Blackjack Wayward (The Blackjack Series) (39 page)

“Laugh all you want,” I said. “Without me, you’re stuck with the notecard.”

But for some reason, he ignored the threat and just kept laughing, “I like the way your sick mind works.”

So we worked together, though after he explained how the mental link worked, his effort in the cause was just keeping his mouth going. The central control was simple: the system just read your brain impulses, and after it learned the specific patterns, it knew where you were at all times in the Tower, knowing your needs before you even did. If you were hungry and headed to the mess, the system read your biometrics, studied your previous menu to know what you liked, and prepared a nutritionally balanced meal to match your caloric needs. If you needed a doctor’s visit, the system uploaded any problems you had so the doctor was prepared for your needs before you even made the trip. And it could interface with your immediate needs, like having the central telescoping tentacle thing hand you a soldering iron, the flux, or even the raw materials to repair a suit.

Ricochet’s suit was a simple magnetometer, designed to allow him control of his unlimited kinetic energy projection to counteract the impact of his collisions as he “ricocheted” around. It created a negative kinetic projection angled to Ricochet’s unconscious needs, letting him manipulate the angle of rebound as he sprung off his target. The system allowed him to bounce at odd angles, even back on himself, and to slow and increase speeds (which, according to the database, were in excess of 700 miles per hour). It also spared his body and his target the rigors of impact, by “bouncing” him off before actual contact.

The ancillary benefit of the neural net system that Superdynamic had installed in the Tower were return pathways, so you could access information from databases at the speed of thought, set up the most complicated calculations and receive a viable solution instantly. Ricochet was only able to give me guest access, so my speeds were reduced and the availability of information heavily regulated, but I could only imagine the possibilities of such a system, and I was hoping to get full access after a while. It was an impressive achievement by Superdynamic, and the more time passed, the more I was linked into the network, the more impressed I grew with the man.

Fixing Ricochet’s suit was more a function of replacing damaged wiring than anything else. When travelling at near the speed of sound, while at the same time bouncing off walls and objects, the wear and tear on the reflective suit was substantial. Besides, and I didn’t want to make a big stink about it, the way the pathways were configured was quite inefficient, almost redundant, as if Superdynamic were building a dual system of controls, which only made energy routing that much more of a problem. Even though the signals travelled through the suit at the speed of light, doubling the pathways meant a longer travel time, even if it was in micro-seconds, which combined with the reaction time of the user, would mean increased chances of impact, and more damage to the suit.

“So, dude,” he said as I was nearing completion of my work on his suit. “That whole thing in Australia?”

I didn’t know what he was talking about, whether he meant Claire, or the walk through the desert, or–

“You really kill all those people?”

So they knew. I guess it must have gotten out faster than I was able to fly out of the country. Superdynamic knew and hadn’t said anything.

I shrugged, hoping he’d get the hint.

“So, you busted up Nevsky and Fenris and all those bad guys?”

“Look, I’d rather not–”

“Hey, it’s cool. Some bads get what’s coming,” he said, then thought about it a moment, realizing how I factored into that and avoided my glare. “You know what I mean. The real bads, right?”

“I was scared, and I lost control,” I said, admitting the truth, spilling it in part to make him uncomfortable, to get him to change the subject, but owning up to it, with such brutal efficiency, gave me pause.

For the first time, he was speechless.

He had finally gathered himself when Ruby came into the lab, through the entrance across the way, stopping at a booth with several scientists and chatting with some of her friends.

She was an attractive woman, but I wouldn’t have noticed her arrival if not for Ricochet’s reaction. His eyes flashed in her direction every few seconds, and instead of talking to me as he had been, he stood silent.

“You all right?” I asked.

“Huh? Sorry,” he said, shifting his feet. He was holding a framing bracket for me, but as his attention to the task at hand waned, so did his hold. I couldn’t do the final soldering with him fidgeting.

“Here,” I said, taking the bracket. “I can do this part alone.”

Ricochet barely noticed what I had said, and, looking up, I noticed why. Ruby had seen him and was waving. He averted his gaze nervously, so I waved for both of us.

Ruby said goodbye to her friends and walked around the lab in our direction. She seemed to know everyone in the tower, saying hello to all the scientists and techs she passed on her way to us.

“Hey, Rico. I didn’t know you were with our new friend,” she said being as delicate with me as she could manage.

“Yeah,” Ricochet managed, unable to make eye contact with her.

“Moe sent me to make sure you didn’t break the whole tower down,” she said. “But I would much rather be working in Central Command.”

“Any word from D.C.?” I said.

She shook her head, “I can’t say much.”

“This is getting kinda stupid,” I protested. “I came here to help.”

“Until you get on Superdynamic’s good side, the only help you can give us is by sitting still and letting us do our job.”

“Fine,” I said. “Then show me the fucking way out if all you’re going to do is piss away my time.”

She cocked her hips and slammed the balls of her fists against her belt. “You have a potty mouth, don’t you?”

“I’m not kidding. If whatever’s happening in D.C. is so important, what are we waiting for?”

I looked over at Ricochet, but he didn’t help me at all, instead trying his hardest to keep from openly ogling Ruby.

“If you guys want to just sit here, that’s fine – I don’t care – but you’re not keeping me in a cage, you understand? You’re gonna need more guys.”

Ruby smiled. “Does that work?”

“What?”

“The whole yelling, threatening to break stuff thing that you do. Does it work?”

“What do you mean?”

She looked over at Ricochet, flashing a smile at him, “He’s not that smart, is he?”

He shrugged, unsteady under her gaze.

“I’m serious, Ruby.”

“Then take it up with the big guy. I’m not management, I just work here. You boys have fun,” she said and waved us off, before leaving the lab.

I watched her walk out, as entranced with her posterior as Ricochet was next to me. Ruby shot a glance back at us, knowing that she had us under her spell. She winked as the doors slid closed.

Returning to my work, I noticed that Ricochet was still enraptured, staring at the closed door as if hoping that she’d come back.

“Fuck,” he said finally.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he waved me off, holding the bracket for me again, this time with more efficiency than when Ruby had been across the room. “I’m hopeless.”

I smiled. “I kind of know what that’s like.”

He regarded me for a second, trying to figure out whether I was being honest or not.

“I’m serious,” I said.

“Whatever. From what I heard, you had Influx and Apogee fighting over you.”

I found it funny that it didn’t make sense to him that I would have trouble with women, as if it was some sort of trick I had mastered.

“Whoever told you that is full of it,” I said. “Anyway, Ruby seems to like you. You should just talk to her.”

Ricochet laughed, as if what I was suggesting was madness.

“She’s got plenty of guy friends,” he said, a bit wounded. “I doubt she has time for a guy like me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? ‘A guy like you?’ You want to know what your problem is? You’re making it so it’s something almost impossible to achieve. But she’s just a girl, man. And you want to know what? I think she likes you.”

He didn’t say anything, caught in between the anger of knowing I was wrong and the hope of wishing I was right. Instead, he just helped me finish his suit, thanked me, and left me to work on my boots.

Chapter Thirty-One

By the time I was done with the boots, Moe trotted in, moving with purpose.

“Hey, I just thought of something,” he said. “Follow me.”

I threw on the new boots, much leaner and more form fitting with most of the mechanical parts hidden beneath leather compartments.

“You guys taking turns with me?” I asked as we walked the internal maze of the tower.

He laughed, “Feels like that, huh? Nah, we’re just taking breaks from working out the D.C. thing.”

“How’s that going? Anything you can share? Ruby didn’t want to say anything.”

“That’s one secretive girl, let me tell you. I can tell you, it’s cool. We sent some probes and they got shot down, and then we tried some satellite surveillance but all the major satellites with decent angles are down for some reason. So we sent a probe up to check the Intelsats…you know what they are?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Okay, good. Well, they’re all fucked up. So I had the idea of putting a long-range camera on a rooftop across the Potomac looking into the city. Shit’s bad, man. It’s like Sarajevo. There’s like a bunch of evil supers in town.”

“Who’s fighting who?”

“That’s what we can’t figure out. I mean, other than General Maxwell went apeshit and is trying to take over. I mean, he’s got an army there. So far we’ve seen he has taken control of all the military bases surrounding Washington D.C. and marched his forces to form a perimeter around the capital. That includes UH-60 Blackhawk and F-22 Raptors out of Fort Bolling, a mechanized battalion of M-1 Abrahms and M-2 Bradleys out of Fort McNair, F-18s off the aircraft carrier
Truman
and the Mecha division out of Fort Meade, Maryland. But we can’t tell who he’s fighting, you know, who’s defending the White House. SuperD is working on a series of nanoprobes that’ll get us more intel. See if we can contact the good guys. If we go in right now, we wouldn’t know who was friend or foe.”

“But we have to move at some point,” I said, feeling more and more anxious. “We can’t just sit here and watch it happen.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Couple more hours and we’re inbound. I don’t doubt it. Anyway, I got a good way to keep you busy.” He led me to a heavy set of doors that had “warning” printed on them in bold letters.

The doors slid open and he led me into a large, two story room, more akin to a warehouse that had no adornments or markings.

“Be careful now,” he said as the metal doors slammed shut. “This place can be dangerous.”

Moe beamed as the wall frame slid open and a large robot trotted out. The silver beast was more agile and fast than the rickety frame gave it credit for.

“That’s the Mark Three,” Moe said, waving his arms out. “Beat that shit, and I’ll buy the first round.”

I snorted, “You’re kidding, right?”

He laughed, full-bodied, and then realized something was wrong.

“Damn,” he said. “I brought it out wrong. What, you wanna fight anyway?”

Shrugging, I just stomped toward the robot, indifferent to what it looked like.

“No, wait,” Moe held me back. “That’s the trick, man. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Okay, so do what you need to and let me know when it’s ready.”

“Shit, motherfucker’s ready to pounce and shit. That’s cool, dog. That’s cool. But you gotta choose what it is. Like, who’s your nemesis, who’s out there that needs an ass-whooping from you?”

I laughed, “What, you’re going to paste a print out of its face on the robot?”

Moe could barely contain his mischievous energy. “Wait until you see how this shit works. You’re gonna be like, ‘Shit, nigga, why didn’t you tell me?’ So who, man? Who you wanna bust up?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “How about Superdynamic?”

“That’s cold,” he said after a chuckle.

Moe walked up to the thing and gazed at an LCD display that appeared in the middle of the robot’s chest. He touched nothing, did nothing, but the display registered his input, via the unseen neural interface. After he was done, Moe said, “Engage,” and the thing fizzled and blurred, becoming the splitting image of Superdynamic.

“Holy shit,” I said.

“You see?”

I walked over. “Forget this, make it Epic.”

His eyebrows rose, and he even pulled back his glasses. “Rematch? Ambitious as fuck, my man.”

He turned back to it and a moment later, the thing became Epic, with his customary wavy locks of blonde hair, the ridiculous white and gold suit, and the flowing mini-cape that was small enough for a child to use.

“Say when,” Moe said, moving aside.

I circled Epic, cracking my neck to both sides and clenching up my fists. Not knowing how the thing actually worked, I was going to throw all I had into it, pretend that the thing was a bona fide danger to me.

But something happened as the robot became active, as Epic-bot turned his head to follow my rotation. I dropped my guard and stepped back. The bot, unsure what to do, got into a ready stance, similar to Epic’s little-boy boxing position. Similar, but not exact. And that’s what was bothering me: the thing wasn’t exact. It was a simulation, programmed to be quite realistic, but a fake nonetheless. There wouldn’t be the acrimony of the last fight, the rage in his face, the desperation in my heart. I knew if I got in trouble, the machine would turn off, save me from the killing blow. And that’s it if was possible to design a robot to be equally strong as Epic. That’s what was bothering me the most. As advanced as all of Superdynamic’s designs were, there was no way to replicate that raw strength, and the rage that drove it. I knew I wasn’t in danger, and doing it just to work out wasn’t enough for me.

“What’s wrong?” Moe asked as someone entered the chamber in the distance.

It was Focus. She was dressed in a sleeveless tracksuit and coated in sweat, wiping her neck with a white cotton towel.

“Oh,” she said. She’d walked in more than a dozen paces before she noticed us. “I’m sorry.”

“No, baby, it’s cool. Blackjack and I were just leaving. Right?”

His eyes bored into me after dipping his nose a little to let them peek over the mirrored aviator glasses.

“Yeah,” I said, looking back at Epic.

“I see. You were training, too. I can come back,” Focus said when she noticed the bot.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Yeah, we’re done,” Moe said, walking over to herd me out. “We’re not even signed in or nothing.”

“Well, I was worried I might have come early to my session.”

“Let’s go, man. We’re not even supposed to be here.”

Focus watched us walk past. “If you want, I can cede some time. I have a two-hour block. I wanted a quick workout before we went on the mission.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay. Thanks, anyway. That thing doesn’t feel right.”

“It’s some solid-light energy shit that Dee made up. I just close my eyes and blow the shit up, you know what I mean?”

“I’ve seen that face before,” I said, referring to Epic. “I know the difference.”

“Then think of some other shit,” Moe said, upset that we weren’t out of the room yet. He wanted me away from Focus as fast as possible. “Anyway, we come back later, when she’s done. Cool?”

“I don’t like those things, either,” Focus said, and only then did I notice I was slowing down, almost to a stop, despite Moe grasping my biceps and trying to guide me out.

“We could spar, you and me,” she said, and I stopped completely.

Behind me, Moe let out a sigh.

“Focus, baby, didn’t we talk this shit out?”

The friendliness in her face faded, and she was suddenly downcast, her features hidden in shadow.

“You’re right. Goodbye, Mister Blackjack.”

As I looked back at Moe, he just flashed his eyes at me, as if to ask, “What are you waiting for?”

“Yeah,” I said, starting to the door again. “It’s not like it would be a fair fight.”

Moe laughed, satisfied I was leaving. “No shit, dog. She’d fuck your shit up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Focus is trained like a Shaolin, man. She’ll kung-fu you like Jackie Chan. You think being strong is something? That little girl has whooped my ass more times than my momma.”

Focus blushed, a little smile playing on her face.

“I’d like to see that,” I said.

“Bet you would,” Moe retorted. “But I learned my lesson. That’s my martial arts instructor, right there, not my sparring partner.”

“I meant me. I’d like to try it.”

Moe lowered his head, exasperated.

“Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

But Focus and I were looking at each other, and I was dying to see what this little girl could do.

“I don’t know. You said you had two hours reserved?”

She nodded.

“Would it be okay? I mean, would it ruin your workout?”

Focus shook her head. “Not at all. It would be fun,” she added, but she immediately regretted being so forward.

“Don’t we have that thing to do now?” Moe said. “Remember, SuperD was gonna show us something?”

I laughed.

“Fuck, man. We talked about this shit.”

“Moe,” Focus said, more strength in her tone than I knew she had, “I’ll be fine.”

“I ain’t worried about you, girl. It’s this stupid-ass I’m thinking about.”

She smiled. “I’ll be gentle.”

Moe knew he was beaten, but he leaned into me anyway. “Watch your hands, motherfucker, or I’ll put the systems safeties on zero and pulverize a nigga. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Dude–”

“Nah, man. You don’t dude me. I dude you, dude. Don’t go grabbing no titties and shit. I’ll fuck up your world.”

I nodded seriously.

“Okay, baby,” he told her. “I’ll be upstairs in the control room in case of anything.”

He strode out of the room and left us alone. Me, Focus, and the Epic-bot.

I walked up to her and bowed, martial arts-style, but she just giggled.

“What?”

“You did that wrong,” she said.

“Is it like this?” I said, doing a ladies’ curtsey.

Focus laughed, covering her mouth with her small right hand.

“No. You were looking at the ground. Do it like this,” she said, and bowed, the only difference between hers and mine was that her eyes never left me.

“You keep an eye on your opponent at all times, Blackjack.”

“Okay,” I said, and then did it again her way.

“Better,” she said. “Now, let’s see you punch the bot.”

I didn’t understand. Weren’t we going to spar each other?

“I just want to see you throw a punch,” she said, sensing my confusion.

I shrugged and walked over the Epic-bot. Without much prelude or preparation, I threw the hardest right cross I could, cracking the robot under his chin and sending it flying across the room. It crashed into a far wall, exploding into a million pieces.

“Yo, what the fuck!” yelled Moe from the control room, coming in as the robot blew up.

“Just a demonstration, Moe,” she said.

I cracked my neck again, asking, “How was it?”

She smiled. “Slow. Very slow.”

“Felt good,” I said.

“We’ll try something different,” she said, and I noted her going into her “instructor mode.” “I’m going to put my hands up and I want you to practice your jab, throwing it as fast as you can. Don’t worry about strength, just worry about speed.”

She spread her legs apart and raised her hands in front of her, giving me two targets.

I threw up my guard, and she winced, lowering her hands.

“What?”

“You don’t put your hands like that,” she said.

I looked at my fists and didn’t see where I was making a mistake.

“And you’re standing too....” she paused, walking around so she stood almost in front of me. “It’s too stiff.”

Focus put her hand against my right shoulder and pushed just a little, making me lose my balance and throw my leg back to keep from falling.

“See?”

She shook her head, concerned at the difficulty of the task confronting her.

“You’ve never studied fighting of any form?”

I shrugged.

She smiled, “We’ll teach you right. Now stand sideways to me, feet shoulder-width apart.”

Focus stood in front of me, and I mirrored her stance, watching her closely.

“Eyes off the merchandise, Fuckface,” Moe snapped when he caught me studying her muscled thighs.

“Computer, disengage booth audio,” she said, straightening up and clenching her balled fists to her hips.

“Sorry,” she said. “He thinks I’m one of his daughters to worry about.”

I smiled.

“Okay, let’s get to this,” she said, returning to her stance, her back to me. “See how comfortable that feels? Make sure your weight is on the balls of your feet.”

She started hopping like a boxer.