun them?"

Slayton shrugged. "We haven't come up against this model yet. We should be able to, but they've got a signature lock now—wherever we go they'll be able to track us, and if we head for the island, they'll come after us with a lot more than just a squadron. We could dive, but we'll have to slow down—not much, but it'd be enough to let one of the Predators catch up to us. And over the open sea I don't think they'd hesitate to go nuclear. The only choice I can see is going back up, but ..."

There was a moment's silence, leaving it to me to step in: "But what?" Malcolm‹whose face was definitely growing paler by the minute—tapped a finger impatiently. "Colonel Slayton is attempting to be tactful, Gideon. The truth is that we have been away for an unusually long stretch this trip, and it's becoming somewhat urgent that I get back to our medical facilities on the island." Beads of sweat began to form on his brow, as had happened before: clearly another attack was coming. Knowing the origins of his mysterious illness and the circumstances of his past as I now did, I was filled with even greater sympathy than I had been on the first occasion. I also felt heightened respect for his stoicism: "This really is irritating," was his summation of the situation. "All right, then, Colonel, if we must‹" He stopped suddenly, listening; then he held a hand to his collar. "You're sure?" he said, over the link to his sister. He began to crane his neck, looking all around the transparent sheathing of the hull. "How far, I can't see—wait, there they are!"

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