by John Carrick
"The idea was; no more monitors, no more keyboards, no more invasive data ports, plugs, or memory sticks. Nothing but a hand-held signal amplifier."
Fox reached into his pocket and pulled out the Micronix. He stood it on the table next to him. It was part of the pitch, the bell ringer.
Damn! Damn, damn. Fox told everyone that they had all been destroyed in the accident. Now he'd gone and shown it to them. What the hell, Doctor?
The room was silent.
Fox relaxed, he had his answer to the next question.
"I thought you said they'd all been destroyed?" Harris asked.
"This is the original prototype," he said. "A marketing placebo."
He jumped ahead, call to action. "We've got flying chariots and cities in the clouds, right? This should have worked. After all, what are we, if not liquid-core computers?"
Fox paused for dramatic effect, but the presentation had derailed when the Epsilon facility was reduced to a layer of dust on the desert floor.
Simply to fill the silence, Fox continued, "We naturally transmit electrical signals to the brain. We hoped to communicate, digitally, without any physical invasion. The brain is just a network of neurons, transmitting electrical signals. It should have worked just as easily as we transform signals from the retina or the eardrum. Just communicate with the frontal lobes, without inserting any wiring in the mind itself. Getting wired and plugged has its own problems, the idea was to eliminate all of that."
Fox picked up the prototype. "The plan was to go wireless, no fiber optics, no wires in the brain. That was the idea, anyhow. We just couldn't make it work. Initially half the subjects couldn't even link with it. You need a certain amount of intellectual capacity just to use it at all. If the subject wasn't smart enough, it, um, just sort of fried their brains."
The delegates remained quiet.
"Some people could receive, but not transmit, some got nosebleeds, some went comatose and there was, well…. More significant damage."
"Significant how?" Senator Clarke asked.
"Permanently significant," Dr. Fox replied.
"Explain, please."
Fox took a deep breath. "One guy blew his brains out. I don't mean suicide, not with a gun or anything. His mind, his brain: it overheated, exploded all over the room. We kept them isolated during their first experience, just in case. We set the interface on a table, just like this, only we had an air lock. We told them the risks. We gave them the information, and let them make their own decision."
Fox looked at the floor, feeling ashamed.
"In that very first instant of contact, the moment your hand touches the item.... Some people claimed that time slowed down, or stopped all together. Those were the ones still capable of communication. The others…" Dr. Fox shook his head.
Senator Cheryl Warrington spoke up from the back row. "And you continued the trials? Through all of this?" The revulsion in her voice was tangible. Formerly a medical doctor, Cheryl was the only female delegate present. This was her first encounter with the project.
Fox noted the frustration and anger in her voice. He sympathized with her but suspected she was out of her league. Fox knew the hubris she'd discovered here was as poisonous as any disease she'd ever tackled as the nation's surgeon general. Now serving her first term as a state senator, Fox suspected it had been a long four years. She didn't look as if she could do two more.
Secrets can be like a cancer in your brain, rotting your soul. Watching the senator, Fox realized her internal pressure cooker had finished preheating. He smiled, after all, it was classified, and she couldn't talk to anyone else. She may as well take her frustration out on those responsible. Unfortunately, 'those responsible' applied mostly to Fox himself.
"You killed how many people with this little fiasco?" Senator Warrington asked.
Dr. Fox seemed confused. "I'm sorry, you want what, numbers?"
"I want to know how many people died because of this project."
Fox didn't answer.
"How many?!" the senator shouted.
Fox knew he shouldn't jerk her around, briefs are supposed to be brief. "Forty seven thousand, five hundred and one."
She smiled. "Don't jerk me around, Doctor."
"Senator, Doctor Warrington, I wouldn't dream of giving you false facts. You asked me how many people died because of this project, that number is forty seven thousand, five hundred and one. I have a photographic memory, I just copy and paste."
"Cute."
"No, really. It's kind of cool."
"Do the math."
"Out loud? I delivered the report, all the facts are there."
"Well let's see that photographic memory in action."
Fox hesitated.
"Is there a problem, doctor?" she asked.
"I'm just not sure what it is you want..."
"I want to know…"
"Oh, Please!” Harris interrupted her. “These were death row inmates.” He rolled his eyes. “Can we get on with the rest of our business now, Cheryl?”
"Are you screwing me, Jack?" Senator Warrington snapped. Perhaps she'd meant to say are you screwing with me, but didn’t.
"Thank heavens, no," Congressman Harris laughed.
Some of the other delegates dared to laugh with the congressman, and the fearless bodyguards smiled. The room got brighter for a moment.
Warrington jumped in with both feet, splashing the goodwill from the room. "Then address me as Senator."
Fox sighed. She'd lost it, it was too late for a real argument, her train of thought had jumped its tracks. Fox wasn't even the object of her ire anymore; it had been misdirected onto the foil, the jester, the clown. Fox knew it was Harris's job to confuse people like the ex-surgeon general. He'd been assigned, by Clarke, to lighten things up, should too much integrity or responsibility be called for. Fox thought she looked as if she might walk out, but she was too angry to leave.
"Could we project this, beam it at an enemy?" Senator Clarke asked.
The delegates leaned forward.
"Could it be used as a weapon?" Clarke restated.
"It doesn't work that way. Everyone would need to be holding signal amplifiers. You need the gateway, and it would need to work, which it doesn't. Besides, we lost all our research. We're back at square one."
"You expect us to believe there weren't any backups?" a banking delegate asked.
"We lost everything. The back-up servers burned all over the world. We lost one in London, one in New Delhi, two in China."
"You had backups in China?" Harris fumed.
Clarke held up his hand. "You lost everything? Except your personal amplifier?" Senator Clarke challenged Doctor Fox.
Andrew lifted the device from its place on the table. "It's scrap metal," he said.
"That's our property," Harris said.
"Are you sure you want it?" Fox asked.
"I vaguely recall something about shared abilities?" Miller asked, changing the subject.
"Ah, the talent thingy," Fox said.
"Talent thingy?" Harris said.
"Technical term." Fox shrugged.
"Such as," Miller asked.
"Say guy X knows how to speak Chinese, suddenly guy Z can too."
"They were reading each others' minds?" Harris asked.
"They were accessing each others' leaning centers, not memory. Everyone thinks memory is where the human mind would overlap, but not at all. The brain is most similar in how it stores acquired skills, language, mathematics."
"That's still mind reading," Clarke said.
"It was more like borrowing each others' power tools, if you need an analogy."
Harris pointed at the prototype sitting on the table. "Can you read our minds with that thing?" he asked.
Fox smiled. "I can read your mind without it, Congressman. It seems you want to get to know Senator Warrington better."
A few laughs were heard.
"Senator Clarke wants a gin and tonic, and that guy wants a club
sandwich."
The whole room was laughing.
Fox continued, "For the record, they could not, and I cannot, read minds. We had some speaking in foreign languages, but since you sent me condemned criminals, what we saw was a staggering rise in escape attempts, and violent attacks on guards. I objected then, I'm objecting now. To be fair, you people or your direct superiors are responsible for the deaths, and the failure of this project."
No one spoke.
After a considerable silence, Fox continued. "At any rate, shortly after the manifestation of unlearned skills, the headaches started, followed by hemorrhaging from the eyes, nose and ears, sometimes seizures. "
"Did a lot of the subjects have headaches?" Senator Miller asked.
"We all did." Fox answered.
"What do you mean? You, the assistants, everybody?" Miller inquired.
"All of us, yes. We were all connected," Fox answered.
"And when it exploded, where were you?" Clarke asked.
"I was traveling."
"What aren't you telling us?" Harris asked.
"How much time do you have?"
"Tell us when you first thought there might be a problem."
"A soon as you changed this project from a volunteer status to an execution alternative. I tried to shut the project down several times. I spoke with each of you at length about it. An hour prior to the explosion, I spoke with you, Senator Miller. You insisted on waiting a week to shutter the facility."
Senator Clarke leaned forward, "Did you learn those skills you mentioned?"
Fox shook his head. "I didn't manifest any new abilities. It might have been because I was first, but I also didn't spend a lot of time with the test subjects. I was occupied with changes, improvements to the source code."
The room remained silent for a few moments.
"Gentlemen, I have nothing further. Any other questions for me?"
Back in the canyon, Evan stood before the fearless Ashley, arm raised overhead. If he swung, Ash knew she was getting hit. There was no way she could move fast enough, but she was betting he wouldn't hit a defenseless girl.
Doug and Jamie, the camouflaged commandos, leapt from their place in the deep grass. "Attack!" Doug yelled.
The ambush exploded around them, clods of dirt and grass were hurled toward Evan and his gang of hoverboarders. Loud cracks were heard, as the springs of their toy guns slapped plastic on plastic, rocketing yellow bee-bees that buzzed as they cut through the air. Ashley could see them streaking past, hissing like mutant insects on steroids.
While the ambush was psychologically something of a success, the older kids escaped serious damage to the head and neck. Thankfully, no one lost an eye. The guerrilla commandos were sticking to the traditional hit-and-run tactics, but that meant they'd just get picked off, one at a time, by the air-mobile adolescents.
Ash looked for Geoff and Jack, gesturing for them to back out of the impending battle. The teens would rally, and someone would be crying soon. She hoped, but doubted it would be Evan.
Evan saw his quarry attempting to escape, and stepped up, getting in Ashley's face again. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"
Doug and Jamie stepped in to protect her, their hornet rifles leveled at Evan's chest.
"Leave her alone," Doug said.
Faced with the plastic guns, Evan stalled in his advance.
"She can stand up for herself," Evan countered.
"She's a girl!" Jamie yelled, aiming for Evan's face.
"It'll be your last mistake," Evan promised.
Doug raised his rifle too, aiming for the eyes. "You'll be blind!"
"Is that a fact?" Evan asked.
Ash noticed Bobby, Evan's younger brother, among the commandos who'd come to their rescue.
Evan, desperate to escape Doug and Jamie without backing down, followed her line of sight, and seeing Bobby, went berserk. "What the hell? Are you on their side?" he yelled.
"We're just playing, Evan."
Doug and Jamie lowered their rifles.
"Playing?" the big brother snapped. "What's the matter with you?"
"If it weren't for me, they’d have shot you for real," Bobby said.
"Is that a fact?" Evan yelled.
Jamie's finger squeezed the trigger, and the hornet jumped in his hand. Three bee-bees streaked past Evan's face.
Evan jumped, scared and stumbling.
Doug laughed.
Evan growled and shot toward them.
Doug and Jamie burst into laughter and ran from the enraged teen. They showed no real fear and effortlessly dodged the angry Evan. The air was again filled with laughter.
Until, without warning, a dozen huge red laser beams filled the canyon with a crimson glow. The beams formed a giant ring of light, stretching up into the sky, slowly turning clockwise.
Someone had fallen from the city above; a rescue operation was underway. The red light let passing vehicles know that the coast guard or EMTs were chasing a jumper, hoping to catch him or her before their imminent impact with the unforgiving ground below. The kids were stunned silent, their battle abandoned.
Chapter 18 – Alexander Pierce
A few moments earlier...
As Fox and the assembled delegates prepared to end the briefing, a voice made itself heard “Excuses don't interest me.”
Pierce stood, impeccably dressed behind the massive cases crowding his table. The young man looked rather effeminate, his long hair hung in his face, luxuriant, fashion-model hair. "I was made to understand that this briefing concerned items of merit." He grinned at Dr. Fox. "What about the prototype?"
"What about it?" Fox replied.
"Well, Dr. Fox, I agree with you. I read your report, all twenty five hundred pages of it. I agree that it was an absurd insult to you and your work, for the assembled members to have so grossly perverted the basis of your study by sending you condemned criminals."
Pierce continued, "I find myself torn. You see, I also agree with the senators, that prototype should be our property. We paid for it, in money and in blood. You need to turn it over."
"It's worthless," Fox stammered. "It's a paperweight."
"Fine, then. It's our worthless paperweight. What's all the noise?"
"You could hurt yourself. As a doctor, I cannot give this to you. But if you want to come up here, and steal my personal property…" Fox gestured to the prototype on the table and stepped away from it.
Pierce walked forward, his hands folded behind his back, his eyes locked on Andrew's. "Dr. Fox, I charge you with treason and fraud."
"Treason and fraud?" Fox rolled his eyes. "That's a new one."
Before Fox could stop him, Pierce picked up the slender hunk of metal. He was wearing gloves.
"This device is now officially taken into custody as evidence. We had a contract. You agreed to produce the interface, and after a couple of minor setbacks, you want to give up? I don't think so. You will try again, or you will be tried for treason."
Secretary of Defense Croswell stood up. "Dr. Fox works for the United States Government. You don't give him orders, I do. You don't get to try him for treason, I do. You don't have a contract or investment rights. You get what I give you, and I give you my word, if you don't put that down, you won't leave this room alive, you deluded brat."
Pierce didn't move.
Croswell continued, "Your drunkard of a father should have sent David, like I told him to, not some cock-sucking pansy-ass elf. Take your gloves off, I dare you," the secretary taunted him. "You won't touch it. You're a coward is why. A no-good, one-way, dumb-ass little sally."
Pierce smiled and tossed the prototype to the Secretary.
Several people gasped.
The flat rectangle hung in the air between the men.
It seemed to move in slow motion.
Out of nowhere Dr. Fox caught the prototype, only inches before it reached the Secretary.
"You called me a traitor, a liar and a cheat?" Dr. Fox said.
Pierce's reply was a scowl.
"Let's settle this the old fashioned way," Fox said.
Pierce smiled. "Pistols on the balcony?"
"Winner takes the prize." Fox held up the prototype. "What do you say?" the doctor asked.
Director Stanwood stood up. "You idiots can kill each other on your own time. The rest of us have business to attend to." He gestured for his assistants to collect the cash and exited the hall. With the money gone, the briefing was definitively over.
Croswell nodded to Fox, "I'd love to stick around, but you know I can’t be a party to this. Good luck, Andrew."
"Whatever happens, it's a perfectly legal duel. Clarke will fill you in on the details." Dr. Fox smiled at Clarke. "Won't you, Senator?"
Clarke nodded, giddy with Shakespearean malice. He hated Fox and Pierce both. He, Miller, and Harris cackled like hyenas, following lions.
Moments later, Dr. Fox faced young Alexander outside the clamshell, on the building's exterior patio. The remaining delegates watched from behind the bulletproof glass. Andrew was disappointed. There were a couple of guests he'd have happily winged or even point-blank shot, if afforded the opportunity.
Andrew set the prototype on an empty table.
"Just so we both know where it is," he said.
Pierce nodded and peeled the glove from his right hand. He removed his coat, exposing a modified version of the standard issue Light 9 handgun, with an extended barrel and compensator. He wore the gun low on his thigh, an easy draw. The chrome reflected glittering bits of light as he shifted his weight.
Andrew's holster was much higher, on his belt, a much more difficult draw and impossible to beat Pierce's hip-hugger. As kids, everyone had practiced, but few adults found themselves in an honest-to-goodness showdown.
Fox knew he wasn't drunk. Why then did he feel drunk? He hadn't taken any pills that day. He wasn't on pills just now. Andrew decided he was getting some pills if he survived this mess.
Fox suddenly found it difficult to breathe. His face felt flush, his throat, wet and ragged. His collar was too tight. He could hear his heartbeat, ringing in his ears, slamming through his head like a bell.