Legacy of a Mad Scientist (21 page)

Von Kalt gestured for his men to secure the area. As
he knelt next to the unconscious Dr. Fox, he noticed the gas,
heavier than air, growing denser at ground level. Von Kalt
tightened the straps of his respirator and searched the doctor’s
pockets.

Wearing blue surgical gloves, Von Kalt patted the
man’s clothing and located the object he was looking for. He
reached into Fox’s breast pocket and pulled out the prototype
device.

Von Kalt stared at it. He knew what he was holding,
the legendary interface - the single greatest item in all of
mankind’s history.
Was he up to the challenge? Was he
worthy?

Crouched over Dr. Fox, his back to his subordinates,
Von Kalt peeled the glove from his right hand.

When the device made contact, Rudolph felt a tingling
sensation, as if everything got both warm and cold. The second
thing he noticed was an utter absence of sound. The city had gone
quiet.

He had heard the horror stories about what could go
wrong during one’s initiation with the prototype. He’d heard that,
in the successful cases, time often seemed to stop.

Conscious that his men were still behind him and
aware that anything he did right now could give him away, Von Kalt
remained still.

He held the device in his right hand, closed his eyes
and concentrated. He focused his mind and waited. He knew, if he
were worthy, the device would initialize and display the op-sys
title.

A moment later the word METACHRON filled his mind’s
eye.

That was enough. He smiled, pocketed the device and
replaced his glove. Slowly, the city’s life returned. Von Kalt
heard the sounds of traffic and pedestrians all around them.

He checked Fox’s pulse and pupils and stood. “He’s
good to go. Get him out of here.”

Von Kalt’s men moved in and secured Dr. Fox. They
strapped him to a gurney and loaded into the waiting transport.

The other patrons would wake feeling a bit nauseous
and bloated, but the effects would wear off in an hour or so. In
three hours, the compound would no longer even be detectable in
their systems.

Monday Afternoon, July 6, 2308

Von Kalt landed his transport on the executive lot
and carried Fox’s personal effects to Stanwood’s office.

“Did he have it?” Stanwood asked, without looking
up.

“No. He had nothing, just the usual, wallet, watch,
eyeglasses. But why the glasses? No one wears glasses anymore.”

“Fox has never been wired,” Stanwood replied.

“Is that a fact?”

“That’s what they say.” Stanwood rose from the desk
and went through the contents of the evidence bag. He opened the
wallet and handed Von Kalt the extra key card to the Fox house.

“You know, maybe Pierce engineered the while thing.
He could have been picked up by his own crew,” Von Kalt
suggested.

“Miller and Harris both said he didn’t jump,”
Stanwood commented.

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t fake it. No one ever
accused him of being stupid.”

“None of this strikes me as especially intelligent,”
Stanwood countered. Stanwood looked Von Kalt in the eye. “Where is
it?” he asked.

“Where is what?” Von Kalt didn’t hesitate.

Stanwood gestured to the key card, “Do a thorough
search of the Fox home. With gloves on, I want you to bring me any
amplifiers you might find.”

“Is that all?” Von Kalt asked.

“No. Political support for abstracting Fox comes with
a price. I need the immediate family members brought in, alive if
possible, but in, regardless.”

“I’ll take a team. But you know what we’re up against
here, Alive does not seem likely.”

“We’re talking about a mom and two kids.”

“You’ve seen the files, well, so have I. My men
aren’t authorized to know why we’re going after them and giving
them DOA orders on women and children is not going to go over very
well.”

“The shuttles were registered to the Heart of the
City Campground. There are several dozen summer programs running
there and some twenty thousand parents and children participating.
Unfortunately, their surveillance system is garbage. For now, we’re
scanning the campground for any records or camera pops, but I want
you watching the house.”

Stanwood gestured to the card in Von Kalt’s hand.
“Once you’re finished with your initial search, take that card out
to Abby’s Diner in Eagle Rock. Call me once you get there, and I’ll
send our sleeper out to meet you. On the off chance that we don’t
find Agent Zelena and her children, I want him waiting in the
wings.”

“What about Fox’s security outfit?”

“The Washington Security Team has been temporarily
pushed out of their residence. There are no agents to log your
visit.”

“But you’re serious about this, going after the wife
and kids? Isn’t that a little low, even for you?”

“It’s not
for me
. It’s the price of our
partners’ cooperation. Besides, without them, we have no leverage
on Fox. And if you had any idea who his wife is, you would know
that as long as she’s out there, we are a long way from finished
with this.

“Anastasia Zelena was an active spy when Fox met her.
He convinced Croswell that he’d turned her and added her to his
team. She is the only member of the 3AM Team whose name we do have.
No one has ever captured her or interrogated her about anything.
She is the worst kind of loose end. And she is extremely
dangerous.

“Not to mention his children…
Ashley
is an
incarnation of the AI Fox created, Code-named Astral. The 3AM
Project had to be closed when Astral went berserk and murdered
thirty-seven members of the technical staff. She is beyond
dangerous. She is a walking time bomb. Tell your men to fire on
sight. They don’t get any extra points for bringing
her
in
alive. In fact, if they try and take her alive, they will most
certainly wind up dead.”

“They’re not going to want to gun down a
twelve-year-old girl,” Von Kalt answered.

“The gas might work, but you’ve been warned.
Regardless, Fox has enhanced both wife and children with extremely
sensitive government technology, and the Attorney General has the
documentation to prove it. They are the property of the Republic of
the United States.

“There is also a very high probability that Dunkirk
will fail in his mission, but Anastasia would have to reveal the
extent of her powers, and when the warrants come through for us to
seize the Washington Security residence, we will have it all on
tape.”

Stanwood returned to his desk. “Now, take that card
to our Ultra-Man and tell him to keep his ears on. The minute the
wife and kids return home, I want them reduced to evidence.”

“You’re making a mistake. Dunkirk is a freak, I don’t
know how you justify keeping him on the payroll.”

“He understands orders, like when God told Abraham to
kill Isaac. He’ll do things you and your men, even
I
wouldn’t do. If we could find his compatriots, Morgenstern and
Gardner, then we’d have a real team. You wouldn’t believe the jobs
they pulled down in South America.”

“I think I might. I’ll let you know if we find
anything on Calistan.”

“The average Camp program is three to five weeks. I
think we’ll be fine. After all, we have Dunkirk,” Stanwood
said.

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“I have every confidence in Martin. I know he’ll
follow orders.”

Von Kalt raised an eyebrow. “You want me just sitting
on the house? You want me to just hang out for the next three
weeks?”

“Is there an echo in here?” Stanwood asked. “Fox will
have people who come looking for him. It would be best if you
stayed away from White Sands. Stay here; sit on the residence until
someone returns. When you see the mother or the children, you
notify both Dr. Dunkirk and myself. I’m sending eight agents with
you. You’re only job will be to notify me the moment something
happens, that will go for all of you. I already have two other
teams in the vicinity. No excuses, no mistakes.”

Von Kalt turned and walked from the office.

In the hallway outside, he pulled the Metachron from
his pocket and looked at it in his hand.

Von Kalt approached the Fox home. His men waited in
the car behind him. He waved the key card at the panel and the
exterior door opened.

Inside, he immediately felt something.

It drew him directly to Ashley’s room.

He paused at the door, touched it, listened, and then
after a few minutes, entered. He walked directly to the desk.

The evening sun streamed through the windows.

Von Kalt stood, transfixed by the center drawer in
the raised shelf above the blotter. He opened the drawer.

He stared at the place where the Micronix was and
pulled the Metachron from his pocket.

Von Kalt stood breathing, looking at the amplifier in
his hand, and the otherwise empty drawer. After a few minutes, he
closed the drawer, never touching the Micronix. It was right there,
lying right in front of him, but he could not take it.

Von Kalt did a cursory search of the home, but soon
left.

He had some things to think about.

Von Kalt found the seedy breakfast-diner Stanwood had
mentioned, Abby’s, on the outskirts of Northeast edge of Angel
City, and called Dunkirk. Von Kalt didn’t see the allure of a
twenty-four hour breakfast place, but Stanwood assured him that
Dunkirk loved it and always ordered enough to choke an ox.

For the first hour, Von Kalt resisted the sizzling
flapjacks, maple syrup and coconut-flavored coffee. By the time
Dunkirk arrived, a full two hours later, he’d eaten his fill and
just gotten his check.

“So you don’t have a problem with this, taking out a
woman and two kids?” Von Kalt asked, handing over the key card.

“No. Should I?” Dunkirk asked. The man’s eyes
appeared to be on fire. He seemed to have come down with some kind
of summer flu. Weighing a stout two-fifty, Dunkirk was sweating on
the cool and balmy night. He twitched and bounced with energy, in
the quiet, boring diner.

“Not very sporting, is it?” Von Kalt inquired.

“You know who we’re talking about here? Zelena?! If
you haven’t heard the stories, you should look her up.”

“But two little kids?” Von Kalt pressed.

“It’s not so much about the hunt for me.” Dunkirk
scanned the diner, his head swiveling in all directions as he
answered. “Sport isn’t my thing.”

Von Kalt watched him, wondering if he were on drugs
or just utterly insane. The Metachron lay heavy in his palm, below
the lip of the table.

“For me, it’s about the moment,” Dunkirk continued.
“Every moment is different. They come and they pass, and what was
will never be again.”

“You’re in it for the pain then?”

Dunkirk touched his nose.

Von Kalt narrowed his eyes.

Dunkirk rose from the booth, pocketed the key card
and exited the diner without another word.

Von Kalt remained, bathing in the smells of fired
egg, bacon, buttered toast and fresh-squeezed oranges,

He laughed to himself as he laid out the cash for his
meal.

The waitress looked up, curious. “What’s so funny?”
she asked.

“My friend loves this place,” Von Kalt said.

“But he didn’t order anything,” the waitress
answered.

Von Kalt smiled, “I know. The jokes on him.”

The waitress looked confused as Von Kalt exited the
café, laughing to himself.

Ashley’s Journal, Monday Evening, July 6, 2308

This camp is scheduled right down to the last minute.
There’s not a lot of time for chatting and the boys don’t seem to
interested in talking to me. I’m the only girl here, and I’m
painfully aware of how much I stand out.

Today I had my first match, Scott. He was one of the
ones who raised his hand as having martial art experience
already.

As soon as the whistle blew, he jumped at me.

I curled up, and his face ran into my knee.

I didn’t mean to hurt him.

There was blood everywhere.

They had to take him to the nurse and call in the
janitors to clean up all the blood. It totally was not my fault. I
heard one of the Instructors, Lopez, I think; say something about
that being an example of lesson number one. He was trying to be
funny, but I think it was mean.

Tuesday Morning, July 7, 2308

Dr. Fox woke to discover himself in an opaque plastic
cell. They'd left him his clothes but had taken his shoes. Light
filtered into the room from everywhere and nowhere. There was a
small enclosure with a toilet and a sink. He was grateful that he
hadn't been sent somewhere more primitive.

Fox checked his pockets, empty. The Metachron was
gone.

It was just as well. Fox realized it had influenced
him. It was different from the Micronix, which he had created and
programmed. Having survived the explosion at the Epsilon Facility,
which took the lives of forty thousand criminals, it had a
different vibe, to say the least.

Based on his own investigation, Fox suspected that it
was, in fact, the facility itself. He theorized that the
Metachron
had consumed every ounce of metallic alloy present
and expelled
waste
material in the explosion.

The Metachron was different. He was glad to be rid of
it.

The room was cold and having nowhere special to sit,
Fox settled on the floor, essentially the same place he'd awaken.
He tucked his feet under his legs to try and minimize the cold.

Discovering himself in a meditative posture, not
particularly tired and with little else to do, he relaxed his mind
and focused on his breath.

Ashley’s Journal, Tuesday Evening, July 7, 2308

Today we leaned lots of boxing moves, punches and
jabs.