Legacy of a Mad Scientist (20 page)

When he finished, Bobby raised his eyes, meeting his
father's. In that single glance, it was clear that Bobby was the
master of the bullets.

Martin could worship, but only with Bobby's
permission.

The bullets would not permit any harm to come to
their master.

The hammer slipped from Martin's grasp. Mr. Dunkirk
wanted to sit with Bobby and the shells, but the corpses were in
his way.

Bobby watched the reflections of moonlight on metal
as his father carried the corpses to a narrow ravine a short
distance from the glen.

Almost narrow enough to straddle, Martin dropped them
and watched them tumble and crash forty feet to the bottom. Then he
collapsed the sides of the defile around them, filling in the
makeshift grave.

Finally, Martin joined his son in their silent
communication with the infected bullets.

They were pleased with their ministers.

Bobby would remain their caretaker, seeking out
converts during the day, and Martin would return at night, to keep
the congregation small.

It worked for almost three whole weeks, until a
previously planned family vacation upset their applecart of
murder.

Ashley had been assigned her own room. She was the
only girl in a camp of over twenty boys. She figured Geoff had to
share, but as far as she was concerned, he was still the lucky one.
As soon as their bags were stowed, the children assigned to the
martial arts camp were lined up outside the main practice hall.
Ashley stood in the back, so not to stand out any more than
necessary.

Three instructors stood at the front of the room. The
tallest prowled back and forth, not speaking, just taking stock of
the assigned group. Ashley guessed he was doing his two years of
public service, as well as the two assistants who stood beside
him.

"I am Citizen Shou. You may call me Sihing Shou.
See-hing means senior student. This is Sihing Cleary and Sihing
Lopez. We are here to help guide you through the challenges of the
next few weeks. This is a mixed martial arts course, you will be
taught many things, and you will be tested. But first, I'd like to
know, do any of you have experience in the martial arts?”

About half the students raised their hands. Ashley
didn't raise hers. Despite two previous summers of similar courses,
she did not count herself as experienced.

"Now, how many of you have been hit, hard, in the
face?" Sihing Shou asked.

At first several hands went up, but some were timid,
uncertain.

"I mean hard, bloody nose, fat lip, black eye. How
many?”

A few hands remained aloft.

Shou pointed to one boy and asked, "Who hit you?”

"My brother hits me all the time," he said, pointing
at his brother, standing a few spaces away.

Shou and several others laughed. Ashley noticed that
the boy, however, was not laughing. She suspected he was interested
in how to put a stop his brother’s dominance.

"And you?" Shou gestured to another boy.

"My father," came the answer.

Shou pointed again. "A kid in my class.”

"Has anyone here ever been hit while in the ring?"
Shou asked.

All the hands went down.

"When you are in a fight, if you are ever in a fight,
you must fight for your life. It will be at that moment when you
are weak, tired, probably very hurt, that is when you must act to
save your life. We will help you get to that place and teach you
how to think while you're there.”

Shou walked along the front of the room. "Someone may
come, an outlaw, the government, a king, they may take all of your
possessions. They may steal your clothes, eat your food and burn
down your house, but you can survive all of that. You may have
nothing, but you will never be defenseless. Knowledge is the
greatest power; it is something no one can see. It cannot be stolen
or broken, and no one can take it from you.

“When you leave here, you will be in possession of
new knowledge. You will know things you did not know when you
arrived. You will have earned it, paid for it in sweat and blood,
and it will be worth much more than money."

"This knowledge comes in the form two most valuable
lessons. The first can only be studied in a controlled environment,
since the lesson is about control. Every day, at three o'clock, we
will have tournament style sparring matches. Everyone will
participate. You can win by points, knock out, or submission, but
that is not the lesson. That is just the place where you will have
the experience I want you to think about.

"You see a lesson is not always learned in a single
moment. It is something to be taken in and contemplated. Then it
becomes understood.

“The match is not the lesson, it is just the
framework, but within this framework, at some point you will be hit
in the face. This is a unique experience, I promise you.

“The lesson is this. How, after being struck, does
one remain composed? Can you ignore the pain and stay focused on
your survival? Can you remain calm and aware?

“I'm not here to teach you how to hit someone, but
rather, how to work through being hit. So, lesson number one is,
Keep thinking through the pain.

"Now lesson two is much more difficult to learn. If
you could master this, you would never have to learn lesson one.
Number two is simple: Don't get hit.”

"Everything we teach you supports those two rules.
Okay, now I want you to go get changed into your warm up gear.
We're going to do some stretching and a little Tai Chi."

This camp was different from the other Martial Arts
programs Ashley had attended. For one thing, she liked it.

Monday, July 6, 2308

Dr. Fox and Secretary Croswell entered the Oval
Office, greeting the assembled directors and citizens. The last
time Fox had been here, under the previous administration of
President Stagwell, he had given the President an amplifier. He
knew that President Stagwell had handed the amplifier down to
President Conway as part of his Oath of Office. Croswell had
instructed the President in its use, but Conway and Fox had never
discussed it.

For this meeting, the President was not in the room.
Fox knew the men present, but Croswell made a round of
introductions anyhow. Fox shook hands with the President's Chief of
Staff, John Phillips, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and
Secretary of State, a few senators and Director Stanwood.

Fox sat in the open chair, the hot seat, as it
were.

The other significant difference, Fox noticed, was
that now, instead of the Micronix device, which he had carried for
over twenty years, now Fox had the Metachron in his pocket. This
device was different, but only slightly. In fact, the device seemed
to have, or rather
give him
, a distinct approach.

"What the hell, Fox?" Phillips did not sound
friendly.

"How are you, Mr. Phillips?" Fox asked.

"Seems there may be a couple of issues you failed to
mention to us."

"Probably more than a couple," Fox said.

”How about you explain this business about detonating
terillium?"

"It’s just a concept.”

"And two hours later the Epsilon Facility place
explodes? Does that seem like a coincidence to you?”

"It seems unrelated to me," Fox said.

"Cut the shit. You know what we want," Phillips
said.

"I suppose I do," Fox answered.

"So are you going to give it to us?" the Chief of
Staff snapped.

Fox smiled, "Right here, in front of everybody?"

No one laughed or even smiled.

Fox swallowed. "It was an idea sir. It didn't work,
thank God. Even if you introduced the transcript of the call as
evidence, even if you could extradite Dr. Te, it was just an idea.
It was never going to work.” Fox looked at Stanwood. "It might
easier to convict me if I were pursuing this, that would really be
treasonous.”

"There would never be a trial," Phillips smiled.

"Look, I tried with the interface. You saw what
happened," Fox said.

"Try harder," Phillips said.

“How about you get me some real volunteers, not death
row inmates.”

“You don’t sound very cooperative, doctor.”

"Do you realize what this cost? Not even in terms of
actual human life, just in cash money? The installments were chump
change. I spent more than that out of my own pocket.”

"We're not asking," Phillips said.

Fox looked him in the eyes. "Has it occurred to you
that if God wanted you to know what I know, he'd have made you
smarter?”

"He didn't make you President, and I don't think you
believe in God.”

Fox remained silent, his lips a tight, thin line.

"I'm going to give you a week to think this over,
Doctor Fox. You start again in a week, or you say goodnight. Do you
understand?” Phillips asked.

Fox laughed. "Let me get this straight. You suspect I
have the ability to detonate terillium… And your response is
to threaten me? I contributed more in eighth grade than all of you
have, put together.

“You want to lecture Me? You dare?

“I created the cyber-tanks that ended the war. Hell,
you still use the Three-AM guards. I don't owe you anything, and
I'm the last person you should want to threaten, let alone to try
and kill.

“By your logic, if I had this power and you exposed
yourselves as such ignorant bullies, I would be obligated, as a
patriot, to kill all of you.”

No one spoke.

"If you have evidence against me? Produce it. You
think I’m a traitor? Get a warrant. You consider me a threat to
national security? I am National Security. I am the first among
equals. Your job is to protect me.”

Fox stood and looked over to Stanwood, "This is you,
isn't it? You're still bitter and so you convinced him to try and
strong-arm me?”

Fox returned his attention to Mr. Phillips. "Sir, I
regret to inform you, you've been played. When I have something
worthwhile, something safe, you're the first person I'll bring it
to. Until then, good day to you, sir."

Fox walked from the room.

Behind him, Phillips said, "What's he talking about,
Stanwood? You two have history?"

Croswell burst into laughter.

Von Kalt waited until he and Stanwood were in the car
before making his case. “Sir, I’ve been informed of new
developments you should know about.”

“What’s that,” Stanwood asked, looking out the
window.

“Sir, this morning Missus Fox and children left the
home on transport shuttles, with luggage.”

“You don’t say,” Stanwood mused. “Let me guess, our
teams lost them in traffic?”

“The shuttles… Yes, sir.”

“Well, that makes Fox about the nearest you can get
to a flight risk, don’t you think?”

“I do, sir,” Von Kalt agreed.

“Very well, Commander. You have a green light. But
until we get paperwork, this is a completely ‘off the books’
operation. Do you understand me?”

“I do sir.” Von Kalt smiled.

“One more thing,” Stanwood said. “I want him
transferred to the old NASA facility out at White Sands. I’m giving
you strict instructions and a direct order, once you take him into
custody; keep him sedated until you get there.

“Before you get there, have all the Terillium, hell,
all metal, for a ten mile radius pulled out. That means no
vehicles, no facilities, not even so much as a pen. If we’re going
to take this seriously, there’s no sense in ignoring the number one
threat. We’re talking about a guy who can detonate T256 with a
thought.

“I would also recommend disabling the Doctor with
some sort of airborne agent, maybe gas or something. Don’t try
taking him by force, with guns, that would be a mistake. In fact,
Director, I’ll be very impressed to see you again.”

Von Kalt blinked lazily and turned for the door.

“Oh, and finally,” Stanwood said. “Please take along
a pair of gloves. No sense ending up like Pierce.”

Von Kalt turned to face his superior. “I’m telling
you, Pierce pulled a flying squirrel. I bet a million dollars, he’s
alive and well in Belize.”

“Just because you never found an impact point doesn’t
make Pierce clever. His family certainly seems to believe he’s
missing. If not, they are going to an awful lot of fuss, and losing
their prominent position in the Republic, over what, a ruse?”
Stanwood tapped his chin and stared at the ceiling. “No, it gains
them nothing. If Pierce were alive and in possession of the
Micronix, we would know about it, one way or the other.”

Stanwood glanced back to Von Kalt. “And you shouldn’t
bet money you don’t have.”

Von Kalt exited the office as Stanwood leafed through
the paperwork he’d been neglecting.

Monday Afternoon, July 6, 2308

Dr. Fox sat at an outdoor table at the busy cafe. The
warm breeze smelled of rain, flowers and coffee. The people passing
by had smiles and nods for each other, the goodwill that had
started with the beautiful weather spread from one person to the
next.

Fox blew across the top of his cup. He didn't
recognize the tall man who approached his table. Fox himself was
almost six foot, but the stranger was well over that. Obviously a
federal agent, he was dressed in a sharp black suit, shirt and tie.
Fox saw another across the patio and two more at the far
entrance.

The first agent stepped to the side. Fox thought he
recognized Deputy Director Von Kalt but failed to place him as
Stanwood's aide. Then Von Kalt raised the gas gun. It resembled a
regular pistol, except for the large canister-like barrel.

As Von Kalt raised the weapon, his agents raised
respirators to their faces. Fox watched dark smoke billowing from
the fat little pistol. The gas reached his mind and consciousness
abandoned him.