Jon and Helen raised their hands high. Cheryl grabbed Kelsey as another soldier appeared and aimed his weapon as well. Kelsey giggled and raised her arms too. “Cheryl, I strongly advise you to do as they say, right now,” Helen said. She turned to her husband, wilted inside when she saw his “I-told-you-so” smile, and asked perturbedly, “Jon, what did you say?”

“I said, ‘Cheryl, are those bombs under your bra there?”’

“Oh, my God,” Helen moaned. “This is not going to be pretty.”

It wasn’t. Three hours later, including over one hour being individually interrogated and debriefed by security personnel and another two hours going through the original searches, ID checks, and scans all over again—including more of the same astounded expressions and whispered comments about the nine-year-old, as if it was the first time they had ever seen her—the four were right back to where they were before, walking toward the large sand-colored Hangar 7A.

“I don’t think that was very funny, Dr. Masters,” Cheryl finally said.

“It wasn’t meant to be funny, Cheryl,” Jon said. “But it’s hard to impress upon anyone how strict security is around here unless they experience it for themselves. Besides, I’ll bet you’ve never been strip-searched before—it’ll make you really watch your p’s and q’s from now on, not just in here but everywhere.”

“Jon, this is not funny. Those security people strip- searched and X-rayed my daughter.”

“It’s not over, Cheryl—in fact, it’s only begun,” Jon said, his voice turning serious again. “Your life will not be your own until what you’re about to see, and every piece of technology associated with it in any way, has been declassified for at least five years. And we’re only going into the Secret area—if you go into the Top Secret or higher areas, you, your entire family, and all your known associates will be under constant scrutiny until you all die—plus five years. It’s the way it is from now on.”

They entered the big hangar, submitted—more humbly this time—to yet another battery of checks and searches, and then proceeded inside. Two dark gray military aircraft filled the hangar; several smaller aircraft and air-launched weapons were on the hangar floor, all closely guarded by Air Force and company security guards, watching not only the hardware and the visitors but one another as well.

“Here they are, ladies—Sky Masters Inc.’s latest air combat projects, in advanced R and D or initial deployment,” Jon said proudly. “The little ones first.” He stepped over to the first weapon. “This is the FlightHawk, our multi-purpose unmanned combat air vehicle. He can do anything a combat aircraft can do—dogfighting, bombing, reconnaissance, minelaying, anything—and do it completely autonomously.