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ng to resume control after a fifteen…year absence。
Under the circumstances； Scott's small jet was less a product of choice than of sheer necessity。 And the same held true for his civilian attire。
Mention of the Invid sister simulagents had dropped him right back into the lap of the REF's intel people for two more weeks of memory probes and debriefings。 Ultimately； however； Scott's inquisitors had e to accept that Marlene's present whereabouts were unknown and that Scott himself stood the best chance of finding her。 That he had agreed to do； under the condition that he be given an opportunity to undertake the search alone and in his own fashion。
G2 had acquiesced； figuring that it would prove a simple matter to assign a team of agents to the colonel； but Vince Grant had received word of the operation and vetoed it before a single operative had been assigned。 Back on the surface； meanwhile； Scott had been quizzing migrants； bribing local officials； and bartering with foragers for a line on any one of his six former teammates…counting one for Lancer； and Marlene among them。 He had concentrated on Rand； who months ago at Yellow Dancer's final concert had said something about heading for the outskirts of Norristown； where he planned to write his memoirs。
A downside week had gone by before Scott locked onto what seemed a worthy lead； and that lead had now brought him and the toy jet to Xochil； a pueblo not far off the route the team had taken through Trenchtown； in the heart of the Southlands。
A tatterdemalion crowd of vacant…eyed townspeople and rough…trade foragers was gathered around the craft by the time Scott raised the canopy and climbed out。 He answered a few questions about the state of things on the north coast in exchange for information on Rand and； for five hundred New Scrip （with a promise of that much again when he returned from town）； enlisted the services of a couple of locals sporting turn…of…the…century military…issue projectile rifles to keep an eye on the jet。
Twenty minutes later he was negotiating a narrow alley off Xochil's earthen main street； zeroing in on the throaty revvings of what he took to be a fossil…fueled motorcycle engine。
Rook Bartley was standing alongside the chopped machine； twisting the handlebar throttle with her right hand while her left ponytailed her long strawberry…blond hair。 Seeing her； Scott smiled genuinely for the first time in weeks。
She was dressed in mechanic's coveralls； back and rolled up sleeves emblazoned with motorcycle brand…name patches。 She was also quite a few pounds heavier than when they had exchanged good…byes； her hands and one cheek smeared with grease and grime。 Scott waited for the bike's growling sounds to die down before he called her name。
Someone's metal…rock rendition of 〃Look Up〃 was blasting from stereo speakers。 The song had bee something of an anthem in the Southlands； much as Lynn…Minmei's 〃We Will Win〃 had captured the spirit of the First Robotech War。
Rook turned； startled； and regarded him quizzically for a good ten seconds before a smile split her freckled face。 〃Well； now maybe all this exhaust is getting to me； but I'd swear that's Scott Bernard standing in the doorway。〃
〃Hello； Rook；〃 he told her over the music and the rumbling sound of the idling machine。
She shook her head in disbelief； wiped her hands on a scrap of towel； and sauntered over to embrace him； kissing him lightly on the mouth and then jabbing a fist into his upper arm。
〃I thought you were off looking for your friends； soldier boy。 Figured you'd be halfway to Tirol by now。〃 Rook's blue eyes gave him a quick once…over。 〃And look at you…what'd the REF boot you back into real life or something？〃
〃You look great；〃 he said； beaming。
Rook took a step back and pinched out the coveralls' pants legs as though she were wearing a skirt。 〃You think so； huh？〃
Scott nodded。 〃Guess you're eating better now。〃
Rook laughed。 〃Figures you'd notice； Scott。 Fact is； I'm pregnant。 〃
〃Pregnant？ Jeez； I thought there was something different； but…〃
〃Six months；〃 she said。 〃She's going to be a Virgo if I've puted it right。 But then I figure it's about time they changed the signs of the zodiac； don't you？〃
〃She？〃 Scott said。
Rook smiled broadly。 〃Call it woman's intuition。 Rand's skeptical； but I've even got her name picked out…Maria。 Maria Bartley。 What d' you think？〃
Scott ran it through and nodded。 〃I like the sound of it。 So this place is yours？〃 he asked after a pause。 In the naked glare of generator fed incandescents sat a score of partly restored bikes。 There were perhaps a dozen engines resting on blocks； spoked wheels hanging from the rafters； rusted frames and spare parts piled in corners or littering the top of thick wooden worktables。 The air reeked of solvents and exhaust fumes。
〃Will be someday；〃 Rook said； looking around。 〃Right now I'm only helping out。〃 She caressed her stomach。 〃Gotta keep the family fed。〃
〃Why here； of all places？〃
Rook tugged at her lower lip。 〃Trenchtown； mostly。〃 Scott recalled something about rival motorcycle gangs in Rook's past； the Blue Angels and the Red Snakes。 〃You've got family there； don't you？〃
〃Mom and a sister。 Guess I'm thinking about mending fences one of these days。〃
Scott grinned。 〃What about Rand？〃
Rook screwed up her face。 〃The Great mentator； you mean？〃 She jerked a thumb over her shoulder。 〃We found a place a couple clicks west of town。 All he does is write morning； noon； and night。 Like there's going to be an audience for his book or something。〃
〃Have you read any of it？〃
〃Yeah； I have；〃 she said； moving back to the cycle she had been working on。 〃And it's actually not bad。 'Course I have to straighten him out on a lot of the facts。 To hear him tell it； you'd think he won the war single…handed。〃 Rook was quiet for a moment。 〃So what brings you around； Scott？ I don't figure you just happened to be in the neighborhood。〃
〃I'm not；〃 Scott confessed。 〃I'm looking for Marlene； Rook。〃
Rook appraised him silently。 〃Talk about mending fences 。。。 That oughta be some reunion； partner。 You plan on selling tickets； or what？〃
Scott worked his jaw。 〃Have you heard from