Legacy of a Mad Scientist (16 page)

"No, really. It's kind of cool."

"Do the math."

"Out loud? I delivered the report, all the facts are
there."

"Well let's see that photographic memory in
action."

Fox hesitated.

"Is there a problem, doctor?" she asked.

"I'm just not sure what it is you want..."

"I want to know…"

"Oh, Please!” Harris interrupted her. “These were
death row inmates.” He rolled his eyes. “Can we get on with the
rest of our business now, Cheryl?”

"Are you screwing me, Jack?" Senator Warrington
snapped. Perhaps she'd meant to say are you screwing with me, but
didn’t.

"Thank heavens, no," Congressman Harris laughed.

Some of the other delegates dared to laugh with the
congressman, and the fearless bodyguards smiled. The room got
brighter for a moment.

Warrington jumped in with both feet, splashing the
goodwill from the room. "Then address me as Senator."

Fox sighed. She'd lost it, it was too late for a real
argument, her train of thought had jumped its tracks. Fox wasn't
even the object of her ire anymore; it had been misdirected onto
the foil, the jester, the clown. Fox knew it was Harris's job to
confuse people like the ex-surgeon general. He'd been assigned, by
Clarke, to lighten things up, should too much integrity or
responsibility be called for. Fox thought she looked as if she
might walk out, but she was too angry to leave.

"Could we project this, beam it at an enemy?" Senator
Clarke asked.

The delegates leaned forward.

"Could it be used as a weapon?" Clarke restated.

"It doesn't work that way. Everyone would need to be
holding signal amplifiers. You need the gateway, and it would need
to work, which it doesn't. Besides, we lost all our research. We're
back at square one."

"You expect us to believe there weren't any backups?"
a banking delegate asked.

"We lost everything. The back-up servers burned all
over the world. We lost one in London, one in New Delhi, two in
China."

"You had backups in China?" Harris fumed.

Clarke held up his hand. "You lost everything? Except
your personal amplifier?" Senator Clarke challenged Doctor Fox.

Andrew lifted the device from its place on the table.
"It's scrap metal," he said.

"That's our property," Harris said.

"Are you sure you want it?" Fox asked.

"I vaguely recall something about shared abilities?"
Miller asked, changing the subject.

"Ah, the talent thingy," Fox said.

"Talent thingy?" Harris said.

"Technical term." Fox shrugged.

"Such as," Miller asked.

"Say guy X knows how to speak Chinese, suddenly guy Z
can too."

"They were reading each others' minds?" Harris
asked.

"They were accessing each others' leaning centers,
not memory. Everyone thinks memory is where the human mind would
overlap, but not at all. The brain is most similar in how it stores
acquired skills, language, mathematics."

"That's still mind reading," Clarke said.

"It was more like borrowing each others' power tools,
if you need an analogy."

Harris pointed at the prototype sitting on the table.
"Can you read our minds with that thing?" he asked.

Fox smiled. "I can read your mind without it,
Congressman. It seems you want to get to know Senator Warrington
better."

A few laughs were heard.

"Senator Clarke wants a gin and tonic, and that guy
wants a club sandwich."

The whole room was laughing.

Fox continued, "For the record, they could not, and I
cannot, read minds. We had some speaking in foreign languages, but
since you sent me condemned criminals, what we saw was a staggering
rise in escape attempts, and violent attacks on guards. I objected
then, I'm objecting now. To be fair, you people or your direct
superiors are responsible for the deaths, and the failure of this
project."

No one spoke.

After a considerable silence, Fox continued. "At any
rate, shortly after the manifestation of unlearned skills, the
headaches started, followed by hemorrhaging from the eyes, nose and
ears, sometimes seizures. "

"Did a lot of the subjects have headaches?" Senator
Miller asked.

"We all did." Fox answered.

"What do you mean? You, the assistants, everybody?"
Miller inquired.

"All of us, yes. We were all connected," Fox
answered.

"And when it exploded, where were you?" Clarke
asked.

"I was traveling."

"What aren't you telling us?" Harris asked.

"How much time do you have?"

"Tell us when you first thought there might be a
problem."

"A soon as you changed this project from a volunteer
status to an execution alternative. I tried to shut the project
down several times. I spoke with each of you at length about it. An
hour prior to the explosion, I spoke with you, Senator Miller. You
insisted on waiting a week to shutter the facility."

Senator Clarke leaned forward, "Did you learn those
skills you mentioned?"

Fox shook his head. "I didn't manifest any new
abilities. It might have been because I was first, but I also
didn't spend a lot of time with the test subjects. I was occupied
with changes, improvements to the source code."

The room remained silent for a few moments.

"Gentlemen, I have nothing further. Any other
questions for me?"

Back in the canyon, Evan stood before the fearless
Ashley, arm raised overhead. If he swung, Ash knew she was getting
hit. There was no way she could move fast enough, but she was
betting he wouldn't hit a defenseless girl.

Doug and Jamie, the camouflaged commandos, leapt from
their place in the deep grass. "Attack!" Doug yelled.

The ambush exploded around them, clods of dirt and
grass were hurled toward Evan and his gang of hoverboarders. Loud
cracks were heard, as the springs of their toy guns slapped plastic
on plastic, rocketing yellow bee-bees that buzzed as they cut
through the air. Ashley could see them streaking past, hissing like
mutant insects on steroids.

While the ambush was psychologically something of a
success, the older kids escaped serious damage to the head and
neck. Thankfully, no one lost an eye. The guerrilla commandos were
sticking to the traditional hit-and-run tactics, but that meant
they'd just get picked off, one at a time, by the air-mobile
adolescents.

Ash looked for Geoff and Jack, gesturing for them to
back out of the impending battle. The teens would rally, and
someone would be crying soon. She hoped, but doubted it would be
Evan.

Evan saw his quarry attempting to escape, and stepped
up, getting in Ashley's face again. "Hey! Where do you think you're
going?"

Doug and Jamie stepped in to protect her, their
hornet rifles leveled at Evan's chest.

"Leave her alone," Doug said.

Faced with the plastic guns, Evan stalled in his
advance.

"She can stand up for herself," Evan countered.

"She's a girl!" Jamie yelled, aiming for Evan's
face.

"It'll be your last mistake," Evan promised.

Doug raised his rifle too, aiming for the eyes.
"You'll be blind!"

"Is that a fact?" Evan asked.

Ash noticed Bobby, Evan's younger brother, among the
commandos who'd come to their rescue.

Evan, desperate to escape Doug and Jamie without
backing down, followed her line of sight, and seeing Bobby, went
berserk. "What the hell? Are you on their side?" he yelled.

"We're just playing, Evan."

Doug and Jamie lowered their rifles.

"Playing?" the big brother snapped. "What's the
matter with you?"

"If it weren't for me, they’d have shot you for
real," Bobby said.

"Is that a fact?" Evan yelled.

Jamie's finger squeezed the trigger, and the hornet
jumped in his hand. Three bee-bees streaked past Evan's face.

Evan jumped, scared and stumbling.

Doug laughed.

Evan growled and shot toward them.

Doug and Jamie burst into laughter and ran from the
enraged teen. They showed no real fear and effortlessly dodged the
angry Evan. The air was again filled with laughter.

Until, without warning, a dozen huge red laser beams
filled the canyon with a crimson glow. The beams formed a giant
ring of light, stretching up into the sky, slowly turning
clockwise.

Someone had fallen from the city above; a rescue
operation was underway. The red light let passing vehicles know
that the coast guard or EMTs were chasing a jumper, hoping to catch
him or her before their imminent impact with the unforgiving ground
below. The kids were stunned silent, their battle abandoned.

A few moments earlier...

As Fox and the assembled delegates prepared to end
the briefing, a voice made itself heard “Excuses don't interest
me.”

Pierce stood, impeccably dressed behind the massive
cases crowding his table. The young man looked rather effeminate,
his long hair hung in his face, luxuriant, fashion-model hair. "I
was made to understand that this briefing concerned items of
merit." He grinned at Dr. Fox. "What about the prototype?"

"What about it?" Fox replied.

"Well, Dr. Fox, I agree with you. I read your report,
all twenty five hundred pages of it. I agree that it was an absurd
insult to you and your work, for the assembled members to have so
grossly perverted the basis of your study by sending you condemned
criminals."

Pierce continued, "I find myself torn. You see, I
also agree with the senators, that prototype should be our
property. We paid for it, in money and in blood. You need to turn
it over."

"It's worthless," Fox stammered. "It's a
paperweight."

"Fine, then. It's our worthless paperweight. What's
all the noise?"

"You could hurt yourself. As a doctor, I cannot give
this to you. But if you want to come up here, and steal my personal
property…" Fox gestured to the prototype on the table and stepped
away from it.

Pierce walked forward, his hands folded behind his
back, his eyes locked on Andrew's. "Dr. Fox, I charge you with
treason and fraud."

"Treason and fraud?" Fox rolled his eyes. "That's a
new one."

Before Fox could stop him, Pierce picked up the
slender hunk of metal. He was wearing gloves.

"This device is now officially taken into custody as
evidence. We had a contract. You agreed to produce the interface,
and after a couple of minor setbacks, you want to give up? I don't
think so. You will try again, or you will be tried for
treason."

Secretary of Defense Croswell stood up. "Dr. Fox
works for the United States Government. You don't give him orders,
I do. You don't get to try him for treason, I do. You don't have a
contract or investment rights. You get what I give you, and I give
you my word, if you don't put that down, you won't leave this room
alive, you deluded brat."

Pierce didn't move.

Croswell continued, "Your drunkard of a father should
have sent David, like I told him to, not some cock-sucking
pansy-ass elf. Take your gloves off, I dare you," the secretary
taunted him. "You won't touch it. You're a coward is why. A
no-good, one-way, dumb-ass little sally."

Pierce smiled and tossed the prototype to the
Secretary.

Several people gasped.

The flat rectangle hung in the air between the
men.

It seemed to move in slow motion.

Out of nowhere Dr. Fox caught the prototype, only
inches before it reached the Secretary.

"You called me a traitor, a liar and a cheat?" Dr.
Fox said.

Pierce's reply was a scowl.

"Let's settle this the old fashioned way," Fox
said.

Pierce smiled. "Pistols on the balcony?"

"Winner takes the prize." Fox held up the prototype.
"What do you say?" the doctor asked.

Director Stanwood stood up. "You idiots can kill each
other on your own time. The rest of us have business to attend to."
He gestured for his assistants to collect the cash and exited the
hall. With the money gone, the briefing was definitively over.

Croswell nodded to Fox, "I'd love to stick around,
but you know I can’t be a party to this. Good luck, Andrew."

"Whatever happens, it's a perfectly legal duel.
Clarke will fill you in on the details." Dr. Fox smiled at Clarke.
"Won't you, Senator?"

Clarke nodded, giddy with Shakespearean malice. He
hated Fox and Pierce both. He, Miller, and Harris cackled like
hyenas, following lions.

Moments later, Dr. Fox faced young Alexander outside
the clamshell, on the building's exterior patio. The remaining
delegates watched from behind the bulletproof glass. Andrew was
disappointed. There were a couple of guests he'd have happily
winged or even point-blank shot, if afforded the opportunity.

Andrew set the prototype on an empty table.

"Just so we both know where it is," he said.

Pierce nodded and peeled the glove from his right
hand. He removed his coat, exposing a modified version of the
standard issue Light 9 handgun, with an extended barrel and
compensator. He wore the gun low on his thigh, an easy draw. The
chrome reflected glittering bits of light as he shifted his
weight.

Andrew's holster was much higher, on his belt, a much
more difficult draw and impossible to beat Pierce's hip-hugger. As
kids, everyone had practiced, but few adults found themselves in an
honest-to-goodness showdown.

Fox knew he wasn't drunk. Why then did he feel drunk?
He hadn't taken any pills that day. He wasn't on pills just now.
Andrew decided he was getting some pills if he survived this
mess.

Fox suddenly found it difficult to breathe. His face
felt flush, his throat, wet and ragged. His collar was too tight.
He could hear his heartbeat, ringing in his ears, slamming through
his head like a bell.