The O'Neal Saboteur

by Nathan Pedde

He jumped on his hover-scooter and glanced behind him. Veer had untangled himself from the collapsed Diplin and raced down the sidewalk towards Des.

  “No offense, whoever you are,” Des said to Veer, “But you need new friends. Stop hanging out with nasty people like him, and we can be friends.”

  Des gunned his scooter and shot away from Veer. He looked back towards Veer and Diplin.

  Diplin had pulled himself off the ground and stumbled after Veer. Des cursed himself for shooting a weak pin. The electric shock had worn off on Diplin and they climbed into small black hover-car.

  The car was a standard model with four separate hover-lifters on each of the corners. The lifters looked like black glowing balls as they lifted the vehicle off of the ground.

  Des left the middle of the Grey Sector. He followed the main road towards the Motorway.

  After a few blocks, Des took a quick glance behind. Veer and Diplin were in their car, and they were following him. He mesmerized the license plate before he raced around the corner of the road.

  Des drove his hover-scooter down the motorway. The wind blew through his hair as he enjoyed flying down the road.

  “Des, you there Des?” Cooley said over Neuronet.

  “I am, Cooley,” Des replied.

  “Are you being followed?”

  “I currently have two tails,” Des said, “Veer and Diplin are still following me.”

  “Are you as Des or Ryder?”

  “Des.”

  “Then why are they following you around the station?” Cool said.

  “Ask them,” Des said.

  “Why are you running?”

  “Cause its Diplin and he wants to hurt me,” Des said, “And Veer thinks Des knows Ryder or knows where Ryder is.”

  “Ok,” Cooley said, “I’ve hacked into your work tablet. The copy of the delivery app they gave you is corrupted. I put a couple of new apps in it. It fixes the delivery system and will also help you loose them.”

  “Work will inspect the device at some point,” Des said.

  “They’re hidden in the device,” Cooley said, “Type in ‘cat’s with thumbs,' the program will pop up.”

  “Cat’s with thumbs?” Des asked.

  “The scariest thing I could think of,” Cooley replied.

  “You’re weird,” Des said, “And thank you.”

  “Good luck,” Cooley said.

  While balancing the tablet on the scooter, Des typed the phrase into the work tablet with one hand. The program opened up, and a more accurate map opened up.

  You’re being followed, the words appeared on the tablet, Recommend getting off the motorway and into the teal sector.

  Des looked up from the tablet to see a car swerve in front of him. Des reacted with instinct and managed to dodge the vehicle. He knew it was going to be a long day and he had little time to spend playing follow the leader.

  “Des,” Cooley said over the neuronet once more, “Just talked to Cryslis, I need you to loose those two and get to a meeting.”

  “What’s going on?” Des said.

  “I’ve set up a meeting with Sheemo in forty-five minutes,” Cooley said, “And I need you there.”

  Des grunted to himself as he pressed the brakes and slowed down.

  Four cars behind him, Des saw Diplin and Veer behind him in the car and they were still following him. They had some type of weapons in their hands and they didn’t look happy.

  Des pulled his pin shooter out of his sleeve and turned the power up to its limit. Des knew if he hit one of them, he could kill him, but he had no intention of killing either one of them.

  He slammed on the breaks, and dodged the other cars as they flew past. He gunned his engine as Veer’s car reached him. Des drove down the motorway beside Veers car. A window rolled down as Diplin aimed his weapon out of the vehicle.

  Diplin didn’t have a standard pin shooter. It was built to look like a rifle, and probably had three times as much power.

  A pin zipped by his head, the air cracked as it passed.

  The shot would have killed him if it hit him.

  “Are you crazy,” Des yelled at Veer.

  Veer smacked Diplin in the face as the car swerved in the road as Veer struggled to control the vehicle.

  “We want him alive you idiot,” Veer screamed as Diplin.

  Des aimed his pin shooter at the left front hover-lifter and squeezed the trigger.

  The pin slammed into the ball and buried into lifter. Sparks and smoke flew from lifter as it shorted out. Veer’s car hovered for a moment before the left front corner few and slammed into the pavement.

  Des shot past the crashing car, which scrapped along the pavement and slammed into the highway barrier.

  “I’ve lost Veer and Diplin,” Des said to Cooley over the neuronet.

  “Please tell me you didn’t make the evening news,” Cooley replied.

  “No promises.”

  ***

  Des stood in the corner of the small warehouse space, which wasn’t very large. It was the size of a large storage unit. In a corner were five large blackboards, a non-networked personal computer, and his device.

  Des was in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a windbreaker. He was wearing his Ryder disguise. Cooley stormed up next to him. He was wearing similar clothes and a different face.

  “What in the bloody world was that?” Cooley said.

  “What was what?” Des asked.

  “The motorway,” Cooley said, “You shot his hover-lifter and nearly killed them.”

  “They had it coming.”

  “That’s not an excuse,” Cooley said.

  “And I’m not making one,” Des said, “I was hoping it’ll give me some breathing room before they come after me again.”

  “There are less public ways to do that,” Cooley said.

  “Are the station guards coming after me?”

  “No.”

  “Are they coming after Courier One?” Des asked.

  “Look,” Cooley said, “that’s not the point.”

  “Fine,” Des said, “I give, I’ll stop being so reckless.”

  “Okay,” Cooley said, “I’ll tell Cryslis that I tore a strip off of you. She’s pissed by the way.”

  “I figured she would be,” Des said, “But they did shot at me with a rifle.”

  “What?”

  Des told him about the rifle Diplin had and how the shot whizzed by his head. He pulled out his phone and pulled open a picture. It was of the rifle he saw.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s this one,” Des said.

  Cooley scratched the stubble on his chin.

  “That’s a military grade flechette rifle,” Cooley said, “This is concerning.”

  “Now do you understand why I did what I did,” Des said.

  “Yes,” Cooley said, “it was pretty awesome. I almost wish we had it on video.”

  “You’re jealous you didn’t do that,” Des said.

  “Not really. I’ve done similar in the past.”

  Des reminded himself about Cooley’s history in the Black Team.

  “When Sheemo gets here, call me Paul, okay?” Cooley said.

  “Paul what?” Des asked.

  “I don’t need a last name.”

  Des shrugged. They waited a few minutes before the door to the warehouse unit opened up.

  Sheemo walked into the warehouse. He was dressed in shorts and sneakers. In Sheemo’s hands was a simple black plastic briefcase. He looked very relaxed, yet Des knew his brother. This was a show, Sheemo was very nervous and very tense.

  “What’s in the case?” Cooley said to Des.

  “Not sure,” Des said, “I’ll ask him.”

  As Sheemo got closer, Des held up a hand.

  “That’s close enough,” Des said to Sheemo.

  Sheemo stopped walking towards them.

  “What’s in the case?” Des said, “You never mentioned anything about you bringing in a case. I believe I told you not to bring anything and we�
��ll provide whatever you need.”

  “This?” Sheemo said as he motioned to the case, “This is nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Des said, “Nothing is anything but nothing. It’s always something to someone.”

  Cooley’s hand drifted to inside his jacket.

  Sheemo visibly tensed up and took a step back.

  “It’s my lunch,” Sheemo said.

  “Open it.”

  Sheemo placed it on the ground and opened it up. It was what Des knew was his standard lunch. Three vitro-tuna and pickle sandwiches and a large orange juice.

  Cooley pulled out a small black device. The device had a handful of tiny lights on it. Cooley scanned the case for a few seconds. No lights turned on. Cooley proceeded to scan Sheemo.

  “Arms out,” Cooley ordered.

  Sheemo complied, and within seconds he was done.

  “That’s Paul,” Des said, “He’s in charge.”

  “Paul what?”

  “Just Paul,” Cooley said.

  “Okay. And what’s he in charge of?” Sheemo asked.

  “He’s in charge of you,” Des said.

  Sheemo looked at Cooley and then back at Des.

  “Two things," Des said, "One. Anything you do which is involved with this project is highly classified and stays here.”

  “I signed the form provided,” Sheemo said, “What’s the second?”

  “Anything Paul says, goes,” Des said, and he turned to Cooley, “The floor is yours.”

  Chapter 22

  The next day, Des sat at his desk in math class. The tablet sat in front of him. The results of the latest test flashed in front of the screen.

  “Seventy-two percent…” Des muttered.

  “Still better than me,” Alix said from beside Des.

  Alix stood a full head taller than Des and skinny as a rail. He also had long hair which was always tied up in what Alix called his warrior top-knot.

  Des looked over at Alix’s tablet. It said, sixty-nine percent.

  “Not by much,” Des said.

  “I know right?” Alix said, “At this rate, we’ll be even in the rankings before you know it.”

  Des glared at Alix.

  “Truth hurts right?” Alix said.

  “Are you studying?” Elsie asked Des from behind him.

  “Yes, I’m studying,” Des said, “I’m studying as much as I can.”

  Elsie touched the screen of the tablet and looked at the answers.

  “You should have had these questions,” Elsie said, “These are all easy answers.”

  The bell rang, which signaled the end of the class. Des grumbled to himself as he gathered his school things together.

  “All right class,” Mr. Mixon, “Go over the math pages on the board. Test next Tuesday. You’re dismissed.”

  Des tablet and stuffed it into his bag.

  “Oh. Des O’Neal. Please see me after class,” Mr. Mixon said.

  Des waited by his desk as the classroom emptied of students.

  “Sucks to be you,” Alix said as he walked down the line of desks.

  “Meet at the Diner at the regular time,” Elsie said, “We can get some studying done before we have to go to work.”

  Elsie walked out of the classroom and into the hallway.

  Soon Des was the only one besides the teacher in the classroom.

  “Des Des Des,” Mr. Mixon said in his nasally voice.

  “Yes, Mr. Mixon,” Des said, “I can’t stay here long. I’ve lots to do today.”

  “Yes. I won’t keep you long. I have good news. I’ve talked to your uncle. He has authorized us to find you a tutor to help you with your studies.”

  “A what?” Des said.

  “A tutor. A college student who’s going into teaching. She’ll help you.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Des said as he stood up off the chair.

  “If you don’t make time for it, your grades will disqualify you from that academy you want to get into.”

  “The reason I’m struggling is that I’m involved in too many things.”

  “What things?” Mr. Mixon asked.

  Des panicked a bit as he had said too much. Des immediately thought of Cryslis, calling her up on the Neuronet.

  “Many things.”

  “Criminal things?” Mr. Mixon said, “I’ve seen it before. The star student gets involved with bad elements and his grades nosedive.”

  “Fine. Give me the name of her,” Des said, “I’m not involved in criminal activities. I’m enjoying some extra-curricular sports.”

  “Unlicensed probably?”

  “Am I done here?” Des asked Mr. Mixon, he then asked Cryslis quietly, “Call my phone. Call my phone.”

  “Find more time in your busy schedule to study more. You know this material. I see it in class. But then the test comes, and you freeze up. It’s a lack of studying the material for the test.”

  “I’ll study. Somehow. May I go?” Des asked.

  Des’s phone rang and he looked down at the phone. The display said, ‘Unknown 1’. Des knew it was Crysis.

  “It’s Susan. My pseudo-guardian. Can I answer? She’s probably worried about me.”

  “Go ahead,” Mr. Mixon said.

  Des answered his phone.

  “Hi, Susan,” Des said.

  “Hi Des,” Cryslis said, “I see you need a rescue.”

  “Yes, I know I’m late…”

  “Tell him something convincing after you hang up. And please don’t bring a tutor to the Diner. You’ll blow your cover.”

  “I’ll try, but I may not have a choice.”

  “Do your best, but if you must, you must,” Cryslis said, then hung up.

  Des put the phone back in his pocket.

  “And how’s Susan?” Mr. Mixon said.

  “Angry, I’m supposed to help her with something.” Des lied.

  “Right,” Mr. Mixon said, he opened up his tablet and clicked a couple buttons. “I sent you a phone number. Call it. Someone will meet up with you tonight.”

  Des looked at the number. It was a company called ‘Ole English Tutors.’

  ***

  Later that afternoon as the day turned to night, Des sat at his standard booth at the Diner. His tablets were spread across the table with a burger and a soft drink interspersed between the tablets. Elsie sat across from him. She was looking at a tablet.

  The Diner was only half full of people. There was no sign of the construction workers, but then they were still early. The workers weren’t supposed to be there for lunch for another hour.

  “A tutor?” Elsie asked.

  “Yeh,” Des said, “I called the place, and some stuck-up snob answered, and I have someone coming tonight in about ten minutes. I plan on getting a half-hour tutoring session with them before the construction workers get here.”

  “That’s smart,” Elsie said, “If you did that level of thinking about your studies, maybe your grades wouldn’t have slipped.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or if it’s steeped in sarcasm,” Des said.

  “I’m serious,” Elsie said.

  “Right.”

  “I must get going,” Elsie said, “See you on the Net.”

  Elsie walked out of the Diner.

  Des looked down at his homework on the tablet. He had answered only six of the required seventeen questions. He rubbed his eyes.

  A few moments later, Susan walked up to Des’s table.

  “Was that Elsie I saw leaving?” Susan asked.

  “Hi, Susan,” Des said.

  “Is this where you’ve been hiding instead of having dinner with me?”

  “Yes. Studying at home wasn’t working, so I’m trying something new,” Des said.

  “Right…” Susan said.

  “I’m actually waiting for the nerdy tutor my annoying uncle has sent for me,” Des said.

  “Really,” Susan said, “I’m that nerdy tutor.”

  “You’re tutoring me?” Des s
aid, “I didn’t know you worked as a tutor?”

  “I have three jobs as well as my college schooling,” Susan said, “So I know a thing or two about pressure.”

  Des looked down at the math question and started to answer it. Susan’s phone beeped, and she looked down at it.

  Then the Neuronet went off.

  “Des, you there?” Cryslis said over the Neuronet.

  Des looked around outside the windows of the Diner. He looked to the rooftop where he knew Cryslis was watching over the operation and shook his head.

  “Roger that,” Cryslis said, “Use texts when you can. I expect the curtains will raise in thirty minutes.”

  “Des, are you listening?” Susan asked.

  “Sorry,” Des replied, “I was lost in thought.”

  “I see that,” Susan said, “I said you’re answering these questions wrong.”

  “You must compile the like numbers in both quadrants first. Then add them together,” Susan said, “I thought you were a wiz at these types of problems. It’s simple Quadro-Trigonometric Equations.”

  Des looked at the problem on the table. She was correct. He was doing it wrong. But it was the problem for question seven. Des looked back at question six. It seemed better.

  “What about questions one through six?” Des asked, “Did I mess up the other questions?”

  Susan looked at the questions on the tablet.

  The Neuronet went off.

  “Heads up,” Cryslis said over the net, “The chickens are headed to the roost.”

  “Roost? That’s early?” Des said out loud.

  “Roost? Early?” Susan said.

  “Sorry,” Des said, “Lost in thought again. How did I do on those questions?”

  “They look pretty good,” Susan said, “You need to slow down the questions and show more of your work. You’ll have to do that on the tests for the Military Academy.”

  The door opened to the Diner. In walked the two construction workers. They walked into the Diner and sat down at a table that was already occupied by a single gentleman.

  Des immediately started to take in the details about the guy.

  Dark hair, green eyes, scar on his right cheek. He was wearing an expensive track suite.

  “Des,” Susan said, “Jupiter to Des.”

  Des refocused his attention back to Susan.

  “Sorry,” Des said, “I was lost in thought again.”

  “No wonder you aren’t doing well in class. You can’t keep focused on anything for any length of time.”