Chapter 1

Colin McClintock knew he was driving too fast for the road conditions, but as he threw the little Toyota through the hairpin turns on Calaveras Road, he welcomed the relief from his thoughts. Of necessity, his mind was fully occupied with the struggle to keep the vehicle from launching itself off a cliff into the darkness below. The wipers beat a rapid rhythm as they strove in vain to keep up with the downpour, and the Toyota's headlights barely penetrated the gloom of the trees overhanging the deserted road.

Colin had used Calaveras Road as an alternate route on several occasions when I680 was too clogged for sanity. He liked the fact that, as it wound its tortuous way through the hills above the Calaveras Reservoir from Milpitas to Sunol, it presented a challenge that most native Californians, having been raised on freeway driving, weren't prepared to meet. Tonight, though, he had chosen this route to get his mind off the fact that, following close on the heels of a nasty divorce, his employer had just laid him off from his third position in ten years.

It doesn't seem to matter how good an engineer you are, or what you've done in the past he thought bitterly as he forced the Toyota through another switchback. Had the car not had front wheel drive, the speed of his turn would have sent him spinning helplessly out of control. If you're not working on something critical when it comes time to cut the budget, it's 'Sayonara, sucker', and it's always just before Christmas!

Colin pounded the steering wheel in frustration. I gave them the best I had! I worked nights and weekends — hell, my wife left me because I spent more time at work than I did with her! WHAT THE HELL DO THEY WA--!

"OH SHIT!!!"

The mudslide appeared out of nowhere as he negotiated another blind turn. He was going too fast for even the ABS to do more than slow the car slightly, but thankfully, his reflexes turned the car toward the hillside instead of toward the cliff that fell off on his right. Although his speed had dropped to no more than twenty-five, when the right wheels slammed into the mudslide at the same time that the front end impacted the steep hillside, Colin felt as if a gigantic sledgehammer had hit the car.

After rocking on its suspension for a few moments, the car settled and, with trembling hands, he put it in Park, setting the hand brake to prevent further movement. Pulling up the hood on his windbreaker while cursing under his breath, Colin released his harness and, shaking from an overdose of adrenalin, opened the door and struggled out of the driver's seat.

Oh great! This is all I need! He stumbled around the rear of car, tripping over debris in the darkness. His worst fears were confirmed when he saw, in the light thrown off the hillside by the Toyota's headlights, the right rear wheel folded nearly flat under the vehicle. Well, shit! He thought, as he kicked the tire in frustration. OK bubba! You need to calm down and think! You're miles from nowhere and this piece of crap ain't goin' anywhere! He kicked the car once more in his anger.

Digging his cell-phone from his pocket, he started scrolling through the stored numbers, hoping he had the number for a tow service in there. A quick glance at the top of the little LCD screen showed him the futility of searching for the number, since the signal strength bars were replaced by the letters 'NS' — 'No friggin' Signal!'

He almost flung the phone over the cliff into the blackness below, but thought better of it. It was always possible that he could get to a spot where the signal could reach him.

Making his way back around to the driver's door, he reached in and killed the engine and the headlights. He remembered the Mag-Lite that he kept in the glove box, and leaned in across the driver's seat, scrabbling around in the old registration papers, gas receipts and other junk until he found it. Crossing his fingers, he clicked the switch, only to fling the flashlight back into the car with a curse as it gave forth a feeble orange glow that quickly faded.

Taking a deep breath to try to quell his resurgent frustration, he slammed the car door and took stock of his surroundings. Walking back to the bend of the road he peered through the gloom and the rain in hopes of seeing a farmhouse or some sign of civilization.

Let's see, I guess I'm about halfway between Milpitas and Sunol. He looked north along the lakeshore in the direction he'd been traveling. There isn't much in Sunol, but that big nursery just this side of 680 is closer than Sunol or Milpitas, and an operation that size ought to have somebody there even this late. He wanted to believe this, but realized that plants probably didn't need much attention at night, so he wasn't likely to get any help there. Hell, I guess I'd better hoof it back to Milpitas.

A glimmer of light caught his eye just as he was turning back toward the south. At first, he had trouble identifying its source, since it appeared as a dim yellowish glow somewhere in the darkness above him. Had it not been for the raindrops reflecting and diffracting what little light there was, he doubted that he would have seen it at all.

"Well, any port in a storm," he muttered to himself as he peered upward into the rain, trying to determine where and what the source might be. Thinking it might be a farmhouse, he walked back along the road looking for a driveway. When, after a half-mile or so, he found no break in the fence that ran along the top of the embankment, he did an about face. Maybe the driveway's further down the road, he thought, as he made his way back to where the car rested against the shoulder of the slide, and picked his way gingerly through the debris, only to find that the slide went all the way to cliff edge. At the point where it fell off the precipice, the slide was loose and unstable, making it impossible to negotiate in the darkness without risking a plunge into the blackness below.

Colin scratched his head under the hood of his windbreaker and looked up to take his bearings on the faint glimmer, hoping that its owner hadn't gone to bed and doused the light. To his surprise, it appeared to emanate from just beyond the shoulder of the hill no more than twenty yards upslope. Now that he had been in the dark for some time, his vision had adjusted, and in the diffuse reflection, he thought he saw a relatively stable route up the edge of the mudslide, that with the help of the dangling fence wire, might get him to the top of the steep, muddy slope...

Glancing upward occasionally to keep his bearings on the dimly glowing beacon, he threaded his way past the Toyota and carefully scrabbled up the steep hillside. Although he was able to use bushes and rocks for handholds, as well as the fallen fence, the footing was treacherous in the damp and the dark, and by the time he dragged himself over the lip of the slope, his clothes were a muddy mess and torn in several places.

Cursing himself for not having made it to the company gym occasionally, while he had a chance, Colin struggled, panting heavily, to his feet and scanned the darkness ahead for the source of the beacon. Although it was not the bright point of light he half expected, of someone's porch light, the glow was still there. It was filtering through a brushy growth about ten yards back from the top of the slide. Stumbling over unseen rocks and sticks, he made his way to the stand of bushes, and, finding no way around, pushed his way through toward the light. As he brushed aside the last branches, the ground dipped sharply under his feet, sending him sprawling into what turned out to be a rather spacious cave.

Standing, he brushed at the muck on his clothing, only to stop and wipe his hands on a relatively clean spot when it became clear that all the wiping would do was spread the dirt further.

Breathing heavily, Colin turned slowly toward the source of the light that had lured him here. To his astonishment, it came from a helmet that resembled those worn by astronauts. An avid space buff since childhood, Colin had practically memorized the construction of every spacesuit ever built on Earth, and this looked like nothing he had ever seen before.

"Hello?" Colin asked the darkness, wondering if the suit's owner was still around. Then, louder, "Hello!"

Nothing answered but a faint echo. Approaching the suit, he noted a layer of dust coating the top of the helmet and the shoulders of the suit. Okay, maybe the owner wasn't around.

Those must be some damned good batteries to keep that light on this long, he thought. How the hell did this thing get here, anyway?

He walked slowly around the thing, noting that it hung from a rack that seemed designed to hold it in a ready position for whoever had worn it.

Suddenly, Colin realized that he was shivering with cold. The windbreaker and the clothes underneath were soaked, and the frigid air in the cave, though dry, did nothing to warm him. He looked around, hoping to find something to build a fire... No, that's not going to work, he thought. I don't have anything to start it with, even if I find fuel.

His gaze turned back to the suit - the dry, relatively clean, jumpsuit. What the hell? he mused, starting to remove his wet, muddy clothes. I'll just borrow it for tonight and bring it back when I get a chance.

In his briefs and singlet, he stood atop the dampness of his shoes and started to step into the suit, but drew back. The underwear was wet, too, and there was no one to see, so...

Balancing awkwardly, he removed his briefs and dropped them on his shirt, which was the cleanest of his discarded garments. The briefs were soon followed by the singlet, and Colin felt a little naughty standing there naked. He also felt cold.

Throwing caution to the winds, he started to turn away from the suit while trying to stay balanced on top of his discarded shoes, but noticed that the feet of the suit pointed away from him. Okay, so the suit was designed to close in the back. He stepped in, one foot at a time. He was gratified to note that it fit comfortably and gave him firm footing. Next, his arms slipped into the sleeves. For a few seconds, he stood as if crucified, wondering, belatedly, how to get the thing off the rack and how to close the back of it.

The suit took care of that for him.

"What the hell?!" he cried involuntarily when the material simply closed around him, leaving no visible seam. Then, to his astonishment, the helmet, too, lowered into place over his head and a voice spoke into his ears in a warm contralto. "Reconfiguring, please wait."

Lights flashed around the rim of the closed faceplate, and he felt the suit shift and reshape itself until it fit snugly at every point on his body. Suddenly, something poked at his anus.

"HEY!" he cried, trying to dodge whatever it was. "What the fuck?!"

Whatever it was, it withdrew, leaving something slippery in its wake. Just as he was beginning to sigh with relief, something else, much larger, forced itself painfully into the opening, using the slippery stuff as lubricant.

"Agh! Owww! Oh shit!" He cried. "Stop that!"

"My apologies," the voice in his ears said. "I have only been able to study the anatomy of your species remotely. I am trying to be gentle, but my unfamiliarity with your pain responses hampers me somewhat."

"Wait! Who the hell are you?"

"The nearest translation in your language for my designation is 'Model Seven Combat Armor with scouting modifications.' More specifically, I am the Manufactured Intelligence integrated within said armor."

Colin's next question was interrupted by the sudden introduction of a long, flexible something deep into his urethra.

"Hey! What the hell! What is that? Why are you doing these things to me?"

"It is standard protocol when wearing armor, sir. Since there is no way to predict how long you will be suited, these tubes will drain your body's wastes and process them for recycling."

"Recycling as what?" Colin asked, realizing as he did that he was avoiding the important questions.

"As food and water, of course, sir," the suit answered.

"You mean, you feed the person wearing this, this, armor with recycled shit?"

"It is perfectly safe, and once the processor has familiarized itself with your body's chemistry, will be both nutritious and tasty."

"No way I'm eating shit, so don't even try to feed me any of that crap!"

"It would not be 'shit' by the time you consumed it, sir. The processors break all materials down into their basic chemical components, add others as necessary, and recombine them in ways that are both pleasing to the wearer's taste and nutritionally complete. If I had not informed you of the process, you would not even have suspected its existence when eating your rations. Now please relax and allow me to complete the reconfiguration process. Your body is in a deplorable state of health, but full repairs will have to wait until we arrive at the mothership."

"Will I ever be able to get out of this thing?"

"Oh, yes sir. Once the reconfiguration is complete, you may exit the armor simply by telling me you wish to do so."

"But why are you going through all this reconfiguration, anyway? I just needed some dry clothes!"

"Yes, sir. That was part of the plan."

"The plan?!" Colin asked, alarmed. "What plan?"

"The plan that I, the scoutship, and the mothership created to recruit you."

"Recruit me? For what?"

"The mothership will explain. Now please, relax. The process must be completed."