Einstein Must Die! (Fate of Nations Book 1) (20 page)

“You’ve got sensors that report the presence of each magazine. How much each one weighs too,” said Tesla.

“Well, I guess I just had dinner!” He laughed.

The weapons tech scanned the bank of magazine ports. They were secured, and green lights glowed under each one. “We’re all good here,” he told Tesla.

Tesla nodded. “All right, let’s get everyone behind the blast shield and see what you can do.”

Nonessential workers took a break and headed upstairs for an early lunch. Tesla, Savannah, Bertram, and General Houston huddled together behind a wide, transparent sheet of bullet-resistant glass.

“Care to do the honors?” Bertram asked Savannah.

“Definitely,” she said. She raised her voice. “Dad, can you hear me?”

The colonel responded, his amplified voice booming through the lab.
 

“Sure can, honey,” he said.

Sixty yards downrange, the far wall had been decorated with five bullseye targets. Arranged like an
X
, each one was four feet square.

“OK, let’s start easy. Can you see the upper-right target?”

The colonel’s view ports allowed him to see in 360 degrees at once, but he focused his attention forward. When he was merely human, his two eyes would have given a decent sense of depth, but he now had four forward view ports, and the two extra eyes gave his brain additional angle data to work with.

“Yep, I see it,” he replied.

He visualized pointing a finger at the distant target. Three of his antipersonnel chainguns twitched and swung to aim downrange.

“Hang on,” he said. “Still trying to remember I’m not running a human body anymore.”

He focused, reminding himself of the new appendages he controlled, and shifted his attention to only one of them. Two of the chainguns went slack and relaxed. He adjusted the remaining one and called out, “Firing!”

With a single
THWAP
, one gel round raced downrange. It struck the target and splattered into a one-inch patch of orange.
 

Bertram studied the target with binoculars. “Quite good,” he said. “No bull’s-eye, but you’re in the three ring.”

“OK, I can adjust for that,” the colonel said. He re-aimed the chaingun up and right by a tiny amount and fired again. The orange splat landed dead center in the bullseye.

“There we go,” he said. “Just needed to get the hang of it.”

“Which you did rather quickly,” Bertram said. “Outside, you’ll have to compensate for windage and changing terrain as you move, but that shouldn’t be a major challenge for you, I think. How about a single burst? Say all five targets.”

The three forward guns swiveled up, trained on their targets independently, and fired. Two guns then twitched to secondary targets and fired again. In all, less than a second had passed.

Bertram whistled as he scanned the wall through his binoculars again.
 

“Three bull’s-eyes and two in the four ring. That’s really impressive, Colonel.”

“Thanks. Always was a good shot. But this is amazing. You boys have really created something here.”

“We created half of it. Beowulf is a hybrid now, half man and half machine,” Bertram replied. “Give yourself some credit too.”

“Well, let’s just wait and see. Target practice is one thing, combat is something else entirely.”

Tesla spoke up. “Maybe the colonel would like to combine moving targets with some basic navigation?”

“Damn right,” the tank replied.

“Fine, fine,” said Bertram. “Colonel, please engage any moving target. Let’s say two shots constitutes a kill. Avoid firing on the civilian targets, and do this while advancing forward at three percent speed. Proceed when ready.”
 

“Now we’re talking,” he said.
 

A low whine filled the lab as the Beowulf tank engaged power to its treads. Gears wound, then clicked into place, and the massive tank edged forward. The woven steel treads inched along, propelling the house-sized tank at a man’s walking speed.

Bertram clicked a stopwatch to begin timing the exercise.

The colonel took a moment to sight the rows of moving targets parading by at the far side of the lab. They disappeared behind the friendly stationary targets, then exposed themselves again.

“Firing,” the tank announced.

Beowulf’s forward chainguns twitched and found their targets readily. The movements were sure and precise. Two rounds went screaming downrange, then the guns reoriented for the next victim. The
BRAPPP
of firing rounds was painfully loud, and everyone stuck their fingers in their ears.

Downrange, the targets were taking a beating. Each impact left a ding in the sheet metal, and each target was quickly colored in twin patches of bright orange.
 

Beowulf’s forward left chaingun trained on a target painted like a British trooper. As it slid behind a woman carrying groceries, the gun followed the motion, but held its fire. As the trooper emerged on the other side, the gun spat twice, and the trooper’s face and chest went orange.

Beowulf scanned for hostile targets, but they were all dead, by the rules of this simulation. The tank stood down, and all guns relaxed.

“Ceasing fire,” announced the colonel.

Bertram clicked his stopwatch again. “Wow,” he muttered.

“I know
how
he did,” said General Houston, “but how fast was he?”

Bertram looked up. “While moving, the colonel dispatched nine enemy combatants. No civilians were touched. He took six seconds to do this.”

“Incredible,” said the General. “I believe you will get the go-ahead for the Mark Two, Bertram. I’ll speak to the president right away.”

Bertram nodded, then looked from his stopwatch to the array of painted targets.

“Thank you, General. The British won’t know what hit them, that’s for sure.”

“They’ll be telling themselves campfires stories about the boogeyman called Beowulf,” agreed the general. “I’m glad I could see this before I head out.”

“Head out?” asked Bertram.

“The Brits are massing near Boston. I’m to get out there and take command of our land forces.”

Bertram extended his hand. “I’m glad you’re the man running the defense, General.”

They shook hands as General Houston laughed and hooked a thumb toward Beowulf. “Thanks. Now get him ready. There’s a good chance I’ll need him in Boston.”

“Will do, don’t worry.”

“OK then, I’m off.” The general said his good-byes and headed for the elevator.

As Bertram and Tesla discussed the next steps, Savannah walked over to the tank and ran her hand along the tread.

“I’m proud of you, Papa,” she said.

“Thank you, honey. I’m just glad for the chance to be useful again.”

“How do you feel?”

“Invincible,” he said, laughing.

“Yeah, well, that’s not a bad description.”

“Back at your age, I thought I was tough. Now? I could level a building, literally.”

Smiling, Savannah pointed a finger at her father. “Don’t enjoy it too much.” She realized how silly she must look, chastising a tank that towered over her.

“OK, honey, I’ll remember my place.”

He laughed with her. The moment felt good, like they had reconnected despite the bizarre circumstances.

“Sure wish I could hug you again, though,” he said.

She smiled sadly. “I know, me too. But if it’s this or losing you to the cancer, I’ll take this and call myself lucky.”

“Not exactly how we pictured spending my retirement with you and Maddy, is it? But who knows? It could be a blessing. Lord knows how long I can live in this thing. We’ll have more time than we ever thought possible. I’ll even get to watch Madelaine grow old.”

“The silver lining,” she agreed.

A pinprick of worry tugged at her attention, but she ignored it. The moment felt nice, and she wanted to focus on it.

X-RAYS II

“Sweet God in heaven,” whispered Edison, his face gone white.
 

He’d been away for a short time and wanted to check on his apprentice, Dally. The sight that greeted his return horrified him. He thought of the scary picture books Marion enjoyed, full of ghouls and monsters. With a cold tickle climbing up his back, he realized his old friend resembled the fictional creatures.
 

Dally’s handsome, aristocratic face was now grotesque. Radiation damage had eaten away at the fragile tissue, leaving behind craggy ravines and sagging, misshapen skin that appeared scalded. His hair had fallen away, even the eyebrows. His left hand bore the scars and puffy redness of multiple skin grafts. While no doctor, Edison knew at a glance Dally’s body was rejecting the attempt to repair it, determined to slough off parts of itself, and fall apart.

Edison resisted the urge to step back.

“Dally,” he whispered, afraid to speak louder. The entirety of the man before him looked fragile and precarious, as if a loud noise might cause him to break apart and tumble to the floor, a pile of human pieces.

Then the monster spoke in a rough, grating tone like a rasp pulled along metal. “You were right, Mr. Edison. I’m sorry.”

“Dally… I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s all my fault, sir. You don’t have to say anything.”

“Is it…Are you in pain?”

Dally nodded. “Hurts like the devil. I sleep with my hand in a water bath, which helps some.”

Edison reeled. He prided himself on exploring the boundaries of science, but never to put others at risk. He’d even turned down work on devices designed to kill. And now this…

“Your wife and children?”

“They are supportive, of course. What else can they be?”

Edison ran his hands through his hair, turning away. “You are on paid leave, of course. As long as you need. Just try to relax with your loved ones.”

Dally pursed his lips, and the sight revolted Edison, though he stifled the reaction.

“Thank you, Mr. Edison. I do appreciate that.”

“And have your doctor send his bills to me. The lab will pay them all.”

“You are very kind,” Dally replied, which only made Edison feel more guilty. “However, my medical bills will soon escalate.”

Dally held up his left hand, showing Edison the gnarled fingers. “The good doctor wants to remove four fingers. I’ll have just the thumb left.”

Nausea washed over Edison, and his balance swayed. His stomach clenched, wanting to vomit, but Edison focused, denying the impulse.

“All will be well, Dally,” he said, turning aside. He had to get out of there. He needed some air. “All will be just fine.” He clamped his hand tightly over his mouth and strode stiffly for the exit.

COMBAT OPERATIONS

“Major? Did you hear me?”

Major Thomas had not heard the man at all, since his mind was forty miles to the southwest. Lieutenant Danvers should be in position at the US base by now. He’d probably launch his assault at first light. Could he penetrate their defenses? Would he properly organize the search for Savannah and Madelaine? Could he get them out unharmed?
 

He really should have gone and overseen the assault personally. But the three ships filled with reinforcements needed his attention. Nineteen hundred men had landed that morning, and a lot of logistics needed to be handled, getting them ashore. Their commander sat across from him, and the major remembered he’d been asked a question.

“Forgive me, it’s been a long day. You were saying?”

“For us all, Major. I said, my personal staff requires a proper house for billeting. Have you one set aside for them?”

Housing assignments. I stayed behind for this?
 

On a fast horse, he could catch up to the assault force, maybe even reach them before they attacked.
 

The lieutenant was a good officer. He’d doubtless consider the major’s arrival to be a critique.
 

But if I held back and observed?
If the boy does well, no need to step on his toes. And if he needs help, he’d be glad to have it.
 

The major’s decision was made before he stood and made an empty excuse to the confused commander.
 

He raced outside and called for the fastest horse available.