Burt replied. "You want me to read the numbers." His voice was slightly hesitant.
Pat moved on to step two, the harder part. "What I want you to do next is to add three to each of the numbers and reprogram the prom with the new numbers. My scientists' terminals are connected to the navigation computer and they'll verify your results. Do you think you can do it?"
Burt paused. This wasn't like reprogramming a simple PC where he physically could picture in his mind the location of each chip with which he had to interact. His palms began to sweat as he began to question his own abilities. His throat then became very dry as if he had swallowed a cup of chalk dust. He coughed to clear it before he spoke. "I'm not sure, Mr. Huxley. If I knew where the prom was maybe I'll be able to do it, but without knowing that, I'm not sure."
Pat hadn't considered that. Of course Burt would have to know where the devices were in order to concentrate his energies on the computer chip and reprogram it. Quickly he summoned Dr. Jerome. "Get me the schematic of the computer," he ordered. "And bring it here."
Burt watched as Jerome scuttled away to the Diebold safe on which he quickly spun the dial. He then rummaged through the top drawer and came back to Huxley with what looked to be a blueprint. The tightly rolled cylinder of paper was about twenty inches long and was sealed tightly with a red band marked TOP SECRET. Pat quickly took the roll from Jerome and tried to cover the seal with his hand to keep Burt from seeing it before he opened it. He then unrolled the document and furtively folded the top and bottom two inches of the schematic underneath to hide the title indicating the drawing was that of the MX nav computer before holding it in front of Burt to study. As Burt stared at the paper, Pat spoke and pointed to the lower left hand corner. "The prom is right here," he said pointing to the line drawing of a box marked Cr-1498. "It's located on this board." he then added, "will this be enough information for you?"
Burt studied the drawing, forgetting momentarily that he may be seeing something he shouldn't be. He noted the position of the PROM he was to reprogram and then looked across the room through the screen to the box and sphere on the table to get a mental image of where the prom was located. When he had it, he answered. "Sure! I think I know where it is."
"You don't need the drawing any more?" Pat queried as he began to re-roll the schematic.
"No. I've got it," Burt answered and then added confidently, "I'm sure." And he was. Before Pat finished getting the schematic completely rolled up, Burt had located the PROM and was beginning to read the numbers. As he was doing this, his heart began to pound and he began to feel the power surge associated with the chemical reaction that was taking place in his brain.
Pat backed away and then the three scientists who were now seated at their consoles quietly monitoring their screens began to alternately look at the box on the table and then at Burt and back again. It looked like they were watching a slow motion tennis match as their heads turned in unison.
Burt saw none of this, for as soon as Pat stepped away, he squinted his eyes shut and in a mere twenty seconds, began to quickly reel off a series of numbers. With each correct one, Dr. Jerome held up his hand in the ok sign for Huxley to see.
When he was finished with the forty-eight number, Burt looked up. Sweat was streaming down his flushed face. He then turned his attention to Huxley and asked, "how'd I do?"
Pat looked over at Dr. Jerome for the answer. Jerome, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, but obviously happy, uttered a single word. "All!" He then caught his breath and continued. "He got all of them. All of them! O'Shaunnesey only succeeded in getting twenty. Mr. Huxley, he got all forty-eight numbers!" Jerome exclaimed. His two assistants nodded their heads up and down emphasizing their superior's last statement. They looked like typical yes men as they did.
Pat couldn't believe it. All forty-eight. The young kid read all forty-eight guidance commands through screens that electrically emulated an eleven thousand nautical mile separation between Burt and the computer. It was phenomenal. It was stupendous! It meant they were nearly there and that his dream for a nuclear-free world might just not be a dream any more. He tried to hide his excitement, but didn't do very well. He was beaming as he spoke. "Very good indeed, Mr. Grayson! Very very good indeed!"
Pat then got a dour look on his face and regained his composure as the reality that Grayson hadn't completed the entire test sunk in. He'd only read the numbers. Reading a program from a distance was one thing. O'Shaunnesey could read people's minds. Uri Geller could read people's minds from great distances. But Uri Geller could reportedly bend spoons too! The question was could Burt harness enough thought energy to electrically alter a chip and bend the data it contained like Geller bent spoons? And could he do this from half a world away? That was the real issue. If he couldn't do that his nuclear-free world would remain what it currently was, a dream and nothing more. Pat cursed himself. He should have postponed the test until the next day. He still didn't think it possible this kid could succeed where ten years of his own research had failed. Before he could act on that thought, Burt interrupted him.
"It's done! I've reprogrammed it!" Burt was smiling smugly as he announced his success.
Pat looked over to his scientists who were huddled over their screens. After a moment or two Jerome looked up. He was pale and silent. All he could do was nod his head up and down indicating complete and utter success. Pat couldn't believe it and had to see for himself. He walked over to the computer monitors and looked as Jerome ran his finger down the screen showing two columns of numbers, the second incremented by three from the first.
Pat rolled his eyes high into the back of his head and then raised his head toward the ceiling as he uttered a prayer of thanks but the moment he did, his reverie was shattered by a loud crash as Burt kicked the stool aside and got up jerkily. When Pat brought his head back down and looked over toward Burt, Pat could see his whole body was shaking. He looked like a marionette whose puppet master had had an epileptic fit in mid performance. Pat moved closer to see what was wrong, but before he closed the distance between them, Burt stopped shaking and focused on him. Then in a very deep, strong un-Grayson-like voice he spoke, "Pretty fuckin'-A good, huh Huxley! Pretty fuckin' a right on good, wouldn't you say!" He was sneering at Pat and the tone of voice he used wasn't so much one of pride in what he had accomplished, rather it was sinister.
Pat was stunned by Burt's metamorphosis. Grayson looked different. His eyes no longer looked kind and innocent like they had just moments earlier when he had been asked if he thought he could complete the test and he answered tentatively that he could giving Pat the feeling he was unsure of himself. His eyes no longer looked like the eyes of a college student who, locked in concentration, might stare straight ahead from his chair in class to gather his thoughts before speaking aloud. Instead, Burt's eyes looked mean and cold. No not just cold. His eyes were ruthless and dangerous, like Charles Manson's. Behind those eyes there were no kind thoughts, Pat knew it! And Pat was scared.
While Pat was absorbed in the transformation that had taken place and was standing transfixed, Burt leapt forward, catlike and instantly reached out and grabbed him by the forearm. Then, in one quick jerk, Burt spun him around like a rag doll being whipped about by an errant child. Instantly, Pat's arm was pinned high up between his shoulder blades causing a sparing pain from the stretched ligaments and torn cartilage in his elbow to burn a flaming highway up his arm to his brain. The pain was so intense it took his breath away choking off his scream and causing his eyes to water.
The three scientists and Amanda were dumbstruck with shock by Burt's radical behavior and were afraid to move. They stood there and watched as Burt jerked Pat's arm even higher. It was then they heard the sickening crackle and snap as Pat's wrist bone gave way under the increased pressure. It sounded like someone had stepped on a light bulb which had been wrapped in a woolen bag.
"Augggh!" Pat finally yelled as the newest pain registered and he was able to breathe again. But that was all he coul
d say, because before he could finish, Burt pushed him toward the cypher locked door, wedging his face against it as he studied the lock. It was then, and only then while Burt had his back to them and they felt it safe, did the scientists lurch forward to protect their boss.
Burt heard them and snapped his head quickly around causing them to freeze in mid-stride. He then quickly turned his head back toward to cypher lock and when he located the secret code in its electronics, he read the numbers. He reached out and punched in the correct numbered sequence causing the electrically-controlled, but mechanically activated tumbler to activate and the door to clank open. As it did he reached for the metal handle with his free hand, jerked the door open and, still holding onto Pat's wrist, shoved him into the hallway slamming the door shut behind them. There he paused and turned his attention back to the vault door where the others were scrambling to get out and help Pat."What are you doing?" Pat screeched in pain.
Burt continued to concentrate on the lock mechanism buried deep in the wall and when he was finished reprogramming it, answered in a deep growl, "buying time, you bastard! Buying time!"
Pat didn't understand. "Time for what?"
"Time enough to get out of here. But not before you tell me what you brought me here for. And I don't want any fuckin' lies. Do you hear me?" He jerked Pat's arm emphasizing the point.
Pat winced. The pain was like an icepick being shoved into the center of his forehead. When it subsided, he nodded.
Burt continued speaking as he shoved Pat down the hall. "I have a good idea why you wanted me to come here, but I want to hear it from you first:"
Pat didn't reply. He just kept biting his lower lip trying to make the pain stop as they continued down the corridor. He knew what Burt wanted, full disclosure of what the NSF did, a reason for all the previous lies he had told. But because of the pain he couldn't think straight. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't concoct another set of lies to placate Burt and get him to act reasonable and release him. By the time they reached the door leading to Pat's office, he had decided he'd have to tell the truth. Through gritted teeth he spoke. "All right. All right. I'll tell you what you want to know. Just let go of my arm."
Burt loosened his grip slightly but still held on. If Huxley gave any indication of trying to free himself, he would rip his arm out of it socket and bludgeon him to death with it. Although he said nothing to Pat when he did loosen his grip, Pat got the message. He could tell by Burt's strength it wouldn't do any good to make a break for it. The kid was just too strong.
When they reached the office, Burt shoved him up against the wall near the vault door while he went about the task of linking with the new electronic lock. When he had the numbers, he punched the code into the keypad and pushed his captive up against the open door using his face to shove it open.
Pat looked at the cypher lock and then at Burt and instantly understood what Burt had just done. "You read the code in the cypher lock, didn't you?"
Burt grinned. "Shore nuff, hoss! I fuckin'-a sho' nuff read that code, but that's not all I read." Burt paused as he toyed with him. He was like a cat who catches a mouse, wounds it by biting its neck, and then holds it in his paws and watches as the helpless animal tries to escape, only to pounce on it later and kill it.
Pat didn't like the idea of being toyed with. "Okay, smart ass. What else did you read!" Pat's arm and wrist throbbed mightily, but he had regained some sense about him and now he wanted some answers too. He figured the best way to get them was to meet fire with fire--in this case, to throw back into Burt's face some of the inconsideration he had been forced to endure. He did this in spite of the potential consequences, hoping his angry tone would enough to stop him, not knowing the person with whom he was now dealing was no longer Mr. Burt Grayson, mild mannered college student, but an altered Burt. A dangerous Burt. A Burt who had none of the social graces or chains of conscience he had had previously: chains of conscience that previously would cause him to open doors for old ladies and escort them across the street and would cause him in other circumstances to obey his elders. No, Pat was now face to face (or rather back to face) with a person who was in Burt's body, sure, but who had neither the former's charm nor weaknesses, a Burt who would surely not cow tow to his weak objections. He was dealing with an altered Burt, a Burt who would just as soon step on him like a bug on the sidewalk as tip his hat to him--a Burt who couldn't be rattled by feeble protests of a crippled weakling like Pat. But Pat knew none of this and continued. "So what the hell do you want anyway? What about your mission? What about saving all the gimps in the world like your brother Daniel?"
With the word "Daniel" no sooner out of his mouth, Pat grimaced in pain again as Burt wrenched his arm up tighter.
Fighting the pain, Pat continued. "What about that?" he said..."you can forget helping Daniel now unless you back off and let me go." Pat was hoping this appeal to his sense of loyalty would stop him.
It did, momentarily. Burt loosened his grip on Pat's arm slowly, but not before relishing in the pain he was causing. He liked the fact it was he in control of the situation rather than the other way around. He was glad he had control of Pat and he wasn't about to let completely go. He knew Pat had lied when he had tried to convince him he was going to fund research on a project to help others. He knew Pat was simply out for his own benefit and the promised research project was just a front to get him to reprogram a missile. At least that's what Burt suspected from what he had been able to read in the computer files from the three lab technicians' computers. But still, he had to know for sure--no second hand jive. And he had to know why Huxley was doing this and what better way to find out than from the horse's mouth. He also wanted to know what was in the report Pat had hurriedly hid earlier.
He gripped Pat's arm again and pulled it high, almost causing Pat to pass out. He then shoved Pat into the office and up against the far wall behind the desk
"Stop stop!" Pat cried. He couldn't endure it.
"All right then," Burt replied lowering his arm again and pointing to the desk. "God damn it! Open it! Open it now!"
Pat knew he couldn't overpower him and even if he did what would he do then? Apologize? "Gee, Mr. Grayson, I'm so sorry I lied. You see I really needed a person with your abilities so that I could continue with my quest to save the world from nuclear annihilation. You understand, don't you? It really wasn't my fault. I didn't mean to lie to you. Can't we just start over and be friends?"
Even if he could overpower Burt, Pat knew he'd never be able to control him, or for that matter how much longer Burt would live even if he could. Pat looked at the drawer containing the report and then he knew. It was happening just as Dr. Jerome had said: successful linking brings on either death to the faint of heart as it had O'Shaunnesey or, for those stronger in constitution, it brings on schizophrenia."
Burt grabbed Pat's arm again and pulled it higher. "Open the fuckin' desk now!" he yelled.
With his free hand, Pat reached into his pocket and got his key. Burt grabbed it out of his hand and shoved it in the lock in the center drawer. He then yanked the drawer open and pulled out Jerome's report. As he read, he realized linking had definite medical disadvantages as he already suspected " The subject (O'Shaunnesey) completed linking with the guidance computer," the report read. "Suddenly, for no apparent reason the subject grabbed his chest and rolled on the floor efforts to revive him failed death by cardiac arrest...."
Burt continued reading and remembered the near brush with death he had experienced back at school. It caused him to shudder as he thought about what had almost happened to him then, but he read on anyway wanting to find out why O'Shaunnesey had had a heart attack. The next paragraphs gave him the answer. "massive amounts of dopamine were found in the bloodstream--------The subsequent autopsy indicated no previous heart condition."
Burt stopped reading momentarily and began to ask himself what O'Shaunnesey could have died from if his heart showed no prior damage. As he flipped the page it beca
me obvious. Jerome's diagnosis read like his own epitaph. "....Mr. O'Shaunnesey's death was definitely caused by his linking. The linking caused his heart to explode as he tried to regain the sanity he lost just momentarily after he called out the correct numbers he had read in the computer memory. I've reviewed the videotapes of the experiment and correlated his bio-signs and electro-encephalogram with the time of his outburst and I'm positive: O'Shaunnesey did die of a heart attack. But his cardiac failure was not the result of his age or because of his alcoholism. He died because he experienced a massive state of euphoria right after linking and his heart just couldn't take the strain. The brain wave patterns indicate that. The euphoria, I suspect was brought about by the dopamine released into his bloodstream. What caused the chemical imbalance in his brain , though, I don't know, but I will continue my tests until I find an answer...signed, Dr. Jerome."
Burt put the report down.Euphoria? Wasn't that what he was experiencing now?
He nodded to himself as he answered his own question. He then looked up at Huxley and leered. As his eyes met Pat's, Pat noticed saliva was running down Burt's chin and by the look on Burt's face, he appeared to be in a stupor. If there was ever a time to take his captor unawares, now would be it. Pat reached for him, but before he could get his arm up, Burt reached over and grabbed him by the nape of the neck and in one quick motion, slammed his head into the desk, cracking his skull. A small trickle of blood flowed from each of Huxley's nostrils.
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