Legacy of a Mad Scientist (14 page)

“Are you serious?”

“I’m serious. I’m making this a standing order, if
anyone ever pulls a gun on me, let them get off one shot, before
you intervene.”

“You’re the boss, but I’ll tell you, that is messed
up.”

“Hey, look at me, everything I’m wearing is terillium
threaded. Do you know how much this suit cost?”

“One-point-four?”

“Three, three million dollars in bulletproof
material.”

“So they have to make it count, fine, I still think
it’s a stupid idea.” King raised a hand, “Another question, can you
use that instead of a gravity rig?”

“No. The coding would be too complex to manage it
realistically. You’d be talking about a million different poles;
it’s just way too hard to program that. You’d need some seriously
refined threads too, and then you get issues with how brittle the
material is, its just not feasible.”

“Don’t get me wrong, the harness works great.”

“It is something, isn’t it? You can’t even see mine,
can you?”

“Not at all,” King answered.

The lines of Fox’s suit were not affected, despite
the shoulder vest and gravity belt he wore beneath his jacket.

“I still don’t get why you don’t just take him
out.”

“Because it’s the wrong thing to do. Besides, I’ve
got you guys.”

“All right, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” King
said.

“Heard and understood,” Fox answered.

Sitting on a couch in Director Stanwood’s office, the
big, gruff and surly Secretary of Defense, Jim Croswell blinked in
a shaft of sunlight. “Wow. I just realized something right now,
just this moment.”

“What’s that,” Stanwood asked, rising from his desk
and crossing to a small office bar where he fixed them glasses of
premium scotch.

Holding a position usually reserved for civilians,
Croswell was a heavily muscled veteran of three wars. He was gruff,
surly and couldn't be rushed into anything. He was known for going
against the grain, just for the hell of it. He helped the little
guys, kicked the big guys in the shin, and laughed about it all the
way to the bank.

Stanwood was under no delusion that he would get Jim
to move from the couch until he’d said what he had to say. The two
of them had an agreed upon ceasefire since their first fight in the
third grade.

Stanwood was Croswell's complete opposite, both
physically and personally. He was lean and wiry, he tended to
strike as soon as conditions became favorable, and the concept of
mercy was alien to him. He was Caesar to Croswell's Pompey, the
embodiment of ambition, as opposed to natural talent. A former
lawyer and non-vet, he’d come up straddling the grey area between
the political and intelligence worlds. After school, he’d been
employed by all the strategic think tanks, at one time or another.
For the second half of his career, he’d served as Senator Miller’s
right hand. That had led to the pocket of the last intelligence
director. Now, only five years later, he found himself serving as
the interim director, and he was excelling at the position.

It was public knowledge that Stanwood and Croswell
had known each other since grammar school. It had always been the
three of them, really, Croswell, Stanwood and Fox.

The three of them had been the very top of their
class, but Croswell was valedictorian and a gifted athlete.
Croswell and Fox had been closer, while Stanwood stood alone.

Fox had plenty of natural ability but no interest in
athletics, and could have beaten Jim's GPA with his eyes closed.
Instead, throughout high school, he’d been tackling world changing
medical breakthroughs. He only stayed in school because it was easy
and the girls were beautiful.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Croswell said, smiling.

“Of course it wasn’t,” Stanwood paused. “Well, maybe,
it could have been. What are we talking about?” Stanwood poured
them both three fingers of scotch and carried the glasses over the
table, setting one before Jim and holding his carefully as he took
a seat on the opposite couch.

Von Kalt ignored them from across the room, staring
out the window.

“Epsilon, I had nothing to do with,” Stanwood
said.

Stanwood and Croswell knocked glasses. Scotch also
happened to be another area where their tastes overlapped. A common
interest, not shared with Dr. Fox, the only other guy they’d known
as long, much to Stanwood’s delight.

Croswell gestured toward Von Kalt and raised his
drink.

Stanwood shook his head.

“Oh come on,” Croswell objected. “Hey,” Croswell
called out.

Von Kalt looked over.

“Fix yourself a drink and come on over here. You’re
going to want to hear this one.”

“His majesty just got through saying you’re the
defender of secrets.”

“Not your secrets old pal, his. Besides, this isn’t a
secret. Not really.”

Von Kalt poured himself a generous measure of the
amber alcohol and took one of the several available chairs around
the coffee table.

Von Kalt leaned forward, knocked glasses with both
Secretary Croswell and Stanwood and took a swallow from his
glass.

“Do you know why Joseph here hates Dr. Fox? Because
sophomore year, the girl Joe liked wanted Andrew instead. That’s
one reason. You see Joe absolutely hates Andy Fox. Who wouldn’t?
The kid was cool, you have to give him that, the girls love him; I
mean
Love
him. But they don’t love you, do they Joey?”
Croswell laughed, teasing his friend.

“Get to your point, would you?” Stanwood wasn’t
offended, only bored.

“Fox was never scared of you. Everyone else was. Even
I was.”

“You were never afraid of me,” Stanwood said.

“You have no idea how scary you are.” Croswell raised
his drink.

“These compliments, you’re going to make me blush.”
Stanwood returned the toast.

“But my point, is Wendell Meyer.”

Stanwood rolled his eyes.

“Back when we were in seventh grade, I think it was
still the first or second week of school, and Wendell Meyer was the
new kid our class. He was a year younger than all of us, incredibly
smart, but kinda skinny and frail.”

“He was three years younger us,” Stanwood
recalled.

“Oh, yes, that’s right, He’d tested up. Smart kid.”
Croswell sipped at his scotch. “Well, one day after swimming,
Wendell slipped and got trapped under the hydraulic pool cover. We
were all back there, watching how it worked, and we got too
close.

“Wendell always said he didn’t slip. He claimed that
he got pushed, or bumped but that he didn’t know who did it. No one
ever saw who did it, and no one ever confessed. Fox and Stanwood
had been the two guys closest to him, but we were all there. It
could have been any of us, really.

“Fox, he went home from school every day that year,
and then spent all summer working on his first invention, his first
creation. He came back at the beginning of eighth grade with the
Blue Goo. Of course, it was a lot more concentrated back then. But
it worked. It worked like magic.

“You see, Wendell was laid up all year, had a grip of
pins in his knee. The doctors wanted to replace it all together,
but because he was so young, he would have had to have at least
two, maybe three more replacement surgeries before twenty-five. A
little more pain now would save him a lot more pain in the future,
was how his mom figured it. And with major replacements, he’d be
ineligible to participate in sports, and even though he was a nerd,
she didn’t want to take that away from him.”

“Wait a second, Wendell Meyer? The tennis star?” Von
Kalt asked.

“Yep,” Croswell answered.

“He really made his money in ping pong,” Stanwood
added.

“Oh yeah, he’s got that Scientific Principles of Ping
Pong series, right? He wears that blue wrap on his left knee,” Von
Kalt said.

“Yep,” Croswell answered. “The parents eat that shit
up.”

Stanwood drained half his scotch.

“And Fox created the Blue Goo for him?” Von Kalt
looked into his glass. “Well, there’s your answer, isn’t it?”

“What’s that?” Croswell asked.

“Fox bumped this kid, Wendell, and he created the goo
because he felt guilty about it,” Von Kalt said.

Stanwood smiled.

“No,” Croswell said. “That’s not what happened. I
suspect that Stanwood here did the bumping, and Wendell knew,
didn’t he?”

“Honestly,” Stanwood set his glass on the table. “I
don’t know. Sometimes, over the years, I’ve thought maybe it was
me. Sometimes I remember that I wasn’t that close to him. It
doesn’t matter. We were just kids. I maybe teased him a bit that
week, but I never pushed him. Whatever happened, it certainly
wasn’t on purpose. My conscience is clear.”

Croswell smiled. “It’s also true that when Fox
brought in that huge tub of goo, and we had our little testing
session, you didn’t participate. All of us got a king’s ransom in
the patent settlement, but you got nothing.”

Stanwood wasn’t ruffled. “I’m not bitter about that
either. I’ve done pretty well for myself. I’m not trying to outdo
Fox, or you, or any of the guys in our class.”

Stanwood leaned forward and gestured to Jim with his
drink. “I need you to think about what I’m about to do and what I’m
about to say. Not some ancient history bullshit.

“Fox is Dangerous.

“Epsilon was his screw-up. I had nothing to do with
it. If Fox is unwilling to leave Angel City, and every other major
metropolitan sector of this country, then he should be forcibly
removed. I think he’s a danger to himself and others, period, end
of story.

“The Commander in Chief asked me to keep my mouth
shut in there today. I am going to do my best to do just that. But
before we go in there, and preside over this cluster-fuck, there is
one thing I’d like to ask you…

“As you mentioned, I didn’t participate in Fox’s
little testing session. But you did. You convinced that lunatic to
go steal a sword from the school trophy case and cut your arm off
with it.

“From what I understand, being healed with the blue
goo permanently stains the scar and the effected skin. For example,
Wendell has a discolored blue area he hides under that blue
wrap.”

“Are you making a point?” Croswell asked, taking
another swallow.

“Well, I’ve recently gotten wind of a technology that
can remove those sort of stains, in a rather unique sort of
way,”

“Is that a fact?”

“Interested?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Does it ever itch?” Stanwood asked. “I’m told
there’s something of an itchy or burning sensation often
associated…”

“I’ll give you a burning sensation,” Croswell
laughed.

Stanwood turned to Von Kalt, “If Fox gets out of
line, the left knee.”

“Yes, sir,” Von Kalt said, finishing his drink.

Croswell laughed, “This is going to be great.”

“I’m not afraid of Andrew,” Stanwood said, finishing
his drink.

“It’s Ross you ought to be afraid of,” Croswell
said.

“Why should I be afraid of a dead guy?” Stanwood
asked.

“Didn’t you hear? No body at the scene. He must have
gotten out the back. I’m guessing he’s pissed.”

“There was no out-the-back,” Von Kalt said. “We spent
three hours in that hovel. There was one door.”

“I guess you missed it. Fire department found it easy
enough.” Croswell set down his glass.

It was almost two-thirds full. In fact, it seemed
there was more alcohol left than Stanwood had originally poured
into the cup.

Croswell smiled. “Please don’t do anything stupid in
there, Joe. Like the President said, if Andrew really can blow up
buildings with a thought, lets not set him thinking about it.”

“Okay, you know what, for old times sake, I won’t say
a word. I promise, not a word. Let’s just see what happens.”
Stanwood extended his hand to shake on it.

Croswell nodded and shook hands with a guy he’d known
almost as long as he’d been alive.

“Look at it this way, if Fox blows us up, you can
always say you told me so.” Croswell laughed.

Stanwood smiled, “You know I will. And the devil will
make me a trustee in no time, and then where will you be? Under my
forky-thing, that’s where.”

Stanwood and Croswell laughed as they rose to head
out to the waiting transport.

Fox and King returned to their vehicle and hovered
above the city until just before noon.

Using the Micronix, Dr. Fox pulled up the children’s’
charts in his mind’s eye. The dedicated satellite found them close
to home, running down a canyon path with Jack. The nearby
individuals were all children; no adults were present. Fox leaned
back into his seat and watched traffic drift around the
cruiser.

After all the other incoming parties had arrived,
they touched down and secured the craft. King exited behind Fox and
invisible, floated above as Fox entered the briefing hall.

A moment later, Fuji Dozo gave the signal for
departure. With the hatches sealed and loading ramps disconnected,
the facility jettisoned from its docking station.

Thursday, June 25, 2308

The clamshell-shaped hall was dominated by a mahogany
table at the lowest level, opposite two rows of six tables each,
arrayed in gentle curves before it. The tables held pitchers,
filled with water and microphones, set into slender vases, at the
center. Chairs were gathered around.

The bodyguards stood behind the chairmen’s assigned
seats. The second row of delegates sat on a higher tier, so the
standing mercenaries didn't obscure them from the front.

The outer shell of the hall was composed of tinted
sheaves of glass, attached to massive hinges at the far sides of
the room. Outside, a wide balcony held cafe tables naked against
the sky.