Olympus Device 1: The Olympus Device (6 page)

“Dean Floss, the
United States Air Force has detected an electromagnetic event here on campus. Agent Shultz was directed by Homeland Security to check into the matter and make sure that all national security procedures are being followed.”

Shultz added, “In addition, we want to
ensure whoever violated current regulations is disciplined by the university and fully understands this is their one and only warning.”

The FBI agent’s statement caused the stoic dean to frown, but he didn’t comment. Reaching for the paper being offered by Captain Cassidy, he mumbled, “Let me see who’s working in the lab over there.”

The two lawmen watched as Floss turned to his computer and pulled up a complex-looking calendar. The doctor’s head swiveled back and forth between the FBI’s report and the computer screen. Finally, he spun around to face his visitors. “Gentlemen, there are no experiments scheduled during this time frame at any of our labs. As a matter of fact, the location you’ve specified, Anderson Hall, doesn’t have any activity scheduled all week.”

The report caused Shultz’s eyes to widen, the unexpected news increasing his pulse. “Can we go investigate that facility, Doctor?”

“Why, yes. Yes, of course we can.”

As the three men crossed the campus,
Dr. Floss explained. “Professor Weathers is in charge of all of the labs in Anderson Hall. I’ve asked my assistant to call his office and request he meet us there. I tried his cell, but there is no response. That’s not unusual – the shielding around the labs often interferes with the signal.”

But when the trio arrived, there was no Professor Weathers. The
dean stopped a passing faculty member and asked, “Have you seen Dr. Weathers today?”

“Yes, I saw him this morning. He was walking around with a stranger – a rather
rough looking fellow, big guy in a cowboy hat and carrying a metal case of some sort.”

After answering
a dozen questions of when, where, who, how and why, the now-nervous academic was allowed to continue on his way. Floss, Cassidy, and Shultz entered the building.

“Doctor, are there any high security labs in this building?”

“Yes,” answered the dean, “We have three level 4 labs and a single level 5.”

“Let’s start there,” Cassidy
suggested, “This place is too huge to search without calling in every officer I have on duty today.”

“There’s an easier way than that
. Just have someone find out where Dr. Weather’s key card has been used,” Floss replied.

Embarrassed
over not thinking of the solution himself, Captain Cassidy pulled his cell phone and five minutes later had the trail of breadcrumbs left by Mitch Weather’s key card. Showing Floss the list displaying on his smart phone, he asked, “Any of these the critical labs?”

“Yes, he was in the particle measurement lab when your event occurred. That actually makes sense.”

Walking with purpose now, the two law enforcement officers followed Floss to the bank-vault entrance. The dean used his card and thumb to open the huge door, and they entered the lab.

Floss was drawn to the computer monitors while Cassidy and Shultz gawked in awe at the array of technology contained inside. It was Shultz who noticed the crumpled
ballistics tube. “Has this piece of equipment always been damaged, Doctor?”

Floss spun around
from the computer displays and moved to study Shultz’s discovery. The dean’s mouth was open as he circled the tube, finally urging the words from his lips, “That’s impossible. It would take a nuclear detonation to do this level of damage. What the hell was Mitch doing in here?”

The word “nuclear” focused Shultz’s attention
even more, the agent starting to wonder if Houston was sending him on a worthless mission after all.

Floss returned
to the computers, hunting and pecking on the keyboard. He finally located what he was looking for and turned, saying, “Gentlemen, I’ve found a video recording of the event.”

The two
officers moved quickly to stand behind the dean, watching with a rapt gaze as the computer monitor played the video of the rail gun’s discharge.

When the dean found the velocity measurements generated by the device, he seemed to lose control of his
faculties. Interspersed with a seemingly endless babble of technical terms, the man kept repeating, “That can’t be,” and “that’s impossible.”

Frustrated by the
long-winded stream of astonished technical jargon, Shultz interrupted. “Professor,” he stated in a firm voice, “in your opinion, is the device that was tested in this lab dangerous?”

The dean turned and stared
at the two lawmen, his face ashen and voice trembling. “If the satellite hadn’t recorded the pulse, I’d say this was a fake – a joke to be played on the internet. Mitch Weathers isn’t some prankster - I fear this is real.”

“But is it
a threat, sir?”

Shaking his head at the officer
’s apparent naivety, the dean grunted his response. “Would
technology
so powerful it could collapse the core of a star be dangerous, Agent Shultz?”

“I need to call Houston,” whispered a stunned Shultz after the
comment.

“I think we need to call Washington,” added Cassidy.

“I think we need to call God,” mumbled Floss.

Dusty and Mitch exited the Java Barn carrying fresh cups of joe. Not wanting to go back just yet, the two men agreed on a route that would take them through a small park, adding a few blocks to their stroll.

The shade of a nearby bench drew
them in, the grassy area calm and inviting. Since the demonstration of the rail gun, their conversation never drifted far off that topic, neither man able to move the other from his core position. Mitch wanted to find a way, any potential, to harness the good from the discovery. Dusty was set on destroying his invention.

Mitch became passionate.
“In six months, I can design a generator that will provide 100% clean, 100% renewable energy from your device, all for free. Just think Dusty; this discovery can eradicate electric bills for both individuals and corporations. In two years, we can eliminate every fossil fuel-powered electrical plant in the United States. In ten, we can tear down the dams and decommission the nuclear power reactors. In 20 years, the internal combustion engine will be obsolete. The cost of goods and services will plummet; economic growth will explode. Every nation will be able to feed its people and raise its standard of living. We could build ships that could travel to Mars in days rather than years.”

Dusty
nodded, seeming to accept his brother’s premise. After taking another sip of his coffee, the older Weathers stood and scanned the horizon. “You know, brother, you’re right. I shouldn’t destroy this thing; I should utilize it for the good of all.”

Sweeping his hand across the campus, the gunsmith continued in a low, serious voice. “Now that beg
s the question. What
is
good for all? And I’ve decided on the answer. I, Durham Anthony Weathers, am good for all.”

The professor’s expression made
it clear that he was puzzled by his sibling’s behavior, but before he could ask, Dusty continued his speech.

“So here’s the deal. Since I’m good for all people – since I know best how things should proceed, I’m taking over. I’m going to fly my little plane to Washington and demand to be made emperor. Oh, they’ll turn me down at first. I’ll have to knock down the Washington Monument, maybe the Smithsonian and
definitely the Supreme Court building...  and let’s not forget the Capital building – but that’s okay, we won’t need the House or Senate after I’m running the whole show.”

Mitch grinned at first, thinking his brother was making some so
rt of joke, but as Dusty continued, the smile disappeared.

“Now they still may resist, but that’s okay. I’ll just fly offshore a few miles and fire a shot into the Atlantic at full power. I’m sure the tsunami won’t wipe out too much of the east coast –
no more than a few million people will die.”

The professor shook his head, “Don’t fire the gun at full power, Dusty. I’m
not quite sure you would survive the aftermath. On a larger scale, that weapon could split the earth’s crust… a more powerful model might be able to split the planet in half.”

“What about shooting up in the air?”
The question meant to be funny.

Mitch sighed, then looked down at the ground. “
Again, on a larger scale, hitting the moon might knock it out of orbit, or maybe just cause it to explode. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that a bigger version, if my thinking is correct, would simply cause the sun to collapse on itself and then go nova. The inner planets would all be destroyed shortly after.”

Dusty bent at the waist and put his face directly in front of Mitch’s, forcing the younger man to look him in the eye. “Don’t you see what I mean, Mitch? Damn it, man, this thing is too much.
Mankind is not mature enough to handle this sort of power. Some damned old fool is going to get his hands on it, and then we’ll all be fucked.”

Mitch was becoming desperate to defend his position. “Dusty, how about a compromise
? Give me six months to present you with a reasonable plan to manage and control the capabilities you’ve discovered. If I can’t set something up that meets your approval by that time, then we’ll destroy the weapon together and forget it ever existed.”

The older ma
n rubbed his chin, analyzing the proposal. “And how are you going to set something up without telling everyone the rail gun exists?”

“I don’t know, I’ll think of
something, I’m sure. Hey, what’s going on over at Anderson Hall?”

Dusty followed his brother’s gaze, back toward the building that housed the lab. At least five police cars on the south side, another half dozen on the west
dotting the roadside. The two men could hear numerous sirens in the distance.

“Did someone find the damage in the lab?” Dusty asked.

Before Mitch could answer, a student came by, casually peddling a bicycle. Mitch waved at the kid and said, “What’s going on over at the physics building?”

“I don’t know for sure,” reported the young man. “The FBI and police are over there looking for a
guy called Professor Weathers. Something about terrorism was the only snippet of information I heard before they started forcing us to evacuate the building.”

After Mitch had thanked the
student and sent him on his way, he turned and looked at Dusty with troubled eyes. “I’m not sure how, but the FBI is here. This isn’t good. If they’ve been in the lab, they no doubt saw the videos and know what we’ve been doing.”

“So,” questioned Dusty, “We’ve not broken any laws
, have we?”

“Let’s g
o back to your point just a bit ago. The gun is too strong for any one person to control. Do you want to hand it over to the local FBI agent? How about the chief of the campus police? Maybe one of the SWAT guys? Think about that for a minute, Dusty.”

“I see your point. I’d better skedaddle out of here
until you straighten this all out.”

“Give me six months. Hide, run, travel – whatever you need to do, but give me six months to work o
ut my end of the bargain.”

Dusty nodded and then moved to hug his brother. After the embr
ace, he turned and began to walk off when Mitch yelled for him to stop. Reaching in his pocket, the professor pulled out a small thumb drive, a data storage unit. “I almost forgot. I put this in my pocket. This is the only copy of the blueprints the computer scan created of the gun. Keep them safe.”

Nodding, Dusty then smiled and winked at his brother. “See you in six months, Mitch
, hopefully sooner.”

Glancing back at Anderson Hall, the professor noted the rapidly increasing number of police cars. He instinctively knew Dusty needed time, so he
tossed the nearly full coffee into a nearby receptacle and turned back for the Java Barn.