A Question of Intent. Merline Lovelace

ramrod-straight pilot with salt-and-pepper hair and laugh lines around his eyes. Belying his status as a member of the “baby” service, Lieutenant Colonel Bill Thompson looked tough and experienced and well able to serve as deputy director of the Pegasus Project.

      Westfall let the assembled crowd enjoy the spirit of good-natured rivalry for a moment or two before continuing.

      “Each of the seven uniformed services has a history rich in tradition. Each has provided long years of honorable service to our country. I know you’re proud, as I am, to wear the distinctive insignia of your branch or corps. I would remind you, though, of the oath each of you took when you joined the military. To protect and defend the Constitution of the United States. That oath transcends your individual services. As of this moment, your first allegiance will be to each other…and to the project that has brought us here.”

      At a nod from the captain, his exec added an overlay to the shield. When the transparent overlay settled, a milky-white winged stallion reared on the field of red, white, and blue. Westfall let everyone in the room get a good look.

      “Welcome to Project Pegasus, ladies and gentlemen. We are now one team, with one mission. Before any of us leaves this corner of the desert, the new all-weather, all-terrain attack/transport vehicle known as Pegasus will be certified to run with the wind, swim the oceans and fly to the stars. Your country is depending on you to make it happen.”

      The terse pronouncement killed any tendencies toward levity among the assembled personnel.

      “You’ll receive more detailed briefings on the vehicle when it arrives tomorrow. Today you’ll get security and area threat briefings, be issued your site IDs and go through a medical screening.”

      The captain collapsed his pointer with a snap.

      “Major Bradshaw, I’ll turn the group over to you now.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Jill stood at attention with the others while Captain Westfall departed. When he’d cleared the building, she moved to the podium. As she looked out over the sea of faces, the realization that she was responsible for both their safety and their adherence to ultrastrict security measures hit her smack in the chest.

      One compromise of classified test information, and her neck would be on the block. One physical breach of the Pegasus site, and she could kiss her career goodbye.

      Her glance slid to Cody Richardson, lingered a moment, shifted back to the crowd at large.

      “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Major Jill Bradshaw. My security forces and I are going to be watching out for you—and watching over you—for the next few months.”