Legacy of a Mad Scientist (11 page)

His hands could get no closer than a fist’s distance
apart.

He tried and tried to press the black metal
rectangles together, but like the powerfully charged objects they
were, the devices repelled each other. The devices would not merge;
they refused to even make contact with one another.

The Micronix had never had a problem producing or
reabsorbing clones before, but in the presence of the Metachron it
could not. Fox hadn’t fed it metal in years, and the command to
expose the feed tray did nothing.

Movement on the security and satellite feeds
distracted him. Back up security units had arrived and were tending
to Lee and Buckner, as well as the smoldering residence.

Fox regretted the fact that he’d missed Bell killing
the first guards. If he'd been more alert, maybe he could have
warned Faulkner.

Soon Lee and Buckner were moved to a safe location
for debriefing, while the fire and police departments dealt with
the larger scene up the hill.

The back up units remained vigilant, discretely
parked around the neighborhood. Fox forwarded his usual protocol
and the local media was officially suppressed, in the interests of
National Security.

He stood, put his array of monitors to sleep, went to
the bathroom and vomited.

On his way to bed, he checked on the children.
Ashley's room was first. Fox felt a flash of concern, seeing that
her bed was empty. Ashley's window faced the canyon. It was
possible the fire had awakened her.

Fox crossed the hall to Geoffrey's room. Brother and
sister were curled up together, sound asleep. Satisfied on several
levels, Fox closed the door.

It was a full hour before sleep finally took him, his
wife beside him. He held the Micronix nestled in his palm. The
second prototype, the Metachron, lay on the nightstand.

Tuesday, June 23, 2308

The beagle woke Fox at dawn, barking downstairs. He
knew the house was secure; the early-warning systems would have
roused him before floppy-eared Jack became aware of any threat.

Down the back stairs, Andrew found Geoffrey and Jack
nose to glass, staring out through the glass panel doors, into an
earthbound cloudbank.

The house was enclosed in a dense fog. Jack was
probably barking at nothing, but the black rectangle warmed under
the doctor's anxious grip.

Across his mind, the security displays filled his
visual awareness with data. It was clear that the house was
secure.

All the doors and windows were sealed and there were
no heat signatures revealing recent human activity, other than
those of his family. The house had undergone extensive security
retrofitting. It was watertight and structurally reinforced. The
sort of explosive necessary to breach it, would also destroy it, so
if something were to go wrong on that scale, there would be little
advance warning.

Across the canyon, the security residence displayed a
bit of activity. Even under the fog, the satellite feed revealed
the investigators, combing through the scene. The house hadn’t been
destroyed, only slightly damaged. However, the gunplay required a
thorough investigation, despite its top-secret status.

Over the Micronix, Dr. Fox located his replacement
security teams, parked in strategic locations on nearby roads and
drifting along with the local Angel City traffic. Feeds from local
satellites and municipal alert units all flowed to the Micronix. It
was beyond undetectable, it was…
Un-susceptible. How could these
nitwits suspect something they’d never heard of, never
imagined?
Fox laughed.

Geoffrey looked up at his father.

Dr. Fox blinked the Micronix menus and pallets away
and looked back at his son. He smiled.

Behind them, watching from the stairs, Ashley gasped,
staring into the fog. Ana was with her, sitting on the step next to
her daughter.

The fog before them looked so thick, the windows
appeared to be frosted. Yet it billowed with a heavy texture and
something dark flashed just beyond their ability to make it
out.

Jack barked.

A bird struck the window.

They all jumped.

The family watched the heavens pass by as birds
played the role of angels, fluttering through the clouds as they
journeyed to wherever clouds, and birds lost in them, go.

As the day grew brighter and the sun continued to
rise, warmth penetrated the heavenly vapor and it vanished.

Within a few minutes, breakfast was ready and the
backyard was visible again, covered with the dewy remnants of the
clouds. The sky grew dark, and as the family ate, it rained.

Ashley’s Journal, Tuesday, June 23, 2308

Something woke me up last night. I don’t even
remember sitting up, but that was how I woke up. One of the houses
across the canyon was on fire, the house with all the windows.

There’s something strange about that place. The way
the windows are. In the afternoon, it looks like a face. When the
windows were on fire, it looked like it was growling at me.

In my dream, I saw the long white cords in a deep
dark place again, with those huge knots in them. The knots were
made of pain.

Geoffrey talks in his sleep.

Thursday, June 25, 2308

All over the city, people rose and prepared for their
day. Yet somehow, today was different. People drove more
cautiously, and there was less traffic than usual. The headlines
weren't good; the war was threatening to start up again.

From the front lines in San Diego to San Antonio, the
Christian Communist Peoples Party had been pushing north, mounting
strikes deep into the heartland. Not to mention the mujahideen
coming down from Canada on horseback, harassing federal outposts
all across the border. Meanwhile, the government fought internal
corruption scandals in the headlines of every major news
outlet.

Early that morning, intelligence agents met their
handlers at safe houses. Today everyone was working; today there
was heavy chatter. Interested parties assembled in loose convoys,
out on the fringes of municipal airspace. In locked rooms and
tinted vehicles, mercenaries cleaned their weapons and loaded
magazines. Directives were confirmed and memorized.

Dr. Fox listened in on the transmissions. The
briefing location would be released over two minute intervals,
first to federal officers, cascading down to the juniors. The
traffic would be screened for leaks, all branches were ordered to
participate.

Fox’s driver arrived to escort the doctor to the
briefing. He said goodbye to his wife and children.

Once the vehicle lifted off Andrew placed the call.
The briefing would be held aboard the Fuji Dozo, docked at the
heart of the city. The boarding times had been carefully
segregated. When the Department of Defense wants to know if you're
a security leak, they don't just ask you, they tempt you. Hungry
fish get caught. Operation Rusty Bucket was concerned with plugging
leaks; the briefing itself was secondary.

The Fuji Dozo didn't even exist. Andrew had created
the name, and then researched it, just to be sure. When he made the
announcement he was confident that no one in North America had ever
before put those two words together as the proper name of a
restaurant.

The dock numbers and loading times were all that
mattered. Giving the location an exotic name was the key that
allowed the analysts to track the leaks. Any unauthorized
transmission of those two words between the hours of ten and noon
was a crime punishable by death.

Two minutes after ten, the first group of attendees
was informed. Composed of high-level government personnel, on the
inside, all well aware of the mole hunt in progress. Among this
group, no leaks were detected.

At 10:04, the second docking appointments were
revealed to interested private banks and corporations.

The volume of chatter instantly spiked. The first
moles had exposed themselves. Andrew listened as one group after
another leaked the information, and then denied it.

Operation Rusty Bucket was in full swing. The
returning data streams were undeniable. Within minutes of a leak,
offices were stormed, suspects arrested and interrogated on the
spot. Several administrations would find themselves a few pounds
lighter by the end of the day.

Andrew believed the explosion that destroyed Epsilon
was an accident. However, without supporting evidence, the
possibility of sabotage couldn't be ignored. A round of
whack-a-mole now and again was good training. The government had
always been a disgrace when it came to secrets, but Andrew knew his
department was secure.

The briefing was a waste of time, but it had to be
done. Andrew needed to explain what had happened. The interface was
an egregiously expensive failure, and someone had to answer for all
that red ink. He smiled at the irony of it all, and realized he had
an ace up his sleeve. This time, he could just tell them the
truth.

Ashley’s Journal, Thursday Morning. June 25,
2308

Today starts our one real week of summer. Rivendell
is closed for renovations, and we still have a week before we leave
for camp.

I can’t imagine having three whole months to do
whatever I want.

I don’t know what I would do. I would just practice,
probably.

I already did two hours this morning.

Geoff was in the backyard, playing with Jack, whose
energy propelled him all over the yard. Geoffrey would try to catch
him, only to have Jack leap away, excited to for him to try
again.

"Want to go down the canyon?" Geoffrey asked Jack,
who dashed around the yard, excited by any mention of the great
adventure beyond the property line.

"Hey, Ash, want to go down the canyon with us?" Geoff
asked his sister, finishing her breakfast in at the dining room
table.

"Geoff, you shouldn't go out there by yourself."

"I never go by myself," he answered.

"Jack doesn't count."

"Then why did you make Bobby shake his hand?"

"Because I'm a jerk," Ashley said. "It was mean, and
someday I'm going to hell."

"Is that where bad people go when they die?" Geoff
asked.

The children's parents hadn't raised them with any
sort of religious background. Geoff had no concept of a spiritual
afterlife. Ashley had only recently encountered the phrase at
school.

Ash nodded. "Where'd you hear that?" she asked.

"Vid streams," he replied.

"What have you been watching?"

"Wooden Stakes. You know you can make a wooden stake
from almost anything?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. Chair legs, broom sticks and stuff."

"That so?"

"Listen to this! One time, Simon Timex, that's the
hero... "

"Simon Timex?"

"Yeah! 'Time Waits for No Man!' He rolled up this
piece of paper all pointy like, and he stabbed the one vampire with
it, right in the chest!"

Ashley laughed.

"Don’t laugh! It could work. A piece of paper, it's
made of wood! Get it?" Geoff asked.

"I get it," Ashley smiled. "But I doubt it would
work?"

"If the vampires come, we just might have to find
out," he answered, dead serious.

Ashley laughed again.

"It could happen. If it was a plague, or a disease,
or a virus."

"Those are all the same things," Ashley smiled.

"Yeah, right, sure," it was Geoff's turn to laugh.
"Then why are they different words?"

His supreme confidence pushed his sister into a fit
of hysterical laughter. "They're the same.”

Geoff snorted. "Do you want to go down to the canyon
or not?"

"Get the leash," Ashley replied.

"All right!" Geoff dashed into the house. "Mom, we're
going to take Jack down the canyon!" he shouted.

"Take your sister with you. And don't forget the
leash,” she said.

Geoffrey grabbed the leash from its peg and ran into
the back yard.

Ash looked out at the green waves of forest. Since
vacation started, they had gone down the canyon every afternoon.
Often they would be gone the better part of the evening, chasing
Jack through the lush vegetation and around massive trees, standing
like pillars in a leaf-domed cathedral.

Jack set the pace. Once off the hated leash, he
couldn't be corralled until he was exhausted. Ashley laughed as
Jack caught Geoffrey's contagious excitement, and leapt into the
air, chasing after a yellow butterfly that had drifted into the
yard.

"Come on, Jack!" Geoff said. The puppy licked his
face as Geoff slipped the choke chain over the beagle's head, where
it rattled against his collar. Then the boy and his dog were
running down into the canyon. Ashley followed her brother and Jack
from the yard, down the path, and into the overgrown
wilderness.

Thursday, June 25, 2308

Director Stanwood’s office was large, with a low
ceiling, on the twenty-forth floor of the federal building. The
furniture was government special, but tastefully selected.

Von Kalt paced back and forth across the room.

“Do you mind, I’m waiting for a call,” Stanwood
said.

Von Kalt continued pacing. “You’ve let everyone else
take a shot at him, and you’ve got me sitting on the
sidelines.”

Stanwood answered without looking up, “That’s not a
very compelling argument for anything you might want.”

“You employ me because I have a specific skill set,
and yet, I’m not being utilized for those skills. Either get me in
the game or trade me to a team that needs me.”

“Feel free to speak plainly,” Stanwood said.

“You pay me too much to bullshit you.”

“Very well, first, this is not a game. Second, you
are not on a team. You work for the Republic, you do not get to
play, or participate. No one cares if you feel useful or utilized
and I could give a damn about your personal growth. You are here
because I want you here, and if you have an opinion I’m interested
in, it will be because I gave it to you.” Stanwood smiled.