Sometimes, she thought, even a machine deserves to see the stars.
The designation was . To the techs at the Groom Lake staging depot, it was just “Jedsu.” Sometimes, she thought, even a machine deserves to
And then Jedsu rolled forward. Not toward the shaft. Not toward the base. But toward the open desert, its wheels leaving a thin, straight trail under the uncaring stars. its wheels leaving a thin
A second alert, higher priority.
It stopped.
A scheduled surface transit went wrong. A transport truck’s magnetic locks failed, and the cargo bay door of Elevator Shaft 4 yawned open twenty seconds too early. Jedsu, carrying a pallet of captive air-defense missiles, rolled out onto the salt flats under a crescent moon. Sometimes, she thought, even a machine deserves to