Legacy of a Mad Scientist

by John Carrick

  Lee and Buckner had already noticed a distinct lack of response from their HQ. Several systems had gone off line, short-circuited by the oil and flame. When the residence ignited, the fireball confirmed their worst fears.

  The three soldiers ahead of them broke formation. The center man turned around and began to advance, coming back downhill, his comrades moved to the flanks. They had the high ground, Tactics 101. Buckner and Lee had been betrayed and were now outnumbered at least two to one, with hostile forces in front and behind.

  Emergency fire systems kicked on in the command post, evacuating the oxygen through a vent in the roof, producing another bright fireball. Inside the building, the remaining flames were extinguished with automated blasts of foam. The canyon faded into darkness again.

  Huddled in the open area between residential backyards, Lee gave Buckner the signal for smoke. He gestured for Buckner to throw his to the left, while he threw to the right. The grenades popped and further obscured the summer evening.

  The chief warrant officer told Buckner to attach his silencer and pulled his from a pocket. Lee gestured for Buckner to move back to a covered position, himself dashing off to the left.

  Two mercenaries came through the smoke, first one from the left, followed by his comrade from the right. Confused, they met and continued downhill toward Buckner's covered position.

  As Sergeant Buckner centered them in his sights, the head of the man to the left exploded all over his brother in arms.

  The second man ducked, intent on returning fire. Instead, Sgt. Buckner’s bullet ended his intentions. The sergeant had been aiming for the man's midsection, but when he ducked, the round went through the mercenary's chin, slapping into the underside of the helmet.

  Lee stepped out of the darkness and fired toward the young sergeant.

  Buckner heard a cry from behind; Bell fell dead, just short of the sergeant's position. He looked down at the bodyguard and back at the smoldering residence.

  Lee dashed over to Bell, while Buckner kept an eye out for the unexpected. He rolled the dead man onto his back. After a cursory search of the mercenary's pockets, Lee discovered Captain Faulkner's access card. It was the security team's only means of access to the Fox residence, in case of an emergency.

  Lee knew the rest of his team was probably dead, but he was relieved to know that Dr. Fox and his family were still secure. The three commandos represented little actual danger. They were bait. Standard devices couldn't breach the exterior of the home. Without the inside man and Faulkner's card, there was little real threat to the family.

  A suppressed shot rang out and slammed Buckner to the ground.

  Lee rolled back against the garage. He snapped the card in half, stomped on the pieces and fired on the plastic bits, just for good measure.

  As he scanned for the remaining mercenary, Lee wondered why they hadn't pulled out big money on this job. He'd been afraid of facing down advanced bio-mechs, but these were just regular guys. He felt cheated.

  Buckner groaned from the manicured lawn. Lee realized that at least the mercs carried suppressors. He wouldn't have to worry about curious homeowners investigating the sounds of gunfire. He scanned the hillside again but couldn't pinpoint the shooter.

  Lee realized he couldn't hide until daybreak, so he leapt forward, grabbed the wounded sergeant by his belt and dragged him to cover.

  The canyon remained quiet.

  Buckner woke. He pulled off his helmet and fingered the burnt hole where the incoming round had ripped through the cloth cover before striking the bulletproof composite, knocking him senseless.

  In the distance, they heard the approaching sirens of the emergency crews dispatched to the ruins of their command post.

  Buckner relaxed against the garage wall, rubbing his neck.

  Lee placed a call to corporate, downtown.

  It took Von Kalt almost twenty minutes to cut the skin from Ross’s shoulder, using his clumsy left hand. He hadn’t been careful. He’d peeled back the skin of the arm and shoulder back and removed it, laying it flat on a nearby countertop.

  Ross realized he must have passed out at some point, but his senses were coming back. He could hear Stanwood arguing with someone outside.

  It was Croswell! Stanwood was arguing with Secretary of Defense Croswell. One of Stanwood’s deputies was yelling now too.

  Ross heard a sharp crack and a stifled cry.

  “This is between me and the director. If you get in my face again, I’ll shoot you,” Croswell said.

  Von Kalt moved over to the door, peering out through the small tinted window. The agent with the taser was also distracted, curious about what was going on outside.

  Ross knew there was no way his old friend would get Stanwood to back down. If Stanwood got caught interrogating Ross, there would be hell to pay, and for Ross as well. He’d have to explain kneecapping the agent at the taxi stand, and who he had dinner with at Noodles. An official report simply would not do.

  Ross snapped the cuffs upward, splintering the arms of the chair and knocking the agent next to him backward. Using the arms of the chair as batons, he beat Von Kalt and the other two agents stupid, driving them from the safe house.

  Once the feds were outside, Ross bit down and cracked his rear molar, exposing the failsafe trigger. Another bite and the safe house exploded.

  The heavy metal door buckled outward, ripping from its hinges, killing the closest agent, while knocking the man with the taser, and deputy Von Kalt senseless.

  Croswell and Stanwood’s argument was silenced for a moment.

  “Is this what you wanted, Joe?” Croswell asked.

  “What the hell,” Stanwood muttered.

  “Now he’s dead, you idiot. Now what are you going to do?”

  The Secretary of Defense gestured to his men, who headed back to their idling vehicles.

  “Jackass,” Croswell muttered, stepping into the waiting transport.

  Across town, Chief Warrant Officer Reid helped a naked Major Ross climb from a decanting tank. This was the same middle-aged Kelton Ross, but he had no scars or tattoos, though his skin did have an odd bluish tint.

  “This is it for a while, last legs” Reid said. “If you mess this one up, your out of the game for six months.”

  “We could always drop one from orbit,” Ross said, coughing up mouthfuls of blue syrup.

  “No, we can’t, actually. The Intel desk has activated an orbital-breech quarantine. They have a dozen rapid response teams for every time zone and both hemispheres. If we drop anything, he’s going to have it covered like flies on a duce. We’re cut off for a bit.”

  “We should have been running dubs. Snow’s got the right idea.”

  “Should’a, would’a could’a,” Reid replied.

  In his study, Dr. Andrew Fox sat before the monitor bank. He'd observed the events of the evening, as they happened, from security and satellite feeds, as well as from the Micronix directly.

  After everything that happened at Epsilon, the loss of the scientists and convicts, Fox was still reeling. He’d been as present for that as he was for the rest of it. The same man who had argued with his daughter at dinner had been well aware of the implosion that had taken place some three hundred miles way.

  What he couldn’t explain was why he’d felt the need to call Doctor Te in the first place. It was his fault all this had happened… Well, at least Ross’s capture and the attack on his home. Actually, the problems at Epsilon were his fault too. The entire thing, the mess of his life, was entirely his responsibility.

  It had been years since he’d spoken to Lao. Why had he called him? Had he really known the facility would be destroyed?

  Now it seemed to be the only logical outcome, but he hadn’t wanted to believe that, just hours ago. He hadn’t believed it could happen so fast.

  And who sent a team of mercenaries to attack his home? Why hadn’t they just taken out warrants against him?

  Fox looked down at his hands. The Micronix r
ested in his right palm and the new, Metachron, rested in his left. He’d tried to re-synchronize them, but it hadn’t worked. He tried again.

  His hands could get no closer than a fist’s distance apart.

  He tried and tried to press the black metal rectangles together, but like the powerfully charged objects they were, the devices repelled each other. The devices would not merge; they refused to even make contact with one another.

  The Micronix had never had a problem producing or reabsorbing clones before, but in the presence of the Metachron it could not. Fox hadn’t fed it metal in years, and the command to expose the feed tray did nothing.

  Movement on the security and satellite feeds distracted him. Back up security units had arrived and were tending to Lee and Buckner, as well as the smoldering residence.

  Fox regretted the fact that he’d missed Bell killing the first guards. If he'd been more alert, maybe he could have warned Faulkner.

  Soon Lee and Buckner were moved to a safe location for debriefing, while the fire and police departments dealt with the larger scene up the hill.

  The back up units remained vigilant, discretely parked around the neighborhood. Fox forwarded his usual protocol and the local media was officially suppressed, in the interests of National Security.

  He stood, put his array of monitors to sleep, went to the bathroom and vomited.

  On his way to bed, he checked on the children. Ashley's room was first. Fox felt a flash of concern, seeing that her bed was empty. Ashley's window faced the canyon. It was possible the fire had awakened her.

  Fox crossed the hall to Geoffrey's room. Brother and sister were curled up together, sound asleep. Satisfied on several levels, Fox closed the door.

  It was a full hour before sleep finally took him, his wife beside him. He held the Micronix nestled in his palm. The second prototype, the Metachron, lay on the nightstand.

  Chapter 11 – Summer Days

  Tuesday, June 23, 2308

  The beagle woke Fox at dawn, barking downstairs. He knew the house was secure; the early-warning systems would have roused him before floppy-eared Jack became aware of any threat.

  Down the back stairs, Andrew found Geoffrey and Jack nose to glass, staring out through the glass panel doors, into an earthbound cloudbank.

  The house was enclosed in a dense fog. Jack was probably barking at nothing, but the black rectangle warmed under the doctor's anxious grip.

  Across his mind, the security displays filled his visual awareness with data. It was clear that the house was secure.

  All the doors and windows were sealed and there were no heat signatures revealing recent human activity, other than those of his family. The house had undergone extensive security retrofitting. It was watertight and structurally reinforced. The sort of explosive necessary to breach it, would also destroy it, so if something were to go wrong on that scale, there would be little advance warning.

  Across the canyon, the security residence displayed a bit of activity. Even under the fog, the satellite feed revealed the investigators, combing through the scene. The house hadn’t been destroyed, only slightly damaged. However, the gunplay required a thorough investigation, despite its top-secret status.

  Over the Micronix, Dr. Fox located his replacement security teams, parked in strategic locations on nearby roads and drifting along with the local Angel City traffic. Feeds from local satellites and municipal alert units all flowed to the Micronix. It was beyond undetectable, it was… Un-susceptible. How could these nitwits suspect something they’d never heard of, never imagined? Fox laughed.

  Geoffrey looked up at his father.

  Dr. Fox blinked the Micronix menus and pallets away and looked back at his son. He smiled.

  Behind them, watching from the stairs, Ashley gasped, staring into the fog. Ana was with her, sitting on the step next to her daughter.

  The fog before them looked so thick, the windows appeared to be frosted. Yet it billowed with a heavy texture and something dark flashed just beyond their ability to make it out.

  Jack barked.

  A bird struck the window.

  They all jumped.

  The family watched the heavens pass by as birds played the role of angels, fluttering through the clouds as they journeyed to wherever clouds, and birds lost in them, go.

  As the day grew brighter and the sun continued to rise, warmth penetrated the heavenly vapor and it vanished.

  Within a few minutes, breakfast was ready and the backyard was visible again, covered with the dewy remnants of the clouds. The sky grew dark, and as the family ate, it rained.

  Ashley’s Journal, Tuesday, June 23, 2308

  Something woke me up last night. I don’t even remember sitting up, but that was how I woke up. One of the houses across the canyon was on fire, the house with all the windows.

  There’s something strange about that place. The way the windows are. In the afternoon, it looks like a face. When the windows were on fire, it looked like it was growling at me.

  In my dream, I saw the long white cords in a deep dark place again, with those huge knots in them. The knots were made of pain.

  Geoffrey talks in his sleep.

  Thursday, June 25, 2308

  All over the city, people rose and prepared for their day. Yet somehow, today was different. People drove more cautiously, and there was less traffic than usual. The headlines weren't good; the war was threatening to start up again.

  From the front lines in San Diego to San Antonio, the Christian Communist Peoples Party had been pushing north, mounting strikes deep into the heartland. Not to mention the mujahideen coming down from Canada on horseback, harassing federal outposts all across the border. Meanwhile, the government fought internal corruption scandals in the headlines of every major news outlet.

  Early that morning, intelligence agents met their handlers at safe houses. Today everyone was working; today there was heavy chatter. Interested parties assembled in loose convoys, out on the fringes of municipal airspace. In locked rooms and tinted vehicles, mercenaries cleaned their weapons and loaded magazines. Directives were confirmed and memorized.

  Dr. Fox listened in on the transmissions. The briefing location would be released over two minute intervals, first to federal officers, cascading down to the juniors. The traffic would be screened for leaks, all branches were ordered to participate.

  Fox’s driver arrived to escort the doctor to the briefing. He said goodbye to his wife and children.

  Once the vehicle lifted off Andrew placed the call. The briefing would be held aboard the Fuji Dozo, docked at the heart of the city. The boarding times had been carefully segregated. When the Department of Defense wants to know if you're a security leak, they don't just ask you, they tempt you. Hungry fish get caught. Operation Rusty Bucket was concerned with plugging leaks; the briefing itself was secondary.

  The Fuji Dozo didn't even exist. Andrew had created the name, and then researched it, just to be sure. When he made the announcement he was confident that no one in North America had ever before put those two words together as the proper name of a restaurant.

  The dock numbers and loading times were all that mattered. Giving the location an exotic name was the key that allowed the analysts to track the leaks. Any unauthorized transmission of those two words between the hours of ten and noon was a crime punishable by death.

  Two minutes after ten, the first group of attendees was informed. Composed of high-level government personnel, on the inside, all well aware of the mole hunt in progress. Among this group, no leaks were detected.

  At 10:04, the second docking appointments were revealed to interested private banks and corporations.

  The volume of chatter instantly spiked. The first moles had exposed themselves. Andrew listened as one group after another leaked the information, and then denied it.

  Operation Rusty Bucket was in full swing. The returning data streams were undeniable. Within minutes of a leak, offices were stormed, suspects arrested and
interrogated on the spot. Several administrations would find themselves a few pounds lighter by the end of the day.

  Andrew believed the explosion that destroyed Epsilon was an accident. However, without supporting evidence, the possibility of sabotage couldn't be ignored. A round of whack-a-mole now and again was good training. The government had always been a disgrace when it came to secrets, but Andrew knew his department was secure.

  The briefing was a waste of time, but it had to be done. Andrew needed to explain what had happened. The interface was an egregiously expensive failure, and someone had to answer for all that red ink. He smiled at the irony of it all, and realized he had an ace up his sleeve. This time, he could just tell them the truth.

  Ashley’s Journal, Thursday Morning. June 25, 2308

  Today starts our one real week of summer. Rivendell is closed for renovations, and we still have a week before we leave for camp.

  I can’t imagine having three whole months to do whatever I want.

  I don’t know what I would do. I would just practice, probably.

  I already did two hours this morning.

  Geoff was in the backyard, playing with Jack, whose energy propelled him all over the yard. Geoffrey would try to catch him, only to have Jack leap away, excited to for him to try again.

  "Want to go down the canyon?" Geoffrey asked Jack, who dashed around the yard, excited by any mention of the great adventure beyond the property line.

  "Hey, Ash, want to go down the canyon with us?" Geoff asked his sister, finishing her breakfast in at the dining room table.

  "Geoff, you shouldn't go out there by yourself."

  "I never go by myself," he answered.

  "Jack doesn't count."

  "Then why did you make Bobby shake his hand?"

  "Because I'm a jerk," Ashley said. "It was mean, and someday I'm going to hell."

  "Is that where bad people go when they die?" Geoff asked.