Time and Again

insist on one. You- you-" On a sound of frustration, she took another breath. He wasn't going to make her stutter. "You come in here and plug your watch into my machine, and-"
    "Interface," he said. "If you're going to work on a computer, you should know the language."
    She snapped her teeth together. "Suppose you tell me how you can interface a watch with a PC."
    "A what?"
    She couldn't prevent the smirk. "Personal computer. You'd better brush up on the language yourself.
    Now-answers."
    He put a hand on each of her shoulders. "You'd never believe me."
    "You'd better make me believe. Is that watch some kind of miniature computer?"
    "Yes." He started to reach for it, but she slapped a hand down on his wrist.
    "Leave it. I've never heard of any miniature computer that answers voice commands, interfaces with a PC and claims to play over five hundred games."
    "No." He looked down at her angry eyes. "You wouldn't have."
    "Why don't you tell me how to get one, Hornblower? I'll buy my father one for Christmas."
    Pure good humor tilted the corner of his mouth. "Actually, I don't think that model's going to be on the market for a little while yet. Can I interest you in something else?"
    She kept her eyes level with his. "You can interest me in the truth."
    Stalling seemed to be the best approach. He turned her hand over and linked his fingers with hers. "The whole truth, or the simple parts?"
    "Are you a spy?"
    The last thing she'd expected was laughter. After his first chuckle it rolled out of him, warm and delighted. He kissed her, once on each cheek, before she could stop him.
    "You didn't answer my question." She wiggled out of his hold. "Are you an agent?"
    "What makes you think so?"
    "A wild guess," she said, throwing up her hands and spinning around the room. "You crash down in the middle of a storm no sensible person would have been driving in, much less flying. You have no ED. You claim you're not in the military, but you were wearing some kind of weird uniform. Your shoes were nearly falling apart, but you have a watch that makes a Rolex look like a Tinkertoy. A watch that talks back." Even as she said it, it seemed so preposterous that she looked at the screen to make certain she hadn't imagined it all. "Look, I know intelligence agencies have some pretty advanced equipment. It might not be James Bond, but-"
    "Who's James Bond?" Cal asked. Bond, James. Code name 007. Fictional character created by twentieth-century writer Ian Fleming. Novels include-
    "Disengage," Cal ordered, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair. One look at Libby's face told him he was in deep. "Maybe you should sit down." With a weak nod, she sat on the edge of the bed. Though it was a bit late for precautions, Cal unhooked the wire and slipped it and his unit into his pocket. "You want an explanation."
    She wasn't so sure anymore. Calling herself a coward, she gave a quick, jerky nod. "Yes."
    "Okay, but you're not going to like it." He sat in her chair and crossed his ankles. "I was making a routine run from the Brigston colony."
    "Excuse me?"
    "The Brigston colony," Cal repeated. Then he took the plunge. "On Mars."
    Libby closed her eyes and rubbed a hand over her face. "Give me a break, Hornblower."
    "I told you you wouldn't like it."
    "You want me to believe you're a Martian."
    "Don't be ridiculous."
    She dropped her hand into her lap. "I'm ridiculous? You sit there and try to feed me some story about coming from Mars and I'm ridiculous?" For lack of anything better to do, she tossed a pillow across the room, then rose and began to pace. "Look, it's not as though I'm prying into your personal life, or even that I expect some kind of humble gratitude for dragging you in out of that storm, but I think some mutual respect is in order here. You're in my home, Hornblower, and I deserve the truth."
    "Yes, I think you do. I'm trying to give it to you."
    "Fine." Temper wasn't going to help, she thought. She dropped back on the bed and spread her arms.
    "So you're from Mars."
    "No, I'm from Philadelphia."
    "Ah." She let out a long, relieved breath. "Now we're getting somewhere. You were on your way to Los Angeles when you crashed your plane."
    "My ship."
    Her face remained calm and impassive. "That would be your spaceship."
    "You'd call it that." He leaned forward. "I had to reroute because of a meteor shower. I was off course-farther, I realize, than I had first thought, because my instruments were unstable. I ran into a black hole, an