Carrying the weight of all six Pioneers, the elevator takes nearly a minute to ascend to the surface. When the doors open, I see a big, empty, warehouselike room. We must be inside one of the hollow buildings that the Army built aboveground. Dad told me the buildings were erected above Pioneer Base to make it look like a prison camp for terrorists, at least in satellite photos. It’s a good cover story, he said, because it has the ring of truth. The U.S. government does have secret prisons in other places.
As we exit the elevator, a soldier lifts a roll-up door to our left. Glorious daylight pours into the building, streaming into my camera and setting off a chain reaction of joy in my circuits. I guess every human brain has an instinctive love of sunlight, and this love is faithfully duplicated in our electronics. I automatically head for the open door, and the other Pioneers do the same.
After stepping outside I turn my turret in a slow circle, panning my camera across the treeless basin that the Army chose as the site for Pioneer Base. The high mountain ridges surrounding the basin are still topped with snow, but meltwater is trickling down the slopes to the basin’s muddy floor. When I train my camera at the expanse of mud, I see thousands of tiny green shoots poking through. Spring is coming to Colorado. Soon the basin will be carpeted with grass and wildflowers.
I stride across the mud to get a better view of the snow-covered ridges. I can’t see anything past them, and I feel a strong urge to race up the nearest slope so I can gaze at the mountainous landscape that must lie beyond. But thirty-two soldiers stand between me and the foot of the ridge. They’re arrayed in a rough circle around the Pioneers.
Most of the soldiers carry M16 assault rifles, but half a dozen hold heavier weapons that I recognize from the files General Hawke ordered us to study. They’re M136 anti-tank guns, which shoot high-explosive shells that can rip through a foot of steel armor. Seeing the gun here is sobering—unlike the rifles, the M136 is powerful enough to bring down a Pioneer. The soldiers are clearly ready to stop us from escaping.
A surge of anger runs through me, extinguishing the joy. Although I understand why the Army doesn’t want us to leave the basin—just one picture of a Pioneer, taken by a spy satellite overhead, could show Sigma where we live—I still don’t like it. As it turns out, Hawke’s cover story is partly true: Pioneer Base is a prison camp. But the prisoners aren’t terrorists. We’re far more dangerous.
I turn my turret toward Shannon and DeShawn, wanting to ask what they think of the soldiers. They’re scanning the basin with their cameras, just like I did, but they’re also holding out their mechanical hands with the fingers splayed. It looks like they’re waving to someone on top of the mountain ridge, but nobody’s up there.
“Shannon!” I call. “What are you doing?”
“Just try it!”
“What?”
“Open your hands and hold them up!”
I raise my arms and open my hands. The sensors in my fingers measure the velocity of the wind, which is blowing from the west at nine miles per hour. My sensors also show that the air temperature is forty-nine degrees and the humidity is twenty-five percent. But as my circuits put all this information together, something amazing happens. I feel a cool, gentle breeze on my hands.
The sensation is wonderful. I only wish I had more sensors on my arms and torso and turret so I could feel the breeze everywhere. I notice that Zia and Marshall are also holding up their hands, and after a few seconds Jenny raises her arms too. Despite our differences, we all share this pleasure. We’re trying to catch the breeze.
We stand there with our arms raised for the next fifteen seconds, looking like a team of robotic outfielders waiting for a fly ball. Then I hear General Hawke’s voice again, but this time it’s not amplified. He’s standing right behind us. “All right, enough fooling around. Form a line, Pioneers.”
Zia reacts first, instantly turning around to salute the general. The rest of us line up beside her. Hawke wears a winter camouflage uniform and mud-caked boots, and his face is ruddy and cheerful. The fresh air has enlivened him. Outdoors, he looks at least ten years younger.
“Glad you could all make it,” he says. “Though I get the feeling that some of you are more eager than others.”
He glances at each of the Pioneers, but his gaze lingers an extra half-second on me. He’s letting me know that he heard everything I said in the gym.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he continues. “I never thought we’d get this far. The Army pays for a whole bunch of research programs, and most of them never amount to anything. And the Pioneer Project was the riskiest, craziest idea of them all. I was certain it would end up on the scrap heap.”
Now Hawke glances to his left. I aim my camera in the same direction and see another man in winter camouflage come forward and stand beside the general. It’s Dad. His face isn’t nearly as cheerful as Hawke’s. He’s pale and nervous.
The general turns back to us. “But I was wrong. We succeeded beyond all expectations. Now I have six fully functional Pioneers. The Army, though, has a funny way of rewarding success. The more successful you are, the harder they make you work. My bosses in Washington want to have the option of using the Pioneers against Sigma. That means I need to get you combat-ready within the next two weeks.”
Two weeks? I can’t believe it. There’s no way we can get ready that soon. But Hawke doesn’t seem fazed.
“Fortunately, there are some things I don’t have to worry about. I don’t have to teach you the technical stuff, the details of operating missiles or any other kind of weapon. You can download all that information to your circuits and instantly access it when you’re in combat. You can also download all the files about Sigma. They’ll tell you everything you need to know about the enemy. I don’t have to drum it into you.”
As I expected, Hawke is focusing strictly on combat. He hasn’t said a word about communicating with Sigma. I look at Dad again, wondering if he’s given up on the idea of establishing contact with the AI. If he still thinks communication might work, why doesn’t he say something to Hawke? Why is he just standing there with the other soldiers?
“But there are other things you can’t download. Things you can learn only from experience. I’m talking about courage and teamwork and discipline and leadership. That’s what I need to teach you over the next two weeks. You’re a group of exceptional young men and women, but right now you’re still civilians. My job is to turn you into soldiers, and I need to do it quickly.”
Hawke points at us. “The process starts with today’s exercise. We’re going to have a competition at the obstacle course, and the winner will become your squad leader. The Pioneers are going to be just like any other Army unit—you’re going to have a leader and a second-in-command. And the rest of you are going to follow their orders.”
Hawke gives a signal to his soldiers. They break out of their circular formation and start marching toward the fake prison camp, the hollow buildings surrounded by the tall fence. That must be where they’ve set up the obstacle course. “Before we begin, I want to make one thing clear,” Hawke says. “I’m not going to force anyone into this assignment. If any of you are unwilling to take part in this fight, speak up now. You can go back to your quarters and stay there while we’re training.”
The general looks at each of us, and once again his gaze lingers on me. Dad looks at me too, biting his lip. He seems genuinely uncertain about what I’m going to do. But to me, the choice is clear. Although I don’t like Hawke, I’m not going to sit in my room while the others do the fighting. So I say nothing.