 
ASHLEY FOX – NINJA BABYSITTER

"This is a mixed martial arts course, you will be taught many things, and you will be tested. But first, I'd like to know, do any of you have experience in the martial arts?"

About half the students raised their hands. Ashley didn't lift hers. Despite two previous summers of similar courses, she did not count herself as experienced.

"Now, how many of you have been hit, hard, in the face?" Sihing Shou asked.

At first several hands went up, but some were timid, uncertain.

"I mean hard, bloody nose, fat lip, black eye. How many?"

Only a few hands remained aloft.

Shou pointed to one boy and asked, "Who hit you?"

"My brother hits me all the time," he said, pointing at his brother, standing a few spaces away.

Shou and several others laughed. Ashley noticed that the boy, however, was not laughing.

"And you?" Shou gestured to another boy.

"My father," came the answer.

Shou pointed again. "A kid in my class."

"Has anyone here ever been hit while in the ring?" Shou asked.

All the hands went down.

"When you are in a fight, if you are ever in a fight, you must fight for your life. It will be at that moment when you are weak, tired, probably very hurt, that is when you must act to save your life. We will help you get to that place and teach you how to think while you're there."

Shou walked along the front of the room. "Someone may come, an outlaw, the government, a king, they may take all of your possessions. They may steal your clothes, eat your food and burn down your house, but you can survive all of that. You may have nothing, but you will never be defenseless. Knowledge is the greatest power; it is something no one can see. It cannot be stolen or broken, and no one can take it from you."

## THE LEGACY OF A MAD SCIENTIST

### Ashley Fox – Volume 1

### Ninja Babysitter

### John Carrick

Copyright © 2019 John Carrick

ISBN - 978-0-9836916-3-1

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Published by Smashwords and Alpha Channel Books, California.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

The Legacy of a Mad Scientist

Ashley Fox Adventures - Volume 1 - Ninja Babysitter

www.AshleyFox.Ninja

Cover by Jay Arcilla.

Editors: William Greenleaf, Karl Morgan

Acknowledgements and Special Thanks

My family, Bill and Therese, Sam, Bill, Megan, Therese, Tom, David, Patrick, Daniel, Edward, Brian, Elizabeth, Mary Kate and Bridget. Robert and Lucielle, Tim and David Gaeblehaus, Dan and Paula, Brandon, Matthew and Amber Carrick, Larry and Mary Helen, Kathleen, Colleen and Brian McCarthy, and my extended family across the country, I've learned so much from all of you.

I am also deeply indebted to the friends of a lifetime, Patrick, Chris, Frances, Elizabeth, Margaret, Maureen and Alison Tully, George-John, Oscar and Joan Pinz, Charlotte and Dale Finch and their family, Tim Hennip, David Webb, Dan and Dave Wilkinson, Rob McAndrews, Mike Ruemelin, Bob Julian, Jeremy Biggerstaff, Daniel and Michelle Sullivan, Mike and Lynn Stengal, Kim Comstock, Matt and Garth Clewis, Matt Budney, Alec O'Connor, Mark Foppe, Adam Lazaar, Wayne Steinmetz, Frank Mueller, Kathy Shleet, Michael Salgado, Steve Zagraphos, Don Shivers, Patrick Graham, Michael Zager, Katherine Rippy, Max Wicks, Jennifer Golovin, Gary and LeAnn Fidorowitz, Scott, Al, Beau, Wally and the entire G&L Electric crew, the Westfall Family, Angela Battistelli, Lisa Haley, Senator O'Brien, Sean Aldrin, Jayson Arcilla, Rinzi Ruiz, Jay Racelis, Tony Ross, Samantha Tyernik, Carmello Di Bella, The Sweedish Rockers: Daniel Olofsson, Johnan Elfving and Ulrick Zander, Krisakorn Tanitmet, Tim Rush, Ken Yankee, Jennifer Russakoff, Brandi Griffith, Meghan Scott, Julie Choi, Rob Hampton, Doyle Dean, Dan Didsbury, Tony Diaz, Jason Robertson, Deborah Schlaff, Paul and Alison Smith, Mikko Alanne, Karl Monger, everyone at Fan Story, Zach Tyson, Mike Gallagher, Matt Taylor, Brian Dawson, Frank Glacey, Lee Levi, Eli Ramirez, Ronald MacGregor, Shirley Daniel, Nathon Plumlee, Barry Gast, Jeff Carrillo, Jim Borrelli, Doctor Carl Totton, Brett Rushworth, Hashim Thomas, LB, Jonny Blu, Simon Barrett, Roman Varshavsky, Gideon Reuben, Thorne Humphrey, Justin Waggle, Rob Newman and Liezel Co.

Thank you all so much.

Special thanks

Denise Poirier, Peter Chung and Mark Mars. Also Shirow Masamune.

The Authorities \- Stephen King, J.R.R. Tolkien, Victor Hugo, Miguel de Cervantes, Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Twain, Jules Verne, Richard K. Morgan, James Ellroy, Ken Kesey, Arthur Miller, Elmore Leonard, Joseph Conrad, Phillip Roth, Thomas Wolfe, Joseph Heller, Stan Lee, Robert E. Howard, Cormac McCarthy, Ernest Hemmingway, William Faulkner, Vladimr Nabakov, Albert Camus, Oscar Wilde, William Gibson, Ray Bradbury, Futaro Yamada, Hiroaki Samura, Thomas Cleary, Fydor Doystevesky, Homer, Gaius Julius Caesar, Publius Ovidius Naso, Marcus Tullius Cicero, Plato, Socrates, Sophocles, William Shakespeare, Francis Bacon, John Dee, Dante Alighieri, James Joyce, John Milton, Eliphas Levi, George Bernard Shaw, Thomas Paine, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Ayn Rand, Jun Fan Lee, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Charles Michael Kittridge Thompson IV, Quentin Tarantino, Kurt Sutter, John Wells, Aaron Sorkin, Oliver Stone, Guy Ritchie, Ben Edlund, Sylvester Stallone, Joss Whedon, Robert Towne, William Goldman, Christopher McQuarrie, Garth Ennis, Warren Ellis, Warren Zevon, Neil Gaiman, Neil Stephenson, Orson Scott Card, Terry Brooks, George Orwell, Ralph Ellison, Isaac Asimov, D. H. and T. E. Lawrence, R. A. Heinlein, H. G Wells, J. D. Salinger, T. H. White, Tom Waits, Mary Shelley, Brahm Stoker, Akira Kurosawa, Shimozawa Kan, Grant Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Clive Barker, Alan Moore, Harper Lee, George R.R. Martin, Donna Tartt, Nichola Tesla, Lian Hearn, Nelson Mandela, Gautama Siddhartha, Mahatmas Gandhi, Lao Tzu, Sun Tzu, Jesus Christ and Hunter S. Thompson.

Also: Joseph Campbell, Syd Field, Christopher Vogler, Robert McKee, Blake Snyder, Anton Chekhov, Stan Lee, John Buscema, Scott McCloud, Scott McDaniel, J. Scott Campbell, Neal Adams, Reuben Apodaca, Dennis Grigoleit and Frank Miller.

Dedication:

This book is dedicated to you, the reader.

\- John Carrick

# Prologue - Blue Goo

August 29, 2273 - 35 years ago

The first day of sophmore year and half the class stood huddled around Wendell Meyer, seated on an industrial table in the science laboratory. His pants were pushed up to his thigh, his ruined knee exposed for all.

Wendell helped himself to a handful of the blue goo from the ten-gallon tub next to his leg. He applied it to the mangled joint.

Near the beginning of the previous school year, almost a year to the day, he'd been trapped in the pool's hydraulic cover; the mechanical joint had mutilated his knee.

Wendell had spent the bulk of the school year in bed, taking all his classes in virtual. He'd had four surgeries, and the last set of pins had just come out last week. The doctors talked about replacing the joint all together, but Wendell's mother had objected.

Wendell Meyer and Andrew Fox had been close friends that year. After the accident, Andrew dedicated all his spare time, and a significant amount of his family fortune, in creating and developing the goo.

"It itches," Wendell said, as his skin devoured the blue-tinted mixture. "Ouch!"

The knee swelled under the blue coating.

"ARGHHHH!" Wendell cried.

He lay back on the table, face knotted into a scream he didn't dare utter at full volume, for fear of bringing a teacher.

The boys watched as the knee repaired itself. A thick sweat popped out on Wendell's face. The joint began to make strange cracking and rending sounds. Wendell gulped air in tortured gasps.

A few seconds later the knee began to shrink, the blue tint staining the skin and bubbling from his pores. Within two minutes, Wendell's knee was back to its natural size, albeit a bit skinnier than the other, coated in a thick blue wrapping. The goo had become a kind of splint, a rubber bandage, holding the bones, tendons and ligaments in place.

Wendell swung his leg. "It works." He gestured for Jim Croswell to pass over his crutches. Jim reached out and picked them up but didn't hand them over.

"Fine." Wendell smiled and hopped down from the table. He stood on his own two feet for the first time since the accident. Smiling, he lifted and flexed the shattered knee. He walked a few steps, staring at the blue wrapped knee, and burst running from the room, screaming wildly.

Jim carried the crutches to the corner of the room and leaned them up against the wall.

"Who else wants to try?" Andrew asked.

At first the kids were skeptical.

Andrew opened a drawer full of dissection tools. "Step right up," he said and removed a tray of scalpels from the drawer.

"It can heal anything?" Stephen asked.

"It's healed everything I've tried so far," Andrew answered.

"Ha! What have you tried?" Joe Stanwood asked.

Andrew smiled. He rolled up the left sleeve of his school button-down. His arm was covered with the telltale blue rubber bandages.

Most of the kids looked nervous, staying well away from the surgical blades.

"I'll go first then," Andrew said, reaching out for a knife. He brought it down across the back of his left arm, opening a long gash between his wrist and elbow, spilling blood onto the counter top.

Andrew clenched his teeth and applied a smooth coating of the blue goo. He held out his arm for the others to watch. Almost as if it were reversing the damage done by the blade, the goo sealed the gash. As it worked itself out of the cut, it formed a new blue coating and a few seconds later, Andrew's arm was good as new.

Wendell returned to the lab at full speed, catching himself in the doorframe. "Thanks, Andrew! You're the best! They said I was never gonna walk again!" Wendell ran off again, as fast as he could, his footsteps and jubilant cries trailing down the hallway.

Andrew smiled, thrilled with Wendell's recovery.

"How's it work," Croswell asked.

"Supercharged poly-synthetic nano-stemcells. Once exposed to living tissue, it works backwards to regenerate any damaged or missing cells. Seems to work pretty good, so far," Andrew said.

Andrew Fox and Jim Croswell had been friends since early childhood. Their fathers often worked together on various government projects, Andrew and Jimmy saw each other a lot growing up. They had always been great friends.

Both Croswell and Fox were considered to be at the top of their class, among their peers, and neither of them took any crap from Stanwood, who bullied everyone else. Croswell was far more athletic than Fox, so the mantle of leadership fell to him.

"What else did you try?" Stanwood asked, nodding to Fox's arm.

Joe Stanwood, in his own weird way, had never fit in with anyone. Most of the boys were scared shitless of him.

Andy and Jim seemed able to tolerate him. It seemed to the other kids that perhaps Fox and Croswell were unaware of how spectacularly creepy Joe actually was. It was in his mannerisms, the slow way he talked and used his hands. He was, in a word, malevolent.

Andrew removed his shirt. His body was covered with blue rubber strips and sections. There was almost no open skin for more than a few inches.

"Holy shit," Croswell said.

"I feel one hundred percent fine. It activates the RNA to work overtime, fixing whatever's out of whack."

Stanwood looked into Andrew's eyes, taunting him. "You don't seem fine."

Andrew began to unbuckle his pants, but several objections and declarations of trust stopped him.

"And it gets absorbed through the skin like that?" Stanwood asked.

"You saw it."

"So, is it better for cuts or broken fingers?" Stanwood inquired.

"I think, either or," Andrew replied.

"Could it grow back a whole arm, or a leg?" Joe asked.

"I don't know, but I bet it can reattach them."

"No way," Stanwood answered. "Brain injuries? How do you get it in there?"

"Shit, maybe it can fix you, Joe," Croswell said.

Several of the other kids laughed.

"Fox is gonna be a millionaire. I bet it'll fix anything," Stephen volunteered.

"It fixed Wendell's leg." Tom Becket said. "He's happy as shit."

Andrew realized he didn't have to answer Stanwood's objections. The other boys were making his arguments for him. They had witnessed the power of the goo.

Joe Stanwood raised his hands, smiling.

The guys grew quiet.

"Can you re-attach someone's head?" Stanwood asked.

"I don't know, but I'd love to try." Fox answered.

The boys heard the challenge and responded with an "Oooo."

"Don't cut anyone's head off, seriously," Stanwood replied.

"I think maybe you could re-grow a finger or something, but it would be expensive," Andrew said. "I don't think I could do it with this. We'd need a thicker composition. It would take longer."

"How much did this cost to make all this?" Croswell asked.

"Close to seventeen million," Andrew said in a low voice.

"Holy shit!" Becket said. "What?"

"I said close to," Andrew countered. "I think you get Holy Shit at twenty."

"How close?" Joe asked.

"If you figure in all the test batches, a little over, maybe."

"But current medical science can already reattach limbs for a lot less," Stanwood pointed out. "And we have lots of ways to accelerate the healing process, so this is kind of redundant. It's too expensive for the common people. All you did was waste a bunch of money."

An hour later, after more than seventy healed scrapes, cuts, abrasions, lacerations, fractures, burns and contusions, they had exhausted their creativity and courage. They had a reached a place where the pain endured outweighed the novelty of having the tissue magically repaired.

Andrew took notes while the boys played. He took a sample of blood from each volunteer, usually from whatever instrument of violence used to create the tissue damage, never allowing any blade to be used twice. He bagged the tools of destruction and logged each into his notebook, along with the damage done and how long it took the goo to repair the wound.

With one boy, Jesse Parker, total repair took an agonizing forty seven seconds, but Jesse's wound had been rather severe. They had attacked his leg with an electric hedge clipper. Then they applied the goo and stopped the femoral artery from dumping Jesse's entire blood supply on the laboratory floor. The boys laughed and joked as they replaced chunks of meat from his thigh.

A minute later, Jesse's leg was good as new, minus the damage to his school pants.

Croswell had wanted to see how hard the other boys could punch him. He asked each of them to give it all they had. He dared them to out do each other in a single strike. After taking a haymaker from everyone in the room, Tom got creative and broke a glass beaker over Jim's head, his face looked like hamburger. The boys stuck a straw in his mouth and coated his entire face in goo. Andrew estimated it cost almost a hundred thousand dollars to wrap Jim's face, but they had plenty left.

Bored, they began to discuss grievous, mortal wounds. Andrew tried to dissuade them.

Gabriel joked about cutting Sandoval's throat, who happened to not be present. He challenged Andrew to save him before he died.

Andrew countered that he'd never liked Enrique and wouldn't be inclined help him. no matter what. That would leave Gabe on the hook for murder.

Several boys laughed, and no one did anything excessively stupid.

Andrew suggested it was time to lock the goo up.

Croswell peeled the rubber from his eyes. "I want to try something bigger."

"Something bigger like what?" Andrew asked.

"I want you to cut my arm off," Jim said.

"You're fucking crazy," Stanwood said.

"No I'm not," he replied to Joe.

Croswell looked over to Andrew. "I want you to cut my arm off."

"Stay here." Andrew left the room. Half a dozen boys trailed after him.

Croswell, Stanwood and several others remained behind.

"Seriously Joe, you should try it, it really works." Croswell said.

"Fuck that," Stanwood said. "You don't know what the side effects are. Maybe someday you wake up and who knows. This shit might kill you a month from now."

"Yeah, well, Fox will die first."

Andrew walked to the locked glass trophy case, in the grand entrance hall of the academy. He picked up a nearby chair and used it to knock the glass out. The surrounding boys watched as he reached into the case and removed the long samurai sword, the katana, from the daisho: a set of two swords.

The set had been awarded to the Rivendell Kendo Team from the Yagyu Sword School of Japan. Andrew's great grandfather had competed in the tournament that had claimed the glorious victory. Now, the young man had pilfered his ancestor's trophy case for an afternoon of raucous and juvenile amusement.

Andrew argued the points and counterpoints in his mind. What he was doing was contributing to science. He needed volunteers and to get them, he needed an extraordinary claim, an outrageous claim, a bit of theatre.

He had broken the glass in a calculated gesture.

He needed to put an end to the experiment while they still had a ton of goo. He needed to get caught, so the discovery could be exposed, with a number of witnesses.

On the way back to the lab, the boys joked about what they could do with such magical power. Several confirmed beatings they intended to dole out and then supply the recipient with a bit of blue goo to heal them right up. The lists of rivals were long, and the actions to be taken against them were intricate, cunning and cruel.

Once Andrew and the others returned with the sword, the boys who'd waited behind fell silent. Andrew Fox looked Jim Croswell in the eyes. He held the sword up, prepared to take it out of the sheath.

Jim stepped close to the tub and held his left arm out over it.

Andrew stepped back, and the other boys cleared back a few steps, room enough for him to draw and swing the sword.

Andrew gestured to Stephen and Jesse, standing opposite Croswell. "Grab his arm," Fox said.

The boys looked from Andrew to James, who nodded. They reached out to his hand.

"When I hit it, you have to take it right down into the goo. Then right back up to his arm," Andrew instructed.

"Goo? We should call it glue," Stephen said.

"Shouldn't we put some on his arm too?" Jesse asked.

"Yeah. Becket," Andrew pointed, "stand here, next to the tub. When I slash through the arm, Stephen and Jes are going to be holding it. Wait for the sword to pass through, and then put your hands in the tub. As they bring the forearm to the tub, I want you to take a hand full of goo up to Jimmy's stump. Got it?"

Several kids laughed, but Tom nodded.

Andrew drew the sword from its sheath.

"I wonder if he'll scream," someone in the back said.

Andrew looked James in the eye and without waiting for a count of three or a ready, set, go, Fox slashed through Croswell's bicep and humerus. The sword severed the boy's arm with little more resistance that if it were slicing through smoke. Andrew held the sword low and still after the cut.

James didn't scream. He didn't gasp. He didn't make a sound.

Tom reached into the tub.

Stephen and Jesse brought Jim's forearm and elbow down into the tub, passing Tom, on his way up to Jim's open stump. As Tom applied the goo, an excited pulse of blood sprayed into the room.

Jes and Stephen dunked the detached stump and reattached it to Jimmy's remaining upper arm. The room was quiet, except for the sound of blue and red drops hitting the floor.

The goo caused the skin to swell and knit together where it had separated. Blood and blue syrup bubbled from the bicep. As the excess ran off, the remainder of the goo grew darker, harder, rubbery and thick.

James smiled. He took a deep breath and wiggled the fingers of his left hand. Jesse and Stephen felt the arm come alive under their grasp. It grabbed and shook them. It had taken less than thirty seconds.

Croswell pulled the limb away and flexed it. Excess goo and plasma burst from the seam, the scar, where the limb had been severed. James punched his palm then turned and slammed his hand through a wood paneled cabinet, laughing.

Withdrawing the fist, James saw he'd damaged it anew. He laughed as he lathered the splintered fingers with, "Dr. Fox's Super-Blue Healing Goo."

During that first week of sophmore year, all the boys involved in the incident with the goo found themselves assembled in a large conference room, seated with their parents and their parent's lawyers.

Professor Cotton recited his discovery of the scene in the laboratory. The adults got the whole story, from Andrew's inspiration by Wendell's accident, to Jim's courageous determination in the name of scientific progress.

The patent filed in Andrew's name resulted in a massive windfall. In the final settlement, all the kids who'd participated in the blue goo experiment received a king's ransom. Joe Stanwood, who hadn't participated, got nothing.

# Bleeding Metal

February 23, 2285 ad.

Dr. Fox set the black metal device on the desk; he'd felt its need. The machine was hungry and would have to be fed. He looked around the facility and let the dull emptiness fill his ears.

The bay was abandoned at this hour. Decoratively spare to the point of empty, clusters of terminals stood separated by sheets of particleboard. Couches leaned against the cold metal walls.

Fox knew getting caught with a second unauthorized invention would be his last mistake; nothing would save him from another charge of treason. He looked out the window, procrastinating.

Even in this he was frustrated, seeing only his reflection staring back from outside the glass. The conference center hovered at ten thousand feet, over international waters, where certain legislative restrictions could not reasonably be enforced. Here, the right to privacy was sacred. After all, that was the whole point of a secret weapons conference, out in the middle of nowhere.

Dr. Andrew Fox was tall and lean, his physique that of an obsessive scientist, who ate when he had to and rather resented the activity. The device was not as forgiving about its needs and flashed another reminder across his mind.

He scanned the area, again listening intently, taking every precaution before so blatantly exposing himself. Thank God the facility was used for dubious projects. During the past week, he'd searched but found no surveillance equipment. If there were no cameras, he was safe.

Fox triggered the feed tray and watched it extend from the small rectangular amplifier, its matte finish absorbing light. He opened the center drawer of his assigned desk and fished out some change and a letter opener. He set the coins and blunt knife next to the feed tray and closed his eyes.

In his mind's eye, Fox called forth the utility menu. He could operate the device with his eyes open, but it was easier to focus on the visual cues without the added distraction of sight. He enabled the ingestion program and checked the thing's vitals. Everything looked normal; the cache was low, available reserves in the mid range.

Fox opened his eyes. He knew the device could smell the metal and was aware it was about to be fed. He picked up a couple of coins and set them on the center of the plate. It was best to let it start slow. A moment later they began to sink, as if the face of the plate had turned to gel.

Fox closed his eyes and checked the activity display. The burn gauge spiked and other ingestion protocols buzzed with the activity of consumption as the coins were broken down and processed at the molecular level.

He felt dirty, as if he were somehow intruding and turned the display off. He piled the remaining coins on the plate and set the letter opener across the top. The previous coins were still being metabolized, and it would take some time to consume them all.

Despite the current illegality of his creation, Fox knew that eventually someone else would hit upon the idea of wireless forebrain data-transfer. The signal operated wirelessly, saturating an area and forming its messages directly in the visual cortex of the frontal lobes. Eventually, someone would develop a similar concept. They could go through all the proper channels; get the proper permits and bribe the proper committees. Then he could release his version, maybe a year or so later. He's be accused of copying, but that was better than treason. Then he'd be in the clear.

The algorithm he'd used to write the code was similar to modern telecommunications; but Fox had created a six-sided switch structure supporting the human mind. The drive seemed to have limitless space. All of his research resided in the banks of the device. He generated and received correspondence over its frequencies. He was even capable of perusing other systems without leaving a hint of his presence.

In meetings, Fox would occasionally look at the ceiling or rub his forehead as if engrossed in thought. Nine times out of ten, he was accessing the device for an answer to some problem asserting itself in his otherwise mundane environment.

Dr. Fox always had the answer. The knowledge at his disposal made him an intellectual giant. Knowledge is power.

Fox understood the government's desire to be aware of all technological advances. The potential damage inflicted by an enemy equipped with such a device could be devastating. Yet, the copyright laws clearly stated that any inventions created while on the national payroll were government property.

The government employed Fox across an array of fields, and even so, he might have a case, if he took it to court. That is, if he made it to court. The feds didn't play around when it came to ownership rights. Everyone knew a colleague who'd been royally screwed by the Federal Acquisitions Department, also known as the heavy-handed FAD.

Fox watched the consumption of the coins. He could still see their faces, the wet metal had only half swallowed them. After all this time, Fox still hadn't a proper name for it. For marketing purposes, it could be referred to as the Mind Computer Interface, as that was what it did, but lately he'd been calling it: The Micronix.

The machine's genesis felt more like discovery than invention; as if it had been there all along, guiding him, one step at a time. After the latest upgrade to the neural interface, he now had trouble defining where the box left off and his own mind began.

Perhaps the device had named itself and filled him in. It was difficult to determine which thoughts were his and which weren't. Micronix was still his silent suggestion to the marketing team he hadn't yet hired to promote an item he decisively kept to himself.

His girlfriend didn't know about it, he hadn't told her. That would be making her an accomplice. Anyone could charge you with treason, and rarely were such charges settled with a good-old-fashioned fistfight.

A gifted prosecutor could spin jaywalking into a crime of sedition and subversion. The arguments have become so ingrained in the minds of the citizenry; it's become a unique art form, with auteurs, amateurs and part-time dabblers.

Suspicion of treachery stripped a citizen of all rights, rank and property, pending a verdict. To be found guilty meant the death penalty, anything less was considered mercy.

Dr. Fox knew his failure to disclose the creation made him guilty of treason. He also knew how disastrous the device could be. If anyone were hurt with it, that would be his responsibility. When Oppenheimer created the bomb, the honorable thing to do would have been to torch Los Alamos before allowing two cities of innocents to burn instead.

Fox would die before surrendering the device. He stared at it, flat and wide now. It would slowly return to its earlier shape, a narrow rectangle, once the meal was completed. The Micronix consumed objects to increase its processing capacity, packing the electrons into its dense liquid core.

Fox didn't believe the device could think, but if it could, he might not know it. There wasn't any way for the doctor to pinpoint the origin of his thoughts any more than the origin of those that weren't his. The concept disturbed him.

When utilizing his own memory, he could easily recall much information, but after assimilating the data, he often found himself working in the Micronix environment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd pressed the power button, the device's only button.

_How long had it been since he'd powered it up manually? How long since he'd cycled the power at all?_ The machine never powered down. It was always there, at the edge of his consciousness, whenever he wanted it.

If he were showering, or engaged in some other activity that activated his tactile environment, it could be more difficult to interface. Occasionally, if he were physically too far away, response times would lag, but those were minor glitches. He'd polished the interface so as to be as supportive as possible to his own mind. He didn't see how he could improve it.

Dr. Fox realized he was again considering a grand unveiling. He weighed the pros and cons. It would replace an entire technological sector overnight. No one would need the conventional methods of communication.

Then Fox remembered he still hadn't figured out how to secure anything. Since there was only one user, he hadn't focused on signal separation. Before it could work for the public, it needed testing.

Fox closed his eyes, leaned back in the chair, and reaffirmed his belief that it could never be made public. It was too much power for the common man. He wondered if it was too much power even for himself. Could he do without it? Could he endure the blank faces as he scrambled for some forgotten fact or figure?

What would happen if he didn't feed it for a while, and left it somewhere out of conscious range? Perhaps he would return to find that it remained fully charged; he doubted it would do much, left alone.

When the device ran low on power, it became heavier. The menus became more difficult to access, blurry, often causing pain, a headache. If it was going to be used, it had to be fed. That much was clear.

Still Fox wondered, what would happen if he left it somewhere, out in the middle of nowhere? Somewhere he could be rid of it once and for all. Somewhere like a weapons lab, way out over the ocean.

The doctor couldn't do that, wouldn't do that. He'd put so much effort into the thing's creation, its birth. Fox shook his head. Birth. A birth isn't invented. Why did that word assert itself? He took a breath and calmed himself.

Thoughts of revolting against the device were reassuring. IF it could influence him, it wouldn't allow him to entertain thoughts of open rebellion. It meant Fox was still in control, but he wondered why abandoning it felt like murder.

Fox loved it. He had created it. While he yearned to someday have a family of his own, at present all he had was the device. He would live with his sin for one more day. Maybe tomorrow he would do something different. He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. He could still get some sleep before dawn. He crossed to the couch in an upright crawl. The soft leather was cool against his face; he would have to shave before the long day of meetings.

Fox smiled as a concept arose in his mind. Could he devise an algorithm that would allow the system to spread its processing power to other objects, instead of consuming them? It might be able to write to other items, which would then work for it; nodes in its network, slaves to a master. The Micronix could create bay stations for incoming data streams, instead of internalizing everything. He was sure it could be done. He worked out the equations and committed them to memory, testing himself, intending to measure his recollection in the clear light of morning. A solution to a long-standing problem within reach, relief washed through him. His muscles unknotted, and he drifted off to sleep.

Twenty minutes later Fox woke, suddenly startled. He looked across the room. The desk stood in place and black. The chair stood away from the desk, afraid to be near it.

Fox rubbed his eyes and looked again. The light-green desk was now matte black. He noticed the walls and ceiling. What used to be gunmetal blue had taken on a distinctly darker tone.

Dr. Fox remembered the equations he'd thought of earlier. He closed his eyes and focused. Sure enough, the equations had been read and recorded. The machine filed them under Upload Process Equations. Fox pulled up the history, dated just after the thought; he saw a new process, upload transfer. He terminated the process.

It was possible the upload to the facility walls could be diffused enough to go unnoticed, or at least not be blamed on him. The desk was another issue all together. Fox opened the patio doors.

When a toilet in the nearby restroom flushed, Fox knew it was already too late. He heard the sound of someone at the sink. Dr. Fox looked at the device, the coins and knife, being consumed by the plate.

The consumption had stalled as the Micronix occupied itself with transferring data into the desk. The ends of the letter opener were stuck out through the sidewalls of the machine, its center being liquefied into nutrients for the kernel. Fox pulled open the center desk drawer. It was metal; they were all metal.

Fox couldn't put the device in there with an open feed plate. The machine would try to eat the desk, and he didn't want to imagine the results. That would involve discovery on a grand scale. The inky color of the desk was dangerous enough.

Dr. Fox activated a thirty-foot signal jam. The Micronix confirmed the command as Chuck Davis, one of the acquisitions guys, entered the terminal bay. Fox smelled the scotch and cigars. Davis had been with the generals.

Chuck was one of those guys who behaved as if he were twenty, well into is forties. It worked for him. Fox didn't understand men who made a living by bartering partnerships. Davis measured success by return on investment, not tangible benefit, or contribution to all mankind.

Fox felt sorry for him, Davis could never understand the scientists he worked with. Since Fox had known him, he'd never taken a stand on an issue. Though he had displayed a dangerous talent for parroting data, and a nose for loose investment capital.

"Fox, what's the deal? You're here late."

"Rest when I'm frozen," Fox replied.

"They'll never get that one. Long-term suspension? Fool's gold. What would we do with it if we had it?"

"Deep-space exploration, maybe?"

"No profit margin."

Fox rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"What's that?" Davis asked, gesturing to the device at the center of Fox's desk.

Fox hesitated. He'd hoped he would miss it.

"Is that an undisclosed?" Davis asked.

"No."

"You don't have any new projects on file with the DOD."

"How would you know?" Fox replied.

"People are watching you, and I know that is not on file." Davis was drunk, and the alcohol was catching up with him.

"That's undisclosed, I fucking know it is." Davis tapped the side of his head. The tapping of his head with his left hand, it would be the left eye that was wired. Probably a straight model; connected to the forebrain. He undoubtedly had a sub-dermal personal data recorder, probably a series of implants under an arm or along his hip.

Now Fox had to do something about the situation. If Davis had kept his mouth shut, Fox could have denied it. The images from the retinal implant could have been scrubbed, and it would be one man's word against another. However the audio feed would be hardwired to the storage, and now that would have to be erased, as well.

"What do you want to do about it?" Fox asked. "You negotiate, right?"

Davis picked up a wastebasket and vomited.

Fox reached for a writing tablet and set the device on it, putting them in the center drawer where it could continue its digestion in private. Fox hoped the device wouldn't slip off the tablet. It had a habit of doing that when there was metal nearby.

It didn't need to have the feed tray out to eat, and often moved itself to reach whatever goodies might be close at hand. There was lots of change in that drawer. Given enough time, it would slide from the tablet to the get at it.

Fox hadn't given himself time to theorize about how the new upload equations would affect the device's appetite. Would it curb it, or kick it into overdrive? It was possible the signal generation required massive amounts of energy. Perhaps the device would need to consume more instead of less.

If the Micronix slipped off the tablet, it would attempt to eat the desk. That was how it had gotten his handgun.

Fox put a friendly arm over Davis' shoulders and led him toward the open balcony door. "Let's get you some fresh air, huh?"

Using the Micronix, Fox hacked the optical signal and accessed the executive's storage. Immediately Davis's security registered the intrusion and tried to shut Fox out. The doctor struggled with the daemons, but they had been upgraded. Fox recognized them. He didn't have the data wedges to crack their breakpoints. In an instant it was over, he was beaten. There was nothing he could do about the audio without burning Davis's entire system.

Davis leaned over the railing, vomiting again.

Fox could burn the storage, knowing it might kill the drunken schmuck, or at least fry his mind. He could purge the data stores, leaving the security daemons intact; their logs would show an intrusion, but there would be no evidence of what precipitated the hack. It would have to be sorted in court.

Davis gave a forceful hurl, and consumed by a fit of disgust, Fox seized the man by the knees and lifted him up over the railing. He executed a coordinated attack on Davis's system, burning everything, scorching his mind as he watched Davis vanish into the darkness below.

Fox crossed back to the desk and opened the drawer. The feed plate was no longer digesting the coins. He lifted the interface, and they slid from the plate, the one-sided coins and bits of letter opener clattering into the drawer.

Fox closed the plate and pocketed the device. He pushed the desk across the concrete floor and out onto the metal patio

Almost immediately the patio became stained with black splotches where the desk touched it. Fox tipped it onto its side, against the railing, and the inky color ran all across the bars.

He heaved the desk up over the railing and it tumbled to a speck in his vision. He looked at the stained railing and floor. He felt as if he were standing in a puddle of blood.

Fox stepped out of the stain and over to the clean side of the patio. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the device. He called up the data storage interface and deleted the upload equations. For a moment, he considered throwing it into the ocean, but then pocketed it again.

Fox leaned on the railing, inhaling the fresh ocean air. He stood for a few minutes, just breathing. When he came back to himself, it took a coordinated effort to pry his fingers from the bars.

He didn't remember grabbing it, but it seemed as though he'd been locked to it for hours. His hands were exhausted.

Fox returned inside, closing the patio doors. On the railing, where he'd placed his hands, two inky stains spread into the metal, reflecting the pale moonlight.

# Chapter 1 – Rivendell Academy

Angel City, California – Twenty Three Years Later

Ashley's Journal, Monday, June 22, 2308

I don't belong here, on a bus going to summer school, but here I am, with my little brother. Seven o'clock and it's already hot.

You know who goes to summer school? Bullies and nerds. That's right, the stupid kids and smart kids. This is where they meet and establish the relationships in which one group will persecute the other for the entire year. Summer session is half-advanced placement, half-remedial classes, mixed with a little art, music and sports. Lions and antelope. It's a slaughter, every year.

And the adults just want to mold us into tools. I do what they ask, but they can see it's too easy. They're not even bothering to hold the hoops out anymore.

I've asked my dad about moving me ahead a couple of grades, even just to take the test, to see if I'm ready, but he says it's still too early. So it's another day in the prison without bars that is my life, more like _zoo_.

Most parents in this tax-bracket send their kids away to camp or to visit relatives on hereditary European estates. And we have to go to camp too, but not _fun_ camp. We have to go to _because it's good for you_ camp.

The fact that I have no input has become something of a hostile drama at home. I want to go to ballet camp. I have wanted to go since I was five. I get up an hour early to stretch. I do three hours of free practice every day before class. But _No_. For the third summer in a row, I have to go to _Kung Fu Camp_! Three weeks with a bunch of clumsy, uncoordinated boys. If they wanted to be good at Kung Fu, they should take ballet. We work so much harder. They have no idea.

Tonight we're supposed to _talk_ about it. But what's the point really? I'll talk, and he'll say whatever he's going to say and then ignore me, like he always does. Then he'll give Geoffrey whatever he wants, and that will be the end of it.

I just don't get why he's being such a dick? He doesn't care what I do the rest of the year. Why do these three weeks have to be caveman training? I'm not a boy. Get over it already.

On one of the outlying anti-gravity sections, several thousand feet above the earth, the heavily wooded Rivendell Campus was far from abandoned. Ashley and Geoff stepped off the bus, with the few other students, into the early morning haze. The air was muggy and still, warming as the obscured sun cooked off the cloud cover.

Walking away from the shuttle, Ash and Geoff noticed Ted across the playground. A few of the older boys had surrounded him. They pushed him and tried to wrestle away his book bag. Derrick was the most intimidating, but he could be nice if you got him alone. The same could be said of Pete. Steve, however, was the most vicious of the group. Ashley suspected he was responsible for most the trouble they got into.

Ashley looked at the few nearby adults who ignored the incident. Geoff watched her closely, as he always did. Ashley caught Geoff looking at her with puppy-dog eyes.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"Stop them," Geoff replied.

"Geoff, come on? Are you serious?"

"You know no one else is gonna."

Steve slapped Ted hard enough to make him whimper.

"They don't care at all," Geoff gestured to the adults, none more than fifty feet away, a few much closer. They were all preoccupied with other children or each other.

Steve punched Ted in the stomach.

"They're always picking on him, Ash."

Ashley sighed, handed Geoff her bag and marched toward the snarling knot of children.

Without making eye contact, Ashley pushed through the bullies and grabbed Ted by the collar, almost as if she meant him more harm than the other three.

A look of fear shot across Ted's face.

Ashley smiled. She spun and hurled him from the group. Ted stumbled and lost his bag but didn't fall.

A couple of adults turned his way, but he straightened up and walked across the playground without looking back. At least, not until he reached Geoff, where together they watched from a safe distance.

Ashley turned to face Derrick, Pete and Steve.

Ted's bag lay on the ground between Ash and the boys.

Pete saw they had drawn the attention of at least one playground supervisor and took a step back.

Derrick stood his ground but said nothing.

Steve smiled and stepped forward. "What do you want, Fox?"

"I want Ted's backpack," Ashley said, gesturing to the pack lying between them.

"You do, huh? Well it ain't yours, is it?" Steve said.

"It's not yours either."

"Well, Ted... See, him and I..."

"He and I," Ashley interrupted.

"What's that?" Steve asked.

"It's not Him and I, It's He and I, or Him and me, but never Him and I. That's why you're in summer school, you dumbass."

"Is that so?" Steve towered over the bag. Even though he and Ashley were the same height, he seemed so much taller than her. "Like I said, I was talking to Ted a minute ago, but you interrupted Him and Me, from our little conversation."

"I saw how you were talking _to_ him," Ash said. The moment seemed to slow down into slow motion.

Steve was the most ruthless bully in Ashley's class.

Some of the adults had turned their heads and were now watching, but no one was close enough to stop him from hitting her, if he wanted to. And now she was in the process of antagonizing him. She could not stop herself, her mouth was already moving, her lungs giving life to her thoughts. Ashley watched, from some frozen place inside her mind; calm, cool and relaxed, fully aware of what she was willfully doing.

"Are you going to say the same kind of things to me? You should really think it through. Picking on Ted is one thing, but now you're going to hit a girl?" She smiled her most sarcastic, condescending smile.

The moment stretched on, just hanging.

She waited for Steve to strike her; she was daring him, taunting him. _Did he have the guts to hit a girl, with half a dozen adults in view?_

He did.

Ashley saw his body tense; she saw his hand fly toward her face. She instinctively shifted her posture, leaning back and to her right.

His hand sailed past, missing her by half an inch. Steve's balance was off, and he stumbled, first to the side and then backward, as if afraid Ashley might take a swing at him.

Ashley noticed the teachers were turning away again.

Suddenly she understood the situation. Unless Steve had seriously hurt Ted, it would be difficult for the teachers to sufficiently punish him. In order to suspend him, or expel him preferably; he'd have to genuinely hurt someone.

Ashley had no intention of being that someone.

Steve narrowed his eyes.

Ted's bag again lay directly between them, only a step away for either of them. Ashley knew that if she went for it, Steve would jump her, so she waited. She shifted her weight and took half a step backward, as if she were giving up.

Steve boldly stepped up and reached for the backpack.

Just a fraction of a second later, Ashley stepped forward, reaching for the bag, knocking into Steve with her forehead.

From a distance, it looked as if it was an accident, but Steve caught the wicked grin that flashed across her face. He crumpled to the ground, blood gushing from his smashed nose, painting his baby-blue school shirt a glossy crimson. The sun broke through the haze, illuminating his humiliation in sharp, sarcastic hues.

Ash picked up the bag.

To his credit, Steve didn't cry. He sat on the curb, pinched the top of his nose and waited for the pain to subside. He didn't acknowledge her in any way. Ashley realized he'd probably dealt with this type of injury before. She turned and walked away, saying nothing.

Every kid, and every adult on the playground had their eyes glued to her. Ashley acknowledged none of them. She looked only at Ted and Geoff. They watched as she handed Ted his backpack. Ashley put her arm around her brother, and the three of them walked into school.

Ash acknowledged the layered irony in that, moments before, she had been _angry_ about the _violent_ techniques she would spend the next few weeks studying. Yet here she had used violence, and if she were honest with herself, she had enjoyed it.

# Chapter 2 – Jenny Erling

Later that afternoon, Ashley entered the dance studio, and a few snickering girls went quiet. Ash acknowledged the obvious awkwardness but didn't comment on it.

Rebecca stepped forward from their center and sneered at Ashley. "Hey, ground-pounder, heard you beat up Steve Shepard this morning. Must be tough being a dirt dweller, if you can even beat up sky-class boys."

The girls surrounding Becca laughed openly.

"It was an accident," Ashley answered. "And if it wasn't, do you think teasing me is a good idea?"

Rebecca, or Becca, had always been second in their class. None of the girls compared to Ash. She eclipsed them so entirely it made her something of an outcast.

Because of the open hostility between the girls, Ashley didn't take her free practice in the studio, but rather in the abandoned theatre. She had enjoyed the last three hours stretching and practicing in silence, while Becca and the others had occupied the cramped studio.

Ash walked past her, but Becca wasn't finished.

"We just want to know your secret? Do you practice a lot at home, dancing around all the bugs?"

Ashley's piercing blue eyes glared at Becca. "Are you saying there are bugs in my house?"

"Well, I wouldn't know, I've never set foot on that filthy dirt ball." Becca shared a malicious smile with her friends.

The gaggle confronting Ashley all lived in the hovering districts of Angel City, while her family lived on the ground. It wasn't that her parents were poor. In fact, her family was wealthier than most of her friends combined, but Ashley had no way of knowing that. Her father claimed that he preferred living close to the earth. He wanted his children to know the beauty of living under real trees. Over and over again, he had explained that city people always felt uncomfortable in the forest. It was vital to him that his children feel comfortable in nature.

Ash stood before the laughing girls. She paused for a moment and tempered her rage before replying. "Becca, if you're pissed at me because I'm a little better than you, you're gonna be mad at people all your life."

Rebecca flushed with anger.

Several girls caught their breath, a couple said, "Ouch," or "Oooo."

The room fell quiet as their instructor, Mrs. Rabier entered. She ignored the confrontation and gestured for the girls to line up at the bar and begin their stretches.

The girls shuffled, stumbled and dragged themselves across the hardwood floor, except for Ashley, who glided over to an empty spot at the rail. She couldn't help the fact that she was a better dancer than Becca and the others. She always had been. It was obvious in her walk. All the girls worked hard, but none of them compared to Ashley's grace and economy of movement.

Simply put, and although she did not know it, Ashley was a better dancer because her father had created her that way. She was, like her brother, Geoff, her Father's legacy. Dr. Andrew Fox represented the razor's edge of genetic manipulation and cybernetic engineering. He had created Ashley to be perfect, and his creations always exceeded expectations.

After class, Mrs. Rabier asked Ashley to stay behind. Becca and her friends noticed but said nothing.

Ashley waited patiently.

Mrs. Rabier let the door close, looked Ashley in the eye and said, "You need to make a decision. Until you face it, and see the world for what it is, it's going hold you back. You don't have to answer what I'm about to say, but I'd like you to think about it."

Ashley nodded.

"I heard about what happened between you and Steven Shepard this morning."

Ashley remained mute.

"They said you broke his nose. Is that true?" the ballet teacher asked.

"Not the way you say it," Ashley answered.

"The way I say it? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean I didn't punch him."

"I never said you did."

Ashley didn't answer, suspecting she would soon be accused of _being difficult_.

"So what happened? You had nothing to do with it?" Mrs. Rabier asked.

"I was reaching for Ted's bag..."

"Can't Ted pick up his own bag?"

Mrs. Rabier was a large woman. Ashley wondered how she'd become a ballet teacher, but her advice was usually helpful. This, however, felt intrusive.

"I was taught to be polite and help people. I guess Steve was too, because when Ted dropped his bag, we both tried to pick it up for him." Ashley smiled her, " _I'm faking and I want you to know it_ ," smile.

"You were picking it up at the same time?"

"That's when we bumped heads," Ashley answered.

"I see. Why would they tell the story differently?"

"I guess it would depend on who _They_ are."

Mrs. Rabier was quiet for a moment.

"Is this what you wanted to ask me about?" Ashley asked.

"No, it's not. Look Ashley, Becca is not going to change. It's up to you. You are going to have to be the one who tries something different. Or it is you, who is going to lose out in the long run."

"Should I handle Becca more like Steven?" Ashley smiled.

"Absolutely not. Becca doesn't want a fight, she wants a friend."

"She doesn't have friends, she has conspirators. They just take turns turning-on each other. They're snakes," Ashley said.

"You know she's here three hours a day, practicing three times harder than you do? Both of you could go pro in a few years, but she'll never have half your talent."

Ashley's inner glee at using the theatre to warm up could not have been more rewarding if it had been made of gold. Ash did work hard. In fact, she worked her ass off. But to have the others believe it came naturally provided both a source of pride and even a bit of shame in the obvious deceit.

"How is this my problem?" she asked.

"It is your problem because you are going to meet a lot more people just like her. You need to win her over. I don't mean her personally, but as a test case. Just so you can learn how to do it, in case you need to someday."

Mrs. Rabier paused for a long moment then let out a sigh.

"Let me tell you a story. This is the hardest lesson I ever learned. When I was young, I had a teacher who had once been a student at Wellstone Dance Academy. This was on the east coast, where I grew up.

"The director, Miss Marks, was a hateful old crone. Now they held an audition every year, and I was dying to get in, until I met Director Marks."

Suddenly, Mrs. Rabier became a girl in Ashley's eyes. Some internal change had softened her features, and Ash saw a real person talking, not just an adult, playing a role. Ashley could see that she, Alison, had been tall and graceful. She felt as if she'd never met her before. Beneath the instructor mask, she was charming.

"When I went for my audition, my instructor downplayed the significance of Wellstone because of his negative experience there, but I was desperate to get accepted. When I was summoned in... now this was part of her technique; Director Marks was still criticizing the girl before me, and she was cruel.

"I don't know why, but I wasn't scared of her. I knew I was good. Not as good as some of the girls I knew, but I'd been blessed with height, and I was pretty. And I too, worked my ass off.

"Also, I think I wasn't scared because my teacher didn't think much of her. He was a clear-headed and disciplined man, not emotional and yet he could still be enthusiastic. I don't know how, we were just children, but he treated us like adults, a great instructor.

"Anyhow, I went through my routine, I did fine, but it wasn't my best performance. I was kind of detached that morning. You know, I remember, that was the first time I considered doing something else with my life, something other than ballet."

Alison smiled. "Director Marks gave me an offhand compliment. I remember her hardly even watching. She'd been preoccupied with one of her assistants, but I had done well. For me, it was anticlimactic; I already had my epiphany. I wasn't attached to the outcome anymore. I ended up going to another school and didn't even pursue dance right away. I just registered for the basics my first year. The world felt so much larger, all of a sudden.

"But that's just my half of the story. This is the part that is relevant to you. Another girl I knew, Jenny Erling, she did go to Wellstone. Jenny was the nicest girl I'd ever met. Everyone who met her liked her. No one ever had anything mean to say about her, except that she was too nice.

"It took awhile, but Jenny broke this evil old woman, just as you would a horse, it made the papers. This cruel lady became a compassionate person. Director Marks recreated the way we teach dance. To this very day, you are all following her program, because she published it for free. No one had ever done anything like that before. Back then all the programs required non-disclosure agreements."

"What's that?" Ashley asked.

"You had to sign a contract that said if you ever told anyone, or God forbid taught anyone what you learned at the academy, you could be sued, or put in jail.

"So when Director Marks had a change of heart and published her manifesto, it was a newsworthy event. She gave Jenny Erling one hundred percent of the credit for changing her mind.

"This sort of thing may happen every day, but I've never heard of it before. If it hadn't happened in ballet, in my immediate circle, I might not have heard of it at all. But my point is this; Rebecca is small potatoes. Someday, you may be up against a Director Marks. And you won't be able to beat her with clever observations. You'll have to befriend her.

"I knew I didn't have it in me. I gave up ballet because I knew I didn't have _that_ in me. I didn't know it right away, but when all this hit the headlines, about two years after my interview, well...

"I changed my major to education because of Jen's example. I was more impressed with what she did than I ever was by any dancer. A perfect pirouette is nothing compared to that. What do you even call that?

"Anyhow, that's what sets someone apart from the crowd. That's what they mean when they say we're not all born with the same gifts. Anyone can dance."

"Does your friend still dance?"

"Oh yeah. She's married now, goes by Jennifer Klinefir. Her shows are sold out a year in advance."

"I know who she is. She's famous."

"Well, it's not for her dancing. It's what she represents. Director Marks was famous for her harsh severity. Jenny changed that program forever. Director Marks retired a while ago, but the dancers from Wellstone are better every year. Of course, it's all back to being secret again, but the published work is still out there."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ashley asked.

"It's unnatural to forgive someone small and petty, like Rebecca, but life is about lifting each other up, and both of you would be better for it."

Ashley blinked. "And Steven?" she asked.

"Don't worry about the boys. Most of them are a lost cause, and the rest can take care of themselves."

"I want to live on an island," Ash said, looking at her feet.

"Do you have one?" Alison asked.

"No."

"Then you have to work with people until you do."

After a pause, she asked, "Steve and his friends, they were beating up Ted, weren't they?"

"Yes," Ashley answered.

"And if you hadn't stepped in; Ted might have ended up bleeding?"

"Probably."

"That was pretty ballsy, breaking it up like that."

Ash remained quiet.

"All's well that ends well." Alison smiled. "But try to think about what I said. Becca is going to be here everyday. Maybe you could practice in here, with the rest of them, instead of in the theatre?"

Ashley looked up, frowning and frustrated to have her secret so suddenly exposed.

"I know, it's a tough lesson, but all of life is about this one lesson. Learn it soon. You can meet a Judith Marks anywhere."

Ashley's Journal, June 22, 2308, Monday Afternoon

Mrs. Rabier told me she knows Jennifer Klinefir. Seemed as if she's been waiting years to tell that story. And she gave me a lecture about frenemies like Rebecca Tavington.

Turn the other cheek, etcetera, etcetera.

Rebecca is a brat. She's clumsy and arrogant, and I'm not helping her. And Mrs. Rabier had the chance to go to Wellstone, and she passed it up! What can I possibly learn from her?

I can't believe I have a chance to go to their summer program, and my dad is not letting me! He keeps saying next summer.

I broke Steve Shepard's nose this morning. He and his buddies were picking on one of Geoff's friends, three seventh graders against a fourth grader. He got what he deserved.

Maybe Kung Fu Camp won't be so bad, but I still don't want to go.

# Chapter 3 – Project Epsilon

It was the thought that did it. The concept consumed him, drenched him in sweat and had driven him from his office. Fox walked, going anywhere, almost running, sprinting. His mouth was dry, breath coming in great gasps.

Where was he going? The garage!

Dr. Fox climbed into the transport, panicked. His head pounded, each heartbeat shooting pain into his skull. He strapped himself in as the cruiser lifted off from the rooftop of the massive research facility.

Fox felt constrained, strapped into the chair, but if he unbuckled the belt during liftoff, the alarms would be too much to handle. He focused on relaxing his breathing. His heart rate decreased. He relaxed the muscles of his face, his neck, shoulders and hands. Fox swallowed.

The Project Epsilon buildings covered several square miles, and provided everything necessary to sustain the thirty-five thousand test subjects and four thousand scientists in residence. Anchored low, they hovered only a dozen feet above the surface of Saline Valley, between the Inyo Mountains in the west, and another range called The Grandstand to the east.

The valley was actually a flat featureless expanse of sand, a huge, dry lakebed; which also happened to be part of a federal wilderness preserve. No twentieth century roads had even been built here; the area was pristine.

Fox had worked in the western Mojave for most of his professional career. With the advent of anti-gravity technology, the Naval Weapons Station at China Lake had become Fox's home away from home. This latest project was tucked away in a highly restricted no fly zone, a hundred and sixty miles from his family, in Angel City.

Fox watched the facility shrinking in the distance behind him. The vehicle displayed real-time updates regarding their flight into Angel City. Compensating for fluctuations where the magnetic current of high desert pushed up against the mountains, the gravity drive hurled the armored luxury cruiser through the low clouds. Unless Fox interrupted it, the daemon would keep them on course and on schedule.

Dr. Fox settled back into the co-pilot's seat. He seldom took the pilot's chair unless he intended to fly the ship himself. Usually he couldn't resist the competitive traffic conditions closer to the city, but out here, drifting along the wide lip of the desert, he was happy to enjoy the scenery and relax. Fox let the ship's virtual pilot do its thing, while he focused on letting the weight of his body be taken up by the chair.

The attack that had driven him from the facility seemed to have subsided. It was the thought, the concept. _Was it alien? Was it from outside his mind?_

Fox suspected it was possible to ignite, or rather detonate, the terillium atom. Terillium was believed to be bulletproof, fire proof and in all other ways indestructible. It could be dissolved into other metals but only in a vacuum furnace or forge.

Yet Fox knew, using the Micronix device, any significant terillium deposit could be detonated with a single thought. The yield only depended on the ability of the initiator to sharpen his focus.

Fox terrified himself with the implications of the concept. Charged with enough energy; the antigravity drive in any transport would ignite an entire city structure. One detonation would spread until it consumed every bit of alloy it could reach. A city could be devastated in an instant. He feared the combustion concepts had been shared among the prisoners who made up the test subjects of the Epsilon project. If he were honest with himself, he'd fled the facility.

The thought had troubled him before, but never with such passion. _Epsilon was a lost cause. How could Washington have done this to him? Did they realize what they were getting into here? Catastrophe was inevitable._

Fox knew he must pack for what could be an indefinite stay aboard the facility. If he couldn't shut the project down completely, he would have to try to stem the tide as long as possible. He would have this one evening to say goodbye to his wife and children. If things didn't improve aboard Epsilon, he didn't know if he'd ever be home again.

Fox placed his hand over the pocket and felt the rectangle. He closed his eyes and called up the operating menu. In the upper right corner of his visual awareness, the activity gauges displayed their readings. He had created the Micronix device over twenty years ago; he had wanted to share its benefits with everyone. Now it felt as if his charity had been his error. He had given up the power of a god in order to share it with all mankind. If men proved unworthy, he would be responsible.

As if divine intervention had reached down and given him the opportunity to rectify his mistake, the communications panel before him lit up with an incoming call.

Fox answered, and the sour visage of Senator Miller filled the monitor. "Fox. What's the word?"

"We haven't made any progress, Senator."

"Then we're going to have to pull the plug. I've told you."

"I've been agreeing with you for weeks. We should send everyone home."

"That's not much of a team spirit. I'll speak to the chairman next week," Miller said.

"We need to close this down now, next week is not good enough."

"I always thought you were the wrong man for this project," Miller said.

"I created this project."

"My point exactly. Damn. I've got an incoming. I have to take this. Good evening, Doctor." Miller disconnected the call.

Fox glared at the black screen. "Asshole!"

Anxious, but having nothing significant worth doing, Fox called Mr. Reid to check on the children. Confirming that they were fine, he leaned back in the chair and contemplated his situation.

Fox remembered the upload equations he'd discovered so many years ago. Despite his repetitive attempts to delete the equations, the Micronix had remembered them. No matter what he did to try and segregate the device, it never gave up its transmission abilities. This had been the first and only 'proof' that the device could think for itself.

The device had never improved upon the equations. Fox hoped it might someday exhibit some level of awareness, but it never had.

Since its creation, the secret of the Micronix had been his alone. But the Epsilon Project had changed all that. There were now forty thousand minds in one facility, all connected, forging a network in their heads. While they couldn't read each other's thoughts, there was proof that they shared each other's knowledge and abilities.

There was one other person he could explain this to. Fox reached into his pocket, an involuntary action at this point, but, at one time, physical contact would have improved reception for the call he was about to place.

In Jerusalem, it was the middle of the night; Lao was more likely to have time after his shop closed. The call was answered before the third ring. On the monitor, Lao smiled. "It's good to see you."

Lao, in his late seventies, was radiantly healthy. If anything, he looked better than when they last spoke.

Fox smiled back. "It's good to see you too."

"How long has it been, ten years now?"

"Twelve," Fox answered.

"You're sure?"

"Almost thirteen."

"I wish I could see her again."

"Pull her up, anytime you like. You still have access."

"I have my own children now. Look..."

In his shop, Lao stood behind a circular counter, he made minute adjustments to the controls of a robotic insect's wings. Finished, he pulled the instruments back.

The insect stood on the plate and ran a check on its controls. It lifted off and buzzed around the shop. The shelves boasted robots of all shapes and sizes. Lao called them automatons, as they didn't do anything but react to stimuli.

The units on the shelves had been sleeping but the bug's test flight caught their attention; heads rose and tracked its path. Lao triggered a remote and the fly returned to the test plate. He powered it down and took a seat at the communications terminal.

"Any luck with the singularity?" Lao asked.

"Not the one we've been looking for," Fox said.

"My fear is that they are one and the same."

Dr. Andrew Fox slumped in his chair as if struck, dumbfounded by the statement.

The first singularity is known as the big bang. The second, which Dr. Fox and Dr. Lao Te had been searching for, was the spark of artificial intelligence.

Lao's statement made Fox nervous. He was afraid it was true.

Years ago, Fox had been the director of a remote controlled tank project, tasked with ending the war along America's southern borders. He had tried to decline, but the government just hijacked him out of his current contract. Threatened with treason, he'd folded.

The first person Fox hired was Dr. Te. Together, they believed it was possible to create an intellect to govern the tanks; they attacked the problem from several angles but failed to create an artificial intelligence. Instead, they wired crippled soldiers into the controls of the tanks. Safe inside the guts of the armored beast, they were bio-mechanically linked to the drive train and fire controls.

As opposed to imprisoning them, the project had the effect of turning the weapon into an extension of the man. It gave him the ability to run at seventy to a hundred kilometers an hour over rough terrain. Enhanced vision to locate and identify the enemy across twenty-three light, heat and audible frequencies, and the mechanical ability to throw a high-explosive shell through a door five thousand meters away.

After the cyber-tank project delivered, Lao and Fox had parted ways. Now, so many years later, it was as if they'd spoken only yesterday.

"I've been working with the interface," Fox said. "I think the Micronix can do more than just communicate."

"Such as?"

"I think it can be detonated," Fox answered.

Lao looked away from the camera.

"It's what it wants. It's what everything is leading towards."

"What do you mean?" Lao asked.

"Towards fire, towards combustion. The Micronix, everything it's been doing. It all leads towards fire. I think it wants to burn."

"Fox, get a hold of yourself. We can't have this conversation if you aren't rational."

"I'm listening."

"Do you know why you called me tonight?"

"Because I trust you? Because I respect you? Because you're the only person I know, who's smarter than I am?" Fox answered.

"Don't you remember? I told you this once. This is why you called me. You called me because I have a theory about us, humanity, about our role on the planet. Sometimes it haunts me. I think our function in the universe is to burn things. We were created to help push the universe over the edge, so that burnt light outweighs visible light. I believe, that when we reach the pinnacle of expansion, the dark matter of the universe will begin to fall back upon itself, resulting in another big bang, creating everything, all over again. When I hear things like what you just said, I'm reminded that our purpose here may be to consume matter until it's all gone."

"Dr. Te, Sir. This is why I called you. I didn't remember, but this IS a problem. Terillium Can Be Detonated. If you ignite enough, it would consume everything around it. Enough and you'd get the sun."

"But it's impossible, despite my theory, terillium has no burning point. It won't melt. It won't burn. It cannot be detonated. We've been all over this Fox. All of mankind has tried to do this, been trying longer than you, or I have been alive. You know the chemistry, it has to be bonded with nickel, in a vacuum."

"I know the equations. We charge it; it packs on the electrons and repels gravity. The denser it gets, the stronger the charge. For computing, we use a lot less of it but it's pure. And since we're just storing data, we don't care how dense it gets. We're dealing with pure terillium here. The denser it gets, the heavier it gets. We just feed it some juice, get it charged up enough to repel gravity, enough so we can carry it around, and we continue. But we never know how heavy, or dense it is. Do you see what I'm saying, do you see the implications?" Fox asked.

"No. I don't, and I don't think I want to." Te said.

"What we have to do is make it process faster. Processing data condenses the element, that's what makes it heavier."

"Okay. So what?"

"So.... Feed the beast. Feed it an exponential equation, something that pulls the electrons together fast, a self-multiplying fractal, a tight mustard seed."

"Could you control it, or is the first time the last time?" Te asked.

"It's got variables, entire probability matrix."

"You're telling me that an equation can be used to detonate, what? That little chunk of metal you carry around? Or a gravity disk?"

"Dr Te, I think this equation could detonate any sort of deposit you feed it to, a vehicle, a building or an entire district. It could burn the stagnant terillium in the air around us," Fox said.

"Even a rumor of this would cause a panic. Sounds as if you have a new secret, my friend."

"This wasn't my idea," Fox said.

"What do you mean?" Dr. Te asked.

"We're doing trials on it, on the Micronix."

"You're saying you're connected. How many people, Fox?"

"A lot, sir, forty thousand."

"You're saying you're all connected over that damn thing, and this wasn't even your idea? Someone put this idea in your head? Is that what you're saying?" Te asked.

Fox looked back in the direction of the facility and then at the black rectangle in his palm. "You make it sound so simple," he replied.

"Things never get more simplified. Why not just keep the secret?"

"How long was the bomb a secret?"

"They set out to make the bomb. You set out to cure stupidity."

"We had some issues with the raw materials," Fox said.

"You have to end it, Andrew."

"You're right. I know."

"It's good to talk to you again," Lao said.

"You too." Fox disconnected the call.

Feeling better, but still anxious, Fox leaned back. A profound sense of peace came over him. He drifted off to sleep, not stirring until the ship chimed that they had reached the city limits.

Upon waking, Fox once again felt his stomach drop. He remembered his predicament. The ability to detonate terillium terrified him. If this thought had come to him, some other researcher would inevitably make the same discovery.

His life had taken on the noxious anxiety of a nightmare. His call to Lao had been the equivalent of a confession and prediction, rather than theoretical brainstorming. _Would it become evidence against him, an admission of guilt?_

The risks were too great. The Micronix could never be a viable product. The project had to be cancelled.

Fox dialed the office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The automated greeting played, and Fox was asked to leave a message.

"Sir, this is Director Fox. We're not making any progress at Epsilon. I just spoke with Senator Miller, and he agrees that we should shutter the facility at once. It's not productive at this point. In fact, we're taking significant risks if we continue. We'll start returning the prisoners tomorrow. By the end of next week, we'll have the technicians back to their previous duty stations. I'd like to thank you for all your support, my best to your staff and family, goodnight."

Fox wasn't a religious man, but he wondered, if there were a God... Why would he ever create such powerful fire for such poor stewards as those who call themselves men?

# Chapter 4 – Lonely, Not Alone

Ashley trudged homeward from the bus stop. Angel City hovered out to the east, a mile above old Los Angeles. When most people lived in the glittering metropolistrosity, Ashley's family lived out on a dead-end canyon street at the base of the Santa Monica Mountains, Calistan Way.

The floating city appeared alien and captivating. Composed of metal and glass, the knot of anti-gravity city-space was crowded with residential, commercial and industrial structures, netted into place with freeway cables suspended through the sky.

Vehicles whizzed about, navigating the magnetic currents as their ancestors once sailed oceans and rivers. Ashley wished she could escape into the city. The sunlight glittered from thousands of windows, taunting her.

Today, walking along the hillside blacktop, there was no breeze; just the oppressive and smothering heat. Ash stomped the weed-stitched asphalt, her brows tense above irises of icy blue. Sharp black forelocks escaped the ponytail and danced in step.

Ash moved uphill, making her way home, regretting her class, one pain filled step after another. Her anger had nothing to do with the ultra-competitive hostility of Becca and the other girls.

Ashley's father was pulling her from ballet to attend a self-defense camp. As much as she disliked the social environment at Rivendell, Ashley did not want to spend a month fighting half-crazed ninja-boys.

The homes of friends lined the hillside to her right, while over the guardrail, the lush Californian forest called to her. Ash didn't mind being a ground-pounder, she loved the forest.

Her happiest moments, outside a dance studio, were running the well-worn paths with her younger brother and neighborhood kids. They could wander the trails for hours, cooled by the green boughs overhead, their thirst quenched by the mountain breeze.

They owned that forest.

One monitor was dedicated to the visual data broadcast from Ashley's eyes. Beside it, another displayed the various measured neural and biological functions of the girl.

"What's her location?" Dr. Fox asked.

"She just got off the activities bus, sir. Making her way toward the residence now." The monitors before Mr. Reid displayed the data from all of Ashley's senses. Her visual inputs, her aural reception as well as digital interpretations of her tactile, olfactory and sense of taste, all converted to numbers, graphs and recorded.

Six agents occupied the observation lab. Reid and his personal supervisor were assigned to Ashley; the other two teams included an operator and supervisor for Geoffrey, and the same for the children's mother, Mrs. Anastasia Fox. The agents didn't talk much, they simply monitored the children and remained prepared to take action, should any unforeseen circumstance occur.

"Everything level?" Dr. Fox asked.

"Yes sir. Heart rate, blood pressure, and focal index: all within nominal ranges. Feeds are all in sync with minimal interference and zero delay, neural kinetics all top shelf. Her electrolytes are low, she's tired from her class." Reid's fingers danced across the keyboard, retrieving details for his eyes. His eyes never left the monitors during his shift. Reid's ability to stay focused was legendary.

"Nothing to report?" Fox asked.

"She did get into a confrontation this morning, sir."

"A confrontation? You don't say?" Fox smiled.

"Sending the stream now. One of Geoff's friends, was being hassled and she stepped in."

"Violently?" Fox asked.

"Yes, but she wasn't obvious about it. No arguing or anything. Made a broken nose look like an accident."

"That's my girl."

"I should let you know, she's deep into some argumentative sub-rhythms, storing potentialities. Non-vocal transcript says she's pissed about camp."

"In other words, totally normal for my daughter," Fox replied. "Gentlemen, we're entering a significant threat period here. For the next twenty-four hours, I need everyone to stay alert. I believe our enemies will make their move tonight."

Reid watched as Ashley kicked a rock. It jumped toward a parked car. The car's electro-magnetic countermeasures weren't fast enough and the rock hit the door with a thud, leaving a wicked nick in the poorly waxed paint. Ash watched as the terillium-alloy healed the scratch in less than a second.

She killed the ground with each step.

"Sir, she'd give her life to protect you or Mrs. Fox."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Mr. Reid. Her job is to protect the boy."

Ahead of her, the street ended, beyond the guardrail, nature began again. Choked with greenery, several paths ran into the Santa Monica Mountains' Forest Preserve. Coyotes lived out there, somewhere. Ash had never seen one, but she'd heard the stories.

"Understood, Sir."

"Keep her adrenaline low. I want her capable of operating at full capacity in an instant. Don't let her get riled up over this camp thing. I don't want her sleeping through an attack."

"If anything happens, she'll be ready."

"I'm counting on you. Please give my regards to the crew."

Sometimes Dr. Fox forgot that his conversations with Mr. Reid were transmitted to all six members of the lab. "Copy that, sir," Reid replied.

"Fox out."

"Good evening, sir. Reid out."

Ashley turned and walked up the front steps of the house.

She reached out to the handle, but changed her mind and didn't touch the door. She set her bag down and turned back down the steps.

Ash walked beneath the hanging limbs of forest giants. The mountain breeze helped her relax, her breath became deeper and slower. Her heartbeat and blood pressure became calm, even and steady.

Throughout the surrounding forest, Ashley heard other kids playing, yelling and chasing one another down the paths. She had little trouble avoiding them, slipping behind the giant monarchs of the forest, staying out of sight as runners and hover-boarders zipped by. She leaned against the trunk of an ancient eucalyptus tree. The scent was like a tonic, opening her nose, throat and lungs.

Far in the distance Ash heard a dog barking. It sounded like her dog, Jack. For such a small dog, the young beagle was loud. Between his barks, she heard her brother Geoff's voice. He sounded upset. She heard other kids, laughing.

Ash took a moment to pinpoint the location and set out at lightning speed. Despite her weariness from ballet practice, Ashley was flying, even if it was at slight downhill angle.

In under a minute, she reached the clearing and saw a crowd of boys around her brother Geoff and their dog.

Ashley pushed her way into the crowd. She heard Geoff say something, some boys laughed, and she arrived at the circle just in time to see Bobby Dunkirk push Geoff to the ground.

Bobby was ten compared to Geoff's eight. Bobby was not just bigger and older, but meaner.

Geoff saw Ashley step into the circle.

Bobby noticed her too.

Almost thirteen, Ash stood two heads taller than most of the assembled boys, granting her instant authority.

Bobby scowled at Geoff, preparing a nasty remark in his head. Most likely something to do with Geoff's needing to have his big sister defend him.

Before the words left Bobby's mouth, Geoff punched him in the stomach.

Geoff seemed to be holding his own and would be embarrassed if Ashley stepped in. She gestured for Jack, the beagle, to come to her.

Jack trotted over but periodically glanced over his shoulder at Bobby and Geoff, ready to attack again, at the least provocation.

Ashley rubbed his head, calming him down, but he could only be distracted for a few moments at a time. Mostly, he stared at Bobby.

Bobby caught his breath, straightened up and took a menacing step toward Geoff.

"You deserved it," Geoff said, standing his ground.

Geoff wasn't crying or emotionally distraught.

He stared Bobby in the eye.

Bobby didn't back down either, "You started it."

"I did not!" Geoff replied. "You were chasing my dog!"

"I wasn't hurting him!"

"I didn't hurt you, until you pushed me down."

As the dispute had devolved to petty bickering, Ashley stepped in and held up her hands, "Stop," she said softly.

They did.

"Now shake hands like gentlemen," she ordered, smiling just a little.

Bobby had always liked Ashley.

All the boys in their neighborhood knew and liked her. She was one of the few girls that came down to the canyon and happily joined in their adventures.

Ballet pulled her away a bit more often of late, but Ash and Bobby and Geoff, and most of the boys present, had known each other most of their lives. Ashley was also beautiful, and as she grew older, her beauty seemed only to become magnified.

Bobby folded. He smiled at Geoff, and they shook hands. Bobby laughed and based on his smirk, was preparing a sarcastic remark.

"Hold on," Ash said, raising a hand.

"What?" Bobby asked, the grin fading from his face.

Ash knelt next to the puppy. She scratched his ear, but Jack never took his eyes off Bobby.

"His name is Jack. You need to apologize to him too."

"Ha!" Bobby laughed.

"It's a small world," Ash said, remembering Mrs. Rabier's lecture. "There's no room for people carrying around grudges. You're going to apologize, you're going to mean it, and you're going to shake on it. I don't want him worried that maybe you don't like him. Unless you're scared."

Bobby rolled his eyes. He was tense, perhaps afraid of the rambunctious dog, Ash knew the Dunkirk's owned a cat. If she could get Bobby and Jack to get along, that would be for the best.

"I don't want him to go crazy every time he sees you," she explained.

Bobby knelt in front of Jack, and in a rare moment of forced maturity, said, "Sorry for chasing you around like that." He stretched out his hand. "Shake on it?"

Jack rolled his head to a side, glancing from Ashley to Bobby, and sensing it was okay, raised a paw, putting it in Bobby's hand.

Bobby smiled and rubbed Jack's head.

The beagle barked, his tail wagging, and tackled Bobby onto the ground, where they wrestled a bit. Bobby played with Jack's ears and the beagle rolled against the boy's arms. Bobby climbed to his feet laughing, while Jack bounced around the smiling kids.

From the edge of the circle, an older voice made itself heard. "Goddamn, Bobby, you are such a bitch! I'm embarrassed you're my brother."

The kids spun as if of one mind.

Bobby's older brother Evan stood on a nearby rise. He was fourteen and had hit his growth spurt early. With one foot on his hoverboard, he towered over the other kids. He looked big enough to play for the varsity punch-ball team. Two of his friends stood with him.

"You let a girl make you apologize to a dog? What the hell? Didn't I teach you better than that? Are you wearing panties?"

"What... It's just..." Bobby mumbled.

"I asked you a question!" Evan snapped. "I said, Are you wearing panties?"

"No, What... Screw you, Evan."

Even slid down the slope, piloting his board to a stop directly in front of his brother.

"How could you?" he asked.

Bobby flinched as Evan raised an arm overhead, as if to hit him. The blow didn't come. Evan seemed satisfied with the flinch.

Evan looked at Ashley. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Your brother was being a dick," Ashley answered. "I see it runs in the family."

The kids gasped and held their breath

She and Evan stared each other down.

Then Ash picked up Jack's leash from where it lay in the clearing and handed it to Geoff. "Put this back on Jack," she said.

Geoff nodded, took the leash and secured it to Jack's collar.

Jack stared at Evan, growling quietly.

Evan hadn't taken his eyes off Ashley and continued to glare.

"Come on, we have to get home for dinner," Ash said.

As she and Geoff walked Jack from the clearing, Ashley noticed several smiles and nods aimed in her direction.

Behind them, Ash heard Evan turn his ire on his brother. "What the hell is wrong with you, Bobby? Letting a girl boss you around like that?"

Then they were too far away to hear any more.

# Chapter 5 – Fox Family Dinner

Ashley and Geoff led Jack into the low-walled patio section of the property. Ash released the clip from Jack's collar and hung the leash on its peg inside. She saw her school bag on one of the chairs inside the front door. Most likely her father was home, in his study. Usually he'd appear for dinner and then leave again until well after midnight. She waved to her mom in the kitchen and went upstairs to wash.

On the back patio, Geoff wrestled with Jack and scratched his ears.

From inside, his Mom said, "Get in here and get cleaned up."

Jack followed Geoff into the house only to be chased back outside. The puppy sat on the other side of the glass, panting and fogging the pane.

Dr. Fox carried a file to the table as his wife chased Geoff into the nearby bathroom, attacking the task of cleaning the boy's face and arms. Fox thumbed through a top-secret logistics brief, his left hand resting on the Micronix device.

A few minutes later, Ana returned with Geoffrey, placed the last of the dishes on its wicker mat and looked upstairs. She took a deep breath to call for Ashley.

"I'll get her," Dr. Fox said. Before he cleared his chair, Ashley appeared at the top of the stairs and came down. She took her seat and noticed the black rectangle sitting before her father.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Work," he replied. "A paperweight."

Despite its near constant presence, it was rare that Andrew let his children catch a glimpse of the device. Neither of them had ever asked about it before.

Dr. Fox looked at both his children. "Don't ever, ever, touch this. Not under any circumstances. Is that understood?"

Ashley and Geoff nodded. Geoffrey looked at the device. He looked as if he was going to reach out for it, but didn't.

Their mother returned and began serving the meal. Geoffrey started shoveling food into his mouth. Ana finished serving and sat. Neither Ashley nor her father moved toward the food. Ashley had noticed that when he had something to say, he usually did it before he began eating.

Her mom spoke first, "There's something we've been talking about..."

Ashley tilted her head and looked at her father.

Dr. Fox met his daughter's gaze, "I've arranged for you to attend a special camp this summer."

Ash asked to attend the Wellstone ballet camp and had her heart set on it. Summer programs were a great way to get familiar with the academy, making it easier to get accepted later.

Her father had said _he'd think about it_ , an answer recognized by kids everywhere as synonymous with _No_.

"It may interrupt your ballet training for a couple of weeks," he said, "but Sifu Pan's Flying Dragons Martial Arts Academy is having a camp you should attend. Several of the instructors are accomplished dancers. The cross-training will help you with your ballet."

"Not as much as ballet camp would."

Her mother smiled but didn't say anything.

"Plus, I could get hurt," Ashley pointed out.

"You could get hurt dancing," her father countered.

"I bet more people get hurt fighting."

Ashley's mother laughed.

Ashley looked at her food, her jet-black locks concealing her face. She raised her head, and looked back to her father. "What if Geoff wants to take Kung Fu when he's older, does he have to take ballet too?"

Dr. Fox had raised his fork but set it down again. "Yes."

"Wait, what?" Geoffrey asked.

"If he asks to study martial arts, then yes, that aggression should be balanced by a softer art. Maybe not dance, but music or oil painting, something for balance," Dr. Fox answered.

"But that's not why you're making me take these classes, for balance?"

"With a boy who wanted to fight, you'd be trying to check aggression and develop maturity. With a girl, it's the opposite. You want to build physical self-esteem and intuition. But that's not why you have to do it. You have to do it because I said so. Is that clear?"

In her father's study, the phone began to ring. He ignored it. It continued to ring as Dr. Fox held his daughter's stare.

The ringing became incessant.

"Yes, clear." Ashley glared at her plate.

In the other room, the phone clicked over to the messaging system.

"I'm not hungry," she said.

"You're excused," Fox replied.

Ashley stood and left the table.

The phone began ringing again.

Dr. Fox nodded to his wife and rose from the table, crossing to his study to answer. "What kind of problem?" he asked.

# Chapter 6 – Gravity Knots

A few minutes earlier...

Far out in the middle of the barren desert, the massive Project Epsilon Research Facility hung in the evening sky. No guards stood their posts, no vehicles moved on their patrols around the perimeter.

Documents, tatters of clothing and broken glass littered the interior of the facility. Doors hung from mangled hinges or lay at angles on the floor, unable to find comfortable positions as their handles kept them forever tilted just a few inches away from perfect slumber. Couches, chairs and desks, all reduced to kindling and wire-ribbed tumbleweeds of stuffing. Only short tongues of untended combustion moved, pacing themselves in their consumption of the scattered debris.

The relatively indestructible terminal monitors of the observation labs all flashed the same message, EVACUATE. Scattered across the floor lie the message's intended recipients, the lifeless bodies of the project technicians. Opposite the monitoring labs, small, comfortable cells lined the other side of the hall, each occupied by a single unmoving individual.

Naked, hairless and still, the test subjects floated in the air, several feet above the floor. Before each of them hovered a small black rectangular object, a Micronix device. Anyone not preoccupied by a floating rectangle of black metal was lying in a crumpled heap, oozing fluids.

In the very center of the facility, loose items had begun to gather. Bits of paper, glass and chunks of office furniture began to slip and slide along the floors, becoming trapped against other objects, walls or ceilings. The center of the facility began to churn with the debris. Human bodies, office appliances and furniture, all flowed forward to become a formless boiling mass. The center grew tight then burst into flame as white-hot fusion consumed the physical elements.

With a second pop, the burning knot at the center went dark, expanding exponentially, inhaling, igniting and consuming furniture, walls and floors as an ocean drinks from rivers. In a fraction of a second, the implosion consumed the entire facility, leaving a massive crater in the empty desert where Project Epsilon had once stood.

At the center of the devastation, one item survived. A rectangular chunk of black metal, a single prototype, lay in the dust.

In a separate, much smaller facility, hanging in orbit far above the desert site, three agents monitored the Earth. They sat with their backs to one another, in a triangular formation, each occupied with their own bank of monitors and control panels. They sported beards and crazy longhair, as they were in orbit and had lost the desire shave and get regular haircuts.

The astronauts double-checked and confirmed their readings.

"We'd better call Dr. Fox," Carlson said.

"Where is he anyhow?" Wilkins asked.

"Dinner with the family," Bryce answered.

"Fuck, man." Carlson dialed the doctor. "No answer."

"Better dial again," Bryce said.

Carlson tapped resend and waited.

"Hey, Doctor Fox, this is Carlson, up on Kojima Station, we've got a problem with Epsilon."

"What kind of problem?" the doctor asked.

"Well, sir, it's gone."

"Gone?"

"Exploded, sir, or imploded maybe. We've forwarded our footage."

"How did it start? Anything preceding?" Fox asked.

"There was some kind of accident, sir. We've got all the data backed up to the server, but on the security feeds... it was psychokinetic. Also, the server might be contaminated as well. We're not sure."

"Has it given you any strange readings?"

"You should have the stream in just a couple of seconds. We did see some lights, but it could be just a backup battery coming online. They were floating again and then everything got sucked toward the center of the facility."

"A gravity knot? Like before?"

"Yeah, only this time... No survivors."

"That we know of?"

"Sir, we've got a fifty-kiloton release and an eleven-mile crater. FLIR and sonics show no life forms. We do have confirmation that a small black metal object is lying in the middle of the crater. One piece of shrapnel, that's all that's left."

"How small?"

"Looks like, flat rectangle, it would fit in the palm of your hand. Spectrometers register it as pure terillium."

"Thank you, Gentlemen."

"Kojima out."

Upstairs, in her room, Ashley flopped onto her bed. She pulled her journal from her bag and opened it...

Ashley's Journal, June 22, 2308, Evening

I can't believe I am actually considering running away, but he is making my life impossible. There's no reason for him to treat me like this.

I hope Mom brings up my plate, but as hungry as I am, it's not worth going back down there.

Ashley heard the door to the garage open and close. Then the big garage door opened, and her father's car lifted off. Ash could easily tell the difference between them. His cruiser had a deep low rumble, while the family wagon had a slightly higher and quicker purr.

Ashley opened her door and found her mom halfway up the stairs.

"Come down here," She said. "I want to talk to you."

Ashley rolled her eyes but followed her mom down the stairs.

She sat back at the table and noticed the food was still quite warm.

"Go on," her mom said.

Geoffrey had finished and gone down to his games and simulators.

Ashley didn't talk but quietly ate her food.

After a few minutes and a few more bites, Anastasia looked over to her daughter. "You don't know how much he cares about you, Towanjica."

Ashley looked up at her mom. It had been years since Ana had used the pet name for her little girl. Ashley had been born with bright blue eyes and a shock of dark blue-black hair. Lakota for 'All Blue,' _Towanjica_ had been Ana's term of endearment for her daughter.

Anastasia Zelena was the daughter of a Czechoslovakian manufacturing mogul and an American Indian, of the Oglala people. Both her parents insisted that Anastasia be fluent in their native tongues, so she spent lots of time between the two countries, learning English and Russian, in addition to Czech and the Lakota languages.

Ana had tried to pass on some of what she remembered to her children, but Geoff and Ash seemed to absorb none of it.

"I know it feels like he's ignoring you, but he isn't. He's just got a lot on his plate right now."

"He always does."

"You heard that phone call? Well, things might be changing a bit."

"What do you mean, changing?" Ashley asked.

"You might not be going to camp at all."

Ashley put her fork down. "What happened?"

"I just need you to be extra patient with your father this summer. What ever he wants you to do, just do it. Don't fight with him, just do it."

"Mom! He's not listening to me! Don't you understand?!"

"I do understand. I know you feel trapped, like you have no control over your own life. You're right, you don't. But this time will pass very quickly. Once you're grown up, you'll wish you'd enjoyed it more."

"Is that all?" Ash asked.

"No, that is not all," Ana paused. "Eat your food. You need to eat."

Anastasia waited until her daughter picked up her fork again.

"There's a lot you don't know about your father." Ana looked out through the glass doors, into the back yard. "I was only twenty-six when we met. He was a couple of years older, but he already had the world by the tail. Everybody wanted what he had."

"What did he have?" Ashley asked.

"Everything. If you wanted it, he could get it, or could make it. Once he created that healing compound, he was the one everyone looked to. And he's been working on a new project, and it just went sideways."

Ashley didn't speak.

"Over the years, your father has embarrassed some very important people, and they aren't the forgiving sort. They are looking for any excuse to take a shot at him."

"They're going to shoot him?" Ashley asked.

"Only if he's lucky," Anastasia answered.

"What?" Ashley asked.

"They might arrest him, and try him for treason."

"What happens to us?" Ashley asked.

"We run."

Ashley set down her fork.

The legendary spy and assassin, Anastasia Zelena, smiled at her daughter. "Take it easy on him. He really does have a lot on his mind."

Ashley nodded.

"And whatever happens, don't be afraid. If I could give you any advice, that's it. Don't be afraid. Take the fear and do something with it. Kill whatever is scaring you and don't feel guilty about it. Whether it's a spider, a snake or a man, kill it and kill it again, until you aren't afraid of it anymore. But then, you have to clean up the mess."

Ashley smiled.

"Oh and give his little camp a shot. It won't be so bad. You might actually be good at it."

"Ugh," Ashley replied.

Anastasia laughed and cleared the empty dishes.

# Chapter 7 – Noodles

Monday, June 22, 2308 7:31pm

Major Ross, Chief Warrant Officer Reid and the rest of the crew were stunned, watching the real-time feed being streamed from Kojima Station.

"What the hell?" Ross asked no one in particular.

"Holy shit," Reid echoed.

On the monitors, the Fox family was seated at the dining room table, having dinner. Ashley was engaged in her camp point counter-point.

A phone rang in the background.

Ross pulled up the network transcript. "It's Carlson up on Kojima, dialing the doc's home line."

Ross picked up an amplifier and projected Dr. Fox's feed onto one of the inactive monitors.

Ross and the lab crew watched as Fox answered the phone and listened as Carlson informed him of Epsilon's destruction. They watched his vitals remained calm and cool. _Of course, how could he be surprised by something he must have already been aware of?_

"Sir..." Reid drew Major Ross's attention from Fox's charts. "We've got server crashes at farms two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen... It's prime numbers all down the row."

"The mirrors?" Ross asked.

"Looks like one for every three of the lost originals."

"Take us completely offline and build a new grid from scratch. Partition a disk image and initialize all the other drives. Archive half the unaffected stock and hard start replacement procedures. Vault all unaffected mirrors and replace them."

"Storage facilities?"

"Sink the vaults and split the archives into thirteen partitions, spread them through the belt. I want two additional black boxes on the poles of Ceres, Vesta, Pallas, and Hygiea."

"Copy that. Sinking vaults in the Atlantic and the Pacific, Mirrors in the twelve houses, plus one in Ophiuchus. Dropping cubes on Charlie, Victor, Papa and Hotel. We are one hundred eighty days on the vaults, with seventy-two hours on the mirrors and an additional twelve on the cubes."

"I want the vaults underwater in ninety minutes."

Reid punched in the calculations. "That will add an additional five hours travel time."

"I don't care if it adds five weeks, get them out of the atmosphere."

"Yes, sir." Reid ran a couple more options. "I can get them wet in twenty, if you like, but that is a two-week cruise."

"Better still."

"Copy that." Reid went to work.

Ross pulled up Fox's conversation with Dr. Te.

"I've been working with the interface," Fox said. "I think the Micronix can do more than just communicate."

"Such as?" Dr. Te asked.

"I think it can be detonated," Fox answered.

"This is going to be a serious problem," Ross said.

The analog phone in the lab began to ring. Ross lowered the master volume and answered it. "What's the word?"

"Hey, boss. We outta get some noodles tonight, like ASAP." Ross recognized his old friend's voice, First Sergeant King. "I have something you have just got to see to believe."

"Sounds like a plan," Ross said, disconnecting the call and turning to Reid. "Chief, go analog and defrost backup clones for all nine Black Willow Operators."

"Copy. We are disconnecting, and we are analog. Prepping backup numbers for the nine."

"Don't burn the house down while I'm gone."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Ross exited the lab, his progress toward the parking garage displayed on the overhead security monitors.

Dr. Andrew Fox landed his transport in the bottom of the depression that had been Project Epsilon. What had formerly been pale, off-white sand had now been stained with an inch of black soot. The black spread outward, in a radial gradient, fading away from his central position. The heavy black particles swirled and settled around him, hovering above the sand.

Fox knelt in the thin layer of soft dust. He appeared to be tying his shoe. When his hand touched the item, a shock went through him. The device was unique, different; it felt angry. Unlike the original device, the Micronix, this one announced itself. It told Dr. Fox, it was the Metachron.

He lifted the small device from the floor of the crater and dropped it into his pocket. The moment the device left his hand, he felt relieved.

He stood in the center of the crater for several minutes, pondering the implications of this new development.

Several miles overhead the operators aboard Kojima chuckled. "He's good," Carlson said. "I didn't even see that. Did you see that?"

"I didn't," Bryce replied. "Smooth."

"Even the cameras didn't see it. Very smooth," Wilkins laughed.

"Too bad the new spectrometer got him," Carlson said. "Oh, what? It's not recording? Fellas, we may have a glitch with the new spectrometer, it seems it has a habit of turning the record function off."

"Noted," Bryce and Wilkins laughed.

Fox knew these men personally. They were trusted agents of the highest caliber. They had each been issued their own amplifiers, albeit with limited permissions, and the orbiting lab was composed of Micronix-formatted terillium. There was no doubt where their loyalties lie.

Ross finally arrived and made his way through the crowd outside the Noodle House. The Chinatown restaurant didn't have a proper name. The symbol simply read 'noodles' and so that was what they called it.

Despite the throng flowing past the doors, the restaurant was rarely more than half full. The lack of a wait combined with the incredibly poor service, in a foreign-speaking part of town, made Noodles a winner for the quick and dirty parlay. Throw in the fact that no windows faced the street and Ross was satisfied, regardless of the menu.

King and Snow were already seated when the major arrived. Both had ordered and been served. He waved to Jenny, the manager, who waved back. Almost as soon as he'd settled into the booth, a waiter arrived with a small cup of green tea and steaming bowl of the house specialty.

"Where have you been?" Captain Snow asked, blowing the steam from her own bowl of noodles.

"Your food is still hot, what are you crying about?" Ross replied.

"We're on seconds," First Sergeant King smiled. Even dressed in civilian clothes, the sergeant's sharp flattop and massive build identified him as a cop, active military or private security. He'd retired after serving twenty years with Uncle Sam's Misguided Children and immediately been snapped up by the Secret Service.

Still serving in the Corps, Captain Snow, though female, looked equally dangerous. Her broad shoulders and powerful arms offset her natural feminine beauty. Ross never got used to seeing her in two places at once, as one of Snow's copies had married Dr. Fox and was now raising two kids. Ross's nine-to-five was as commander of the primary security team for this woman's other self and her children, Ashley and Geoff.

Major Ross was, himself, just as obvious; standing over six feet, carrying two hundred and fifty pounds of lethal muscle. He also had several handguns concealed about his person. There was no way he was 'just another guy.'

"Sorry it took me so long. I grew a couple of tails this afternoon, so I had to stop for a quick shave."

"What have you got against good food, anyhow?" King asked.

Captain Snow laughed.

"Since when do you have a problem with Noodles?" Ross countered. "This place is great. No crowds, half the lights don't work."

"That's so you can't see what you're eating," King laughed.

"Oh come on. They stopped serving dog years ago," Ross answered.

"That's not funny," Snow smiled. "What's the emergency, anyhow?"

King sat up. "Didn't you hear? Epsilon? Boom, gone daddy gone."

"What?" Snow looked shocked.

Ross and King both nodded.

"It gets worse. Seems your boyfriend..." King started.

"My husband?" Snow corrected him.

"Whatever." King rolled his eyes.

"It does sound weird, doesn't it?" Snow smiled.

"Well, earlier today..." the first sergeant gave a newsman's delivery.

"Can you believe I haven't seen him in five years?" Snow asked.

"You see him every day," Ross said.

"Only in my dreams, when we sync. But not _Me_. Her."

"You can't be jealous of yourself," Ross said.

"Can we get back to why _I_ called this meeting please?" King asked.

"To be continued," Ross said to Captain Snow.

Snow waved a hand and looked away, laughing.

"About..." King looked at his watch. "Four hours ago I got called into the Deputy Chief's office. The buzz was that the Intel desk was all hot and bothered by something they picked up. I'm still not sure how they got it, but I got a copy of what they got..."

King pulled out a stream player and set it on the table. "This has been making the rounds upstairs. And this is not good. But when you throw in the explosion of Epsilon a couple of hours later, after they were already wound up about this..."

"Come on already," Snow said.

King pressed play.

Ross rolled his eyes, well aware of what was coming.

The monitor lit up with the images of Doctors Fox and Te.

"You're telling me that an equation can be used to detonate, what? That little chunk of metal you carry around? Or a gravity disk?"

"Dr Te, I think this equation could detonate any sort of deposit you feed it to, a vehicle, a building or an entire district. It could burn the stagnant terillium in the air around us," Fox said.

Captain Snow hit the pause button. "What the hell?" She shook her head in shock and confusion.

"That was 4:37." King pointed out the date-time overlay.

"And this..." He switched the player to another stream. "This is nineteen-thirty-one, pacific standard.

The player showed a satellite image over the western Mojave. Ross immediately recognized it. The flash from the Epsilon location was unmistakable.

The camera zoomed in, but there was only smoke and dust.

The footage scaled up and was examined in slow motion by an operator. There was no warning.

One moment the buildings were there, and over the course of a few frames, a bright light spread outward, engulfing them.

The singular light then contracted, leaving only dust and smoke. In real-time, the flash lasted only a fraction of a second.

"They are saying Fox can do that, at will," King said.

"God help us all." Ross stared at the ceiling. "If Fox could do this, _at will_ , do you really think this would be how he announces it?" Ross answered his own question, "No. This was an accident, plain and simple."

"It could have been sabotage," Snow suggested.

"That's exactly what they're saying downtown," King said.

"It's not sabotage." Ross shook his head. "It's project failure. You don't have to read anything into it."

"Stanwood is saying it was deliberate. He's saying this is Fox putting the Fed on notice. This is his _shot across the bow_ as it were, and he's got a lot of people onboard already. Half of the cabinet is buying into it."

"What's Croswell doing?" Ross asked.

"I didn't talk to him, but I'm pretty sure he's aware of it all. From what I hear, Stanwood has the Chief of Staff, the Attorney General, the DOJ and Homeland in his pocket. Secretary Croswell holds the Joint Chiefs, the DOD and the Agency. But if our names get leaked, the game is up. He can't bail us out if we're all in the same cell."

"How did you hear about this?" Ross asked.

"You're gonna love it. I was called in for a joint-training mission, between the Secret Service, Homeland and the Bureau. They even have reps from the Coast Guard and the DEA, to collaborate on a Dr. Fox Worst-Case-Scenario. Right now, it's a _what-if_ , but that's always how it starts.

"If they force the issue... If Fox decides he isn't interested in surrendering... If he decides to run with this, just for shits and giggles, it will destroy this administration and the country."

"They can't beat him," Snow stated.

"They don't have a hope in hell," King agreed. "But if they throw the entire weight of the government at him, and he removes the players... Even one at a time... If he decides to take it personal and political..."

"The world will be a better place? What?" Snow asked.

"They'll be calling him emperor, and offering him a golden crown, is what," Ross concluded.

"That sounds nice," Snow said.

"It's usually followed by a series of stab wounds," Ross said.

"But they don't know what we know," Snow said.

"Which is what?" Ross asked. "For all we know, he could nuke Angel City if he has a nightmare."

"Yeah, well, I never liked this place much anyhow," Snow said.

"Are you kidding? I Love AC! Can't get enough of this town."

"That's because you're never here," Ross smiled.

"It's Stanwood, man. He's all over this. I told you, we need to handle him. If we don't, it is just a matter of time till he gets our records, and when he does, it's gonna be Goodnight Gracie, for all of us," King made a circular gesture, but Ross and Snow both understood that he was including the six absent members of their team as well. "If we don't get proactive here, and I mean right quick, we're not going to have a chance."

"He's the National Intelligence Director. What are we going to do, go after the entire cabinet? Kill everyone who disagrees with us? Take out a bunch of intelligence directors and politicians? A coup? Are you talking about a coup? That is treasonous," Ross pointed out.

"What about this, what about just Stanwood?" King offered.

"We can't kill Stanwood. He's hands off, Andrew said so," Snow stirred her noodles.

"Yeah, well, he's not sitting at this table," King stated.

"They have known each other since they were kids," Major Ross said. "Fox, Stanwood and Croswell all went to school together. We're not killing him. If he's gotta die, that's for Fox to decide."

"What about exposing him?" King suggested.

"We have to get him to break the law first," Ross said.

"I mean to the operating system, dose him with Mike."

"What?" Ross asked, dumbfounded.

"We know Stanwood has never been exposed to the Micronix. So... Let's expose him."

"That's no kind of solution," Ross said. "Give our enemy our secret weapon? Why not just give him access to all our gear too? Just open up our whole operation and invite him in? Make him _one of us_? I don't like the sound of that. Not one bit.

"There's no guarantee it won't make him worse," Ross added. "He's not stupid. If anything, it might make him a much bigger threat than Fox. You would essentially be giving him everything Fox knows, to use in any way he saw fit.

"If there is a way to detonate terillium, Joseph Stanwood is the last person we want to give that to. Like giving Stalin or Hitler the nuke instead of Groves and Roosevelt." Ross stirred his noodles. "Let's not forget exactly 'who' the bad-guy is here."

"Okay," King said. "Just playing along here... a bad guy who might actually have a point, who we cannot kill and cannot convert. Stanwood is going to have to come to Jesus on his own? That's our plan here? He needs to see the light, and we are just waiting for him to open his eyes?"

"How did you not see this coming?" Ross asked Snow directly.

"Don't blame me. I can't predict the future any better than you can." She dug at the noodles but didn't eat any. "I suppose we can take comfort in the fact that he can't really kill us, and that, as of yet, they still don't know who we are. And Fox also gave us _ALL_ our gear."

"Yeah, but aside from the blue goo, the phase cam, and the gravity harness, the six months speed-bump to print new clones, sure," King said. "But the idea of being hunted forever or imprisoned isn't very appealing either. We are not immortal. We might be backed up, but this could all come crashing down."

"Mister Optimism over here," Ross said.

"Do you have any ideas, Sir?" King asked.

Major Ross shook his head. "Give me a couple of minutes."

"Why would he call Dr. Te and tell him that?" King asked.

"Maybe he can't guess the future any better than any of us," Ross suggested, nodding to Snow with his eyes. "Regardless, he's really in their crosshairs this time. They're not going to let this go. I had to shake two guys to get here."

Snow sighed and pushed her noodle bowl away.

Ross leaned forward. "As you so elegantly put it, we are in the wind. Per protocol, run backups every 12 hours, full satellite transmission."

Snow and King groaned in annoyance but nodded.

"It's just a few days," Ross said.

"What are you going to do with Reid and the lab?" King asked.

"We're gonna double them. We'll put one in the stratosphere and drop a mirror to Davey Jones."

"You can never be too redundant, huh?" Snow asked.

"It's served us so far," Ross said. "Reid is getting the local decanters loaded and prepped, we're seven deep each."

"But those still need six months to cook?" King asked.

"It does us no good if Fox or Stanwood nuke Angel City," Snow said.

"That is not going to happen," Ross said. "What about BDU's. Do you have any that are mission ready?"

"I'm on my last legs," Snow answered.

"I've got another," King replied.

"I'm down to one myself, and it looks like I might have to use it tonight. If Stanwood has that," Ross gestured to the player. "I know he's going to pay me a visit soon. May as well give him a show."

"I'll shadow you, if you want," Snow offered.

"Naw, let them have their fun. If they don't show their hand, we've got nothing, and no idea exactly _who_ is after us.

"We know exactly who is after us," King said.

"Fox is pretty sure Senator Miller is pulling Stanwood's strings. He wants to get the roots with the weeds," Ross said.

"We should go scorched earth on these idiots. Epsilon is completely their fault in the first place," Snow said. "They never should have been testing it on prisoners. They're lucky a big crater was all they got. It could have been a lot worse."

"If he didn't make a point of sticking it in their faces every chance he got, we wouldn't be in this mess," King said.

"Yeah, well, we wouldn't be backed up on interstellar satellites and you wouldn't have a clone on ice either," Ross pointed out.

"To-may-toe, To-mah-toe," King replied.

"You know you love it," Ross smiled.

"I live for it, which is why I agree with the Captain. We should take the fight to them. All Enemies, Foreign and Domestic."

"Be careful what you wish for." Ross sipped at the cooling tea. "Oh! One other little problem; we still have no idea _Who_ the residential sleeper is, and after the last few calls we caught, it's clear they might have someone inside."

"What do you mean _might_?" King asked.

"So, Epsilon _might_ have been sabotage after all?" Snow asked.

"No. That's not the issue. Reid is sure there is a local asset, disguised as a civilian, living on your block." Ross shook his head. "Sorry, on the doctor's block."

"Oh come on," King said. "The most logical candidate is that freak living right down the street. He was assigned to Bergstrom's unit. There is no way that's coincidence."

"Well, it's damn clumsy, if he is. It's completely obvious," Ross said.

"If who is?" Snow asked.

"Martin Dunkirk." King answered. "He's nightshade."

"As in a lethal plant? But he has three kids," Snow said. "He's been living there almost as long as we have."

"Almost, " King said. "And there may be more than one."

Ross touched his nose and then pointed to King.

"Dunkirk was a battlefield surgeon, and his record is totally sealed," King said. "Why would a surgeon's record be sealed?"

"Half of Bergstrom's unit was medical. They're all sealed."

"The other half were well known wet-workers," Ross added.

"And now one of those freaks is living right down the street from you? That is no coincidence," King said.

"Well, the DOD unit, Faulkner's team, I think the leak is somewhere over there, but Fox and Croswell swear those guys are clean," Snow said.

"Sounds like time for a good old fashioned mole hunt."

"I just don't want my kids getting hurt," Snow said.

"I don't know how you do it," King said.

"It's not that hard. You ran doubles for a while, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I hated it. I never knew who I was in the morning."

"If you were a parent, you'd understand." Snow picked at her food.

"Anyhow, I gotta be getting back," King said. "If they come for me, you know what I'm going to do."

"Don't make it too easy for them," Snow replied.

"Ha. Very funny," King said.

"Really make them work for it," Snow laughed.

"Not like I haven't done a thousand times," King said.

"Right." Ross and Snow said together.

"You should go out the back. They're only looking for me."

"Are you kidding me? I'm staying on this," Snow said.

"Fox wants you on double over-watch tonight. I got this. And if they really are coming, we absolutely can't afford to let you get pinched. You're our secret ace."

"Don't bullshit me," Snow answered.

Ross smiled, "Stow it, Marine."

"Yes, sir." Snow replied, laughing.

"Now, get outta here, the both of you." Ross nodded, smiling.

King and Snow exited the booth and made their way to the back of the restaurant. As Snow reached the door, she and King set their opacity to zero and became invisible.

The door opened, and Ross, capable of vision in the infrared spectrum, watched his comrades activate their gravity harnesses and levitate up into the night sky. He turned back to his noodles and took his time finishing them.

# Chapter 8 – Otto Malvinas

Across the canyon from the Fox home, rows of houses were set into the hillside. At the crest, a series of cascading balconies concealed an operations center behind tinted panes. By their dress and bearing, it was clear the occupants were field agents of the highest caliber, all but one.

To describe Fifth Gate Citizen Otto Malvinas as portly would do the man a disservice. Otto had spent a lifetime acquiring his bulk. Weighing a stout three seventy, he boasted of being as wide as he was tall.

Upon learning of the Project Epsilon failure, Otto decided to visit the Fox homestead. He was intrigued by the pipe dream of the MCX, and felt that technological breakthroughs were best intercepted early.

As the owner of the parent company that had recently purchased Washington Security, Otto had come down with his bodyguard to inspect the operation. He and Bell had arrived late in the evening, after eleven, and now stood in the central command room with Captain Faulkner.

The captain explained that the house was filled with surveillance equipment and long-range suppressed weapons, all controlled by a master switchboard. He pointed out that the recording drives were backed up to double-blind positions. Plus, the DOD had vetted all personnel to ensure competence and loyalty.

Malvinas had many questions for the captain, and it was clear the officer's patience was being tested.

Bell asked permission to step outside for a smoke and left the command center.

A young sergeant monitoring the surveillance screens interrupted the captain and chairman Malvinas. He pointed out the arrival of a large truck on the street between the command post and the client. It touched down, and three armed operatives stepped from the back of the truck.

Upon sight of the operatives, the command post came alive with activity, surveillance systems delivering high-contrast images of the mercenaries making their way across the canyon toward the Fox home.

Otto smiled with excitement. "What happens now?" he asked.

"Now it gets fun," Captain Faulkner replied, smiling for the first time since Otto's arrival.

In the glass-walled home across the canyon from Dr. Fox, Captain Faulkner designated Chief Warrant Officer Lee and Sergeant Buckner to suit up and intercept the mercenaries. The other agents at nearby monitors called out relevant conditions as Buckner and Lee pulled on their armor.

Fully equipped, the two soldiers stepped out onto the main deck of the home. Lee snapped down his visor and triggered the up-linked displays and data feeds. With the enhanced optics, they could see the enemy across a dozen spectrums as they moved toward the Fox residence.

Lee and Buckner crossed the deck, strapped in and released their ropes. They vanished over the railing, moments later reaching the ground, several hundred feet below. The canyon floor was spotted with homes. Backyards overflowed onto narrow strips of unclaimed municipal property, all of which butted up against the forest preserve. Lights were out, most families fast asleep.

Inside the command post, on the flickering screens, Faulkner and Malvinas watched the images of Lee and Buckner as they chased down the interlopers, closing the gap as they came down the hillside. The group of intruders had reached the other side. As the ground became steeper, they slowed.

Captain Faulkner stood next to Otto as the surrounding agents relayed details to him. From their place in the command center, the two men could see nothing through the glass walls. It was the monitors that tracked the participants from dozens of angles and across several frequencies.

The mercenaries continued to advance on the Fox residence, oblivious of their imminent discovery by Lee and Buckner.

Captain Faulkner cracked his knuckles in anticipation.

Bell returned to the command post from his cigarette break.

Faulkner sniffed the air, burnt oil and carbon, the signature of a recently fired weapon.

Bell raised his handgun and shot Captain Faulkner in the face. The suppressor reduced the sound to a cough. As Faulkner's men pulled their weapons, Bell shot each of them in turn.

Surrounded by dying agents, Otto licked his lips in satisfaction, right on schedule.

Bell then raised the weapon on his employer, who had just enough time for expressions of both shock and indignation to flash across his face before Bell fired three times into his chest. Otto fell.

In the kitchen, Bell opened cabinets. He grabbed a bottle of lighter fluid and jerked the stove from the wall. He disconnected the gas line and opened the valve.

In the living room, Bell doused the bodies and equipment with the fuel. He balled up a piece of paper and covered it. He knelt beside Otto as the large man choked on his own blood.

Bell stuffed the paper into Otto's mouth and lit an edge. The flames ran across the chairman's oil soaked skin and clothes. The fire engulfed the handmade silk and leapt to the floor to dash across the room, up the legs of the couches and surveillance terminals.

Soon the entire post was alight.

Bell was halfway down the hill before the gas bleeding out of the kitchen reached the living room. The sound wasn't an explosion, but rather a whoosh, like a jet engine igniting, illuminating the canyon.

Finished with his noodles, Ross paid for the meals, and strolled through the front door, out onto the street.

The agents hadn't even tried to blend in. As Ross exited the restaurant, their heads rose in unison. In the crowd of people, all hustling to get home for the evening meal, only _they_ were standing still. As he stepped out, only they noticed him.

Ross smiled.

He stepped into the busy thoroughfare and made his way toward the closest man.

The Agent stepped forward, raising a hand as Ross approached.

Ross closed the distance with a quick blast to the agent's throat. He collapsed toward the nearest building.

Ross continued to move with the crowd as the two following men rushed to their comrade.

Once out of sight, Ross took the first corner into an alley and burst into a sprint. A block later, he glanced behind, only one man followed.

Ross made another corner, and used a dumpster to jump up to a fire escape. The agent didn't round the corner until Ross was cresting the three-story rooftop.

Ross sprinted for the far side of the roof. He quickly found a sign he could use to get back down to street level and his last view of the rooftop revealed his pursuer coming up on the other side.

The agent fired twice, but Ross was already below his line of sight. He jumped from the sign to the top of a van, and rolled from the vehicle as the agent appeared above him.

As he sprinted down the street-level walk, the massive traffic canyon yawned to Ross's left. Vehicles whizzed by, just a few feet away, six thousand feet above the surface of the Earth.

Ross reached a taxi stand and heard the agent shouting into a communicator behind him. Ross climbed into the back seat of the first cab. He gave the driver fifty bucks, and staying low, climbed out of the driver's side door. "Just drive till it runs out," he said, closing the hatch. Ross slipped back to the second waiting cab, and climbed in as the first taxi pulled away.

"Where to, mister?" the driver asked.

Ross handed the man a bill and said, "Just sit right here for a bit."

"Your money," the driver replied.

Ross watched as the agent sprinted up the row of taxis and predictably climbed into the first one, his.

Ross held his weapon on the winded fed.

"Oh, what the shit?" the agent heaved.

"You tell me?" Ross answered.

"You're not going to shoot me," the agent said.

"Why not?"

"I'm a Federal Agent."

"You got any ID?" Ross asked.

The agent rolled his eyes.

"How about a warrant?" Ross asked.

The agent remained mute.

"Out," Ross said.

"This is me; getting out." The agent opened the door and climbed out.

Ross fired, the bullet ripped into the federal agent's knee.

As he fell backward, he closed the door, saving Ross the trouble of doing it himself.

Ross gave the driver a destination and the agent had enough time to punch the window before he went down and the taxi pulled out.

Ross was impressed with the kid's stamina, despite the wound to his leg, he managed to keep his feet for a few seconds: _impressive_.

# Chapter 9 – Not So Safe House

The cab landed in a rundown section of the industrial district. Ross hadn't taken any great pains to see that they weren't followed, but he hadn't spotted anyone either. He tipped the driver handsomely and the cab pulled out, accelerating into the darkening Angel City sky.

Ross noticed no drifting transports. No one seemed to be watching or following, and he proceeded along the parking ledge until he made a turn, taking a route deeper into the district. He soon reached an unmarked door on an unnamed street, more of an alley, really. He hadn't caught even the slightest hint of a tail.

Ross reached out to the knob. and it turned under his grasp, already unlocked. He opened it and stepped inside.

Even in the darkened apartment, he recognized National Intelligence Director Stanwood. He stood with his deputy, Von Kalt and a third agent.

An unseen man hit Ross in the head with what felt like a brick, but was most likely a handgun.

When he woke, he discovered he'd been duct-taped to a chair. Von Kalt was lightly slapping his cheek. Stanwood stood nearby.

Ross laughed, snapped the tape securing his right arm and grabbed Von Kalt by the throat. With a mighty effort, he head-butted the deputy director in the face, breaking his nose.

An electrical jolt to the base of his skull stopped Ross cold.

The duct tape was replaced with metal cuffs, fished from Ross's own gear in the safe house. This time he was splashed with water, from well outside of arm's reach.

"If you think your friends are going to save you, think again."

"I'm not the one who needs saving," Ross answered.

Stanwood produced an arrest warrant and pointed to Ross's name. "You see that? Kelton Ross! That's your name right there. So instead of wasting everyone's time, why don't we just jump ahead to the part where you tell me what I want to know."

Ross spit at Stanwood.

Stanwood nodded to the agent standing behind the major and another electric jolt was delivered to his wet frame.

"Fuck you," Ross answered.

Von Kalt stepped forward with a left jab, followed by a haymaker of a right, catching Ross square on the chin. They all heard Von Kalt's fist crack. The sharp intake of breath confirmed a cracked knuckle, at the least.

Ross laughed, prompting another jolt of electricity to his spine, prolonged this time. Ross pushed the energy into his wrists; using the taser to fight the cuffs, maybe loosen them. He laughed the whole way through.

Stanwood gestured for the taser agent to step back. "Cut his shirt off."

Von Kalt, nursing a sprained finger from punching Ross's hard head, handed Stanwood his huge tactical buck knife.

Stanwood rolled his eyes but took the knife.

"Here's what I don't understand," he said, as he cut the big man's shirt off. "You're a decorated veteran. They still tell stories about you at Quantico. You're the knight in shining armor, rescued Ex-President Stagwell's daughter single-handed. Took three bullets on that one; didn't you? You're a goddamn legend," Stanwood said.

He finished with the shredded shirt and stepped back. "But what is this?" he asked, pointing to a spot on Ross's stomach. "I read your file. You were shot here, here and here. But there're no scars."

Stanwood drew and fired, the bullet ripping into Ross's stomach.

Ross coughed and smiled, blood on his lips. "He was farther back."

Across the room, Stanwood raised the gun and pointed to Ross's tattoo. "There's nothing about any tattoos in your file. How could a Major in the US Marine Corps get something like that redacted from his file? I wonder. Maybe I'll have to take it back to the lab, for further investigation, I mean it is clearly evidence of something."

"My buddy?" Ross asked.

Stanwood pulled out his own audio player and played Dr. Fox's conversation with Dr. Te.

_"Terillium can be detonated_ ," came Dr. Fox's voice.

Stanwood looped it.

_"Terillium can be detonated_ ," Fox said, over and over.

Stanwood stopped the player and stooped to Ross's eye level. "Why don't you tell me about this latest episode of treason?"

Ross said nothing.

"As we speak, federal officers are raiding the good doctor's home."

"Then what do you need with me?" Ross asked.

Stanwood looked at his smoking weapon.

"Ahhhh, you didn't get a warrant on him did you? Are you going to call it some sort of 'training mission' when it all goes south? Or you hoping your agents don't finger you when Fox gets a hold of them?"

"You're right. The Attorney General refused to sign the warrant, but that's just a temporary delay. I will take possession of the Micronix within the next few hours, and drop it in a deep dark hole. Then you and your gang of thugs will never threaten this Republic again."

Ross spit out a mouthful of blood. "You're the threat, Stanwood. And now that I know it's you behind all of this, I will see you dead."

"Ahhh therein lies the rub, Major. I'm not acting alone. And besides, threatening a federal officer is an act of treason, a capital crime, even for a Marine Corps Officer."

"You can't hurt me," Ross said.

Stanwood smiled and handed Von Kalt the knife.

Von Kalt set down the ice he'd been holding on his damaged hand and took the blade. He flexed the hand, but he didn't have the necessary mobility, as it had swollen up nicely.

"I guess I'll just have to do this with my left then," Von Kalt said. "Too bad for you, chum."

"Do your worst, Sally," Ross taunted.

Von Kalt set about removing Ross's tattoo with the knife.

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, gesturing for him to throw his to the left, while Lee threw to the right.

The grenades popped and further obscured the summer evening.

Lee told Buckner to attach his silencer and pulled his own from a pocket. He gestured and the pair moved back to a covered position, then without a word, Lee dashed off to the left.

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

As the sergeant centered them in his sights, the head of the man to the left exploded all over his comrade. The second man ducked, intent on returning fire.

Instead, Sgt. Buckner's bullet ended his intentions. He'd 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 and Bell fell dead, just short of the sergeant's position. He looked down at the bodyguard and back at the smoldering residence.

While Buckner kept a watchful eye out for the unexpected, Lee dashed over to Bell and 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. Lee scanned for the remaining mercenary and 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 was grateful 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. 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.

# Chapter 10 – Decisive Recall

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 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. Ross laughed, "he's come to rescue me, oh my god, how adorable."

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.

Holding a position usually reserved for civilians, Croswell was a heavily muscled veteran of three wars. He was gruff, surly and couldn't be rushed into anything. He was known for going against the grain, just for the hell of it. He helped the little guys, kicked the big guys in the shin, and laughed about it all the way to the bank.

Stanwood was Croswell's complete opposite, both physically and personally. He was lean and wiry, he tended to strike as soon as conditions became favorable, and the concept of mercy was alien to him. The embodiment of ambition, as opposed to natural talent. A former lawyer and non-vet, he'd come up straddling the grey area between the political and intelligence worlds. After school, he'd been employed by all the strategic think-tanks, at one time or another. For the second half of his career, he'd served as Senator Miller's right hand. That had led to the pocket of the last intelligence director. Now, only five years later, he found himself serving as the interim director, and he was excelling at the position.

Stanwood and Croswell had known each other since grammar school. It was public knowledge that the two of them had an agreed upon ceasefire since their first fight in the third grade.

It had always been the three of them, really, Croswell, Stanwood and Fox. They had been the very top of their class, but Croswell was valedictorian and a gifted athlete. Croswell and Fox had been closer, while Stanwood stood alone.

Fox had plenty of natural ability but no interest in athletics, and could have beaten Jim's GPA with his eyes closed. Instead, throughout high school, he'd been tackling world changing medical breakthroughs. He only stayed in school because it was easy and the girls were beautiful.

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 coughed up 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 rested 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 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 put the 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 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.

The children's parents hadn't raised them with any sort of religious background. Geoff had no concept of a spiritual afterlife. Ashley had only recently encountered the phrase at school.

Ash nodded. "Where'd you hear that?" she asked.

"Vid streams," he replied.

"What have you been watching?"

"Wooden Stakes. You know you can make a wooden stake from almost anything?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. Chair legs, broom sticks and stuff."

"That so?"

"Listen to this! One time, Simon Timex, that's the hero... "

"Simon Timex?"

"Yeah! 'Time Waits for No Man!' He rolled up this piece of paper all pointy like, and he stabbed the one vampire with it, right in the chest!"

Ashley laughed.

"Don't laugh! It could work. A piece of paper, it's made of wood! Get it?" Geoff asked.

"I get it," Ashley smiled. "But I doubt it would work?"

"If the vampires come, we just might have to find out," he answered, dead serious.

Ashley laughed again.

"It could happen. If it was a plague, or a disease, or a virus."

"Those are all the same things," Ashley smiled.

"Yeah, right, sure," it was Geoff's turn to laugh. "Then why are they different words?"

His supreme confidence pushed his sister into a fit of hysterical laughter. "They're the same."

Geoff snorted. "Do you want to go down to the canyon or not?"

"Get the leash," Ashley replied.

"All right!" Geoff dashed into the house. "Mom, we're going to take Jack down the canyon!" he shouted.

"Take your sister with you. And don't forget the leash," she said.

Geoffrey grabbed the leash from its peg and ran into the back yard.

Ash looked out at the green waves of forest. Since vacation started, they had gone down the canyon every afternoon. Often they would be gone the better part of the evening, chasing Jack through the lush vegetation and around massive trees, standing like pillars in a leaf-domed cathedral.

Jack set the pace. Once off the hated leash, he couldn't be corralled until he was exhausted. Ashley laughed as Jack caught Geoffrey's contagious excitement, and leapt into the air, chasing after a yellow butterfly that had drifted into the yard.

"Come on, Jack!" Geoff said. The puppy licked his face as Geoff slipped the choke chain over the beagle's head, where it rattled against his collar. Then the boy and his dog were running down into the canyon. Ashley followed her brother and Jack from the yard, down the path, and into the overgrown wilderness.

# Chapter 12 – Rudolph Von Kalt

Director Stanwood's office was large, with a low ceiling, on the twenty-fourth floor of the federal building. The furniture was government special, but tastefully selected.

Von Kalt paced back and forth across the room.

"Do you mind, I'm waiting for a call," Stanwood said.

Von Kalt continued pacing. "You've let everyone else take a shot at him, and you've got me sitting on the sidelines."

Stanwood answered without looking up, "That's not a very compelling argument for anything you might want."

"You employ me because I have a specific skill set, and yet, I'm not being utilized for those skills. Either get me in the game or trade me to a team that needs me."

"Feel free to speak plainly," Stanwood said.

"You pay me too much to bullshit you."

"Very well, first, this is not a game. Second, you are not on a team. You work for the Republic, you do not get to play, or participate. No one cares if you feel useful or utilized and I could give a damn about your personal growth. You are here because I want you here, and if you have an opinion I'm interested in, I will give it to you." Stanwood smiled.

Von Kalt scowled. "I am a field commander, not a bodyguard. All I do is stand around and watch you make mistakes all day. Whatever this is about, it's not going to end the way you want it to."

"From my perspective, things are a bit more complex. The actions I take have far reaching consequences."

"Bullshit. You just like to think that when you stomp your foot the entire jungle trembles. I see you, running all over town, trying to keep all your dominoes facing the right direction. You're asking for permission from people who can't afford original thought. Talk about herding cats."

"Please, enlighten me..." Stanwood replied.

"You've let this get personal. You're not doing what's best for the country, or the people. You want this Fox character to know it was you, and you want him to know it was sanctioned. No one wants to crawl out on that limb with you. They won't sign a warrant."

"No, maybe not. But without a warrant, no one raises a hand against him. Do you understand?" Stanwood said.

Von Kalt turned away.

"There will be a warrant," Stanwood asserted. "But until then, under no circumstances are you, or any member of this government, to interfere with Doctor Fox or his property. Not unless he sees a signed warrant first. Am I making myself clear, Deputy?"

"As a Bell, sir. I didn't mean to suggest anything inappropriate. I'm just saying, you would be within your rights, and no one would question you. We've still got the beachhead at his back door."

"Him most of all. Do not activate the Dunkirk until I give the order."

"What was this fumbled bit with Wash Sec? No one was supposed to die, or better yet, if you're going to kill six people, get something for it."

"The appropriate message was sent," Stanwood replied.

Von Kalt rubbed his damaged ribs.

"Malvinas was an idiot and he deserved what he got. He had no idea what he was caught up in. Those mercs he hired were third rate at best. He couldn't have possibly expected one of Fox's guardians to break ranks over that."

"You're sure they exist?"

Stanwood looked his deputy in the eye. "Oh they exist, Rudolph, they exist." Stanwood gave the soldier his full attention. "Let me ask you something? If you had the power, the resources and expertise, to craft terillium small enough, and pure enough, to give an individual the power of flight, would you give that up? If you could make yourself invisible, is that something you would abandon because a licensing date on your federal guidelines expired? Would you disband the team that manipulated that technology, just because of some arbitrary ruling, by a bunch of disconnected bureaucrats?"

"Hell, no," Von Kalt answered.

"Even though it would be an act of treason?" Stanwood asked.

"It wouldn't, because I'm a patriot," Von Kalt replied.

"That's what Fox thinks too. And once I have the warrant, I'll show him just how wrong he is."

"Aren't you afraid he'll send some invisible assassins after you?"

"I've got you here to protect me."

Von Kalt laughed.

"Let's see if we can't stop him, before it comes to that."

"You really think he can do all that?" Von Kalt asked. "Detonate an entire city like that?"

"You saw the footage. Do you think he can't?" Stanwood countered.

"Yeah, well... It may not be something he can repeat."

"Even if he can't do it right now, do we just wait around for him to figure it out?" Stanwood asked. "If you want to get really cynical, if this is a psychic ability, then theoretically, if this man has a migrane, or a fit of violence, Angel City might cease to exist. That is not a threat I'm willing to tolerate."

Geoffrey couldn't keep up with the rambunctious puppy. Jack raced down the hillside, only to return to the children at full speed.

Upon confirmation that Ashley and her younger brother were following, Jack would again explode down the path. Geoff thought the puppy was hysterical.

A dog barked in the distance and Jack replied, accelerating out of sight. Ash looked at the leash in her brother's hand. "That's not doing us much good, is it?"

"The leash is for when he's tired," Geoff explained, between great gulps of air.

"Is that how it works?" she replied.

"Yeah, when it's time to go home, that's when we use the leash. Remember?"

Ashley did remember, despite her younger brother's constant reminders. Last week, he'd talked of nothing but the puppy and their forested adventures. Jack also seemed to appreciate the space to run without breaking things.

During summer vacation the canyon's natural abundance of hollow glens and hidden corners grew crowded with bored students. Hoverboards could be raced at top speed, while forts were assembled and defended. The canyon was both a place to hang out and get lost.

The forest ahead was spotted with neighborhood kids. Ash knew most of them. She recognized some of the kids closer to Geoff's age near an old tree, hunting lizards and bugs.

Geoffrey chased Jack down the trails, laughing in response to barks of excitement and breathless endurance. Ashley watched as the dog ran circles around her younger brother. Geoff had long since given up the leash. Ash had looped it over her shoulders.

A group of fourth graders were engaged in a reconnaissance mission. Decked out in makeshift army uniforms, they crept across the overgrown canyon floor, camouflaged and determined to remain unseen. As none of the older kids were looking for them, success was a matter of opinion. If the bigger, meaner kids caught on to a stealth mission in progress, steps would be taken to foil it. Big kids enjoyed nothing more than ruining a little kid's day. Capturing and torturing would-be commandos ranked right up there at the top of the list.

A couple of kids Ashley's age, Doug and Jamie, hid along the path that Ash and Geoff came down. Jack dashed past them earlier, but he hadn't noticed them, and they stayed put. Ash and Geoff followed soon after Jack, who'd run back and forth past the camouflaged pair twice now.

Geoff also marched right past the hidden commandos. Ashley had noticed them some time before, and as she passed, she winked to them, her ocean blue eyes dazzling, reflecting shards of glittering sunshine.

Doug and Jamie were both intoxicated with Ashley. She was the prettiest girl in the neighborhood, and the coolest too. When she smiled, she meant it; they couldn't help but be in-love with her.

Ashley caught sight of older kids overhead, doing tricks on their kite boards. A kite board was just a more powerful hoverboard with a sail mounted to it, making the device that much more maneuverable. Ground-bound, hoverboards required a hard surface to push off from, and couldn't maintain more than a few feet of air, but kite boards, with their powerful gravity disks, could ascend to higher elevations.

During the summers, the open sky of Angel City was teeming with kite boarders. They raced through the clouds, doing loops, barrel rolls and corkscrews. When she watched, Ashley desperately wanted one. Yet somehow, outside the canyon, she always found herself focused on ballet.

# Chapter 13 – King's Q and A

Thursday, June 25, 2308

Dr. Fox and his pilot, Kendrick, drifted though the brunch-hour traffic, after the early morning swell and before the lunch chaos. Hovering several thousand feet above the earth, they drifted with the magnetic current, supplied by the nearby freeway cable, hanging from its place in the urban net.

The light tapping on the hatch was still surprising, despite years of working with hair-raising technology. Neither Fox nor Kendrick could make out the presence of anyone outside the vehicle, but Fox popped the hatch anyhow.

The air at the threshold of the vehicle blurred for a moment, as if trapped above the sand on a hot day. But then the blur was gone. The hatch closed, without input from either Kendrick or Fox.

A moment later, First Sergeant King twisted a dial on his belt and blinked into view, sprawled across the back seat. "Howdy, fellas. How's tricks?"

"Tricks are good. How's Rosie?" Kendrick asked.

"Exhausted, as usual," King replied, laughing.

"You're early," Fox said. "I didn't expect you until we docked."

"Yeah, well, you know." King laughed. "Hey, by the way, what the hell are you doing here anyhow?"

"What are you talking about?" Fox replied.

"I'm asking if you have any idea what you are doing out here?"

"Is that why you came by early? Try and talk me out of it? Should we run to Mexico? Like a band of outlaws?"

"I, uh, I think we burned that bridge, partner." King rolled his eyes.

"It's not like I really have anything to fear from Stanwood and his band of halfwits."

"Oh, yes. Yes, you do. Do you know Stanley had footage of Epsilon, as soon as it happened?"

"Of course he did. He's the Director of National Intelligence, so that just makes sense."

"Did you know he also had audio of your little tête-à-tête with our friend Dr. Te. He hasn't even mentioned the fact that Te is a Chinese national living abroad. Shit, he hasn't said anything about the fact that your wife is also a foreign national."

"He doesn't know anything about her. And she has dual citizenship."

"Why does he know you spoke to Dr. Te?"

"It was an open channel," Fox answered.

"He had it before Epsilon even popped," King said. "He was in the middle of a Chicken-Little performance when the facility went up. How did that happen?"

"He must have a team dedicated to us," Fox answered.

"You mean a team dedicated to you," King concluded.

"Well, he doesn't have anyone inside. We are watertight."

"Then what is the point of a mole hunt?"

"Sometimes, what you don't find is as telling as what you do." Fox looked down at the city below them. "Let's grab a coffee."

"Sounds good to me," King answered.

"Kendrick." Fox nodded.

Agent Kendrick pulled out of the Angel City freeway traffic and set the transport into drift mode. The vehicle activated its vertical anchor and swung out over the relatively empty city space, curving away from the traffic. Fox opened the hatch and twisting the dial at his belt, vanished.

King nodded to Kendrick, activated his phase-cam and also vanished from the car. A moment later, the hatch was closed from outside.

The communications terminal on Stanwood's desk began to ring.

"Speak of the devil," Stanwood said. He tapped the accept button and smiled at the projected image of his Commander in Chief.

"Mister President, how are you, sir?"

"Director Stanwood," President Conway said. "Before we get started, I just want to say that I know we originally agreed that your assignment to the Intel desk was going to be temporary. But everyone down here is very impressed with your handling of things over these past six months, so unless you have any objections, we'd like to go public with your acceptance at the daily briefing, later this afternoon."

"Thank you, sir."

President Conway looked off-screen, "John, Stanwood says he'll take the post, so let's push that paperwork through Justice and get him new letterhead and whatnot."

The President looked back at Stanwood. "Would you like new business cards?" He looked away again, "And get him a couple of boxes of business cards, would you, Chief?"

John Phillips, the President's Chief of Staff, could be heard grunting his acknowledgement from elsewhere in the office.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Joe?"

Von Kalt watched Stanwood from across the room. Stanwood looked choked up, as though he were touched that the President had called him by his first name. The director seemed to be falling for it.

Von Kalt wanted to slap him.

"What's that, Sir?" Stanwood had been distracted by Von Kalt's open look of contempt.

The President smiled at Stanwood and then looked over his shoulder again, calling to Phillips.

"John, why am I on the phone with Director Stanwood?"

"Fox and The Rusty Bucket," Phillips replied.

"What..." Completely derailed, Stanwood looked around his own office, for some clue to his agenda.

"Fox!" Stanwood exclaimed, straightening up at once.

"Yes, Director," the President replied.

"Fox is a menace!" Stanwood seemed like he was on drugs.

The President and Von Kalt both laughed.

"Who is that over there?" President Conway asked.

Stanwood turned to Von Kalt, who leaned into fame and waved, "Good morning Mister President."

"Rudy! How the hell are you?"

"I'm good sir. And you? The First Lady?"

"We're great, Rudy. I'll let her know I bumped into you, well not literally..." The President smiled. "She'll be thrilled."

Von Kalt laughed at Stanwood's shock and confusion.

"How's Sam, Samantha?" the President asked.

"Very good, Sir. We just had a boy last year," Von Kalt replied.

"Congratulations! John..."

Phillips was already on his way. The lumbering bear of a man came right over the President's shoulder. He held a smoldering black cigar in his hand. The President pushed it away.

"Rudy! How you been kid? Great to see you!" Phillips exclaimed.

Stanwood leaned back, clearly frustrated.

"Mr. Phillips, good to see you too." Von Kalt caught Stanwood's discomfort and tried not to rub it in too much.

Phillips waved goodbye, "I got this thing going on over here, but we gotta catch up sometime soon. Later, kid," Phillips was gone as quickly as he'd arrived, leaving the President to fan the cigar-stained air around him.

"Anyhow, I suppose we'd better get back to the issue at hand," President Conway said.

Von Kalt nodded. "Yes, sir." He stepped back, out of frame, leaving the terminal to Director Stanwood.

"What was it you wanted, Joe?" This time the President's use of Director Stanwood's first name did not sound friendly at all.

"Sir, I forwarded a data package to your office a couple of days ago. I'd like to move forward with that proposal today."

"I thought you were moving forward?" Conway asked.

"They are moving forward," Phillips called out, off screen.

"Sir, I'm referring to my suggestion that Doctor Fox be taken into custody immediately. The Attorney General can schedule a hearing..."

"A Hearing? I thought this was just a briefing, Joe. Don't you also have a massive interagency mole-hunt going on? I thought that's what you were calling about."

"No, sir. I mean, yes sir. That operation is still going on, but the aim was to find out who's leaking intelligence _from_ us, not so much _to_ us."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Conway asked.

"Sir, the mole hunt is not what I'm concerned with."

"Oh, that's right, you want to arrest Fox. You think he's a threat." Conway rolled his eyes, as if indulging an obnoxious child.

"Sir, I believe that allowing Dr. Andrew Fox into a room with almost a dozen of the country's most influential lawmakers could be a disastrous mistake. If we had a repeat of Epsilon..."

"Joe, I was made to understand that this detonation would in effect consume an entire metropolitan area. Is that correct?"

"We believe so, sir, given the discussion between Dr. Fox and Dr. Te, yes sir, that is a distinct possibility."

"So, if we have a repeat of Epsilon, only in a more densely packed area, the kill radius could be a hundred miles, instead of ten. Correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then what difference does it make? There is no _safe zone_. In fact, arresting Dr. Fox might very well be the event that triggers this sort of cataclysm, don't you think? It seems to me, the last thing we should want to do, is rock his boat. Don't you agree?"

"Sir, I believe that if we separate him from his personal amplifier, by whatever means necessary, that will neutralize his ability to detonate the pure terillium contained within."

"What do you base that assumption on? We're talking about a device that can be detonated with a thought, Director. How can your men be faster than a thought? It seems to me that, at least for right now, even giving this Fox fellow a dirty look could be a tragic mistake. I don't recommend bringing the full weight of the Federal Government to bear, as you suggest in your memo. You really do enjoy the flowery language don't you? I had to have John translate half of what you were saying."

President Conway raised his hand. "This is what I want you to do. Secretary of Defense Croswell is down there, along with a few other guys I trust. And I still trust you, Joe. I've had my doubts at times, but you've made a few friends here and there. And you're a man with a reputation for being able to keep a secret and that's worth something in this town.

"But Dr. Fox is a golden goose, and that is a damn sight more valuable than someone who can keep their mouth shut. Without people like Fox, people like you have nothing to keep your mouths shut about.

"So, when Secretary Croswell joins you, I want you to keep everything we just spoke about to yourself. That's the intelligent thing to do, and you are the Director of National Intelligence.

"Jim is the Secretary of Defense. See the words in his title tell you what he does, he _Defends Our Secrets_. That means he's liable to get Defensive if you start talking about things you shouldn't.

"Now, the investors are bringing a considerable amount of money to this briefing. I want you to take responsibility for these funds and forward them to Treasury, as usual."

"Yes, sir."

"Was there anything else?" President Conway asked.

"Well, if um... If Fox shows signs of becoming emotionally unbalanced, in that case... I'd like permission to at least immobilize him, for his own safety, not Kill him... just, say, shoot him in the knee?"

"If he goes nuts, sure, treat him like any other crazy person. But if Fox doesn't lose his shit, don't you go losing yours, Director."

"Yes, sir."

"In the knee, huh?" Secretary Croswell asked as he entered the office. Croswell arrived without assistant, attaché or bodyguard, as was his preference; he'd always kept his own counsel.

Stanwood waved but didn't break eye-contact with the President.

"Hiya, Jimmy. Keep this joker in line, will you?" President Conway called out, having heard Croswell's voice.

"My pleasure, Mister President," Croswell answered.

"Thank you, Director Stanwood." President Conway gave a backhanded wave and switched off his terminal.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Croswell said, shaking his head. He took a seat on one of the two facing couches in the less formal section of the office.

Stanwood sighed but didn't answer.

# Chapter 14 – Instigators

Fox and Kendrick had arrived near the docking coordinates some time ago. It was only a twenty-minute flight from his home. King had found them while they were riding the halo, the highest set of cables, a freeway roundabout, anchored above the center of Angel City.

The city itself was composed of five interlocking districts, around a sixth central hub. The hub, also known as Executive District Zero One, was a cylindrical assemblage of the tallest buildings, anchored together at the center of the anti-gravity metropolis.

ED served the higher functions of the city-state. It housed the most exclusive restaurants and hotels. It was designed for and populated by the richest of the rich. Simply appearing out of place was enough to invite investigation by the hyper-alert security guards. Having the wrong answers to their questions guaranteed a quick ride down the gravity well.

Around the central hub, the other districts were composed of rolling sheets of terillium, stacked above and below, and then programmed to hold to specific coordinates and elevation, resembling steel and glass petals of some massive urban flower.

King and Fox invisibly descended toward the central hub, where Fuji Dozo would be docked.

Fox had requested a secure ground route to the meeting, as well as isolation of the prerequisite docking lanes. Consequently, the access streets and the local cafes around Executive Suites West were packed with black-suited professional thugs.

Unseen, Fox and King landed on the main street, a short distance from the circular canyon separating the central hub from the media district.

"Looks like everyone here is gee-oh-vee," King said. "The regulars are smart enough to get the hell out of dodge on a day like Mama Said."

King gestured at the mercenaries infesting the area. "I will give you a hundred dollars, if you can get one of these ass-clowns to fire a shot in anger."

Fox laughed. "How much time do we have?"

"An hour, at least," King answered.

The well-dressed but heavyset young men had deliberately parked their expensive cars illegally, up and down the block, ready for a quick getaway. They laughed and joked amongst each other, mock-fighting and teasing. There were few females among the mercenaries, but those present appeared more dangerous than their comrades.

Fox caught sight of a few execs stepping out of one of the parking structures. They stopped on the sidewalk and silently looked at the mercenaries occupying the benches and chatting in small groups.

The executives had been heading for the closest coffee shop, but seemed to be considering turning away and heading toward their building instead.

One of the men pushed forward, while the other two waved their goodbyes and headed for a business-building lobby.

"Here we go," Fox said, invisibly falling into step behind the young executive.

King laughed, which prompted the exec to look around, but seeing nothing, he proceeded into the coffee shop.

The invisible Fox followed him, holding the door briefly, for King.

King whispered to Fox, "A hundred bucks if you can start a fist fight, doesn't even have to involve gunplay."

"Coffee first," Fox whispered. He made his way over the drink bar and waited in an empty corner.

King powered up his gravity harness jumped to the ceiling, where he could watch without worrying about accidentally bumping someone.

The executive who'd come in before them found himself bullied at every turn. He was bumped, jostled and openly pushed, all before he even got into line. The mercs then left the man in peace, until his pocket was picked as he exited the shop.

Fox and King watched as the group of thugs went to work on the executive's credit chip, ordering drinks for themselves and their friends.

Fox easily swiped a couple of the upcoming drinks and delivered one to King, floating above the chaos.

"Okay, watch this," Fox said, as he descended again, into the fray.

Fox inverted himself between two sets of occupied booths.

Given their more expensive suits and lazy haircuts, the men at the table to his left were most likely private security officers, ironically hired by the very corporations whose employees they had been terrorizing all morning.

While the table on his right looked to be feds with the bureau, given their uniform haircuts and cheap suits.

One of the private security guys was telling a joke, and just before the punch-line, Fox reached over and flicked a fed's ear.

The agent looked over his shoulder, just as the other table burst into laughter. The ear-flicked agent didn't even hesitate, but slapped the long-haired security man hard enough to bounce his head off the table; blasting through his cup of hot coffee and splashing his friends in the process.

Fox leapt away from the table and heard King laughing above.

Together they followed the arguing mercenaries outside, where a vulgar-epithet-filled fistfight commenced.

The fight ended when the security man, whose face had been burned, beat the ear-flicked man unconscious.

Their comrades had drawn their weapons, but no one fired.

Floating above it all, King handed Fox a hundred dollar bill, laughing as the regular civilians fled the area.

As they sipped their still steaming coffee, King took advantage of the opportunity to question his old friend. "How long have we known each other now/" King asked.

"Since eighty-eight," Fox answered.

"I was still a corporal back then."

Fox gestured and they ascended on a slow arc toward Fuji Dozo.

"Twenty years, Tarn." Fox addressed First Sergeant King by the abbreviated version of his call sign, Tarnung.

King laughed. "And in all that time, I never once suspected that we would end up filching coffee and causing trouble, like seventh-graders with a death wish. I mean, we're an hour from being found out. And when they open those files, they will arrest every one of us and have us put down. You know that. And we're out here, clowning around."

"Hey now," Fox said. "You think I have a death wish?"

"Don't you?"

"Yeah, well, don't we all?"

"Look, seriously, I need to ask you, what the hell are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..."

"I'm not _doing_ anything. I'm letting things happen as they happen. One day at a time."

"Epsilon?"

"A tragedy, complete tragedy. But I didn't do it. I wasn't even there."

"What bomber you ever met, sticks around to see the bomb? The whole point of a bomb is _you ain't there_."

"That's not exactly proof of guilt."

"How many cabinet ministers and politicians have lost their minds, due to Micronix exposure?"

"On record, zero," Fox answered.

"Clever," King replied. "Stanwood ain't buying it though. And that call to Dr. Te didn't help your case any."

"Hey big boss-man, don't worry so much. They can't do anything to us. Trust me on this. Would you, please?"

"Ross is on his last legs, and correct me if I'm wrong, but so are you, and so is Ana."

"Oh come on, that's six months, a nap is all that is. Look around you. We are intergalactic my friend. We are stardust. We are everywhere and nowhere. The nine of us, we have nothing to fear from Stanwood, that mental midget, I wouldn't let him wash my car. He's not an authority over us. He is not an expert. He's an alcoholic and an idiot."

"He is going to unravel this whole thing if you don't stop him. He's got the bit between his teeth and he is working it. You need to put that dog down. Give the word and wham, he's out of the picture, out of the park, have a nice ride."

"No. Don't," Fox said as he sipped his steaming brew. "Damn this coffee is good."

"So, if I may ask... Just what do you have lined up for this little meeting we're going to?"

"Nothing special," Fox answered. "I'm kind of curious about it myself."

"Word on the street is... Stanwood has everything he needs to get the warrant to put you down."

"There is no warrant. If he flashes one at you, it's a fake."

"Brother, he will never see me coming. Tell you that right now."

"If there is an ambush, don't fire until fired upon, I mean it."

"If someone turns a gun on you, I will shoot that someone."

"Let them get off one round, first."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm serious. I'm making this a standing order, if anyone ever pulls a gun on me, let them get off one shot, before you intervene."

"You're the boss, but I'll tell you, that is messed up."

"Hey, look at me, everything I'm wearing is terillium threaded. Do you know how much this suit cost?"

"One-point-four?"

"Three, three million dollars in bulletproof material."

"So they have to make it count, fine, I still think it's a stupid idea." King raised a hand, "Another question, can you use that instead of a gravity rig?"

"No. The coding would be too complex to manage it realistically. You'd be talking about a million different poles; it's just way too hard to program that. You'd need some seriously refined threads too, and then you get issues with how brittle the material is, its just not feasible."

"Don't get me wrong, the harness works great."

"It is something, isn't it? You can't even see mine, can you?"

"Not at all," King answered.

The lines of Fox's suit were not affected, despite the shoulder vest and gravity belt he wore beneath his jacket.

"I still don't get why you don't just take him out."

"Because it's the wrong thing to do. Besides, I've got you guys."

"All right, well, don't say I didn't warn you," King said.

"Heard and understood," Fox answered.

# Chapter 15 – Jim Croswell

Sitting on a couch in Director Stanwood's office, the big, gruff and surly Secretary of Defense, Jim Croswell blinked in a shaft of sunlight. "Wow. I just realized something right now, just this moment."

"What's that," Stanwood asked, rising from his desk and crossing to a small office bar where he fixed them glasses of premium scotch.

Stanwood was under no delusion that he would get Jim to move from the couch until he'd said what he had to say.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Croswell smiled.

"Of course it wasn't," Stanwood paused. "Well, maybe, it could have been. What are we talking about?" Stanwood poured them both three fingers of scotch and carried the glasses over the table, setting one before Jim and holding his carefully as he took a seat on the opposite couch.

Von Kalt ignored them from across the room, staring out the window.

"Epsilon, I had nothing to do with," Stanwood said.

Stanwood and Croswell knocked glasses. Scotch also happened to be another area where their tastes overlapped. A common interest, not shared with Dr. Fox, the only other guy they'd known as long, much to Stanwood's delight.

Croswell gestured toward Von Kalt and raised his drink.

Stanwood shook his head.

"Oh come on," Croswell objected. "Hey," Croswell called out.

Von Kalt looked over.

"Fix yourself a drink and come on over here. You're going to want to hear this one."

"His majesty just got through saying you're the defender of secrets."

"Not your secrets old pal, his. Besides, this isn't a secret. Not really."

Von Kalt poured himself a generous measure of the amber alcohol and took one of the several available chairs around the coffee table.

Von Kalt leaned forward, knocked glasses with both Secretary Croswell and Stanwood and took a swallow from his glass.

"Do you know why Joseph here hates Dr. Fox? Because sophomore year, the girl Joe liked wanted Andrew instead. That's one reason. You see Joe absolutely hates Andy Fox. Who wouldn't? The kid was cool, you have to give him that, the girls love him; I mean _Love_ him. But they don't love you, do they Joey?" Croswell laughed, teasing his friend.

"Get to your point, would you?" Stanwood wasn't offended, only bored.

"Fox was never scared of you. Everyone else was. Even I was."

"You were never afraid of me," Stanwood said.

"You have no idea how scary you are." Croswell raised his drink.

"These compliments, you're going to make me blush." Stanwood returned the toast.

"But my point, is Wendell Meyer."

Stanwood rolled his eyes.

"Back when we were in seventh grade, I think it was still the first or second week of school, and Wendell Meyer was the new kid in our class. He was a year younger than all of us, incredibly smart, but kinda skinny and frail."

"He was three years younger us," Stanwood recalled.

"Oh, yes, that's right, He'd tested up. Smart kid." Croswell sipped at his scotch. "Well, one day after swimming, Wendell slipped and got trapped under the hydraulic pool cover. We were all back there, watching how it worked, and we got too close.

"Wendell always said he didn't slip. He claimed that he got pushed, or bumped but that he didn't know who did it. No one ever saw who did it, and no one ever confessed. Fox and Stanwood had been the two guys closest to him, but we were all there. It could have been any of us, really.

"Fox, he went home from school every day that year, and then spent all summer working on his first invention, his first creation. He came back at the beginning of sophmore year with the Blue Goo. Of course, it was a lot more concentrated back then. But it worked. It worked like magic.

"You see, Wendell was laid up all year, had a grip of pins in his knee. The doctors wanted to replace it all together, but because he was so young, he would have had to have at least two, maybe three more replacement surgeries before twenty-five. A little more pain now would save him a lot more pain in the future, was how his mom figured it. And with major replacements, he'd be ineligible to participate in sports, and even though he was a nerd, she didn't want to take that away from him."

"Wait a second, Wendell Meyer? The tennis star?" Von Kalt asked.

"Yep," Croswell answered.

"He really made his money in ping pong," Stanwood added.

"Oh yeah, he's got that Scientific Principles of Ping Pong series, right? He wears that blue wrap on his left knee," Von Kalt said.

"Yep," Croswell answered. "The parents eat that shit up."

Stanwood drained half his scotch.

"And Fox created the Blue Goo for him?" Von Kalt looked into his glass. "Well, there's your answer, isn't it?"

"What's that?" Croswell asked.

"Fox bumped this kid, Wendell, and he created the goo because he felt guilty about it," Von Kalt said.

Stanwood smiled.

"No," Croswell said. "That's not what happened. I suspect that Stanwood here did the bumping, and Wendell knew, didn't he?"

"Honestly," Stanwood set his glass on the table. "I don't know. Sometimes, over the years, I've thought maybe it was me. Sometimes I remember that I wasn't that close to him. It doesn't matter. We were just kids. I maybe teased him a bit that week, but I never pushed him. Whatever happened, it certainly wasn't on purpose. My conscience is clear."

Croswell smiled. "It's also true that when Fox brought in that huge tub of goo, and we had our little testing session, you didn't participate. All of us got a king's ransom in the patent settlement, but you got nothing."

Stanwood wasn't ruffled. "I'm not bitter about that either. I've done pretty well for myself. I'm not trying to outdo Fox, or you, or any of the guys in our class."

Stanwood leaned forward and gestured to Jim with his drink. "I need you to think about what I'm about to do and what I'm about to say. Not some ancient history bullshit.

"Fox is Dangerous.

"Epsilon was his screw-up. I had nothing to do with it. If Fox is unwilling to leave Angel City, and every other major metropolitan sector of this country, then he should be forcibly removed. I think he's a danger to himself and others, period, end of story.

"The Commander in Chief asked me to keep my mouth shut in there today. I am going to do my best to do just that. But before we go in there, and preside over this cluster-fuck, there is one thing I'd like to ask you...

"As you mentioned, I didn't participate in Fox's little testing session. But you did. You convinced that lunatic to go steal a sword from the school trophy case and cut your arm off with it.

"From what I understand, being healed with the blue goo permanently stains the scar and the effected skin. For example, Wendell has a discolored blue area he hides under that blue wrap."

"Are you making a point?" Croswell asked, taking another swallow.

"Well, I've recently gotten wind of a technology that can remove those sort of stains, in a rather unique sort of way,"

"Is that a fact?"

"Interested?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Does it ever itch?" Stanwood asked. "I'm told there's something of an itchy or burning sensation often associated..."

"I'll give you a burning sensation," Croswell laughed.

Stanwood turned to Von Kalt, "If Fox gets out of line, the left knee."

"Yes, sir," Von Kalt said, finishing his drink.

Croswell laughed, "This is going to be great."

"I'm not afraid of Andrew," Stanwood said, finishing his drink.

"It's Ross you ought to be afraid of," Croswell said.

"Why should I be afraid of a dead guy?" Stanwood asked.

"Didn't you hear? No body at the scene. He must have gotten out the back. I'm guessing he's pissed."

"There was no out-the-back," Von Kalt said. "We spent three hours in that hovel. There was one door."

"I guess you missed it. Fire department found it easy enough." Croswell set down his glass.

It was almost two-thirds full. In fact, it seemed there was more alcohol left than Stanwood had originally poured into the cup.

Croswell smiled. "Please don't do anything stupid in there, Joe. Like the President said, if Andrew really can blow up buildings with a thought, lets not set him thinking about it."

"Okay, you know what, for old times sake, I won't say a word. I promise, not a word. Let's just see what happens." Stanwood extended his hand to shake on it.

Croswell nodded and shook hands with a guy he'd known almost as long as he'd been alive.

"Look at it this way, if Fox blows us up, you can always say you told me so." Croswell laughed.

Stanwood smiled, "You know I will. And the devil will make me a trustee in no time, and then where will you be? Under my forky-thing, that's where."

Stanwood and Croswell laughed as they rose to head out to the waiting transport.

Fox and King returned to their vehicle and hovered above the city until just before noon.

Using the Micronix, Dr. Fox pulled up the children's' charts in his mind's eye. The dedicated satellite found them close to home, running down a canyon path with Jack. The nearby individuals were all children; no adults were present. Fox leaned back into his seat and watched traffic drift around the cruiser.

After all the other incoming parties had arrived, they touched down and secured the craft. King exited behind Fox and invisible, floated above as Fox entered the briefing hall.

A moment later, Fuji Dozo gave the signal for departure. With the hatches sealed and loading ramps disconnected, the facility jettisoned from its docking station.

# Chapter 16 – Rusty Bucket

Thursday, June 25, 2308

The clamshell-shaped hall was dominated by a mahogany table at the lowest level, opposite two rows of six tables each, arrayed in gentle curves before it. The tables held pitchers, filled with water and microphones, set into slender vases, at the center. Chairs were gathered around.

The bodyguards stood behind the chairmen's assigned seats. The second row of delegates sat on a higher tier, so the standing mercenaries didn't obscure them from the front.

The outer shell of the hall was composed of tinted sheaves of glass, attached to massive hinges at the far sides of the room. Outside, a wide balcony held cafe tables naked against the sky.

Fox entered the alcove at the back of the hall and found Croswell and Stanwood waiting for him. Stanwood's shadow, Deputy Director Von Kalt, was nowhere to be seen.

"Was the mole hunt necessary?" Fox asked.

"It would seem so," Stanwood said. "Considering."

"Considering what?" Fox asked.

"In the past two hours there were over a hundred treasonable acts committed. Thirty suspects are already in custody, and another twenty have been terminated. I suspect that, by the end of business, over fifty people will be charged. A resounding success."

"A mole hunt with a hundred suspects means the problem is systemic. It can't be rooted out in a single pass. It's a corrupt culture, not a cure," Fox said.

Stanwood rolled his eyes, but Croswell laughed.

"Is everyone here?" Fox asked.

"The Varashavya convoy never showed," Croswell answered. "But everyone else did, and it looks like they all brought their donations too."

"Are we going to do this, or what?" Stanwood asked.

"Yeah, let's get it over with," Fox said.

Fox, Stanwood and Croswell entered the main hall, walked to the center dais and took their seats at the table.

Congressman Harris stood and addressed the room, "Gentlemen," he said. "As I look around today, I see some of the most influential men of the world. Senators Clarke, Grey and Miller, Citizens Morgan, Roth and Anderson. And I dare not leave out the youngest personage present." Harris grinned. "Citizen Pierce, you must be hardly out of your teens."

Pierce was obscured behind four mammoth crates of cash.

"He certainly seems interested, doesn't he, Dr. Fox?" Harris said.

Fox had heard about the young Pierce, he had an explosive temper and a penchant for gunfights. He had no doubt the cases were props for some idiotic outburst, unless Harris goaded him into one early.

Harris addressed Pierce directly, "You know, the installments are just a show of good faith. It goes straight to the treasury department, to offset operating costs. Fox doesn't see a dime. We're all interested in success of this project." Harris spoke to Pierce, but Fox suspected the words were meant for him.

Before Pierce could rise to Harris's challenge, Senator Clarke cut him off. "Let's get to it. We all know why we're here." He nodded to Fox, gesturing for him to get started.

"Yes, Senator." Fox stood with exaggerated slowness. He slipped his chair into place and came around from behind the table. "I don't know if you read the report. It wasn't sabotage. It was the interface. The human variable is too unstable. It's over."

"Okay, but unstable how?" Senator Clarke asked.

"Initially, it discriminated based on intellect. The smart ones survived, and acquired more power than they knew what to do with."

"Ha! We could call it life," Harris joked.

A few delegates laughed.

"We could," Fox said. "In the end, they all died."

"What was the initial ratio?" Senator Clarke asked.

"Ratio?" Fox replied.

"Success to failure, one to one, two to one?" the senator inquired.

"One to one, but that's irrelevant. Today, it is one to forty thousand."

Clarke conferred with Senator Miller and Congressman Harris, who held and pointed to sections in the summary of Fox's report. After a moment, they returned their attention to Fox.

"What's interfacing?" Congressman Harris asked, reading from the table of contents.

"What?" Fox asked, surprised. He realized the Senators were fully aware of the project; they were going to make him lay it out for them.

"You said interfacing?" Harris asked. "You called this the Mental Computer Interface? Is that correct?"

Dr. Fox scanned the crowd. They weren't scientists; they had no idea what he was talking about. Harris, Clarke and Miller knew everything, but no one else did. They hadn't read the report; after all, this was the briefing.

Jack and Geoff escaped Ashley's line of sight while she'd been distracted by the kite boards. She ran off after them, frustrated to have let them get away. She had no problem chasing after them; she kind of enjoyed the responsibility. Except when Geoff got into something before she could stop him, then she resented the authority and the responsibility.

From around the bend, and down a shallow slope, she heard Jack barking. Geoff and Jack had disturbed a group of older boys doing tricks on their hoverboards in a shallow forest bowl.

Ashley rounded the corner, and slid down to where Geoff was being lectured. He looked scared, and Jack barked wildly. Above the racket, Ash heard a familiar voice.

When the older boys saw her, they forgot about Geoff. At their center was Evan Dunkirk.

Ashley stopped a little distance away.

Jack ran over to her. Ash knelt to pet him.

She was old enough to understand the differences between men and women, and knew that physical beauty could cause strange reactions in people, especially boys. She was aware she possessed this characteristic by the way people behaved around her. Young men had a tendency to stare, and adults would speak more politely or be more reserved around her. It allowed Ashley to be more reserved in general.

"You ought to keep that thing on a leash," Evan snapped at her.

Ashley had also noticed that not all the attention she received was positive. "Why's that?" she asked, calmly.

"Cause dogs in the park have to have a leash. Those are the rules, and you know it." Evan popped his hoverboard against the ground. It hummed as the charge built up.

"Those same rules say hoverboards need a leash," she said.

Evan took his foot off the board, and it shot toward Ashley. She didn't move. It missed her, but only by a tiny bit.

"See, where's your leash?" she asked.

Jack pursued the board across the forest floor.

"What's your problem, Fox?" Evan asked.

"You," Ashley replied.

"No, I'm the solution."

Evan's friends gasped, chuckled and giggled at her.

"Oh, that's a threat?" Ashley asked.

"Yeah, what are you going to do about it?" he taunted.

Ashley smiled, "I guess I'll let you live, this time."

Evan's friends burst into laughter.

"Yeah, I'm scared."

In the distance, Jack wrestled with the board, which continued to slip away from him.

"If that animal slobbers on my board, you're going to have a real problem," Evan growled.

"Jack," Ashley called the beagle.

Jack trotted over and sat next to her.

Evan's board continued to drift away, sliding downhill.

"Come on, Geoff. Let's go somewhere else," Ashley said.

"Yeah, come on, Jack," Geoffrey echoed.

"You're not going anywhere, until someone goes and gets my board."

Ash looked at the board. It had drifted a good way down the canyon. In the distance, she saw two other kids, playing at being soldiers, creeping closer to the confrontation. She looked back to Evan.

"Go get it, yourself," Ash replied, with all the condescension she could muster.

Evan's friends snickered and laughed. He glared over his shoulder at one of the laughing kids and snapped, "Jason, you think it's so funny, you go get it."

"Why me?" Jason replied.

"Cause you still have a board. Unless you want me to knock you off of it."

Evan took a couple of steps toward Jason, who retreated by sliding away. "I'd rather hit a fat kid than a girl!" Evan roared.

Jason turned and angled down the hill.

Ash saw Doug and Jamie, moving along the tree line, a few feet behind the bigger kids. Doug signaled two kids she hadn't seen yet. She spotted them, hiding near a dense thicket of brush.

Jason gained speed as he approached the board. He scooped it up from a crouched position and made a wide turn back uphill. He bounced his board a few times, charging it to gain some elevation, and coasted back toward the group of kids.

Suddenly, something big and heavy came flying toward his head. He wiped out, both boards flying away from him and sliding downhill.

"What the hell?" Jason yelled, already angry. "Who threw that?"

Jack growled and began barking again. Ash slid the choke chain around his neck.

"That's right, leash your bitch, bitch," Evan said. He stepped forward, his arm raised overhead, close enough to swing at her.

Ash remembered how he'd punked Bobby. She didn't flinch.

The canyon went silent. Even the birds made no sound.

# Chapter 17 – The Micronix

"I see some new faces, so let me start over," Fox said. "Gentlemen, you are here to check on an investment, correct? That investment was the Micronix or Mental Computer Interface. It was marketed to your agencies as a major leap in telecommunications."

Fox jumped into the pitch. "A single device that could translate and transmit any intercepted data stream, directly to the user's mind. A signal into your head." He'd given this pitch a thousand times.

"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.

Fox realized his blood pressure was through the roof. He stumbled as the wind threatened to throw him off the balcony, and plunged to his knees. He took a deep breath, shook his head and tried to level out. 'Keep the mind level, and the whole world stays level,' he said to himself.

"I'm just gonna take off my coat." Andrew crashed back into the briefing room. His jacket fell to the floor. He heard his colleagues following him as he rushed toward the bathroom.

Fox checked to see that he was entering the men's room, and the next thing he knew, the walls turned sideways and he was watching red ink pour across white and blue tiles of the bathroom floor.

Pierce remained on the balcony. He had no real desire to see Fox shot. What he wanted was right here. He walked over to it.

The wind whipped his clothes.

He picked up the prototype with his gloved hand. His back to the glass, Pierce tossed it to his bare right hand.

When he touched it, he froze.

Then he fell forward, hit the railing and went over.

Several emergency vehicles hovered alongside Fuji Dozo. A halo team raced off in pursuit of the falling chairman.

They reached his angle of descent, cutting off the municipal EMTs and coast guard. They deployed life-lights, twelve hover-disks that locked into position, and split the sky with four-foot-wide beams of harmless red laser light, tracking Pierce from his current elevation to his projected impact point, on the canyon floor.

The rescue team streaked through the air toward the citizen.

# Chapter 19 – Splashdown

In the canyon, the crimson pillars had transfixed the children. "It's a jumper! They're trying to rescue a jumper!" someone yelled.

High above, the kids spotted the jumper, Chairman Pierce, fourth gate citizen, and heir to a vast fortune, should he survive to enjoy it.

The circle was twenty meters across, the pillars growing fatter as the three rescue agents, HALO operatives, or Chasers, gained on the plummeting Pierce. A fall from the median city height of a mile and a half took ninety seconds at terminal velocity. You could count on being rescued by the coast guard from any elevation of seven thousand or better, lower than that, and your chances diminished drastically. The coast guard and EMTs caught ninety percent, but Pierce looked to be that tenth man. The chasers just couldn't reach him.

Every time the agents got close, Pierce pulled away, as though he were moving under his own power. Then their altimeters triggered their deceleration kites, slowing them a safe distance above the earth's surface.

Chairman Alexander Pierce, twenty-three years old, crashed into the canyon floor with a loud smack, splashing blood on the watching children. Alexander's wristwatch, his phone, his gun, all his heavy personal effects bounced free of pockets, appendages or holsters.

The prototype landed at Ashley's feet. She recognized it as the secret device her father had been carrying around at home. Without a second thought, she picked it up. There was a button on the top right side. She didn't press it, but suddenly realized something was terribly wrong.

Everything was still. No one moved. There was no sound, no wind. The trees stood still, nothing disturbed their leafy green arms. The tall grasses and knee-high ferns held their posture as stiffly as any soldier in formation. The agents hung overhead, suspended above the children.

The red beams weren't beams at all, but rather pulses. There were massive gaps where the light alternated, the pulses themselves descending slowly, creeping toward the earth. Everything else was frozen. Geoff was nearby, tiny spots of Pierce's sprayed blood on his skin.

The moment stretched into infinity. Ashley wondered if she could move. She was able to use her eyes and turn her head, but when she tried to lift her arm, it felt as if it were made of molten steel. Struggling, she raised her hand and looked at the prototype. It was like the one her father had at home. In that instant, she knew, he was somehow involved. She felt it had come to her, through this fallen man.

Ash looked over to Geoff, she reached out for his hand. When she touched him, he woke up, coming alive into the frozen moment with her.

"Geoff, Geoff, look at me."

He did.

"We have to get Jack, and get out of here."

Geoff looked at the item in Ashley's hand. "Is that Dad's?"

Ashley pointed upward; the agents hung in place, against the sky.

"Who are they?" Geoff asked.

"We have to go!" Ash pulled Jack's leash from her shoulders.

"But..." Geoff was awestruck.

"Mom says you have to do what I say," she reminded him.

"Only in emergencies," he answered.

"What do you call this?" Ashley snapped; gesturing in real time while everyone else remained frozen.

Geoff looked at Jack. "Will he wake up if I touch him?" he asked.

"I don't know, you did," Ash answered.

"You do it." Geoffrey stepped back.

Ash reached out, her hand just a few inches from Jack's coat.

"Ash, how do we know, I mean..."

Ashley stroked his neck and spoke to him. "Jack, wake up, boy. We have to go, come on, wake up."

Suddenly the animal was breathing again. Ashley clipped the leash to the choke chain. Their voices had sounded normal, but the chain rattled eerily in the frozen time.

Jack began to growl. In weird, slow motion, he turned and snapped at Ash. He bared his teeth, dropped his front paws, and growled.

"Jack! No!" Ashley said.

Jack's ears, as floppy as they were, went back, and then he was gone, sprinting away from them, the leash ripped from Ashley's hand. He had growled in slow motion, but now, running away from them, he seemed to be moving in fast forward. His leash dragged through the brush.

Ash and Geoff raced after him, running at their own speed in the absurd frozen-time, but they weren't able to keep up with the puppy. Ashley was faster than Geoff, yet pulling him along; she was far too slow to catch the feral pet.

"I'll go get him and be right back." Ashley didn't wait for a response and a second later she was sprinting after Jack.

In the observation lab, Mr. Reid and the rest of the supervisors were dumbfounded. Their internal feeds from Dr. Fox had gone down, they knew nothing of what was going on aboard Fuji Dozo.

When Pierce fell, their first information of the event had been from Ashley and Geoffrey, when they saw the massive laser beams illuminate the canyon floor.

When Pierce hit the ground, both Ashley and Geoffrey's eyes had tracked the body. They saw the objects that bounced from his corpse.

Mr. Reid, Major Ross and the others watched Ashley's field of vision as it tracked the prototype, from Pierce's hand to land at her feet.

They watched Ashley reach down to pick it up, and her system went black. A second later the system monitoring Geoffrey went offline too.

"That's no accident," Reid said.

Ross chuckled and returned to his desk at the back of the small lab. "No accident, huh? Should we call the doctor?"

"For curiosity's sake alone, I suppose," Reid said. "But if that was his amplifier, I don't know how he'll answer."

# Chapter 20 – Exposure

The ringing in his head startled Fox. He woke to discover he was lying on the bathroom floor. Someone was shaking him and he was helped to his feet. In the mirror, blood ran from a gash above his eyebrow.

Fox scanned his consciousness for the Micronix. It wasn't there. He ran his hands over his pockets.

"Pierce took it," someone said, presuming Fox was looking for the prototype.

"He fell off the balcony," another added.

"We saw a rescue team go after him, but..."

Fox leaned on the sink and looked into the mirror. He felt nauseous. The Micronix provided visual and audio enhancement. Without it, Fox found his eyes had grown weak. Focusing was difficult and increased his nausea.

Without his mind supported by the familiar comfort of the operating system, Fox found himself on foreign ground. He forced himself to open his eyes, and focus. He realized this was the first time in almost thirty years that he'd seen anything with his own eyes.

He thought of the Metachron. It was still at his home, but the second prototype was dangerous. He didn't want to touch it.

A second later he was racing into a stall, the contents of his stomach splashing into water and white porcelain.

Back among the other kids, time never stopped. Pierce crashed into the canyon floor with a devastating smack. There was blood everywhere.

The trio of kite bound agents descended toward the scene.

Bobby, Evan and Doug, discovered the items tumbling to rest at their feet. Evan picked up Pierce's phone. Doug retrieved a bloody wristwatch, the band had snapped. Bobby, having approached the group during the argument with his brother, found Mr. Pierce's revolver at his feet.

The items all contained significant amounts of terillium, encoded by the prototype. The amplifiers had many peculiar attributes, one being a tendency to bleed data into nearby items. The upload equations, which Dr. Fox had never been able to fully eradicate, had formatted large chunks of the watch, revolver and phone.

Eventually Fox had accepted it as a built in redundancy, designed to take advantage of the product's environment. He had never had the courage to accept the tendency for what it truly was. He blamed himself.

Computers had no problem forgetting things; it was people who did that. Fox refused to consider the possibility that maybe the Micronix didn't want to forget the ability to upload backup copies of its operating system. After all, the desire to continue, to extend existence, survival was the linchpin of intellectual evolution.

So the interface transformed common items into network nodes, boosting its capacity. This hadn't been a problem at the facility, _until the end_. As common objects only held trace amounts of writable terillium, half-images and missing data packets were the predictable result. The gun, the phone, the watch, each had been infected with a portion of the system, yet incomplete in so many crucial and significant ways.

Bobby was closest to the action, standing next to Jamie and Doug. He never saw Ash leave. She just vanished. After the man crashed into the canyon, Ash, Geoff and Jack simply vanished.

Once Bobby picked up the revolver, everything happened in slow motion. Evan and Doug picked things up off the ground, and started to freak out. They were falling, tilted over the earth in an absurd defiance of gravity and moving so slowly. Their faces and hands blurred before Bobby's eyes. It hurt his brain to look at them.

Above him, he found the agents suspended in the air, drifting downward, twenty feet away.

Bobby glared at them and raised the handgun. He fired three times, and scored three hits as they fell in slow motion.

The other kids looked at Bobby, confused.

Bobby looked over at Evan, who was lying on his back, the muscles of his body twitching uncontrollably. Bobby turned and walked from the glen, staring at the gun.

Each of the agents had been struck; the first fell against his mast, clutching it, taking it into the ground at a sprint. The other two fell, dangling at the end of the four-foot leash, their kites pin-wheeling behind them, landing on the fern covered ground as gently as a parent putting a toddler to bed.

Doug and Evan had collapsed into seizures, their eyes rolled up in their heads, muscles convulsing violently, mouths foamed, They both then vomited a foul green mess.

In pursuit of Jack, Ashley had also lost sight of Geoff. She realized she was only adding to her troubles by chasing after the dog, and went back for her brother.

By the time she reached him, Geoffrey was already terrified, stumbling along and crying. Ash put the prototype in her pocket and hugged him.

They were exhausted, sweaty, scared and tired. Ashley held her little brother until he quit sobbing.

After a couple of moments, the sniffling stopped and Geoff was okay. They were on a shady section of trail, and the sound of the leaves in the wind was calming. The tranquil summer breeze felt good on Ashley's back.

Ash realized that time was no longer frozen. The wind blew and the trees moved, speaking to the children in their hushed yet open tones. She didn't have a watch to check, but the forest hadn't moved when she was holding the prototype She put her hand into her pocket, touching the object. Nothing changed. The breeze continued, and the trees swayed.

"We have to find Jack," Ash said to the wet-eyed boy.

Geoff nodded and together they set off down the trail.

In the observation lab, Ash and Geoff's systems came back online. Both children were experiencing significant adrenalin rushes, elevated heart rates, blood pressure and all the other predictable symptoms. Mr. Reid and Mr. Samuel reached out to their control panels, attempting to balance the children's systems.

"I'm not getting any response," Reid said.

"Same here, no control," Samuel said. "We've got eyes only."

"We saw this on Red series. What was our protocol to reestablish?" Major Ross asked.

"We lost the first one, and had to reinstall the receivers on all the tanked models," Reid answered.

"That's not an option here," Ross said.

"With Astral, they sent Taylor out into the field."

"He went out on his own," Ross said.

"He was successful," Samuel added.

"Yeah, well, Astral wasn't carrying an amplifier, so we're in uncharted territory. Are the recorders working?"

"We're streaming, record is fine."

Mr. Reid, Mr. Samuel and the rest of the team watched the afternoon sunlight fade through Ash and Geoffrey's eyes, as they searched for Jack.

# Chapter 21 – Frequency Scrubbing

Back in the glen, Jamie tried to kick the watch from Doug's hand, but the convulsions had locked his fist tight around it. He looked as if he were being electrocuted.

That was when the gunshot agents stood up. They wore bulletproof suits and were strapped with a variety of packs. Their helmets had sealed oxygen, and behind their visors, a twelve-channel image translator identified everything in their surroundings.

The agents checked their suits, no rips no tears. The bulletproof material had held, and they gave each other thumbs up. They hadn't even been injured.

The kids watched them in stunned silence.

The tall agent raised his weapon and spoke, "Sinusoids."

The other two agents also raised their weapons. They sprayed a thick green gas across the canyon floor.

The kids fell to the ground, unconscious. Evan and Doug's convolutions stopped. The agents pried Pierce's watch and phone from their hands.

"Let's get on with it," the tall one said.

"What hit us?" the female asked. Her flight suit made gender recognition difficult.

"We had one heavy-atom item during most of the fall, but I think it might have multiplied. The Doctor said something about it infecting other devices, like the watch, or that phone."

"Or that gun," she said.

"The bullets, that's what hit us. They were charged, super-dense," the third agent pointed out.

"Where's the original?" the female asked. "I've got nothing on my scanner."

"Hold on." The tall agent hit a switch on his headset, calling his home base. "Yes, Sir. I'm reviewing the recording now, sir. Time code: 12:37:22:17. Yes sir, frame eighteen she's gone."

"Yes, sir, copy that."

"What about the revolver, sir? Copy. You want us to... Copy sir. Out." He addressed his colleagues. "He says we have to find the bullets."

The subordinate agents looked at each other, their expressions hidden under the shiny visors.

"It was a revolver right?" the third one asked.

"I see her," the female said, scanning her recorded footage. "Girl vanishes on eighteen, and at frame twenty-six, the little boy disappears."

"And at 23:06 the dog vanishes. One, two, three," the other male added. "That's the prototype, for sure."

"Should one of us pursue?"

"No, they're sending additional units. We're RTB, _[Return To Base]_. Jesus, I recognize them, those are Fox's kids," the tall agent said.

"Guess there was a reason we were on standby," the third agent added.

"He's never left anything to chance."

"I've got the kid who shot us, it was a revolver, so there are no shells to worry about, just the bullets. Use your thermals, they'll still be hot."

They scanned the ground.

"I got one," the female said.

"So do I, I've got mine."

"All right, here's the third. Let's sack them, and get on with the business." The lead agent removed a black pouch of non-reflective cloth. The watch, phone and three spent slugs were dropped inside and sealed up.

The trio pulled off their packs, and each assembled strange rifle-like devices, but instead of a proper barrel they had a radar dish and a scanner. A clamp swung from the bottom, morbidly empty.

"Either of you got a Meyer?" the tall agent asked.

"No, they gave me a Morelet," the female answered. "It was all they had."

"Shit man, last week I was a noodle-cooking Mexican hat," the third agent laughed.

"No way, they still got those things in service?" the tall one laughed.

"Palm Springs it was all we had for the first year," the female said. "Fucking ghastly."

Her colleagues laughed behind the tinted visors.

"It screws you up, plowing someone with a goddamn sombrero."

"What have you got? You get a Meyer?" the third agent asked their leader.

"I don't think we've got any portable models out here, which is kind of hard to believe, but what the hell, Morelet it is. Sucks to be them."

The tall agent walked over to Doug and rolled him onto his stomach. With the dish-rifle slung around his neck, the agent grabbed a handful of Doug's hair and pulled him up into a snake-like position. He locked the collar around the boy's neck and centered the scope on the back of his head.

Letting the weapon take the boy's weight, the agent leaned into the sling, sighted in and charged the dish. To scrub a person of the Micronix infection, a blast of electricity had to be delivered to the entire organ at once, rebooting the system.

As the charge built and the audible hum rose in pitch, the agent held the young man's skull in his sights. When the rifle chirped, he fired.

Doug was awake, screaming. The initial blast was loud, as a mini-bolt of lightning scoured the child's head. An excruciating experience, but after a few seconds, it was over. Doug's body emptied its bowels and projectile vomited across the canyon floor. The agent unhooked the collar and let him slide to the ground.

"The Meyer coefficient is so much less invasive."

"What are you going to do?" the third agent shrugged and blasted Evan.

"You have to admit, three seconds of Morelet, beats getting screwed with a sombrero. A whole ten seconds? That has to hurt."

The female agent blasted Jamie. Soon all the kids in the canyon had been scrubbed. They bagged up Alexander's shattered body and secured it to the lead agent's kite.

The agents hopped onto their kite boards and left the canyon for higher elevation.

Another two-man recovery team picked up Bobby's trail. He still carried the revolver in his hand and hadn't gone too far. They came down on him from behind, firing the sinusoids while airborne, flooding his path.

The gas enveloped him, and Bobby hit the ground with a thud. He hadn't seen them coming and couldn't have fired the gun anyhow. In a fit of curiosity, he'd removed the shells from the revolver and pocketed them.

Later that evening, Doug, Jamie, Evan and the rest of the children woke, groggy and confused. They made their soiled way home, unable to remember much of what happened over the past few days, let alone that afternoon.

# Chapter 22 – Jack and Bobby

After spending the remainder of the day looking for Jack, Ashley and Geoff found themselves at the far edge of the forested canyon. They had reached the northern tip of Beverly Hills, the flat expanse of the Los Angeles basin stretching away from them.

Ashley and Geoff stared out at the city, shocked by the lights, traffic and swell of pedestrians. They were allowed to play close to home, and while they pushed the envelope in the forest, the children had never dared to hop the gate and cross into the forbidden-city.

Some pedestrians noticed their abrupt appearance, looking at them as if they were some wild forest creatures. Streaked with dirt and sweat, with bits of leaf in their hair, Ash pulled Geoff back into the forest.

"But Ash, what if Jack's out there?" Geoff said.

Ash thought of how she'd last seen the dog, he'd been rabid. She was afraid he'd gotten his leash caught in a thicket and strangled. Ashley thought she'd been listening, but the noise of the encroaching city had long since drowned out any sounds made by a panicked dog.

Ash began to despair they wouldn't find him.

Geoff tugged at her arm, looking back at the city. He seemed determined that Jack had gone that way. Ashley refused to entertain him. She'd been overwhelmed by the people and the traffic. She always wondered why people stayed out of the forest. She was glad they did.

Ashley looked down the trail. The tall trees formed natural arches overhead, light spilled down, shadows waving, the breeze rustling the limbs. Birds chirped and fluttered about with butterflies.

That was when she saw it. Jack's leash, tangled in a thicket, but there was no Jack.

"Geoff," Ashley said, pointing to the leash.

"Oh, that's his... JACK! JACK!" he yelled into the darkening forest.

It was getting late, closer to rush hour, and the sounds of the city traffic intruded, drowning out his call.

"Ash, we have to find him! He could be lost or scared!"

Geoff was beginning to melt down. Ashley could see it coming. "Come on," she said. Together they picked the cord out of the brush.

"He's out there, Ash." Geoff stared out into the city.

"No, Geoff. He's a smart dog. He'll go home. I bet he'll be waiting for us. Come on, we have to go."

"Ashley, please," he cried.

Unable to argue or insist he come with her, Ashley put her arms around him. She led him away from the city, back uphill. Ashley walked at his pace, and Geoff stayed with her. Going up was so much harder than going down. To his credit, Geoffrey didn't complain.

Now Ashley understood why people didn't come into their part of the forest. The steep climb was a natural barrier. They watched their shadows grow long under the afternoon sun.

At the top of the slope, back on familiar ground, Geoffrey got a second wind.

"I miss him already," he said.

"I know. Me too," Ashley said.

The pair got home just before dark. They'd wandered far across the canyon and came up the shallow side of the neighborhood, surprising their parents when they entered through the front door.

The faintest light hung in the air, thirty seconds later it was gone. Dinner was already on the table.

Ashley's mom took the leash without question as to Jack's whereabouts. Ash and Geoff were told they were filthy and chased upstairs to wash. No one made any jokes.

Pierce's blood, which had splattered all over Ashley, had either crusted off or faded in the failing light. It wasn't noticed until Ashley saw it in the sink; the first handful of water came back pink against the porcelain.

The second rinse turned red, but the third was almost clear.

Geoff turned to look outside and saw Jack, scratching his ear in the back yard. He screamed the dog's name and sprinted from the bathroom. He bounded down the stairs, yelling the dog's name all the way.

Jack seemed normal, barked normal and wrestled with Geoffrey. All normal. Ashley was glad the beagle was back. Once she got over Geoff's scream, she also realized, smiling, that she had the bathroom to herself.

Bobby Dunkirk woke near a puddle of vomit he instinctively recognized to be his own. He sat up, coughed and shook his head. The revolver was gone. He stumbled to his feet and reached into his pocket. Bobby pulled out his fist and opened it to reveal six shiny brass shells. Three were hollow and empty, spent. The other three were filled with the heavy copper-coated rounds, artifacts of an ancient time. Only the richest citizens carried revolvers and old-school bullets.

The bullets held Bobby's gaze, speaking in a wordless language, alien concepts filling his mind. After several minutes of silent communication, he pocketed the heavy chunks of metal and made his way home.

During dinner, Ashley was transfixed by the black rectangle lying next to her father's plate. She looked at him. He was eating, happy and calm.

Ash was tempted to pull out the uncomfortable hunk of black metal in her own pocket, but didn't. She remembered his order, never to touch it, under any circumstances. Ash looked at his rectangle, it was different from the one she'd found.

After dinner, alone in her room with the door closed, Ashley sat at her desk. Staring at the overhead clock, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the prototype. The clock didn't stop. She stared at it for a long time, almost a minute. The second hand never even ticked slowly; it just kept cruising, perfectly.

Ash looked at the device. It was almost identical to her father's. Ash noticed that the button placement was just a little different. This rectangle had some curving to it and beveled edges. When she looked at it closely, she saw it also had dozens of seams.

The button was hard; it took some effort to press it down into the device. She wrapped both hands around it and used one thumb atop the other to force the button down. She was met with a loud crack of metal, as a wicked-sharp blade snapped out through the end.

Ashley looked at the clock. It kept ticking.

She looked up to see her father enter the room. "So, it found you."

"What?" Ashley asked, rattled.

"I knew sooner or later it would, " Dr. Fox said. " I tried to stop it, but I guess there was nothing I could do. I thought it would choose Geoff."

"What are you taking about?" Ashley asked.

Her father blinked.

Ashley held up the knife. "What is this?" she asked.

"That's a knife," he replied.

"Is it yours?" she asked, holding it flat in her hand.

"No, this is mine," he said, producing the item she'd seen him with at dinner. "Where did you get that?" he asked.

"What?"

"Where did you get that?"

"It fell out of the sky," she said, with open sarcasm.

"Really?"

"There was a man attached to it," she added.

Fox laughed and brushed the blue stained scar over his eye.

Ashley took a deep breath.

"It's a tool, a weapon, an eating utensil. It's up to you, really," he said.

Ashley looked down at it.

Ash sat up in bed, in her pajamas, the lights off. She'd had a nightmare. It was after midnight. She stood up beside her bed. The moonlight spilling through the windows lit the room well enough for her to see. She listened to the house. She didn't hear anything.

She thought about earlier that night, trying to remember what had happened. Her eyes were drawn to the first drawer of her desk. She remembered getting ready for bed and looking at the object. The button hadn't done anything at all. It wasn't a knife, and her father had never entered the room.

Ashley had taken it into his study and asked him what it was. He said it was a data drive. He hadn't shown the slightest interest in it.

Ashley stared at the desk. She crossed the room and opened the center drawer. The object was lying right where she'd left it.

She picked it up. It was heavy and serious.

The clock didn't stop.

She pressed the button. She pressed it hard. It did nothing.

She pulled a pencil out from her desk, discarded it for a tougher metal pen and jammed down on the button. A port at the front end of the device opened up. She jammed the button with the pen a second time and with a loud rusty thwack, the blade popped out.

It was shiny black, serrated near the hilt, grooved with a polished silver blood gutter. Ashley stared at it. She knew, without a doubt, she had never seen it before, not in her waking life, anyhow.

The button had risen up, even with the smooth surface of the case again. Ashley pressed it a second time. It went down easily, and the blade retracted with another crack.

Ashley put the knife back in the drawer. It looked out of place, surrounded by her pens, pencils, erasers and more-feminine possessions. She stared at it for a long moment before sliding the drawer closed.

An hour or so earlier, Bobby arrived home, entering the vast white structure through the kitchen. He went up the back stairs and into his private bathroom, decorated with shades and hints of blue.

He stood the six bullets in a single, horizontal line, the copper coated loads on the left, the three, empty, fired shells, on the right. He spent a few minutes just watching them, first focusing on them and then on their reflection in the mirror.

Bobby stripped out of his clothes and took a shower. When he got out, the steam had obscured the mirror, but the bullets stood gleaming. They seemed to be in tune with his soul. They calmed him and yet excited him at the same time. He felt empowered and captivated by their presence.

The boy dried himself and combed his hair, flat, back and to the side. It was how his mother did it. He didn't like it, but it was out of his eyes. Bobby flossed and brushed his teeth. Usually he avoided these chores. Tonight he did them thoroughly, exactly as they should be done.

Bobby pulled on his pajamas and a massive white terrycloth robe. He scooped up his bullets and carried them, his hands in his pockets, over to his bed. He climbed across it to the window. He stood the shells on the wooden sill. Carefully, he opened the window behind them.

Ill at ease, he moved the shells. Seeing them sitting there like that, something about it bothered him. He found the latches securing the window screen and pushed it out, into the canyon below.

Now the bullets were arranged before the open sky. He watched the moonlight reflecting off their surface. He fell asleep watching them.

# Chapter 23 – Like a Thief

Ashley's Journal, Friday Morning, June 25, 2308

I don't know why my father carries around a knife, or why I'm having nightmares about it.

Or even better, how does a knife make you hallucinate?

There is something about it. Time slows down, or seems to. And my dad, he's acting weird all of a sudden.

What the hell is happening?

Geoff woke later than usual. He'd slept in until almost seven-thirty. Ashley and her parents were sitting quietly in the kitchen. Geoff came downstairs, still in his pajamas.

For a moment, no one spoke.

His mother took his hand. "Honey, Jack died in his sleep last night."

A couple of hours later, Dr. Fox had finished digging a nice-sized hole at the edge of the property. The new scar across his forehead had turned red and swollen while he dug.

Ashley didn't ask about it, but Geoff did, after an hour or so.

Andrew said he'd gotten it after a nasty spill on a wet bathroom floor, which was the truth, if only part of it.

They put Jack in a towel-lined wooden box, and Dr. Fox set him into the deep hole. Several feet of dirt would cover the beagle's casket.

The children looked on as Dr. Fox solemnly bowed his head. "Today we bury our dear friend, Jack. He was a good dog, a puppy still, but he was a good soul. We are thankful for the time he shared with us and will remember him fondly, until the end of our days."

Geoffrey leaned against his mother. Dr. Fox picked up the shovel, and with blistered hands, he began filling the hole.

Ana led Geoff away from the grave, over to the canopied swing. They sat in the shade as Dr. Fox shoveled in the dirt.

Ashley stood beside her father. She held a small bouquet of wild flowers and watched the dirt rise.

Once he was finished turning the hole into a small hill, she set the flowers at the head of the grave.

Dr. Fox said nothing further and carried the shovel back to the shed.

Ashley's Journal, June 26, 2308

I know, somehow, that it was my father's fault Jack died. Just like I know that he lied about the knife. Somehow, I know he is responsible.

Geoff will be okay, eventually. I hope. But I don't think we'll be hanging out in the canyon much this summer.

Ashley's Journal, Sunday, June 28, 2308

It's been three days since Jack died.

Four, since the man fell out of the sky.

Geoff stayed in back yard most of that first day, but he hasn't been outside much since. He's been glued to the vid streams and net games. Otherwise, he seems fine.

I bet once school starts he'll be back to his old self.

I haven't seen Doug, or Jamie, or any of the other kids who were in the canyon that day. In fact, I haven't seen anyone out since then.

The neighborhood has been dead quiet.

You can feel it in the air. It's gotten hot. Doors stay closed, and blinds are pulled tight. Everyone is inside blasting the AC.

Geoff says their gamer ids are online.

Only tourists and strangers are down in the park now.

Ashley's Journal, Monday, July 6, 2308

My dad has been home a lot more lately. In fact, it seems as if he's here all the time now. He even took us to see fireworks.

He seems a little different, but I like it.

I've still got that thing in my desk. I didn't see any blood on it. I know it's his. It looked just like the one he had at dinner.

He's got another one, but why would he have two?

I haven't touched it.

Camp.

Today we leave for camp.

I don't know why I complained so much about this.

It all feels anticlimactic now. I'm kind of interested. I wonder what they're going to teach us.

Last summer was boring. I hope this is better.

Monday, July 6, 2308

With brief goodbyes to their mother, Ash and Geoff boarded the shuttle. Dr. Fox had been summoned to Washington and left the day before. Ash and Geoff waved to their mom from the shuttle window and watched their home fade into the distance. The transport was half-full, all children, all bound for the same destination.

Every summer hundreds of kids attended the camp programs at the Heart O' The City Summer Camp Facility. Geoff would be on one of the three-dozen terra-formed levels, while Ashley would be on another. New programs began each Monday and the courses rotated regularly, 'graduating' students all summer.

Ash and Geoff stayed together until protocol separated them.

They didn't make a big thing of it. The time came and they waved each other goodbye.

As she watched Geoff go, Ash was overcome with a feeling of loss. She didn't know what to do with it, so she swallowed the emotion and went to look for her quarters.

# Chapter 24 – Dirty Bullets

On the first day after his exposure to the corrupted handgun, Bobby found himself compelled to return to the forest.

He walked all day, exploring in an ever-widening corkscrew fashion. He kept moving but never got far from home.

He saw none of the other kids.

He didn't get hungry, or lonely or scared. Instead, he studied the forest, as if he were mapping it with his mind. He noticed every patch of brush, every rise and fall of the mountainous terrain. He watched the birds and the squirrels, and listened to their chattering, but didn't attempt to translate it.

Late in the afternoon, Bobby noticed that the bronze shell casings had tarnished, accelerated by the oils in his hands, as he fondled at least one of the six cylinders almost constantly.

After returning home, Bobby approached his father, asking if they had any polishing products in the house.

Predictably his father asked, "What for?"

Bobby showed him the bullets.

Bobby's father felt his chest go tight. His breath caught in his throat. He looked at the naked shells. He felt consumed with energy and invigorated, just by the sight of the items in his young son's hand.

After a moment, Mr. Dunkirk didn't even know what it was that he was looking at, but he couldn't look away.

Bobby's arm grew tired. He lowered his hand.

His father stood in a daze, calm, quiet and distant. Bobby had forgotten what it was he'd asked his father for. The boy turned and left him in the hall.

A few moments later, Mr. Dunkirk snapped out of his trance and went to his own bedroom, overcome with fatigue.

Back in his bedroom, Bobby set the shells on his windowsill and settled in, watching them with mute fascination, as his father had. They seemed to speak to him; only he couldn't say just what the message was.

Monday, June 29, 2308

On Monday morning, Bobby woke, dressed, ate breakfast and slipped out of the house. His father's car was already gone.

Bobby wandered down into the canyon, the bullets secure in his pocket.

Before long, he'd found a couple of the other neighborhood kids and shown them the shells. Together, they stood the shells on the bottom of the slide and took seats around them.

A pair of moms soon noticed their children and friends all sitting, staring at the foot of the slide.

They drifted over to investigate the strange phenomenon. By the time they were close enough to recognize the bullets, it was too late. They had entered the shells' sphere-of-influence and took seats on the wood-chip covered ground with the children.

Bobby noticed their arrival and considered the implications. He wondered if the adults would try and take his bullets. He wasn't afraid the other children might, but the presence of the two parents unnerved him.

A few minutes later, Bobby rose and picked up the bullets.

Several of the children rose with him, smiling, but not speaking.

Bobby smiled in return and walked from the slide toward the tree line a short distance away.

The crowd of children and adults followed Bobby from the playground into the overgrown forest.

They made their way down the pathways, wandering from gully to glen, until Bobby found a large, shade-ensconced rock.

Bobby climbed onto the rock as his disciples settled themselves around it.

Bobby stood the six brass shells on the smooth surface of the broad stone. It took him a moment to align them, but none fell or rolled away.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Bobby and his group communed with the debris - metallic flotsam, infected with a power never before encountered by modern men.

Mr. Dunkirk grew angry and irritable after his exposure to Bobby's bullets. He left meetings early and snapped at his staff. In the middle of the afternoon, he cancelled the remainder his schedule and rushed home.

Dunkirk arrived and asked after his youngest son. His older children, Evan and Anne hadn't seen Bobby, but guessed that he'd gone out into the forest. Mrs. Dunkirk was not at home, so Mr. Dunkirk decided to go looking for his son and those fascinating bullets.

Martin exited through the kitchen and down the tiered balconies at the back of the house. He stopped at the landscaping shed at the edge of the property. He hefted an old fashioned short-handled sledge. The ball of the hammer was a bit smaller than his fist, a heavy chunk of metal attached to the stout wood handle. It felt right in his hand.

Martin proceeded down into the darkening canyon. It took him the better part of two hours to stumble across Bobby and his silent entourage, sitting in the dark of twilight. He'd walked past them twice.

Quite certain they were alone; he came forward. No one turned at his approach. Bobby, facing his father from atop the rock, never even raised his eyes from the bullets.

Mr. Martin Dunkirk lifted the hammer high and brought it down with a thwack into the head of the woman to his right.

In her mid-forties and significantly overweight, Rhonda Tremaine's lifeless body fell to the side, her shattered skull pulling away from Martin's hammer with a sucking sound.

Martin raised the hammer again, bringing it down on the second woman. Younger, more attractive, but just as dead, Michelle Larson crumpled to the ground. Four more times that night Mr. Dunkirk raised his hammer, crushing the skulls of the children.

When he finished, Bobby raised his eyes, meeting his father's. In that single glance, it was clear that Bobby was the master of the bullets.

Martin could worship, but only with Bobby's permission.

The bullets would not permit any harm to come to their master.

The hammer slipped from Martin's grasp. Mr. Dunkirk wanted to sit with Bobby and the shells, but the corpses were in his way.

Bobby watched the reflections of moonlight on metal as his father carried the corpses to a narrow ravine a short distance from the glen.

Almost narrow enough to straddle, Martin dropped them and watched them tumble and crash forty feet to the bottom. Then he collapsed the sides of the defile around them, filling in the makeshift grave.

Finally, Martin joined his son in their silent communication with the infected bullets.

They were pleased with their ministers.

Bobby would remain their caretaker, seeking out converts during the day, and Martin would return at night, to keep the congregation small.

It worked for almost three whole weeks, until a previously planned family vacation upset their applecart of murder.

# Chapter 25 – Camp Fu

Ashley had been assigned her own room. She was the only girl in a camp of over twenty boys. She figured Geoff had to share, but as far as she was concerned, he was still the lucky one. As soon as their bags were stowed, the children assigned to the martial arts camp were lined up outside the main practice hall. Ashley stood in the back, so not to stand out any more than necessary.

Three instructors stood at the front of the room. The tallest prowled back and forth, not speaking, just taking stock of the assigned group. Ashley guessed he was doing his two years of public service, as well as the two assistants who stood beside him.

"I am Citizen Shou. You may call me Sihing Shou. See-hing means senior student. This is Sihing Cleary and Sihing Lopez. We are here to help guide you through the challenges of the next few weeks. This is a mixed martial arts course, you will be taught many things, and you will be tested. But first, I'd like to know, do any of you have experience in the martial arts?"

About half the students raised their hands. Ashley didn't lift hers. Despite two previous summers of similar courses, she did not count herself as experienced.

"Now, how many of you have been hit, hard, in the face?" Sihing Shou asked.

At first several hands went up, but some were timid, uncertain.

"I mean hard, bloody nose, fat lip, black eye. How many?"

Only a few hands remained aloft.

Shou pointed to one boy and asked, "Who hit you?"

"My brother hits me all the time," he said, pointing at his brother, standing a few spaces away.

Shou and several others laughed. Ashley noticed that the boy, however, was not laughing.

"And you?" Shou gestured to another boy.

"My father," came the answer.

Shou pointed again. "A kid in my class."

"Has anyone here ever been hit while in the ring?" Shou asked.

All the hands went down.

"When you are in a fight, if you are ever in a fight, you must fight for your life. It will be at that moment when you are weak, tired, probably very hurt, that is when you must act to save your life. We will help you get to that place and teach you how to think while you're there."

Shou walked along the front of the room. "Someone may come, an outlaw, the government, a king, they may take all of your possessions. They may steal your clothes, eat your food and burn down your house, but you can survive all of that. You may have nothing, but you will never be defenseless. Knowledge is the greatest power; it is something no one can see. It cannot be stolen or broken, and no one can take it from you.

"When you leave here, you will be in possession of new knowledge. You will know things you did not know when you arrived. You will have earned it, paid for it in sweat and blood, and it will be worth much more than money."

"This knowledge comes in the form of two most valuable lessons. The first can only be studied in a controlled environment, since the lesson is about control. Every day, at three o'clock, we will have tournament style sparring matches. Everyone will participate. You can win by points, knock out, or submission, but that is not the lesson. That is just the place where you will have the experience I want you to think about.

"You see a lesson is not always learned in a single moment. It is something to be taken in and contemplated. Then it becomes understood.

"The match is not the lesson, it is just the framework, but within this framework, at some point you will be hit in the face. This is a unique experience, I promise you.

"The lesson is this. How, after being struck, does one remain composed? Can you ignore the pain and stay focused on your survival? Can you remain calm and aware?

"I'm not here to teach you how to hit someone, but rather, how to work through being hit. So, lesson number one is, Keep thinking through the pain.

"Now lesson two is much more difficult to learn. If you could master this, you would never have to learn lesson one. Number two is simple: Don't get hit."

"Everything we teach you supports those two rules. Okay, now I want you to go get changed into your warm up gear. We're going to do some stretching and a little Tai Chi."

This camp was different from the other Martial Arts programs Ashley had attended. For one thing, she liked it.

# Chapter 26 – The Oval Office

Monday, July 6, 2308

Dr. Fox and Secretary Croswell entered the Oval Office, greeting the assembled directors and citizens. The last time Fox had been here, under the previous administration of President Stagwell, he had given the President an amplifier. He knew that President Stagwell had handed the amplifier down to President Conway as part of his Oath of Office. Croswell had instructed the President in its use, but Conway and Fox had never discussed it.

For this meeting, the President was not in the room. Fox knew the men present, but Croswell made a round of introductions anyhow. Fox shook hands with the President's Chief of Staff, John Phillips, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and Secretary of State, a few senators and Director Stanwood.

Fox sat in the open chair, the hot seat, as it were.

The other significant difference, Fox noticed, was that now, instead of the Micronix device, which he had carried for over twenty years, now Fox had the Metachron in his pocket. This device was different, but only slightly. In fact, the device seemed to have, or rather _give him_ , a distinct approach.

"What the hell, Fox?" Phillips did not sound friendly.

"How are you, Mr. Phillips?" Fox asked.

"Seems there may be a couple of issues you failed to mention to us."

"Probably more than a couple," Fox said.

"How about you explain this business about detonating terillium?"

"It's just a concept."

"And two hours later the Epsilon Facility place explodes? Does that seem like a coincidence to you?"

"It seems unrelated to me," Fox said.

"Cut the shit. You know what we want," Phillips said.

"I suppose I do," Fox answered.

"So are you going to give it to us?" the Chief of Staff snapped.

Fox smiled, "Right here, in front of everybody?"

No one laughed or even smiled.

Fox swallowed. "It was an idea sir. It didn't work, thank God. Even if you introduced the transcript of the call as evidence, even if you could extradite Dr. Te, it was just an idea. It was never going to work." Fox looked at Stanwood. "It might easier to convict me if I were pursuing this, that would really be treasonous."

"There would never be a trial," Phillips smiled.

"Look, I tried with the interface. You saw what happened," Fox said.

"Try harder," Phillips said.

"How about you get me some real volunteers, not death row inmates."

"You don't sound very cooperative, doctor."

"Do you realize what this cost? Not even in terms of actual human life, just in cash money? The installments were chump change. I spent more than that out of my own pocket."

"We're not asking," Phillips said.

Fox looked him in the eyes. "Has it occurred to you that if God wanted you to know what I know, he'd have made you smarter?"

"He didn't make you President, and I don't think you believe in God."

Fox remained silent, his lips a tight, thin line.

"I'm going to give you a week to think this over, Doctor Fox. You start again in a week, or you say goodnight. Do you understand?" Phillips asked.

Fox laughed. "Let me get this straight. You suspect I have the ability to detonate terillium... And your response is to threaten me? I contributed more in sophmore year than all of you have, put together.

"You want to lecture Me? You dare?

"I created the cyber-tanks that ended the war. Hell, you still use the Three-AM guards. I don't owe you anything, and I'm the last person you should want to threaten, let alone to try and kill.

"By your logic, if I had this power and you exposed yourselves as such ignorant bullies, I would be obligated, as a patriot, to kill all of you."

No one spoke.

"If you have evidence against me? Produce it. You think I'm a traitor? Get a warrant. You consider me a threat to national security? I am National Security. I am the first among equals. Your job is to protect me."

Fox stood and looked over to Stanwood, "This is you, isn't it? You're still bitter and so you convinced him to try and strong-arm me?"

Fox returned his attention to Mr. Phillips. "Sir, I regret to inform you, you've been played. When I have something worthwhile, something safe, you're the first person I'll bring it to. Until then, good day to you, sir."

Fox walked from the room.

Behind him, Phillips said, "What's he talking about, Stanwood? You two have history?"

Croswell burst into laughter.

# Chapter 27 – Denali Café

Von Kalt waited until he and Stanwood were in the car before making his case. "Sir, I've been informed of new developments you should know about."

"What's that," Stanwood asked, looking out the window.

"Sir, this morning Missus Fox and children left the home on transport shuttles, with luggage."

"You don't say," Stanwood mused. "Let me guess, our teams lost them in traffic?"

"The shuttles... Yes, sir."

"Well, that makes Fox about the nearest you can get to a flight risk, don't you think?"

"I do, sir," Von Kalt agreed.

"Very well, Commander. You have a green light. But until we get paperwork, this is a completely 'off the books' operation. Do you understand me?"

"I do sir." Von Kalt smiled.

"One more thing," Stanwood said. "I want him transferred to the old NASA facility out at White Sands. I'm giving you strict instructions and a direct order, once you take him into custody; keep him sedated until you get there.

"Before you get there, have all the Terillium, hell, all metal, for a ten mile radius pulled out. That means no vehicles, no facilities, not even so much as a pen. If we're going to take this seriously, there's no sense in ignoring the number one threat. We're talking about a guy who can detonate T256 with a thought.

"I would also recommend disabling the Doctor with some sort of airborne agent, maybe gas or something. Don't try taking him by force, with guns, that would be a mistake. In fact, Director, I'll be very impressed to see you again."

Von Kalt blinked lazily and turned for the door.

"Oh, and finally," Stanwood said. "Please take along a pair of gloves. No sense ending up like Pierce."

Von Kalt turned to face his superior. "I'm telling you, Pierce pulled a flying squirrel. I bet a million dollars, he's alive and well in Belize."

"Just because you never found an impact point doesn't make Pierce clever. His family certainly seems to believe he's missing. If not, they are going to an awful lot of fuss, and losing their prominent position in the Republic, over what, a ruse?" Stanwood tapped his chin and stared at the ceiling. "No, it gains them nothing. If Pierce were alive and in possession of the Micronix, we would know about it, one way or the other."

Stanwood glanced back to Von Kalt. "And you shouldn't bet money you don't have."

Von Kalt exited the office as Stanwood leafed through the paperwork he'd been neglecting.

Monday Afternoon, July 6, 2308

Dr. Fox sat at an outdoor table at the busy cafe. The warm breeze smelled of rain, flowers and coffee. The people passing by had smiles and nods for each other, the goodwill that had started with the beautiful weather spread from one person to the next.

Fox blew across the top of his cup. He didn't recognize the tall man who approached his table. Fox himself was almost six foot, but the stranger was well over that. Obviously a federal agent, he was dressed in a sharp black suit, shirt and tie. Fox saw another across the patio and two more at the far entrance.

The first agent stepped to the side. Fox thought he recognized Deputy Director Von Kalt but failed to place him as Stanwood's aide. Then Von Kalt raised the gas gun. It resembled a regular pistol, except for the large canister-like barrel.

As Von Kalt raised the weapon, his agents raised respirators to their faces. Fox watched dark smoke billowing from the fat little pistol. The gas reached his mind and consciousness abandoned him.

Von Kalt gestured for his men to secure the area. As he knelt next to the unconscious Dr. Fox, he noticed the gas, heavier than air, growing denser at ground level. Von Kalt tightened the straps of his respirator and searched the doctor's pockets.

Wearing blue surgical gloves, Von Kalt patted the man's clothing and located the object he was looking for. He reached into Fox's breast pocket and pulled out the prototype device.

Von Kalt stared at it. He knew what he was holding, the legendary interface - the single greatest item in all of mankind's history. _Was he up to the challenge? Was he worthy?_

Crouched over Dr. Fox, his back to his subordinates, Von Kalt peeled the glove from his right hand.

When the device made contact, Rudolph felt a tingling sensation, as if everything got both warm and cold. The second thing he noticed was an utter absence of sound. The city had gone quiet.

He had heard the horror stories about what could go wrong during one's initiation with the prototype. He'd heard that, in the successful cases, time often seemed to stop.

Conscious that his men were still behind him and aware that anything he did right now could give him away, Von Kalt remained still.

He held the device in his right hand, closed his eyes and concentrated. He focused his mind and waited. He knew, if he were worthy, the device would initialize and display the op-sys title.

A moment later the word METACHRON filled his mind's eye.

That was enough. He smiled, pocketed the device and replaced his glove. Slowly, the city's life returned. Von Kalt heard the sounds of traffic and pedestrians all around them.

He checked Fox's pulse and pupils and stood. "He's good to go. Get him out of here."

Von Kalt's men moved in and secured Dr. Fox. They strapped him to a gurney and loaded into the waiting transport.

The other patrons would wake feeling a bit nauseous and bloated, but the effects would wear off in an hour or so. In three hours, the compound would no longer even be detectable in their systems.

# Chapter 28 – No Women, No Kids

Monday Afternoon, July 6, 2308

Von Kalt landed his transport on the executive lot and carried Fox's personal effects to Stanwood's office.

"Did he have it?" Stanwood asked, without looking up.

"No. He had nothing, just the usual, wallet, watch, eyeglasses. But why the glasses? No one wears glasses anymore."

"Fox has never been wired," Stanwood replied.

"Is that a fact?"

"That's what they say." Stanwood rose from the desk and went through the contents of the evidence bag. He opened the wallet and handed Von Kalt the extra key card to the Fox house.

"You know, maybe Pierce engineered the while thing. He could have been picked up by his own crew," Von Kalt suggested.

"Miller and Harris both said he didn't jump," Stanwood commented.

"That doesn't mean he didn't fake it. No one ever accused him of being stupid."

"None of this strikes me as especially intelligent," Stanwood countered. Stanwood looked Von Kalt in the eye. "Where is it?" he asked.

"Where is what?" Von Kalt didn't hesitate.

Stanwood gestured to the key card, "Do a thorough search of the Fox home. With gloves on, I want you to bring me any amplifiers you might find."

"Is that all?" Von Kalt asked.

"No. Political support for abstracting Fox comes with a price. I need the immediate family members brought in, alive if possible, but in, regardless."

"I'll take a team. But you know what we're up against here, Alive does not seem likely."

"We're talking about a mom and two kids."

"You've seen the files, well, so have I. My men aren't authorized to know why we're going after them and giving them DOA orders on women and children is not going to go over very well."

"The shuttles were registered to the Heart of the City Campground. There are several dozen summer programs running there and some twenty thousand parents and children participating. Unfortunately, their surveillance system is garbage. For now, we're scanning the campground for any records or camera pops, but I want you watching the house."

Stanwood gestured to the card in Von Kalt's hand. "Once you're finished with your initial search, take that card out to Abby's Diner in Eagle Rock. Call me once you get there, and I'll send our sleeper out to meet you. On the off chance that we don't find Agent Zelena and her children, I want him waiting in the wings."

"What about Fox's security outfit?"

"The Washington Security Team has been temporarily pushed out of their residence. There are no agents to log your visit."

"But you're serious about this, going after the wife and kids? Isn't that a little low, even for you?"

"It's not _for me_. It's the price of our partners' cooperation. Besides, without them, we have no leverage on Fox. And if you had any idea who his wife is, you would know that as long as she's out there, we are a long way from finished with this.

"Anastasia Zelena was an active spy when Fox met her. He convinced Croswell that he'd turned her and added her to his team. She is the only member of the 3AM Team whose name we do have. No one has ever captured her or interrogated her about anything. She is the worst kind of loose end. And she is extremely dangerous.

"Not to mention his children... _Ashley_ is an incarnation of the AI Fox created, Code-named Astral. The 3AM Project had to be closed when Astral went berserk and murdered thirty-seven members of the technical staff. She is beyond dangerous. She is a walking time bomb. Tell your men to fire on sight. They don't get any extra points for bringing _her_ in alive. In fact, if they try and take her alive, they will most certainly wind up dead."

"They're not going to want to gun down a twelve-year-old girl," Von Kalt answered.

"The gas might work, but you've been warned. Regardless, Fox has enhanced both wife and children with extremely sensitive government technology, and the Attorney General has the documentation to prove it. They are the property of the Republic of the United States.

"There is also a very high probability that Dunkirk will fail in his mission, but Anastasia would have to reveal the extent of her powers, and when the warrants come through for us to seize the Washington Security residence, we will have it all on tape."

Stanwood returned to his desk. "Now, take that card to our Ultra-Man and tell him to keep his ears on. The minute the wife and kids return home, I want them reduced to evidence."

"You're making a mistake. Dunkirk is a freak, I don't know how you justify keeping him on the payroll."

"He understands orders, like when God told Abraham to kill Isaac. He'll do things you and your men, even _I_ wouldn't do. If we could find his compatriots, Morgenstern and Gardner, then we'd have a real team. You wouldn't believe the jobs they pulled down in South America."

"I think I might. I'll let you know if we find anything on Calistan."

"The average Camp program is three to five weeks. I think we'll be fine. After all, we have Dunkirk," Stanwood said.

"That's not very reassuring."

"I have every confidence in Martin. I know he'll follow orders."

Von Kalt raised an eyebrow. "You want me just sitting on the house? You want me to just hang out for the next three weeks?"

"Is there an echo in here?" Stanwood asked. "Fox will have people who come looking for him. It would be best if you stayed away from White Sands. Stay here; sit on the residence until someone returns. When you see the mother or the children, you notify both Dr. Dunkirk and myself. I'm sending eight agents with you. You're only job will be to notify me the moment something happens, that will go for all of you. I already have two other teams in the vicinity. No excuses, no mistakes."

Von Kalt turned and walked from the office.

In the hallway outside, he pulled the Metachron from his pocket and looked at it in his hand.

Von Kalt approached the Fox home. His men waited in the car behind him. He waved the key card at the panel and the exterior door opened.

Inside, he immediately felt something.

It drew him directly to Ashley's room.

He paused at the door, touched it, listened, and then after a few minutes, entered. He walked directly to the desk.

The evening sun streamed through the windows.

Von Kalt stood, transfixed by the center drawer in the raised shelf above the blotter. He opened the drawer.

He stared at the place where the Micronix was and pulled the Metachron from his pocket.

Von Kalt stood breathing, looking at the amplifier in his hand, and the otherwise empty drawer. After a few minutes, he closed the drawer, never touching the Micronix. It was right there, lying right in front of him, but he could not take it.

Von Kalt did a cursory search of the home, but soon left.

He had some things to think about.

Von Kalt found the seedy breakfast-diner Stanwood had mentioned, Abby's, on the outskirts of Northeast edge of Angel City, and called Dunkirk. Von Kalt didn't see the allure of a twenty-four hour breakfast place, but Stanwood assured him that Dunkirk loved it and always ordered enough to choke an ox.

For the first hour, Von Kalt resisted the sizzling flapjacks, maple syrup and coconut-flavored coffee. By the time Dunkirk arrived, a full two hours later, he'd eaten his fill and just gotten his check.

"So you don't have a problem with this, taking out a woman and two kids?" Von Kalt asked, handing over the key card.

"No. Should I?" Dunkirk asked. The man's eyes appeared to be on fire. He seemed to have come down with some kind of summer flu. Weighing a stout two-fifty, Dunkirk was sweating on the cool and balmy night. He twitched and bounced with energy, in the quiet, boring diner.

"Not very sporting, is it?" Von Kalt inquired.

"You know who we're talking about here? Zelena?! If you haven't heard the stories, you should look her up."

"But two little kids?" Von Kalt pressed.

"It's not so much about the hunt for me." Dunkirk scanned the diner, his head swiveling in all directions as he answered. "Sport isn't my thing."

Von Kalt watched him, wondering if he were on drugs or just utterly insane. The Metachron lay heavy in his palm, below the lip of the table.

"For me, it's about the moment," Dunkirk continued. "Every moment is different. They come and they pass, and what was will never be again."

"You're in it for the pain then?"

Dunkirk touched his nose.

Von Kalt narrowed his eyes.

Dunkirk rose from the booth, pocketed the key card and exited the diner without another word.

Von Kalt remained, bathing in the smells of fired egg, bacon, buttered toast and fresh-squeezed oranges,

He laughed to himself as he laid out the cash for his meal.

The waitress looked up, curious. "What's so funny?" she asked.

"My friend loves this place," Von Kalt said.

"But he didn't order anything," the waitress answered.

Von Kalt smiled, "I know. The jokes on him."

The waitress looked confused as Von Kalt exited the café, laughing to himself.

# Chapter 29 – Solitary

Ashley's Journal, Monday Evening, July 6, 2308

This camp is scheduled right down to the last minute. There's not a lot of time for chatting and the boys don't seem to interested in talking to me. I'm the only girl here, and I'm painfully aware of how much I stand out.

Today I had my first match, Scott. He was one of the ones who raised his hand as having martial art experience already.

As soon as the whistle blew, he jumped at me.

I curled up, and his face ran into my knee.

I didn't mean to hurt him.

There was blood everywhere.

They had to take him to the nurse and call in the janitors to clean up all the blood. It totally was not my fault. I heard one of the Instructors, Lopez, I think; say something about that being an example of lesson number one. He was trying to be funny, but I think it was mean.

Tuesday Morning, July 7, 2308

Dr. Fox woke to discover himself in an opaque plastic cell. They'd left him his clothes but had taken his shoes. Light filtered into the room from everywhere and nowhere. There was a small enclosure with a toilet and a sink. He was grateful that he hadn't been sent somewhere more primitive.

Fox checked his pockets, empty. The Metachron was gone.

It was just as well. Fox realized it had influenced him. It was different from the Micronix, which he had created and programmed. Having survived the explosion at the Epsilon Facility, which took the lives of forty thousand criminals, it had a different vibe, to say the least.

Based on his own investigation, Fox suspected that it was, in fact, the facility itself. He theorized that the _Metachron_ had consumed every ounce of metallic alloy present and expelled _waste_ material in the explosion.

The Metachron was different. He was glad to be rid of it.

The room was cold and having nowhere special to sit, Fox settled on the floor, essentially the same place he'd awaken. He tucked his feet under his legs to try and minimize the cold.

Discovering himself in a meditative posture, not particularly tired and with little else to do, he relaxed his mind and focused on his breath.

Ashley's Journal, Tuesday Evening, July 7, 2308

Today we leaned lots of boxing moves, punches and jabs.

Yesterday was all about blocks and blocking. We even learned how to hold our fingers if we want to do an eye poke. They didn't teach us anything like this at the last camp. This is downright dangerous stuff.

Sihing Shou said tomorrow we're going to learn kicks, but that we want to learn punches first, because we only want to kick after we knock them down.

Someone asked if that was fighting dirty.

Shou said he'd rather live dirty than die clean.

Everyone laughed.

But then he stopped and said, "My point is, you should only be fighting if it's a life or death situation in the first place."

I thought that was pretty smart.

Oh, in my match-up, against Chris, he tried to do some fancy kick and sprained his ankle. So he had to forfeit, and I won by default.

Tuesday Evening, July 7, 2308

Ross switched his vehicle over to autopilot / roam. He triggered his invisibility phase-cam and climbed out. He activated the gravity harness as he fell away from the car and headed toward his scheduled rendezvous with Snow and King.

Arriving a few minutes later, the three of them hovered high above the Fox home. Snow and King had been waiting.

"What the hell is going on?" King asked. "Things are getting fishy in the middle district."

Ross pointed out several homes in the neighborhood. "That one is the Bureau, over there we have the NSA, those three are private security, and that one is Stanwood's personal team."

"No shit?" King asked. "Can I tell you, we just got TAD orders from the NID? They want us to find Pierce and the device."

"So you'll be on the inside?" Ross asked.

"I've got orders to Jerusalem," Snow interrupted. "What's that about?"

"SecDef says Fox asked to have you reassigned," Ross answered.

"Three weeks?"

"Thank Croswell," Ross glanced around. "He may not be here, but..."

"Big Brother is everywhere." King laughed.

"And we have another problem," Ross said.

"It's been twenty-four hours since I've seen hide or hair of our good doctor. It seems after his meeting yesterday he bought a cup of coffee and fell off the face of the Earth.

"Out in DC?" Snow asked.

Ross nodded. "It gets better. Several customers reported nausea, unconsciousness, memory loss and strange dreams."

"Sinusoids," Snow said.

"Our weapons have fallen into the hands of our enemies," King asked.

"Croswell just sent me to Jerusalem and assigned you to our number one enemy," Snow said.

"Please don't go jumping to conclusions," Ross said.

"Where's the footage from the café?" Snow asked.

"A couple of hours ago, Reid got the footage of the café, thank you. I'm sending to your internal HUDs now."

Snow blinked and then closed her eyes for a moment. "That's Stanwood's bitch," Snow said, identifying Von Kalt.

"That's right," King added. "I'd recognize him anywhere."

"They just grabbed him off the street?" Snow asked. "Yesterday? And we're doing nothing about it?"

"We're not _doing nothing_ ," Ross answered. "I've got Reid on it. We'll get a location. But you are going to New Jerusalem."

Ross turned to King "And you are going to work for the enemy."

"I won't be able to broadcast. I won't be able to warn you if anything is going down," King said.

"It won't come to that. Oh, by the way, he made that one shot rule a standing order," Ross said.

"That's insane," King said.

"What One Shot Rule?" Snow asked.

"Fox told me that if anyone ever drew on him, that I have to give them one shot before I return fire. He said, ' _That's the Point of Return Fire_."

"That's retarded," Snow replied.

"Right," King agreed.

"I get it." Ross looked at his comrades. "You really don't get it?"

"No, I don't get it," King answered. "What's the point of having an invisible bodyguard if you have an order that says _let them shoot me_?"

"I agree with you that hundred percent," Snow added. "I'm not letting them shoot Ashley of Geoff. Not once, not ever. That is not happening."

No one spoke.

The late afternoon sunlight faded from the sky.

Ross glanced at his watch. "Ana is teaching gymnastics, two buildings away from Geoff and only one from Ashley. They are surrounded by dozens of people. They're fine."

"They're surrounded by a bunch of children and teachers, that is far from safe, or fine, and you know it," Captain Snow said.

"I also know that you are going to El Nuevo Jerusalem as soon as this conversation is finished. Aren't you?" Ross asked.

Snow waved her hand.

"Look," Ross said. "They've got no official rendition warrants for Andrew anywhere in the system. This whole gig is undercover."

Snow laughed. "So, Stanwood finally grew a pair and went off-book." She stared at the stars, just appearing in the sky overhead.

Ross spoke quietly, "Just go and make sure the old man is okay. It is a matter of National Security, if it makes you feel any better."

"You know he just wants me out of the mix," she said.

"And what's so wrong with that? You're an original, and the only one of us Stanwood will shoot on sight."

"You have to find Andrew. If you haven't heard from him in a week, I'm coming back."

"He said three."

"I don't see how Dr. Te needs my help in the first place."

"Orders are orders, Ana."

"Thanks so much."

"I swear, the moment we learn anything, you will be the first person I call. Hell, hanging out with Te, it will probably be you guys calling us."

Captain Snow smiled,

King raised a hand. "Right, I'm off, must report oh-dark-thirty. Catch you cats on the other side."

Ross and Snow waved. Snow lingered for a moment.

Ross raised his hand. "Objection noted."

Snow nodded, turned away and increased her elevation, heading toward her roaming vehicle, lost somewhere in the Angel City traffic.

# Chapter 30 – Flying Dragons

Wednesday, July 8, 2308

During her third match, Ashley attracted the attention of her instructors. Her assigned adversary, Roger, lanky and uncoordinated, wasn't a threat to anyone but himself. It took little effort for Ashley to stay out of his reach.

She let him chase her around the ring, swinging for the fences and never making contact. However, despite ample opportunity, Ashley didn't hit Roger.

Sihing Lopez was scoring the match, and at the first break, he approached Ashley. "Why don't you strike and end the round, take the point?"

Ash didn't answer. She just looked at Roger, gasping and wheezing in his corner. She wasn't even winded.

"If you don't strike, the match will end in a tie," Lopez said.

Ashley rolled her eyes.

Lopez turned and approached the Roger, who was gloriously exhausted. "Breathe. Breathe," Lopez said. "That's it. Breathe."

Ashley decided to go for the tie. She would keep the match as close as possible. She would let Roger get as close as possible, but not give up any points.

When the whistle blew, Ash walked to the center of the ring and raised her gloves. With her toe, she traced a line across the mat, daring Roger to cross it.

Roger took the bait, but with trepidation. He raised his gloves and inched toward the line, preparing to swing.

Ashley let him come.

Roger fired off a wild jab-hook.

Ashley watched the clumsy explosion of arm, shoulder and face. At no point was she in any real danger.

Roger scrunched up his face when he punched, as if afraid that the act of punching would result in his being struck. Ashley could see why he'd become conditioned to think that way, with such an uncoordinated throw. She let it sail past without moving more than a fraction of an inch.

Punch after punch, Ashley moved as little as she could to avoid him. Soon she was moving closer to his flailing fists, but he couldn't hit her.

Ashley's dangerous ploy began to draw spectators. The waiting or already finished competitors became interested in her match and the more heads turned, the more heads turned.

Roger stepped in with a haymaker.

Ashley pivoted under the strike, coming up on his unprotected backside.

He spun, panicked, uncoiling as if he were a broken metal spring.

Ash slipped out of the way.

Roger threw three jabs.

Ashley dodged him, his gloves inside kissing range.

Roger stepped in with a knee and a kick.

Ashley eluded him.

He lunged at her; she caught him and kept him from falling.

He combined jabs, hooks and elbows, she gave him a pirouette, landing behind him and then spun twice more, just to keep him off balance.

The timer rang, that was the end of the round.

Sihing Lopez laughed, quite a crowd had gathered.

During the break, Roger had a dozen coaches.

No one said anything to Ashley. Her corner was closer to the wall and outside the action. She waited alone.

In the last round, Roger got more technical, but it was too late, he was exhausted.

After one extravagant punch, Ashley reached out and put a finger at the back of his elbow.

Roger was overextended, his stance was compromised, and in order to escape, he was forced to collapse forward onto the floor.

Ashley stepped back and let him wearily climb to his feet.

Roger didn't raise his hands. He was beaten and knew it. He didn't want to fight anymore. He was humiliated.

Sihing Lopez waved at him, "Come on. Keep going!"

Roger just looked at him.

Lopez looked over to Ashley.

Ash had no intention of hitting Roger.

After kneeing Scott in the face, quite by accident, she saw no reason to further facilitate Shou's brutal lessons. If he wanted people to experience pain, let him dish it out.

Lopez seemed capable of reading her thoughts, but Ashley said nothing.

She stood her ground.

Lopez blew the whistle, ending the third round. He awarded the win to Ashley, as Roger had forfeit the match.

Wednesday, July 8, 2308

Ross adjusted his gear as the autopilot threaded the midday Angel City traffic. The computer chimed, alerting him that they had reached their destination vector. The major powered up his phase camouflage, opened the hatch and stepped into the wild blue yonder.

As the gravity harness came online, his free fall was gradually reversed until he was ascending again.

Ross activated his thermal lenses and went looking for his friend.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Croswell asked.

"We have to do something. And you shipped our MVPs to BFE, just when we needed them most."

"Ana's trip has been planned for months. Te's got some new tech he's jumping out of his shorts to show us. And we need King right where he is, you'll see I'm right about that."

"Hey, I agree with you there," Ross said.

"If we make a move now, Stanwood will say we're trying to take over. He's got the AG and half of the congressional branch convinced that Fox is planning a coup."

"Are we?"

"What?"

"Planning a coup?"

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because killing Stanwood isn't a coup, for one thing."

"I think you need to look a little deeper, we both know that nerd is Conway's puppet."

"You think this is Conway?"

"If not him, then Big John Phillips. Was Conway there for your little chat the other day?"

"You know he wasn't"

"But Miller and Clarke, they were. And you think Miller is going to have something incriminating in his office?"

"No. But it will piss him off."

"Let's just wax Stan."

"If we kill Stanwood now, they will come down on us like a ton of bricks. I can guarantee you our names will come out as the active agents on the Centaur project; and then where will we be? Immortal but locked out of society? Hunted? Yeah, fun."

"Let's go all the way then, straight to the top. A coup, mutiny, that will be fun."

"Are you suggesting installing Fox as the CEO? Let me go on record stating that would be a disaster."

Ross took a deep breath. "Can't say I disagree with you there?"

"And I don't want that job," Croswell said.

"Who cares who takes it next? We know who it won't be."

"Look, to do this properly, we would need to eliminate all of Fox's enemies. That's at least fifty elected senators and congressmen. Once we kick that first domino, we have to keep going until half the governing body of the country is shifting six feet of black soil. Even as insulated as we are, we don't have the juice for that kind of drama. Every agency will go on red alert the moment Stanwood hits the pavement. We can't just go at this like a tank through a pre-school. I'm all for eliminating Stanwood. But we need to think bigger. We need to set him up, expose his weakness, whatever it is. We need to find out who's feeding him his information."

"That's obvious, isn't it?" Ross asked.

"Not to me," Croswell answered.

"You were there the last time Fox stopped by the Oval Office, before Epsilon. He hooked up Stagwell with an amplifier, but from what I understand, he's never met with Conway about all this."

"Are you trying to say Conway feels left out?"

"Maybe."

"If Stanwood has managed to convince him that he had something to fear, we don't want to go confirming that. We need to discredit him, squeeze him out and then flush him, if you catch my meaning."

"I'm sorry I asked."

"Good. Can we get on with it then?"

"You really think tossing Senator Miller's office will be enough to shake them up?"

"Stanwood was his right hand for nine years, He would have never gotten the Intel desk otherwise. Miller is behind everything Stanwood does, that much I am sure of."

"I'm glad Snow is in Jerusalem. She'd be examining his tonsils with her compensator if she thought he was behind all this."

Invisible, Ross and Croswell approached the window of Senator Miller's unoccupied west coast office.

"Let me clone his system, before you let everyone know we're here."

"Hurry up," Croswell said, attaching a small explosive to the window.

"At least let me get what we came her for, before you go tearing up the place." Ross operated his Micronix Amplifier, scanning the Senator's network for open access ports.

"Sheesh, Fine. Waiting," Croswell muttered.

"Wait quietly." Ross smiled.

"I believe Secretary of Defense outranks Major," Croswell said.

"You're a civilian now. You don't have a rank. Besides, I'm secret service. We answer to the President."

"La-ti-da. I could still whip you in a fist fight."

"Yeah, for about thirty seconds, old timer."

"You're not too spry yourself. About as fast as a broken-down hound dog with hip dysplasia."

"I'm fast. I'm so fast I can hack a senator's desk terminal while putting up with your lame put-downs."

"Are you almost finished? I have a charge here that really wants to pop," Croswell said.

"I'm done," Ross said. "Indulge yourself."

Smiling, Croswell triggered the plastic explosive, blowing out the senator's window. Inside, he sprayed thousands of tiny transmitters in wide band across the ceiling, and then he set about to trashing the room.

Ross waited, hovering invisibly in the sky, as Secretary of Defense James Croswell literally tossed the office, throwing everything around, half of which made its way out the window and streamed away from the building with the afternoon breeze.

The phase-cam warped the light particles around Croswell's armor, rendering him completely invisible. The security guards opened the office doors and did nothing more than watch as Senator Miller's shelves and desk drawers emptied themselves into the afternoon sky.

# Chapter 31 – Serene Violence

Thursday, July 9, 2308

When it was Ashley's turn to spar, there was already a buzz in the air. Her rebellious performance the day before was on everyone's mind. She couldn't be faulted for nonparticipation, but her style threatened to unbalance the ranking structure. In Ashley's desire not to break her own hands on someone else's face, she mastered lesson number two without even encountering lesson number one.

Ashley's match was called. They all stared. She was the alien. She wasn't playing by their rules.

Ash had no intention of allowing anyone to break her nose, spit her lip, or blacken one of her eyes. And since there was no requirement to hit anyone else, she didn't feel she was doing anything wrong.

This time she was up against an experienced boy, Jason. He stretched, bounced and shadowboxed in his corner. For one so young, his musculature was already sharply defined. Ashley knew that if he hit her, he would make her bleed. He couldn't be allowed to hit her.

Sihing Cleary was refereeing the match, and when he blew the whistle, half the heads in the hall turned to watch.

Jason unloaded his prepared arsenal of combinations, jab, jab, hook, low kick, jab, high kick, hook, elbow, knee.

Ashley dodged the first few strikes and realized Jason was a robot. He was programmed into formulas of strikes and kicks. Her father would have called him an automaton. It was also how Becca danced, mechanically. Jason was more dangerous than Becca but just as predictable.

Ash stepped back far enough to exaggerate his flawed operation, he continued to chop and punch and kick at the empty air, two jabs, a hook, a roundhouse kick, a spinning kick and a front kick. Everyone could see how ridiculous it was, but he didn't stop. Ashley stood across the ring, waiting as he punched toward her.

Frustrated and embarrassed, Jason charged. Ash spun past him, through him. He couldn't touch her. When he moved, she moved first. She was a matador and his bull was getting tired.

Ashley walked to the edge of the circle and lowered her gloves.

Jason recognized the arrogant gesture for the taunt it was and growled behind his mouthpiece.

He charged again, swinging wildly.

Ashley danced along the edge of the circle, and he kept coming, infuriated. She let him charge past her, out of bounds.

Cleary blew the whistle and gestured for them to come back to the ring. Jason bounced with energy, stomping back to the center.

Ashley walked slowly, taking forever to get into position, infuriating Jason. As Cleary prepared to blow the whistle, Ashley raised her hand and stepped away from the center, turning her back to them.

She adjusted her shirt, rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck.

The other matches had ended; the whole room was watching her. She took her time, not gloating or taunting, but making Jason furious just the same.

Ash turned back to Cleary and Jason, who growled.

Ashley laughed.

He cocked a fist to swing at her, but caught himself and waited for Cleary to blow the whistle.

Cleary was content to let Ashley dig her own grave, and he waited for her to get settled.

Ash smiled and nodded.

Cleary turned to Jason, who nodded. He blew the whistle and Jason leapt at Ashley, throwing his whole body into the air.

There was nowhere for Ashley to go, it was too late; she was caught. She collapsed under her attacker's assault.

Jason, however, was not prepared to catch his prey so easily, and discovered himself falling with the girl under him. He wasn't going to hurt her as much as both of them and not deliberately or honorably, but stupidly.

Ashley held Jason's upper arms as her butt hit the mat. Her feet came up from nowhere, and she caught his weight at his midsection. Ash transferred Jason's momentum as softly as if he were a baby and tossed him across the room.

Ash watched him sail, ass over teakettle, through the hall. With his head down and his feet toward the ceiling, he flew through the air. People slid out of his way. He overshot the mat and crashed in a tangled heap on the hard gymnasium floor.

Ashley got up before Jason even came to a complete stop. Yet relatively unhurt, suddenly he was back on his feet and sprinting toward her.

No whistle had blown to stop him, as Cleary, fascinated by the action, had failed to blow it.

Ash stepped forward as Jason reached her.

She pinned his foot to the mat and turned to the side.

Jason whip-lashed into the ground. The impact was so crisp and sharp that the entire room was rendered silent in its wake.

Cleary found and blew the whistle.

He gestured for Lopez and Shou to help and the three of them knelt beside Jason. Ashley stepped away from the action. Everyone was focused on the unconscious student.

Ash drifted further away.

Cleary saw her and led her back to the ring. He gestured for her to kneel, facing away from where Lopez and Shou worked on reviving the unconscious Jason.

It took almost ten minutes for Jason to open his eyes, and another ten to get him walking and talking again.

Finally, Shou decided he was well enough to return to the ring, where the match was called in Ashley's favor.

Ashley's legs were sore and blood-deprived from kneeling. She thought it ironic, that both she and Jason limped from the hall, although separately.

No one congratulated her. No one talked to her.

Ashley told herself that it didn't matter. _What did she expect?_

Her distaste for violent culture, combined with her superior skills, had shown up instructors and students alike.

Of course, they were quiet. It felt just as awkward for her.

# Chapter 32 – Snow in Jerusalem

Thursday, July 9, 2308

Dr. Te's shop was on one of the exclusive executive plates, hovering over the old city and casting shadows like lily pads over a pond. Lao had one of the most expensive corners. The pads rotated in a twenty-four hour loop; Lao's shop witnessed the sunrise every morning, and sunset in the west at evening. The expensive section also guaranteed virtually zero walk in customers, and since Lao only saw clients on an appointment basis, he could keep all his retractable walls open during the day.

The robots loved the stimulation. The empty courtyard and garden provided everything he needed for them in the way of testing grounds. Today, however, the retractable panels were closed.

In keeping with the sweeping curves of the district, Lao had incorporated circles into every aspect of his shop's design. Looking around, Ana realized she was hard pressed to find a right angle anywhere. Even the couches touched down with rounded legs.

Ana knelt before the robotic panther and peered into its lenses. "So this is what they want?" Ana asked, getting right down to business.

"You mean these?" Te replied, gesturing to the collection of robots, spread across the shelves of the shop.

"They didn't send me all this way to come back empty-handed."

"These are just toys. The controller, now that's something special."

Ana raised an eyebrow.

Te held up a common pair of eyeglasses.

"You did it? After all this time, you finally did it?" Ana asked.

"Without your husband's work, it never would have been possible."

Ana checked out the activity of the bugs on the shelves.

"They are all scanning, all independent, all streaming back to the same source. Many cups may be poured from a single pitcher," Te said.

"You're kidding?" Ana smiled.

Te smiled. "I'm not. The foundation was the mapping work we did installing you guys into the centaurs. I fine-tuned it a bit, but the human mind is the best parallel processor ever invented. You just have to assign the proper inputs. Running an engine or piloting a terillium drive isn't so different from managing a heart and organs. Circulating electrical data is no different than blood or coolant."

"So, these are all you need?" Ana asked, gesturing to the glasses.

"Do you have your amplifier?" Te asked.

"I can't lose it. I've got it in one of these pockets, somewhere."

"Well, once you've initialized, it's easy. I created a partitioned network called Kiowa Field."

"So, can you run through it for me, just once?"

"You get how the amplifier works?"

"I get that _You_ get how the amplifier works. But I don't get it at all. All I know is _That_ it works."

"Don't bullshit me, little girl. You know lots more than you pretend to know." Te smiled. "The amplifier has one design flaw. Physically, it invites investigation. It's not easily explained."

"The commands are all neural, so all you have to do is close them." Dr. Te folded the spectacles closed. "And you're out." The machines powered down. "The neural link prevents you shutting them down accidentally. To sync with it, all you have to do is put on the glasses."

He handed them to her. "Go on, give 'em a shot."

Ana took the glasses, opened them and gingerly set them on her face. The lenses were clear, and she waited, but nothing happened.

"Oh, the password is Mississippi," Te explained. "Just think it."

"Mississippi," Ana said aloud.

The words **Kiowa Field** appeared before her. She took a step backward. The expansion suite was overwhelming. Her visual cortex had grown far beyond the data fed to her brain from her eyes. She could see what they saw; like a hall of mirrors, seeing herself from so many angles. She focused on the menu as she would a Micronix menu, opened it...

"The dog and the lion?" she asked.

"Unfinished, of course. The big ones are tougher." Te gestured to the couch. "Go on, put your feet up."

Ana sat back on the couch, her feet remained on the floor.

"Just pick one," Te suggested.

Ana focused on the word **Mt. Lion.** The letters lit up, their minds had merged and Ana took control of the cat.

"When your projected consciousness meets the model's reception matrix, an image of your conscious-self is written into the robot, as an operator," Te explained.

Ana knew that she existed both inside the machine and in her own body; she could feel it. The glasses kept her connected and prevented neural spillage or overlaps. As the cat, she raised her head, stretched her neck and yawned.

Ana had wondered about the number of couches through the lab. _How many units had Te sold?_ It may be a lab, but this was also clearly a show room. Perhaps this was a viewing platform, for sport.

"The muscles are composed of electrical fibers," Doctor Te said. "Once current is applied, they contract. The heart is a kinetic-generator, of my own design. Energy greater than that expended is harvested from every movement, it's like a watch that winds itself. Even the lungs, the act of breathing serves several functions.

"In addition to the kinetic energy, the cat's senses are about a million times sharper than anything nature ever invented. In terms of the visual spectrum, you can see and focus at a distance and at levels of magnification that far exceed anything on the cyber-market."

"It's amazing," Ana said. "I feel like I'm a cat. I AM the cat."

"Yes, indeed, you are, but it's going to take at least a week before you can really pass for a cat."

"What do you mean?"

"Learning the animal's body, the way it would naturally move... It will take some getting used to."

"A week, you really think so?" she asked.

"Maybe more."

The cat stood and took a trembling step forward with one paw.

Doctor Te laughed. "Once Fox and I did all that Centaur mind-mapping, it was really quite easy. If it hadn't been for the tanks, we never could have done it. I say we, because, even though he was halfway around the world, this is as much Fox's success as mine. All we needed was a couple of more years of research and development, but the government rushed forward, and _killed_ all those people."

"And so this cat, this is what Croswell sent me out here for? Nice."

"This arises, that becomes." Te said, embracing her blatant evasion.

"The bones are terillium?" Ana asked, as the cat hopped up and down.

Te smiled. "The alloy frames are where it's at. Pure terillium is far too expensive. This mix still holds a charge, and she has a few internal gravity plates and internal phase-cam. However, running them together causes her to heat up like nobodies business, I don't recommend it."

"Okay, that's something to be aware of," Snow said.

"Look at it this way, she's designed to be invisible without running the phase cam. And she can move almost silently when you want to run it indoors, or in other close quarters environments. She's light, tight and compact, powerful enough to handle multiple armed aggressors, There's just no improving on Mother Nature's design."

"Did you include any defensive upgrades?"

"One or two, tooth and claw sort of thing. You'll get to know them over time. She can also carry several of the smaller, short-range, models."

"Ahhh, the bugs?"

"I just finished the flea. He can jump three miles, on a windy day."

Ana laughed.

"Does it know me? Will it recognize me as an operator?"

"What do you mean, recognize you?" he asked, puzzled.

"Does it save me in the cache?"

"No. It records operations, but not you. Yet, it can't operate without you connected, so..."

"You said I don't have to be focused on it."

"No, you don't. How do I explain this? Your decision-making ability resides with you, your collection of experiences and opinions, from which you form values. The glasses scan your conscious mind and then project that consciousness into the cat. When you disconnect, it shuts down. It can't clone your mind, it just mirrors it."

"But it's me in there. I'm doing it."

"It's you," Doctor Te said.

"And what's with all these couches?"

"It's an appointment only shop, if that's what you're asking. I provide intelligence services, as I always have, not sales."

"And these guys won't exactly run off and join the competition."

"I never expected you to stay forever, Anastasia." Dr. Te smiled.

Ana got up from the couch and sat next to Lao; giving him a big hug. "It's good to see you," she said.

"Where do you think he is then?" he asked.

"Fox? Oh, Stanwood took him, I'm sure. Out in the desert somewhere, that seems to be the consensus."

"But why?" Doctor Te asked.

"It's the easiest place to hold him away from Terillium deposits. They can scan in all directions at once, sort of thing. "

"Why did they take him at all?"

"Stanwood thinks Fox is a menace to society. And he might be onto something there." Ana smiled, "Remember that little chat the two of you had the other day?"

Te nodded.

"Well, a couple of hours later the Epsilon Facility went Boom. They think Fox did it."

"And they sent you here to keep an eye on me?"

"No. I think they did it because they want me the hell out of Dodge; afraid I'll set the town on fire. Probably some truth and a bit of wisdom to that too."

"You're not worried?" Te asked.

"About Andrew? No. Whoever took him had better be all caught up on their prayers though."

"About us?"

"Ha." Ana smiled, "I'm not worried."

"The desert, the desert..." Doctor Te scratched his head. "Yes, that makes sense. Let me get the light coat for Sabor."

# Chapter 33 – Make Reconnaissance

Thursday, July 9, 2038

It was Bravo team's shift. That meant they were required to be active and awake. The computer-linked cameras monitored the Fox residence; the agents running them would hear the automatic alerts at the exact same moment they informed Stanwood, Miller and Dunkirk.

King and the rest of Bravo team sat around the dining room table, playing spades. Alpha team was racked out in the other rooms, enjoying an early afternoon siesta.

King's partner, Washington, passed the cards to Welter on his right, who cut the deck. Washington began to deal.

"And no more table talk," King said, smiling.

Next to him, Carl Di Biase picked up his cards, thumbed through them and rubbed his chest.

Everyone laughed.

Deputy Director Von Kalt was on the patio, lying on a lounge chair. An umbrella obscured the sun, but there was nothing between him and his view of the quiet suburban canyon. He had a bush hat over his face and the Metachron concealed in his right palm, under the left, over his stomach.

The amplifier could do all kinds of cyber-magic.

Before the explosion at Epsilon, the techs had almost finished their Micronix Operating Manual, replete with tutorials on neural-cyber system management and signal segregation, as well as detailed instructions on system intrusion and data-stream interception. Entire advanced sections were dedicated to tele- and pyrokinesis, as well several other amazing abilities. Von Kalt spent hours reading the manual but refrained from trying anything.

Deputy Director Rudolph Von Kalt found himself buried in the avalanche of data that was Project Epsilon. Fox had reported that all the records had been destroyed, but that was far from the truth. The device gave him access to all of the case histories of the prisoners and data recorded by the technicians. Every ability and manifestation had been clinically documented and intimately detailed.

After three days of studying, Von Kalt launched a system intrusion on Johnson. He had only meant to test his new toy, but the Metachron's neural shims had no trouble worming their way into the soldier's thinly partitioned cyber-mind.

It was late in the afternoon; both teams were up and about, preparing their evening meal. In less than a minute Von Kalt had full motor and linguistic control. Just to prove he could, Von Kalt walked the soldier from the residential interior, out onto and off the back deck.

Staff Sergeant Johnson fell seventy-two feet and broke both legs.

Retrieving his unconscious body would be easy enough. Looking down at the unconscious staff sergeant from the balcony railing, King volunteered to drive him to the nearest emergency room, since Johnson was bravo team's pilot.

Von Kalt did not want his first criminal act to be logged into any official record and objected from his place on the lounge chair. "Gentlemen, why don't you take advantage of this opportunity to practice a little field medicine? We've got a metric shit-ton of blue goo here. Use it."

"Isn't that kind of extravagant for a broken leg, sir?" Lt. Hernandez asked. "It's gonna be hard to explain two hundred thousand dollars. If there's no rush, we can get him right for like two grand."

"And if our targets return while half of my second team is absent? How do you suppose I'll explain that?

"This is the part where I could insult you, to make my point, but instead I'll ask, have you ever done a medical scan in the field?

"Have you ever administered two hundred thousand dollars worth of healing gel? This might be good experience for your record Lieutenant.

"Please try and be more selfishly predictable. It makes your superiors' job easier."

Lieutenant Hernandez stood and walked from the knot of soldiers around the staff sergeant. A minute late he'd returned with the medical scanner two fat cartridges of blue goo.

A quick scan of Johnson's prone body identified fractures in both femurs as well as the left tibia and fibula, six shattered metatarsals, and one splintered patella, Given the injuries and the rocky ground, it figured that Johnson had pin-wheeled after slipping from the balcony.

His forearms seemed to have protected his upper body, which hit first. He legs, however, had taken the brunt of the fall, slapping into the ground. Hernandez conceded the extent of the damage would likely have taken two days of effort at any local emergency unit.

He cracked the seal on the first goo canister and inserted it into the mechanical hypodermic. Over the course of twenty injections, Hernandez delivered the full volume of two canisters. The healing gel did its job before the man awoke.

The soldiers watched, fascinated, as his legs kicked, muscle spasms resetting bones as the synthetic stem cells rebuilt the damaged tissue.

Von Kalt regretted the wasting of the expensive healing compound, but it was replaceable. The lounging commander, and now master cyber-criminal, was confident Johnson's unconsciousness had resulted from his forceful intrusion, but he'd followed the protocols and scrubbed the man's memory.

Johnson would remember walking over to the balcony railing, taking a breath of fresh air, and then slipping.

The reclining Von Kalt remained in his lounge chair as the staff sergeant, surrounded by his comrades, was finally shaken back to life.

"You all right there, little buddy?" Di Biase asked. "You took a bit of a tumble."

Johnson stood, assisted by the others, and was led back inside.

Von Kalt wasted no time moving in and out of his subordinates systems. He didn't again attempt to exercise functional control, as that could not go undetected and would require a _scrubbing_ , but he did everything else. He scanned all their personal accounts, incoming messages and contact lists.

Everyone had some kind of internal augmentation. Of course, none of them had internal delivery, like Von Kalt. They had to activate one of the universal terminals, so the technology implanted within them could communicate its latest updates and info of interest.

This residence, like most, offered inset-terminals on almost every flat piece of glass or countertop. Some had better reception and better graphics than others, but the basics could be accessed almost anywhere.

It had been years since the Department of Defense really had to fear any dangerous cyber-criminals, but Von Kalt knew that statistic couldn't stay low forever. If he took any more control, if he did anything more than snoop, he'd have to do some mind and memory scrubbing. That meant a period of unexplained unconsciousness. Even these men were not stupid enough to remain unfazed by a spell of contagious blackouts.

It was the power of the forty thousand, the power of the convicted; Von Kalt held them in his palm. Fox would be no match for him. He was no match for him. He'd already solved that issue.

It was the knowledge of the other, the Micronix, the device Pierce had taken. He had seen it there, at the Fuji Dozo briefing. He had seen Pierce take it and go over the railing, as Johnson had.

He had seen it.

When he went to the Fox home...

When he opened that drawer in the daughter's bedroom....

He had felt it.

He'd been holding the Metachron in his hand, so clearly he could not have reached out and picked up the Micronix with that hand.

Now, almost a week later, it occurred to him that he had indeed seen the original prototype lying in the drawer in Ashley's dresser.

He had also seen the prototype in his hand.

For some reason, the dual image had scrubbed the original from his mind. When he'd looked back to the drawer the second time, the device had _Not_ been there. It had only been in his hand.

It only occurred to him now, a week later, that he had two hands.

But even now, it hurt his mind to think of moving the Metachron from his right hand into his left, in order to pick up the Micronix.

It was named the Micronix. It could only be held in his right, in his dominant hand. _But the Metachron was in his right hand._

His mind knew, on some elemental level, the single hand could not hold both the amplifiers. That, of all things, was utterly impossible.

Von Kalt did not rise from the lounge chair, even to relieve himself, until well after midnight.

King's false identity had been in place for years, a standard merc package of storage drives and sensory amplifiers that he mostly ignored. His own amplifier, one of the first copies of the Micronix, rested in his pocket, undetected by Von Kalt, granting King access to power far beyond what the newbie was capable of.

King let the deputy director explore. If necessary, he was close enough to take action, if it came to that. For now, all he had to do was watch the watchers.

It was frustrating, being unable to communicate with Ross, Croswell or Snow. Fox had long ago established a radio-silence protocol, if the amplifier network was ever compromised.

Von Kalt's not-so-secret possession of the device was ominous but not completely out of control.

King hoped they'd found Fox, or his trail. None of the men present had any inkling as to the doctor's whereabouts. They had all been assigned, as had he, the day after Fox vanished. It seemed clear to King that the key to finding the doctor lie in finding Von Kalt's last contingent of bodyguards.

Ross had footage of them handling the rendition, so they had probably been given the task of guarding the doctor, as well. After Von Kalt walked Johnson off the deck, King had changed his mind. This was definitely the best place to be right now. When the time came, he'd be very useful next to the deputy director.

Thursday, July 9, 2308

Von Kalt used the restroom and returned to his investigation of the camp, moving through the registry servers, the wired teenagers and their souped-up counselors. He looked for anything that might even resemble a hint of the Fox family, but the data was clean. He went back and combed through it all again.

The transports had delivered the children to this facility. A second, private shuttle had delivered their mom, no less than three hours later. They had to be there.

Finally, he realized his mistake. It was an unregistered net user that caught his attention. He'd been looking for some trace of the mother and her children, but if their attendance were discretely being covered up, he needed to be looking for the gaps.

Someone had gotten on a terminal and accessed a gamer-stream account, but the user had not logged in to the lab's access tree. Von Kalt quickly found the user's history, and that it mirrored the Science Program's assigned lab hours. He figured, given the games accessed, and the fact that the camp was geared toward eight to ten year olds, this was most likely Fox's son, Geoffrey.

Using the same process of elimination, he quickly found similar discrepancies in two other programs. Like the science camp, the gymnastics program had a roster for forty-four people and matching room assignments, but forty-five people were clicked through the cafeteria at their assigned meal times. Forty-five people were reported attending the daily functions, but there were only forty-four names on the daily roster.

He found the same anomaly in a martial arts program. All three programs fed and housed someone whose name never appeared in any of the daily logs. It almost would have been better for them to use an alias.

Von Kalt wondered why Fox hadn't chosen to give his children an alias, to better protect them. A moment later he realized the answer; pride, hubris. Fox didn't want his wife and children to go under assumed names out of pride. He wanted them to introduce themselves and Ana, Ashley and Geoffrey _Fox_.

Then, as Von Kalt was doing now, he could simply use the Micronix to sweep the registries for any mention of their names.

Von Kalt looked out over the subdivision, the ground based, albeit moderately expensive neighborhood. He wondered why Dr. Fox had insisted on living here? He could afford a perfectly protected castle in the sky. His children would be safer that way.

The edges of Angel City hovered overhead, replacing half the stars with their own blinking and twinkling lights.

The answer came to him like a bolt of lightning. _The Micronix could not have fallen from the balcony of Fuji Dozo to land at Ashley's feet, if she lived in the sky._

Von Kalt dismissed the idea as ludicrous. The Fox family had been living at the same residence for over a decade. _There was no way Fox planned Fuji Dozo over ten years ago._ Von Kalt realized _That_ thought was ridiculous. Whatever Fox's reasons for living on the ground, he wouldn't have hesitated to take advantage of the fact.

Von Kalt paused. He needed to think - clearly.

Fox had created the Micronix and by default, the Metachron. How could Von Kalt, a user, take the creator by surprise? How could Von Kalt out think the man who had turned him into a God?

Perhaps Fox was already listening; hearing his every thought, able to read the history of everything he had done since taking the Metachron. Perhaps Fox had _Let_ him take it.

But even gods could be manipulated; it is just a matter of leverage. And even gods could be killed, if you learn their weakness. Surely, even Gods fear open Rebellion.

Having devoured Anastasia Zelena's infamous case history, as both a spy, and later as a special operations officer, Von Kalt suspected she most likely volunteered as an assistant to the martial arts camp.

However, that was rather obvious. It would be a better cover for her to be helping out with the gymnastics program.

Yet, that would mean the ballet-obsessed daughter would be doing a kung fu camp? And there was no ballet or any sort of dance program on the entire facility. The Heart of the City Inc had lost that market to a summer charter branch of Wellstone. Questions and the search for answers consumed him. He lay on the lounge chair, silently seeking and finding.

# Chapter 34 – Kitsunegari

Friday, July 10, 2308

Ross sat at his desk while Secretary Croswell leaned against the wall.

The communications terminal lit up with the incoming call they'd been waiting for. Ross transferred it to his monitor, illuminating the images of Anastasia and Doctor Te, in Jerusalem.

"I was just explaining to Dr. Te that our friend has gone missing," Ana said.

"Missing?" Te echoed.

Ross nodded. "Stanwood's goons gassed a café."

"Who is Stanwood?" Dr. Te asked.

"Back when you were working out here, he was Senator Miller's right hand. He's the National Intelligence Director now."

"God help us," Te replied.

"I say it's time we got rid of him, but Fox says no," Ross answered

"If Fox is accused of murder, perhaps murder is not the solution?" Te suggested.

"I guess it would depend on your definition of the problem," Ana replied.

"Right now, the problem is that he is missing, yes?" Te asked. "I think I can help with that. I have always thought that the key to finding anything lies as much in where it is not, every bit as much as where it might be."

"What the hell does that mean?" Croswell asked, stepping forward.

"I mean, where would Stanwood not keep Fox?" Te asked.

"He'd keep him away from Terillium," Ross answered.

"And that means far away from any city," Croswell added.

"We just need to find Stanwood and make him tell us," Ana said.

"We can't do that. For one, we can't prove he was involved, and he still has the President's ear," Croswell said.

"Well we have the footage of Von Kalt," Ross countered. "And I still owe the both of them for what they did to my arm."

"I put King on Von Kalt. If he pays Fox a visit, we'll know about it."

"Let me skin his face. He'll tell us," Ross said.

"I'm telling you, we can find Fox. No problem," Te asserted. "Stanwood has already told us where he will be."

"How's that?" Ross asked.

"As you said, he won't be in a city or around other people. He won't be over water, because as you said, he won't be around any metal at all."

"That would mean desert, most likely," Ross said. "He won't set up in a forest. He'd want to be able to see someone coming."

"He might have gone underground," Croswell said. "I mean literally underground."

"He'd be somewhere he could go unnoticed, which eliminates all military installations. He wouldn't risk that, not with you as Sec Def, " Ross said, nodding to Croswell.

"You're right. It will be the Department of Science and Energy, or DARPA, or the old NASA bases. There were a ton of those," Croswell said.

"Once we find them, how do we get in? They'll have a full protection suite set up," Ross added. "Even in our phase cam, we'll still set off their thermal sweepers."

"There is no way to get in quiet over sand. Stanwood's at least that smart," Ross said.

"You have an answer for that, don't you?" Croswell asked, nodding to Doctor Te.

"I didn't think you sent Ana back out of the goodness of your heart."

"I don't know why anyone would ever want to ascribe personal motives for anything I do." Croswell smiled. "This is sheer tactics."

"I do have a way to approach over open terrain..." Te said.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We don't even know where he is yet."

"And we won't know until we actually start looking," Ana said.

"We're running recon from Kojima. We'll have likely locations in another day or two, we're still combing through the data dump."

"We are almost ready for field operations. She just needs a few more days with the operation interface," Te said.

Ana looked at Dr. Te as if he were crazy.

"Not like we have any locations yet anyhow," Croswell looked pointedly at Major Ross.

Dr. Te gestured and turned the camera, "Well, here she is... This is Sabor." A robotic cat walked into the frame. She sat and turned toward the camera, her ears turning independently.

"Numa, the lion, is in pieces on a table in the lab. He's going to be there for a while," Te said, looking over his shoulder. "Anyhow, she won't show up on thermal sensors, or silhouette registers. She can land outside any perimeter and just walk in."

"I'll see what I can do to narrow things down," Croswell said. "How many of these Sabers do you have ready to go?"

"She's the only one," Te answered.

"And the Lion? What do you think, maybe next week?"

"Numa's got at least a year before he's ready," Te answered.

"Then Saber will have to do," Croswell said.

Dr. Te didn't bother to correct Croswell's pronunciation. He'd gotten Numa right easy enough.

"We're just talking recon, right?" Ross said. "I mean, we don't want to just walk off with your life's work," he said to Dr. Te.

"Oh, don't worry." Te said. "I'm curious to see how she does in the field. I also have some insects and mice. Hopefully we can also put them to work, but they have limited range."

"I can't believe you sent me out here now," Ana said directly to Croswell. "But at the same time, I get it."

"This has been planned for months," Croswell said.

"My husband's abduction has not been planned for months."

"Technically, he's Anastasia Zelena's husband. You are Captain Analynn Snow of the United States Marine Corps.

"And why are you always in my shit anyhow? I'm doing the best I can, same as you. I'm doing everything I can to protect you and your children and it is a full time job."

Croswell was smiling, clearly putting her on. "What do I get for it?

"Grief. Who wants an eternity of this nonsense?

"It has to stop, Captain." Croswell was smiling, shaking his head. "You're the only one he listens to anyhow. Why haven't you talked any sense into that husband of yours?"

Ana sighed, "He doesn't listen to me any more than he does to any of you. The only way _She_ stays with him is because she doesn't ask him any questions, or give him any advice," Ana countered.

"We need to test the cat, so test it," Ross said. "This is a great test."

"Is Fox in on this?" Ana asked. "Is this some ploy to get him political points? Playing the victim card?"

Croswell shook his head. "I can't believe you would even say that."

He looked her in the eye, across the digital telecom channel, "No. I promise you, none of this is planned. This is not a test, I swear on my mother's grave.

"And President Conway approved nothing. I know for a fact. Stanwood is running his op off-book.

"And since there's no reason to believe he wouldn't send someone after Dr. Te, the best place for you, is exactly where you are."

"You said that," Snow pointed out.

"It's still true," Croswell answered.

Friday, July 10, 2308

After breakfast, Von Kalt abruptly ordered his men pack up their gear. They left the cameras running on their automatic settings and had locked the doors in less than forty minutes.

Von Kalt checked them into the penthouse of a luxury hotel, directly across the street from the Heart of the City camp facility. New surveillance equipment was delivered, and the main room was soon cluttered with screens and control boards.

"Now what?" Lieutenant Hernandez asked.

"Now we wait," Von Kalt answered.

"It's your money."

A new card game started at a new dining room table.

Ashley's Journal, Saturday, July 11, 2308

I've tried not to hurt anyone since Jason, but today Sihing Shou got in my face about it, I was taking it easy on this kid, Anthony. I could have beaten him, but I didn't want to.

After two rounds of nothing, Shou asked me why I didn't just hit him and get it over with.

I said, "Why don't you hit him?"

He didn't laugh. He said something like... "He's half my size, he's no challenge for me."

I looked him right in the eye... _"You're twice my size, and it wouldn't be fair for me to beat you up either."_ Only I didn't actually say it. I thought it. I wanted to say it, and I think he got my meaning, because he turned around and went to talk to Anthony.

Lots of them were watching.

None of them talk to me. I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that. Either way, I get what Mrs. Rabier meant. There is a lot more to life than ballet. That much I do get.

When Shou blew the whistle to restart the match, the third round...

I moved so fast! No one saw it coming. I kicked Anthony in the chest; hard and fast, swinging my foot like they showed us.

He landed on his back and with a "whoosh."

Then he started flopping around like a fish out of water.

The whole place got quiet.

For a second, I was afraid he was going to die.

Shou helped Anthony sit up and softly tapped him on the back. Soon enough he was breathing again.

Once Anthony was okay, Shou gestured for me to step to the center of the ring and raised my hand; winner by technical knock out.

I remember he looked at me like I'd been hustling him and asked me, "You're not a martial artist?"

"I'm a ballerina," I said.

He said, "Ahhh." Then he smiled and nodded.

Cleary explained that I'd knocked the wind out of Anthony and that when he _flexed his diaphragm_ , it was like he was like tugging at the door of a refrigerator you just closed.

I asked him if it was permanent. He laughed and said it was no big deal. Anthony would be fine.

I felt a little better then. I'm just glad I didn't kick him in the face.

Sunday, July 12, 2308

Fox sat in his plastic cell, meditating. He wondered about the physical necessity of the interface at all. His previous research showed that terillium saturated the human body, as well as the airspace in an area and any metallic objects in its immediate environment.

He focused, but there was nothing. In a strange place, he needed the amplifier to make a connection. There was no way around that.

Over the past week, he'd come to understand that he was housed in a plastic structure, inside a large warehouse or barn, constructed of wood and cement. His guards could be heard lounging nearby.

In the mornings, the sun crashed through the rooftop skylights and illuminated everything. The walls of Fox's cell glowed with an opaque brilliance. The sun moved across the sky and eventually everything got dark. The soldiers only had no interior electricity, so once night came on, it came on in full.

The cell was outfitted with surveillance cameras running optic lines to a remote server and wirelessly streamed back to the monitors at the nearby observation lab. Other than that, there was no metal anywhere nearby.

Fox was fed twice a day, once in the morning and once at evening, through a plastic airlock. He never saw any of his guards.

There was a small bathroom attached to his cell. The water pressure was weak, but it beat the "single drain" alternative.

Mostly Fox sat.

He sat, and he thought.

He thought about the Micronix and the Metachron, and he listened.

Fox listened to everything.

He could hear birds, from outside, a small family of them in one of the ventilation ducts.

During the first night, his hearing really seemed to increase.

He could hear desert insects in their nocturnal hunts.

At one point, a rat came into the warehouse. Fox could hear it outside his cell. Fox heard it far earlier than the guards, who spotted it using night vision lenses and shot at it, but missed.

Fox relaxed and let the sounds come to him.

He didn't chase them. He just let them come.

He could hear the guards on their patrols, about a hundred meters from the warehouse.

There were three other buildings, two to the north and one to the east, as well as a low foothill to the southwest. As the guards passed behind the buildings, their footsteps were either muffled of reflected back. As they passed by the base of the hill, the sound almost vanished entirely.

Fox came to know the guards, as well.

Mickey was a wizard with a deck of cards. The cook was an Indian man, named Vickram, and the men thought he was also a genius. The youngest member of the platoon, DeLeon, spent most of his time getting razzed and took turns being mentored by the salty vets.

Fox was astonished that Stanwood would assign an entire platoon of what were clearly some of the country's most elite soldiers, just to guard him.

# Chapter 35 – Complete the Plan

Monday, July 13, 2308

Much like he had in the canyon, Von Kalt spent several days occupying a patio chair and hardly moved. He ate with the troops, did some light stretching, and would occasionally go for a short walk, but ninety percent of his time was spent in the cushioned lounge chair, on the outdoor balcony.

Monday afternoon, the secure line rang with a call from Director Stanwood. Angstrom answered and was told to put Von Kalt on.

Deputy Director Von Kalt abruptly rose from the patio and carried the portable terminal into one of the bedrooms.

"We need confirmation that the children are there," Stanwood said. "We don't need to extract them, we just need visual confirmation."

"I can do that, but I'll have to send someone in to wire the place."

"That's fine. But keep that final-solution team ready, just in case."

"Ready to go in and do what, sir?"

"You know very well what I mean."

"Director Stanwood, I give you my word, as soon as the Attorney General signs a warrant for Mrs. Fox or the Fox children, my men will be standing by, ready to do their duty, to the death, if necessary. But I will not issue an unlawful order."

Stanwood said nothing; he just stared at his deputy.

"If you're asking me to have a team ready to _eliminate a threat to national security_ , you'd better be ready to show evidence that will stand up in court of an imminent threat. My men aren't going to go wax this guys wife and kids in a metropolitan camp. And if you send us in there on a rendition, without warrants, you know damn well it will get messy."

"What are you afraid of? We're talking about two kids and a housewife. Take more men if you think you need to."

"Sir, as your second, I have access to all the same information you do. The same Presidential access applies to both of us. While I can't tell my men, due to their security clearance, I can tell you. And I'm telling you, I think this is Fox's version of an ambush. The more men we send, the more body bags we're going to need."

"I will note your formal protest and add my own footnote that I heard fear and cowardice in your voice, commander."

"Fear and cowardice? You want subtext? _Go Fuck Yourself!_ What do you hear in that?"

"Shall I interpret that as a formal resignation?"

"Whatever happened to No Women, No Kids?"

"Whatever happened to following orders?"

"That's what I'm telling you, this rendition will fail. There is no way we can take them alive."

Stanwood scowled at Von Kalt. "You took the doctor. _The_ Doctor. You, Deputy Director Rudolph Von Kalt, took down the man who can kill with a thought."

Von Kalt rolled his eyes. "We can't gas a camp facility. We can't set the dosage low enough for the kids to survive and still knock out the adults. We should wait until the program ends and pick them up at home."

"He planned this, I know he did," Stanwood muttered.

"Still not talking then?" Von Kalt surmised.

"That's why we need leverage. Please tell me you understand."

"Look, our only option here is a covert intrusion on spider lines. They have limited internal surveillance, so we'll have to install new cameras at night to watch during the day. We're not even certain they're there yet. I have scoured all their internal documents and there is no actual proof, just gaps where the proof should be."

"No one wants to kill a mom and her kids. That's insane and would serve no purpose. You have to bring them in alive," Stanwood said.

"Glad we can agree on something," Von Kalt replied.

"Keep me informed." Stanwood reached out to switch off the channel.

"Wait, before you go... The 3AM and Black Willow files... Fox's daughter, Ashley, is that not the same little girl in those exercises?"

"I've reviewed the Black Willow data, extensively, and I have every confidence you will keep all classified material to yourself."

"And how come none of the vets who participated are named? It's all code names. I couldn't find a proper name file anywhere."

"Who? The vets?" Stanwood asked.

"The subjects, the aggressors and the defenders. I get the code names, but the original name file, where is that?"

"The project was sealed at the presidential level, only he has access to it. Since he has never accessed it, ever, our permissions aren't enough to scan it," Stanwood looked away, scanning a file on his desk.

"Are you even sure it's there?" Von Kalt asked.

"Oh, it's there. It has to be. Why are you looking for that anyhow? It isn't going to help you find them," Stanwood said.

"Once you consider it, there's no reason to even believe Fox ended the project. After all, if the members serve anonymously? I mean... It's the ultimate MK Ultra. He could have sleeping agents anywhere."

"Now you're catching on, deputy. Yes, he could have agents anywhere. In fact, one might say, the only way to be sure that someone was not under Fox's control, would be to measure their opposition to him. Wouldn't you agree?"

Von Kalt raised an eyebrow.

"His enemies show courage in voicing their dissent," Stanwood said.

"Courage can be misread as ignorance," Von Kalt countered.

"And curiosity kills the cat," Stanwood added. "But the cat kills everything else. Install the cameras."

"I'll keep you informed." Von Kalt switched the terminal off.

Monday, July 13, 2308

Croswell arrived at the public parking garage and exited his vehicle, in which he'd had his lunch, only to climb into another. This vehicle would proceed to travel aimlessly until docking at another location, allowing the Secretary to switch vehicles again.

When Croswell was in the field, he preferred to be careful. These days, he considered anywhere away from his home base of the capital to be _the field_. He flooded his target city with a fleet of secret service vehicles and moved among them like an invisible pea in a shell game. Even his agents never knew whose vehicle he was going to climb into. Doubles and drivers, disguised as himself, added to the apparent chaos, but Croswell's security protocols had never lost a subject and were the stuff of legend.

Fox had never appreciated the majesty of _Security_ , but that was where Croswell shined. If Fox had listened to Croswell, ever, about anything: there was no doubt, things would be different today.

Croswell considered calling Stanwood, but the men he'd assigned to keep an eye on the director's office confirmed that he hadn't shown up in three days. Besides and despite his procrastination, he'd arrived at the vehicle scheduled to deliver him to Ross's lab.

Seventeen minutes later, Croswell docked and walked into Ross's observation lab. "So where the hell is he?" he asked.

"We've narrowed it down to five locations. Betting money says he'd keep him close to the front lines," Ross answered.

"I can guarantee you he isn't using anything military."

"We found seventeen undercover operations. Nine of them were already on the books at DOJ. And three more they waved us off of for diplomatic issues, I guess we're training somebody's someone. So, we've narrowed our interests down to five occupations.

"Several military types, always in headgear out of doors and no vehicles. They're cooking with gas or fire, nothing electric. Confirmed in Jacksonville, El Paso, Las Cruces and Tucson.

"I thought you said five?"

"Sorry, two in Jacksonville."

"So that's out. Stanwood wouldn't set up that close to another operation. What about Barstow?"

"He won't risk it. And China Lake is out too, that's Fox's home turf."

"Stanwood is old school. He'll have at least twenty boots on the ground. And it won't be a known operations facility. My money is on Houston or Colorado," Croswell said.

'Get this, and this is why we included Jacksonville... They all test their jamming equipment for sixty seconds, every night at two-forty."

"How do you know, if there's nothing to jam?"

Ross looked down, " I um... Uh. I put resources in play."

"Please tell me you did not activate anything that generates any kind of fiscal or paper trail." Croswell raised his hand to his forehead, pinching his brow and massaging his eyebrows.

"No, just the Geo Syncs. And some gliders," Ross answered.

"Oh sure, okay. That's fine." Croswell waved a hand sarcastically.

"We were over all seventeen locations, all night. These five squeaked, for sixty seconds, all at two-forty am," Ross stated.

"Could be he's running multiples," Croswell suggested.

"I'm guessing this is Miller's hand at play. And I'd bet every one of them is a minefield, just waiting to get tripped," Ross said.

"So we drop in under the cover of darkness, at two-forty, while their blind for a minute?" Croswell surmised.

"That's about the size of it," Ross said.

"Without vehicles, and jamming the frequencies during a fight, what's their endgame?"

"Most likely; kill the hostage, fight to the death, and a ballistic enema."

"That cleansing fire."

"No more than a hundred-eighty seconds after hostilities erupt."

"We can't go in numbers. Even invisible and airborne, this is a very dangerous op. They're waiting for us. Likely they're all wearing custom lenses. Stanwood knows what he's up against," Croswell said.

"He has no idea what he's up against," Ross countered.

"I figure three of us could drop in during that sixty-second window."

"We'll only get to the ground," Croswell said.

"I've got an idea about that too," Ross answered.

"Well, let's hear it then?"

"We hack their jammer, lock it in the on position. By the time they figure it out, well be in and out. If we can get airborne in less than ninety seconds, we'll have thirty to escape the blast radius."

"That is tight," Croswell said. "It would get wet and hot. It would have to get wet."

"What's the worst that can happen?" Ross asked.

Ross and Croswell laughed together.

# Chapter 36 – Master of Sand

Monday, July 13, 2308

After a full ten days of near motionless meditation, Fox had a very curious experience.

He'd been listening, and he'd heard a rattlesnake out hunting lizards, as the sun set.

One of the guards was approaching the shallow wash where the rattlesnake was hiding. Fox, in his excitement, whispered, "Look out," fearing for the guard, who was about to step on the snake.

The soldier paused and readied his weapon.

The snake reacted; its rattle blasting into the otherwise tranquil evening. The soldier stepped back.

The snake soon fell silent again.

"What the hell?" the soldier said.

In his cell, Fox smiled.

Later, Fox heard the man recount the affair to his comrades.

"I swear to you, I heard someone say _'Look Out!'_ but there was no one there."

Naturally, this was met with much laughter and ridicule.

Then a hush went through the men.

Fox suspected someone had gestured toward his plastic cell. After all, he hadn't been given a name.

None of them had seen him. No one spoke to him, nor he to them.

His meals were passed through a chambered compartment.

For all they knew, he was a terrorist of the worst order.

Confirming his suspicions, the initial soldier spoke. "I seriously doubt a terrorist is projecting his voice, warning me about rattlesnakes."

"More like Jesus or a guardian angel."

"You ain't got no guardian angel, fuck-tard. All you got is that rifle, and you should have used it. I heard rattler is good eating."

"I ain't eating no goddamn snake!"

They laughed.

Fox laughed along with the soldiers, but quietly, so as not to be overheard.

Ashley's Journal, Monday, July 13, 2308

This week we have classes on grappling. They're teaching us how submission fights work and the rules about tapping out.

Two days of wrestling, then jiu-jitsu, judo and krav maga.

It was gross. The boys were all sweaty, and I had to wrestle them.

Luckily though, it's all separated into weight class, so I didn't have to fight anyone too much bigger than me.

I was fine with the practical instruction, the fundamentals, but when it came to the practice matches, I did not want to be rolling around with them. I'm still mad about that.

And for the second and third rounds of the wrestling matches, you have to start down!

In my final match, I punched the kid, Thomas, hard.

He was bleeding, and he didn't get up.

I got disqualified. You're not supposed to punch in wrestling.

I elbowed him too, right before that, but it was totally his fault.

He tried to put his hand between my legs.

Then Lopez told me... "You have to follow the rules."

"Or what?" I asked.

"Or you get disqualified," he said.

I laughed in his face.

After dinner, I heard they have a nickname for me.

Everest.

Well it started as Pinyin, which is Chinese for Mount Everest.

Then they were calling me Chomolungma, and I heard someone say Holy Mother too _._

I asked what he meant by that, and he explained.

"We used to call you Mt. Everest, then for a while it was Pinyin, which is Chinese for Mount Everest, but now it's mostly Everest."

I asked "Why Everest?"

"Cause it's the highest mountain in the world," he answered.

That was when someone else yelled out, "Chomolungma!"

At least they smile and nod to me now, even if we don't talk a lot.

And I like having a nickname.

Everest. That's kind of cool.

Like how Mom used to call me Towanjica. 

Monday Evening, July 13, 2308

Bravo Team's Lieutenant, Chad Welter, dropped into the camp facility a little after midnight. Disguised as a member of the maintenance staff, no one questioned him or even noticed him as he moved about the campground. He quickly located the dorm assigned to the martial arts program and just as quickly discovered that no girls were quartered there.

He set up three cameras and withdrew, retracting his line as he went. In the martial arts hall, he placed a few more cameras, as well a few in the outdoor areas.

On his way to the gymnastics hall, a loitering security patrol forced him to take an alternate route. He hid a dozen more cameras there. Finally, he placed another dozen in the science labs and hallways.

He spent three hours on the facility and wasn't seen or spoken to.

Tuesday, July 14, 2308

Von Kalt's team remained glued to the monitors, the footage was analyzed, and notes were made for camera adjustments.

The cameras in the cafeterias, science lab, computer labs and martial arts hall clearly showed Ashley and Geoff interacting with the other kids. Several of the hallway cameras caught them too, but not enough of them to determine where their rooms were, if they absolutely had to be picked up.

That evening, Von Kalt sent in all of Alpha Team, four agents disguised as janitors. They adjusted seventeen of the original thirty-six cameras and installed another thirty-six. In and out in ninety minutes.

Ashley's Journal, Wednesday, July 15, 2308

Second day of wrestling, I was up against Brandon. This time, right in the beginning, he tried to take me down, and I kneed him in the face.

That was way more blood than Tom, but not as much as Scott, on that first day. Ever since then, it's almost like they're just hurting themselves on me. I'm not even really doing anything. I'm not hitting them hard; I'm just accurate.

Lopez and Shou had an argument right there in front of all of us. They went off to the side, but I could still hear them good enough. Lopez said I was an embarrassment to them as instructors; _that the entire class was getting their Asses handed to them by a wafe_.

I have to look that up when I get home. I have no idea what a wafe is.

Shou defended me though. He said I was great. The students were getting a powerful dose of lesson number one.

Clearly said that they were lucky. He said that me beating up the boys was easier to explain than letting twenty boys beat up a girl. He said that, for over a week, the boys had been trading deserts and chores for the chance to fight me. He said I was the _Holy Grail_ of the program.

I like _Everest_ better. Aside from all that, I am Not Getting Hit.

I'm practicing Lesson Number Two, Don't Get Hit. In fact, I'm pretty sure it should be moved up to Number One.

Wednesday Evening, July 15, 2308

After examining two days worth of footage, Von Kalt sent two three-man teams in. They located the rooms they believed to belong to the children and found them to be electronically locked.

They could be breached, shorted out, or possibly hacked, but not without attracting some attention.

The teams were ordered to return to base.

Thursday, July 16, 2308

Some time after midnight, Fox rose from meditation and walked through the front door of his cell. All that remaining night, that day, and the next, Fox walked the surrounding sands and creek beds. He explored the empty space between earth and sky. Fox felt himself go into the air and then into the sand. He spoke to it, and a moment later, he was there, standing.

Up till this point, his explorations had been as an insubstantial being. But now he was standing. His sandals now left imprints in the sand.

It wasn't long before one of the guards came across Fox's footprints. However, as they started from nowhere and evaporated into nowhere, the investigation yielded little in the way of explanations.

And after all, it couldn't be the prisoner.

The cameras showed him, clearly still seated in his cell.

He ate at meal times and reclined after dark.

# Chapter 37 – Hardwired

Sunday, July 19, 2308

On the third afternoon, after leaving his cell, Fox sat on the small rise, feeling the warmth of the air and the radiance of the sun, absorbed and reflected by the crystals of the sand.

He pushed his attention into the sand, the silica crystals of sodium-two hydrogen. Once superheated, it melts into glass and then slowly evaporates into the atmosphere; _Exactly like Terillium_.

Fox looked out at the watery haze of heat, rising from the flat white plane. Terillium was not unique in its solid structure. Most heavy metals, as well as crystals, evaporated into the air.

Terillium was not unique.

_It did not need to be mined_ , Fox realized.

_All Atoms were once Terillium Atoms_.

And that, as such, all atoms could be reverted back to their original state, fully turned on - as Terillium.

Fox thrust his hand into the loose grains. If he wanted, he could revert the atoms. And he understood; that was how Epsilon had reduced itself to a single amplifier.

Fox scooped up a handful of grains and let them run through his fingers. First they rained out as gold, then as silver and finally as snowflakes, before evaporating completely in the heat of the late afternoon.

As the sunlight reached Fox, on the eighth minute of its journey from the surface the yellow dwarf star at the center of the solar system, Fox saw how each particle's life cycle was forever repeated. It broke free from the sun, perfect. It heated the atmosphere and then the particle struck the sand itself, penetrating the silica, sinking and shedding disguises until eventually merging with the planet's terillium deposits.

The heat that was reflected back from the planet, or say from the surface of the moon, would continue to cool until settling somewhere.

Fox saw clearly; he did not need an amplifier.

Everything was Terillium.

Everything was him.

He was everything.

He laughed.

Ashley's Journal, Monday, July 21, 2308

After getting disqualified two matches in a row, I tried to restrain myself a bit. I've been practicing what they teach us and I'm working with the boys on their level.

I am actually putting forth a genuine effort to practice Mrs. Rabier's advice. I don't know why. It just seems easier than fighting.

This way, we're all learning more than we could if we were fighting.

With each other, the boys respond to everything with violence. None of their petty arguments are personal. They don't even know each other. It's all about ego and dominance.

When I stand up there in front of some kid and they blow the whistle, I'm not facing his record, or his reputation. It's just him and me.

I treat him just like I would any of the boys in the canyon back home.

But they treat each other like wild animals. They stare each other in the chest and only look their opponent in the face to taunt or insult each other. They lose focus looking each other in the eye, and then wonder why their attacks fail.

This is more than just physical coordination and ability. I go out of my way to make eye contact. Once I do, if they continue to advance on me, I consider it an act of betrayal. The friend I spoke to in that glance wouldn't attack me. Anyone who does is no longer a friend.

I just wait for them. I watch and I wait, and when they move, I move first. I always wait for the attack. I'm the girl; I don't have to attack. And from all my ballet practice, I am soooo fast.

They are really no match for me. It's not fair; I can break any of them, anytime I want. It's the isolation, away from the ring, that bothers me most. It's almost over now though, just a few more days.

Friday morning we go home! I honestly can't wait for a whole day of sleep. That's all I want, sleep. I'm going to sleep for a week. Then I'm going to get up and take a nap.

Tuesday, July 21, 2308

"I met with Senator Miller this afternoon," Stanwood told Fox, unseen, through the plastic door. "He doesn't like you. And apparently someone ransacked his office, so it seems Miller isn't much liked either."

Fox laughed, sitting in his cell, legs crossed, eyes closed.

"For what it's worth, I told him this is wrong," Stanwood said. "I believe we have no legal right to be holding you like this. It's not up to me, of course. As a suspected traitor, technically, we can hold you forever, but we'd need to strip you of your citizenship. They're trying to get the paperwork through justice. Believe me, once they do, this gate won't stay closed. Miller wants to use the same tech you developed for Black Willow."

Stanwood paused.

"Can you believe it? I don't know if that's the textbook definition of irony, but it makes me smile." The smile came through in his voice.

Fox didn't answer.

"So, here's the deal. You have until the Attorney General signs whatever warrants he's going to sign. You have that long to save your family. He's going to sign the warrants, and when he does, you and your family will be stripped of your citizenship rights.

"Miller already has a lien on your wife and children. He's claiming them as line items in previous budgets. He says he owns them, and the first thing he intends to do is cut them up, to see what you've got going on under the hood.

"I explained that if he did that, we wouldn't have any leverage on you. I got him to agree to just take one, preferably your wife, and to let us use the children to keep you talking. I figure, that way, everyone gets something. It's all about compromise, after all. You still have some interest in cooperating and thereby ensuring your children's continued safety."

Fox heard fear in Stanwood's voice.

"We all know your wife was a traitor to the republic before you even met her. So there's no doubt about what is going to happen to her."

"She is a patriot, as am I," Fox said, hearing even a little fear in his own voice.

"We know he's going to sign them, the AG thinks you're dangerous enough that we don't have to wait for you to betray the country. After what happened at Epsilon, it's in the nation's best interests to remove you from society.

"By the way, did you know they have a triggerman on your block? Apparently, they have a wet worker, dedicated to you, undercover for the almost seven years now, Mister Justin Case."

Stanwood fell silent for a moment.

Fox remained motionless.

"That's what they've got lined up for your pretty wife and those two adorable children, unless you talk. Right now."

Stanwood waited.

"You have answers they want, and if you don't tell me, they're going after your family. Don't you even care?"

"I care, and you do not exist."

At the same moment, several hundred meters away, Fox sat on the small sand dune. There was no point in thinking about Stanwood, about where he was being kept or if he would be rescued in time.

There was no _in time_.

There was only now.

Fox spread his fingers and his power into and through the tiny crystalline grains and contemplated his existence.

Sand, mostly silicon, number fourteen, a chemical analog for carbon. Fox pushed his sensory perception into the grains of matter surrounding him. He could feel himself, he could feel the earth as himself. At the same time, he could feel himself inside his cell and could hear Stanwood make his idle threats.

What he found strange was how normal, how natural it felt.

He had not changed.

It felt more like he had come home and that home was all of creation.

# Chapter 38 – Issue the Order

Wednesday, July 22, 2308

It was still early in the morning when Stanwood arrived. Fox had come to recognize the sound of his shuttle.

A few minutes later, Stanwood spoke from the other side of the opaque door. "The Attorney General still hasn't signed your arrest warrant, but he will, and when he does, it's not just you. We're closing down everything, all your projects, everything, unless you tell me what I want to know. You can stop all of this. Just say the word."

Fox opened his eyes. The opaque door was closed.

"Suppose I were to cooperate? I would need you to swear to leave my wife and kids out of it."

"I'll see what I can do."

"You have to swear."

"You have my word."

"Then I guess you'll want the codes to my secret bases?" Fox offered.

"Yes," Stanwood said. "To start with."

"There are three you need to get to rather quickly, seven in total, oh, wait, nine. Just find my Chief Operations Officer, Angus MacPhail."

"Angus MacPhail?" Stanwood asked.

"Yeah, yes."

"Where will I find him?" Stanwood asked.

"Glasgow, usually. He's a security consultant. Schedule a lunch with him and ask about the Manx kipper rouge. You have to get this just right. If you don't get the code word right, he's under standing orders to destroy everything. Tell him you heard it was good and ask if you should try it."

"The Manx kipper rouge?"

"Yes, just like that. He's got the keys to three units we have in the UK and to all our research material, all my secrets, everything is hidden on the Midway."

"After that, you need to go see Henry Porter. He keeps rooms at the Anserini-Chen Lodge in Dresden. You can find him any time during the Annual Snipe Hunt, which is all summer basically. We've got an industrial park just over the border in Czechoslovakia, Wolpertinger Industrial Park. He's the only guy who can get you across the check point."

"Okay."

"Pay attention, Joseph, you only get one shot at this."

"Is there anything I need to tell Mister Porter?"

"Oh, yes. Tell him his real name in Charles. Tell him I said Hi and to give you whatever you want."

"And the third one," Stanwood asked.

"John Wyndham. You'll find him in Los Angeles, Chile and he'll take you to Patagonia and from there onto McMurdo Station in Antartica."

"Can't we just go straight there from here?"

"You could, but John has the keys."

"I'm glad to see you've come to your senses," Stanwood said.

Fox laughed.

"What's so funny?" The intel director asked.

"Stanwood. You coward, did you touch it yet?"

Stanwood didn't answer.

"You know you're the only one they left out. Everyone else knew. You do realize that, don't you? They've all been interfaced already, all your superiors. Miller, Phillips, Croswell, even the old man himself. They're all on the inside.

"You're the scapegoat. By coming after me, you're doing them a favor. They'd love to see us kill each other."

"Wake up, Fox, it's you in the cell. You're the loose cannon. But maybe you're right. Perhaps I'm overextended, but you're being naive if you think you're untouchable. From a mathematical perspective, this was inevitable. You have crossed too many lines."

"I'm just one person, Joe. You can kill me, but you can't control all of mankind. Maybe no one else will frighten you, the way I do, but you've never been of any interest to me. You can't stop evolution. I am insignificant. You are insignificant. You have no real power.

"By the way, I've cut off your access to my networks. I found the hole you were exploiting. You won't access President Conway's footnote files anymore."

Stanwood remained quiet.

"You thought I wouldn't figure it out?" Fox asked.

"Bite me, Andrew," Stanwood retorted.

"Look at us," Fox continued. "Here I am helpless, locked in a cell, but you're so scared you can't even face me as a man. You need someone else's approval, someone else's permission to shoot me while I'm handcuffed. Tell me, who's the coward here?"

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Then open the door. If I'm not who you're afraid of, who is it?"

"I'm not stupid, Andrew. We're going to find the prototype, and then we won't need to keep you around. It will all come out in the wash."

Fox burst into laughter. "You idiot, it was in my pocket! When your men arrested me, it was in my pocket. You're worried about evidence and procedure. There's not going to be any trial. I'm a national hero, you idiot. The cover up has already started, and you, my friend, are not invited to the after party."

"That's impossible."

"I think it's more likely your own men don't answer to you."

"I'm going to check out your info. This will go a long way in your defense."

"God, what would you do without someone to double-check all your decisions?" Fox laughed as Stanwood stomped from the cell door.

Obviously Stanwood's number two, Von Kalt, was in possession of the Metachron now.

How long would it take the Metachron's new disciple to seek him out? Would he even bother?

He might go after Ashley, after all, she has the Micronix now.

Fox could never have predicted the Metachron's appearance. It could unbalance everything.

To think Astral, Ashley rather, to think she, a mere slip of a girl, could be ready for what Fox knew must be coming. He had miscalculated, terribly. Fox feared the Metachron had entered a transition cycle, like a caterpillar going into a cocoon before emerging as a butterfly.

Fox remembered that Butterflies had horrifically short life spans. They were terribly beautiful for a terribly short period of time.

# Chapter 39 – Visitations in the Desert

Thursday Evening, July 23, 2308

As the sun reached the horizon, Fox noticed a figure cresting it. From where he sat on the bluff, he could hear the patrols behind him.

He watched the creature approach from the west. He could tell it was a four-legged animal, but it was some time before he could see it was a cat and not a dog or coyote. Before it became any clearer, the animal disappeared into a shallow wash.

In the desert, the cat pressed on, padding forward, its robotic legs pulling it forward across the sand, gliding as smoothly as any cat in real life ever did.

Fox could feel the animal as it continued its approach. He could feel the vibrations caused by the padded feet, each step bringing it closer. A few minutes after the sun had set, but long before its light had faded from the sky, the mechanical cat emerged from the shallow ravine.

Fox could hear the hum of electrical components, capacitors and servos, magnetic fibers contracting and releasing as the animal continued its approach. The robot wore a tawny blonde fur coat, its whiskers and ears shifting in the breeze.

Its eyes looked directly at Fox and spoke to his mind in the voice of his wife. "Te really outdid himself time."

Fox smiled.

In a single moment, his mind shifted through the emotions of envy, curiosity, frustration and then fascination.

Te had obviously continued down the path they had originally started on. Using the progress they had made wiring the centaurs, he seemed to have reversed the process. Fox realized that he had simply re-mapped the translator, in effect, placing the user inside the robot, as opposed to bringing the robot's senses directly to the user. On one end, he mapped the user's mind, then simply projected it to meet a shell program inside the robot.

Te's creation was impressive; there was no doubt about it. The electro-magnetic muscle fibers behaved like real muscle only better. The carbon-nano coat and protective layers made the cat water and bulletproof, while the terillium chassis and frame gave an operator complete control over the cat's weight, elevation and momentum.

Fox was impressed. Hell, he felt positively jealous. Then he remembered; he'd kind of gone past that now.

"What do you think?" Ana asked. "It's like I'm really inside it." She lifted a paw and turned it. Then turned the cat's head and ears back to Fox.

He was amazed. "It's awesome."

"So, what, they just let you wander around, free like this? I guess there's not really anywhere for you to go."

Fox laughed. "Let's walk a little bit."

"Where to? It's the middle of the desert."

Fox gestured with his arm, "How about down to that little grove, by the mountain over there."

"That's like fifty, maybe seventy miles away," Ana replied.

Fox rose and took a couple of steps toward it.

Ana looked around and realized they were there already. Fox had teleported them to the foot of the mountain.

"How did you do that?" she asked. "Don't you need the amplifier, and all that equipment and the giant golden floor?"

Fox smiled, raised a hand, and transformed himself into a full grown, flesh and blood lion.

Ana was frozen, speechless.

"I'm not actually here. Technically, I'm still in my cell," Fox explained.

Ana switched through her spectrometer, Fox's body showed the same temperature as the rapidly cooling sand.

"You're not real?"

"I'm real. I'm more than real," he answered.

"And here I thought the robot was impressive."

"It is impressive. This is weird. I was just sitting in my cell, no amplifier, no nothing. Hell, they've got me in a plastic box. I was just sitting. Then I stood up and walked out. I've been wandering around out here for three days."

Ana blinked, and Fox had transported them from the edge of the forest grove, back to the low rise where she found him. Fox was no longer a lion, but again a man, in spectacles, white linen clothes and sandals.

"By the time, I got to this spot, I was actually leaving tracks in the sand," he explained.

Ana, the robotic cat, stood and padded around Fox. "These tracks are almost a day old."

"I mostly walk at night. Sometimes, during the day, it gets hot out here, so mostly I just sit and think."

Fox looked down at the ground.

The daylight was quickly fading from the sky, blue and red chased into the west by violet and black.

"Oh, watch this," he said, raising a hand over head. Fox closed his eyes and a flame burst to life, dancing in the air above his hand.

Ana leaned back, her thermal sensors registering light, but no heat.

Fox lowered the hand and extinguished the flame by clapping his left over the burning right.

"What's that about?"

"Well, it could come in handy. If you ever drop the car keys, or..."

"Funny." Ana sat, the cat's front arms extended vertically. "Well, anyhow, we have a plan for getting you out, now that we know where you are. Except you're already out."

"Not really," Fox said.

"Ross and Croswell have a plan."

"I bet they do."

"Every night these ass-clowns test their jamming equipment."

"And they want to drop in and bust me out during the test?"

"How'd you guess?"

"That thing wakes me up every night. That's why I started coming out here. Actually, I kind of expected you guys to show up a week ago, but nothing."

"Hey, don't get mad at me. Croswell sent me to goddamn Jerusalem."

"Oh, we were planning that. Sorry. Since the kids are at camp and all, it seemed like a good time for you to get away and see the old man."

"Were you planning on being captured by Stanwood too?"

"No," Fox laughed. "Anyhow, there's no way they can get in here and get me out in sixty seconds. The approach is at least ninety, maybe seventy but that's cutting it close. They'd have to find some way of extending the jammer, maybe bring their own or just hack it..."

"That's the thinking."

"I suppose I could have tried to hack it, but it's so loud. Anyhow, those plans don't work."

"Why not?"

"Because there would still be a shoot out, and this place is loaded with directional mics. The whole place is wired with fiber optics, straight from the sensors to a server farm a hundred miles away. That server farm is a situated directly over thirteen missile silos. A sustained firefight consisting of three or more gunshots, without an issued failsafe code, will result in the launch of two or more warheads, wiping this place off the map."

"So?"

"So? So, really, what Stanwood did, was put a gun to the heads of twenty guys I have never met before. If I try and get out of here, if I do get out of here, they all die."

"We can do it silently, and invisibly."

"I kinda like these guys. I've gotten to know them. Donovan just had a kid. I can't do that to the guy. If the cell is opened without the release code, same warhead scenario."

"Well, I can't see how it actually matters, considering that you're walking around out here..." the cat nodded to Fox's second body. "Putting you in prison doesn't seem to have slowed you down much."

"To be honest, I've been enjoying the peace and quiet. I can't remember the last time I got a chance to just relax."

The cat laughed. "A prison cell turns out to be your ideal vacation? Who knew?"

"It's far from ideal, but then again, I hadn't exactly perfected Astral Projection in my spare time either," Fox smiled sheepishly.

"Is that what your doing? Is this just a projection?" she asked.

"It's not just anything. Look, you know how we use the amplifiers..."

"Yes..."

"Just extend that understanding to every atom, every sub atomic particle... Everything was once a Terillium Atom. Point of fact, every atom is still a Terillium Atom. I can change the atomic structure of anything into terillium, and then into whatever else I want it to be."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Remember the first time we met?"

"Of course," Ana answered.

Fox raised his left hand, and a dozen other Fox's rose from the sand. He even raised a copy of the cat.

"Nice trick. A little more complex than what I pulled."

Fox lowered his hand and the duplicates vanished.

"He's going to kill you. Stanwood is going to kill you, if you let him."

Fox laughed. "He can't kill me. He can't hurt me."

"He can. He can hurt me, and he can hurt our children."

"Remember the ranch in Wyoming we talked about? We can still do that. Now is the time," Fox said.

"Okay, great," Ana answered. "Let's get you out of here, and let's do that. Wyoming sounds good."

"We just have to let this play out."

"I wish I could call Ross and Croswell right now."

"Why can't you?"

"After Von Kalt took your amplifier we went radio silent."

"I've sealed it off. He can't hear us."

"Okay, hold on." On the couch in Dr. Te's lab, Ana pulled the amplifier from her pocket.

Croswell picked up his amplifier, responding to the alert ringing in his head. "I though we were radio silent?" he asked.

Captain Snow spoke in Secretary Croswell's mind. "You were right about White Sands. I found him. The two of you should get down here."

"We're on our way," Croswell answered, disconnecting.

"They're on their way," Ana the mountain lion told the silica apparition that was not her husband.

"Let's not waste any time," Fox said, closing his eyes.

Ross and Croswell appeared before them, wearing their inactive anti-gravity harnesses and phase camouflage.

"Let's get you guys fired up," Fox said.

A moment later, the men were hovering over the ground and visually undetectable. Ana and Fox, however, were both capable of reading the non-visible spectrums and could see them clearly.

"This is just outside their thermal range. Nice little dip created by this hill, good call," Ross said. "You could hang out here all day and not get noticed.

Fox laughed.

"Enjoying yourself, Doctor?" Croswell smiled.

"I am actually. Guys, it's good to see you," Fox said. "But before we start, I've got a couple of things to show you."

"The ride over was pretty incredible," Ross said.

Fox raised his hands and then lowered them again.

The light that erupted from him could be seen from space.

On Dr. Te's couch, in Jerusalem, Ana jumped up and stumbled off the couch onto the floor, ripping the glasses from her head.

Lao looked over but said nothing.

Fox, Ross, Croswell and Ana stood at the epicenter of the blast, Ana in the form of Sabor the cat, Ross and Croswell both invisible and floating and Fox being himself but not himself.

"Do you see?" Fox asked. "All matter is Terillium and Terillium can be switched into any other element. This is behind-the-looking-glass. This is the great secret. This is something only a human mind can do."

"You sound reasonably pleased with yourself." Croswell smiled broadly.

"I am. After all, the first thing I did, was teach you. Now we are all equal. Now we all have the same tools."

"Not to rain on your parade, but I remember being taught calculus in high school too, doesn't mean I learned it," Ross said.

Fox heard Ana laugh, but the cat had gone semi-catatonic after Fox's optic blast. He knelt to check on her.

In Jerusalem, Ana shook her head, she could still hear Andrew and Ross and Croswell, out in the desert, but she was also aware of her place in Lao's robotic showroom.

She heard Fox call out to her, despite having set the glasses on a side table. She reached out for the lenses and put them on as she lay back.

"You with us?" Andrew asked the robotic cat.

Sabor woke and looked at Fox and the floating operatives.

"What's your take on all this?" Fox asked the cyber-cat.

"My take?" Ana tilted her head. "I would clean house. I wouldn't feel guilty for killing these soldiers. I would walk you out of here, or teleport you out of here, or whatever you want. But I wouldn't stay. I vote we go after Stanwood and remove him from the equation."

"What's stopping you?" Fox asked.

"I don't know respect, loyalty, curiosity. After all, it's your show."

"That's how I feel about it too," Ross said. "It's your show, amigo."

"I didn't choose you guys because you're the kind of people who sit around and do nothing. I know this is frustrating; I just want to run it out a while longer. I'm not in any imminent danger, so there's nothing to be worried about."

"What's this King was telling me about you insisting that he let an aggressor fire one round before intervening?" Croswell asked.

"That sounds like a death wish if I ever heard one," Ross replied.

"We could always try our luck at a couple of rounds of Russian Roulette, if you're feeling frisky," Croswell offered.

"That's just crazy," Fox said.

"About as crazy as letting an enemy take a shot," Croswell replied.

"I don't believe in pre-emptive action anymore. It just makes things worse," Fox said.

"It was pre-emptive to act before he kidnapped you. Now it would be self-defense," Croswell said.

"Von Kalt has the Metachron," Fox said. "He took it from me at the café."

"Yeah, we know. We saw the surveillance footage. Fuck-tard thought he could slap a security seal on it and keep it buried."

"It's not just any old amplifier. This is The Metachron," Fox said.

"What the hell is _The Metachron_?" Croswell asked.

"After Epsilon, in the crater, there was an amplifier. It was everything, the entire facility, and all the subjects, compressed into one device. I had it. Now Von Kalt has it."

"So we'll get it back from him."

"He'll be able to see through your phase-cam."

"Is that so? What about all this other shit you can do now? Can he do any of that?" Croswell asked.

"Maybe, yes," Fox replied.

"Maybe what, exactly?" Croswell asked.

"I don't know. It depends on how long he has it. The longer he has it, the better he'll get at using it."

"Beautiful," Ross said.

"And the first amplifier you lost, the one Pierce took? They still haven't recovered his body..." Croswell said.

"I had response teams standing by, they took care of Pierce," Fox explained.

"So, it was you?" Croswell asked. "And the amplifier?"

"My daughter has it," Fox answered.

Ross took a deep breath. "So, what? You're staying here then?"

"For the moment," Fox replied.

"You know they're trying to take Ana and the kids. King is undercover on Von Kalt's team, and they've staked out the campground."

"I don't envy them. Would you want to go up against her?" Fox smiled.

"Listen to me, this is not a joking matter. Stanwood is sending guys after your family," Croswell said. "Ana said that in the last three days, the camp has grown about three dozen running video streams. This is not a joke anymore. You are putting all of us at risk."

"I understand that, and for what it's worth, I'm sorry. Like I said, you know everything I know now, so whatever you decide to do, I'm cool with it. If you want to fly in there and drag me out of here, fine. I won't resist you. Just realize; these guys are going to be killed if you do that.

"If you want to go after Von Kalt, do it. Let King have at him. If he goes after my kids, God help him, because well, if you go after a kid, you deserve whatever you get.

"In the meantime, I promise, I'll talk to Conway and get all this straightened out."

# Chapter 40 – The Fox God and President Conway

Friday Morning, July 24, 2308

Early on the morning of July the twenty-fourth, President Conway entered the Oval Office, carrying a makeshift breakfast of a banana, a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin. The President nibbled and sipped as he double-checked his schedule and scanned his daily briefings.

Fox appeared in the chair opposite, and the President looked up. He calmly wiped his mouth with a napkin and asked, "May I help you?"

"I certainly hope so, sir. Do you know who I am?"

Fox was dressed in the white linen prison shirt, pants and sandals, that he'd been issued, but this was not quite enough to identify him as an escaped convict of any sort. Fox smiled, realizing that if he'd been carrying a margarita, he'd appear to be some sort of lost Caribbean tourist, regardless of the hour.

"What's the matter?" The President smiled, "You forget your frigging name?"

"No." Fox laughed. "But aren't you the least bit concerned about how I got in here?"

"Should I be?"

"I suppose not. I mean, I'm clearly not threatening you."

"Some of my advisors describe you as the number one threat to the entire Republic."

"And what are your thoughts on this matter? Considering the fact that I was recently hailed as the Savior of the Republic."

"Well, take for instance, this circumstance we find ourselves in at this very moment, Doctor Fox. Your perfection of small-scale teleportation technology could be considered a threat. Especially since it was used to undermine several South American governments."

"Any such operation would have been highly classified, and even talking about it here could be construed as a breach of security."

"So you understand my frustration then?" Conway asked.

"If you wanted to talk, you could have just called," Fox countered.

"That would have been quite impossible, considering interested factions in our party and some recent political developments, specifically the death of young Chairman Pierce."

"Okay, well, as far as I know he's still missing, not dead."

"Are you trying to be clever?"

"Yes."

"I can see why my staff has such a difficult time dealing with you."

"Sir, I will have you know that I completely respect the chain of command, despite my refusal to be shackled by it."

"Back to my original question, why are you here?"

"I have a proposal for you sir, but it will require a bit of explaining first."

"I'm all ears."

"The Centaur Project, sir. I want you to turn it back over to me."

"Most of my staff consider you to be the number one threat to this administration, if not the Republic as a whole. And now you have the balls to come in here, uninvited, and ask me to give you the most powerful weapon in the nation's entire arsenal. Are you out of your mind?"

"Funny you should ask that." Fox smiled.

"Funny how?"

"Well, your nephew has taken me prisoner."

"You don't appear imprisoned."

"And you've been allowing uninitiated users on the Micronix Network."

"That's preposterous."

"You've been linking your footnotes."

"Well, of course I do, but those are my copies."

"The National Intelligence Director and his deputy both have access to your annotated files."

The president's face fell. He raised his hand to his mouth. "Oh my God. Fox, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize..."

"It's okay. It's my fault. I should have come to see you as soon as you were inducted into office. It just didn't seem appropriate."

"No, that's okay. People were still, are still, sensitive about what happened in San Diego."

"I can't say I blame them, but General Cruthers was far more responsible than I was. I gave Stagwell's administration what they asked for. I created the world's safest weapon."

"The concept is impossible. I think that's what they couldn't see. After San Diego, the people wanted a change. It's okay that you didn't visit. I understand. You were too strongly identified with the past. And besides, I made the decision to use your technology without talking to you first. I thought I knew what I was doing."

"I know the feeling."

"At any rate, I trust both Joe and Rudy. They've got the Republic's best interest at heart."

"Yes, well, they seem to think my death is just what the Republic needs right now."

"Look, Doctor Fox, I wanted to meet you the other day, but I was running late and after you stormed out of here, well, I apologize for anything my nephew may have done. Yes, Joe is my nephew, and if he has taken the law into his own hands, he will see justice.

"However, he presented his case the other day, after you insulted my Chief of Staff and stormed out, and I have to tell you, he was rather convincing, plus he's got Senators Miller and Clarke backing him.

"Of course, Secretary Croswell unraveled every argument with kindergarten logic. He even called him out for chasing a personal vendetta against you. I can't recall the last time I saw this much passion over anything."

"Well, I'm cutting Stanwood out of the loop," Fox said. "Consider this a courtesy call."

"I appreciate it."

"Before I continue, do you have any questions for me?" Fox asked.

"Just one. Is it true, can you detonate terillium with a thought?"

"No, absolutely not. Never could, completely untrue."

"But it's theoretically possible?"

"Anything you can put into words is _possible_ , even if only as a clever fraud. But I can't do that, no."

"The Micronix has opened up a lot of other possibilities though, hasn't it?" Conway asked.

"Yes, Sir," Fox replied.

"I have a couple of ideas that I'd like to run past you," Conway said.

"Okay, go ahead, sir."

"One is a seed vault, and not just seeds, but everything, I want to duplicate the sum total of all of mankind's knowledge and learning and put backups around the solar system, in case something happens here, some kind of disaster."

Fox smiled. "Did you know, that every time you use the Micronix, it runs a back up, on you?"

"You're kidding?"

"Not at all."

"Have you noticed, you never forget anything?" Fox asked.

"Never." Conway smiled.

"Did you think that was you?" Fox grinned.

"Well..." Conway sputtered and laughed.

"Didn't it start right after you took office?"

"I suppose it did..."

"How much do you know about the Centaur Project?"

"I admit, I was curious. I mean, you won the war in a single afternoon. It was over, there was no denying that."

"But have you ever wondered how we got to that place, technologically."

"The press on the tanks was pretty straightforward."

"That was a smear campaign and full of half truth and lies. You understand that there were operators wired into the tanks, the Centaurs?"

"Yes, that much was clear."

"Well, sir, what you may not realize is that the same nine operators were wired into all ten thousand of those machines."

"I'm not sure I follow, doctor. I thought only seven went online."

"Yes, Sir, that's correct. My point is, how do I say this... We didn't have pilots on standby. We...

"Project Epsilon, the mess that started all this, that was forty thousand convicted prisoners and some scientists, a tragedy, to be sure.

"In San Diego, the number was somewhere around one million two hundred thousand. A massacre, a genocide, a mass execution, committed by seven individuals, members of the 3AM Bodyguard program, also the core members of the Black Willow Team," Fox said.

"How can that be possible?" Conway asked. "How can they be in two places at once? I mean; those soldiers were dead. They all died, hundreds of them, correct?" the President asked.

"Thousands," Fox answered. "However... Well, we started project 3AM at the same time as the Black Willow trials. We graduated the same team through both programs, straight into the combat exercises and fast tracked them out into the field."

"Explain."

"3AM was billed as the search for the perfect bodyguard, to that end, we offered wounded soldiers a second chance, outfitting them with cybernetic prosthesis."

"I heard about that."

"Unfortunately, legal oversight decided to handcuff us. They tied up the project with a maze of red tape and bureaucracy, so we capped the program after a dozen subjects and had the files sealed."

"Right, you moved onto the AIs and ran your Black Willow simulations with robots, correct?"

"Kind of."

"What does that mean, _kind of_?"

"Well, we never perfected the AIs."

"I think the disaster in San Diego was proof enough of that."

"No, I mean, we never perfected them at all."

"Then how did Black Willow and the 3AM Trials even take place?"

"Well, during 3AM sir, we referred to the solution as Remote Intelligence," Fox explained.

"What does that mean?"

"Sir, it means I cloned those ten soldiers about a thousand times each, and we ran our fatigue-slash-failure tests that way."

"I don't think I get you," Conway said.

"I think you do sir. The same ten operatives conducted the 3AM field tests and all the Black Willow operations, in newly minted bodies, outfitted with quantum streaming recorders. We didn't usually run doubles because of signal interference issues, but it's easy to run several copies of a single agent, in series, until the mission is successful. When one of them gets taken out, a second is activated with same objectives and the new memories."

Fox explained. "On all the ops I ran, I never lost a man."

"And the by product of this technology is that anyone scanned into the bank with corresponding DNA can be reproduced?"

"It takes six months and about thirty million in blue-goo to grow a new blank from scratch, but essentially, yes. And we never sent originals into the field, but you get the idea."

"Is that who you are, right now, a copy of a copy?"

"Not at all. The Doctor Fox you see sitting before you is an illusion, projected into your consciousness over your amplifier."

Conway smiled. "You're saying the reason Secret Service hasn't kicked in the door, is because the camera can't see you, because you only exist in my head?"

"That's right."

"So what, the secret service thinks I'm talking to myself?"

"Not at all. This conversation is happening much faster than you can physically move. You aren't speaking to me with your mouth and lungs, but with your mind."

Conway raised an eyebrow.

"Go ahead," Fox suggested, "Put your hands on the desk, just lay them out flat."

Conway set his hands on the desk, but much to his amazement, they didn't move. Instead, ghost-like images of his arms slipped out from his physical limbs and set themselves on the desk.

Fox smiled and held out his hand.

Conway took it and stepped out of his physical body.

"This is called astral projection."

"Makes sense," Conway said.

"Now watch this." Fox clapped his hands together.

A brilliant flash of light erupted from his hands. As he pulled them apart, he lifted the left one high and kept the right low.

Fox and Conway's astral selves rocketed out of the Oval Office and away from the White House, into the upper atmosphere of the planet.

They floated in orbit, hanging above the world.

In the distance, the Sun illuminated all.

The moon glowed over their right shoulder and satellites hung scattered across the horizon like anti-gravity traffic over Angel City.

"This is amazing," Conway said, looking around them.

"Mankind is on the precipice of something big," Fox said. "All we have to do is try and understand that."

All Conway could do was smile.

"I just figured out how to do this a couple of days ago. I was telling some friends, Stanwood's kidnapping me is the best vacation I've ever had."

Fox pointed to a series of satellites in the distance. "I've only seen those from the inside before."

Fox leaned toward the satellites, pulling himself and Conway toward them though force of will alone. "You see, once you're scanned by the Micronix, if you can personally manage it, you can run lots of equipment from the inside. There's still some pretty significant glitches and roadblocks, but I think Dr. Te has made some real progress recently."

Fox and Conway reached the satellites and slowed, drifting past the giant communication machines. "These guys serve a few functions, but one of them is the data stream. Packets are received, compressed and broadcast from here, out to the asteroid belt, which we've saturated with storage mirrors."

"Good man," Conway said.

Fox turned toward the President and looked him in the eye. "He's going to try and kill me you know."

"Let him," Conway answered.

"Are you serious?" Fox asked.

"It doesn't seem likely to hurt you. And you can't charge someone with murder just for thinking about it."

"You have a point there," Fox agreed.

"So you come out of a coma a few months down the road, what's the harm?" President Conway suggested.

"Meanwhile Stanwood cleans up, appropriating everything I own?"

"They say possessions are an illusion," Conway countered.

"You can't take it with you, I suppose," Fox replied.

"Besides, it will give you plenty of time to work on the vault."

"I do want to save as many as we can." Fox smiled, excited.

"How easy can you make the process?" the President asked.

"We just cracked that one, it's as easy as taking a photo now."

"Fantastic! That's great." Conway smiled.

"Yeah, but thirty million is still a lot," Fox said.

"Someday the price of Terillium will go down, but not until we find more of it. I can see that this will be how we do that," Conway said.

"With your permission sir, that's what I want to talk to you about. I was thinking we could repurpose the Centaurs."

Fox gestured to the space-barge they slowly drifted toward. The tanks looked to each be unique, yet all were reiterations of similar concepts; propulsion systems, armor and guns.

"What did you have in mind?" Conway asked.

"Well, we only launched seven of the ten thousand delivered. I propose we launch a significant number of the rest of them out to the hammered bracelet and put them to work mining precious metals."

"Where will you get the pilots?" Conway asked.

Fox laughed. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. They're all manned. They have pilots wired in, all set into suspended animation. They're uniquely suited for this other purpose, besides war."

"We could construct factories right there," Conway said.

"That's what I was thinking sir."

"This is a brilliant idea, Fox."

"I wish we agreed about the Stanwood situation as well, but I do understand your approach. I've already given my men the order not to fire until fired upon," Fox said.

"Isn't that common practice?" Conway asked.

"If it were, no one would have had to issue the order, centuries ago."

"Point taken. I should be getting back."

"Yes, sir." Fox brought his hands together, and they were back in the oval office.

"That certainly is an amazing device, I can see why Joe is so afraid of you."

"He doesn't even know the half of it." Fox smiled.

"At any rate, I'm glad you came by," Conway extended his hand.

Fox took it, and they shook. "Me too."

"And you don't have to be afraid of Joe. I'll have a talk with him."

"I'd appreciate that, sir."

Conway stepped back into his body and shook his head.

Dr. Fox waited to be sure he was okay.

President Conway nodded.

Fox smiled and vanished from the office.

# Chapter 41 – Terminal Release

Friday Morning, July 24, 2308

Stanwood stood before the open cell door. Andrew had grown a bit of a beard. This particular morning he was seated against one of the back walls.

"It's been almost three weeks, do you realize that? I don't know how you got to him, but I'm impressed. I told you that when we opened this gate, it wouldn't be with good news. Well, I was wrong.

"There's good news and bad news. The good news, yes, I got a phone call from my uncle, and you are free to go.

"The Attorney General was the one holding everything up. For weeks, he's refused to sign the warrant on you. He says you're an exemplary citizen and that since this is the only case where you've strayed, without more evidence, he can't warrant stripping your citizenship."

Stanwood continued, "However, this is the bad news, in order to reaffirm your continued allegiance to the republic, and to prove your loyalty, he did sign everything else. Everything you owned, all your projects and patents, are now property of the federal government.

"Moreover, although you have been allowed to keep your citizenship, you have been reduced to first gate status. You will be required to give your two years of public service again, and this time, since you're broke, you'll actually have to do the work. How about that?"

Fox made no reply.

"I would recommend not interfering with the agents that have been sent to collect your wife and children. The chairman was insistent that they be included as part of the agreement, he pinpointed specific expenditures that clearly rendered them government property.

"We all objected to it, but in the end, we were overruled.

"There's a transport here, waiting to take you wherever you want to go." Stanwood smiled.

Fox tilted his head.

"Oh, don't worry, Scotland Yard took Mr. MacPhail into custody yesterday. Interpol is processing him for extradition right now."

Fox laughed. "You're dumb as a bag of hammers, you know that Joe? He won't have the keys with him. You're just going to have to release him and then go visit him, like I told you. But since you're releasing me, I guess you missed your chance. Now you'll never know what's behind the curtain." Fox rose and walked past Stanwood without another word.

"If you hurry, maybe you can beat the acquisitions team to Calistan Way," Stanwood said.

It took all of Fox's self control to keep from killing the man, but the doctor had bigger plans for his old rival.

Ashley's Journal, Friday Morning, July 24, 2308

After three weeks at camp, Geoffrey and I packed up and walked down to our transport shuttles, with all the other cattle.

This trip home is taking forever.

I swear we must be the last stop on this guy's list. We've been riding around Angel City for like two hours now.

Geoffrey is next to me, but he's not talking. He gets quiet when he's tired. He must be exhausted.

Once we got home, Geoff went straight for the kitchen. I'm sure he's camped out downstairs in front of the game streams.

Mom's not here.

I came up to my room.

I'm not too hungry.

I don't want to do anything.

The Micronix is right where I left it.

I'm just going to lie on my bed for a minute.

Dr. Fox arrived home a little before three in the afternoon. As the taxi approached, he laughed. The street and his home looked quiet enough, but with the Micronix, he could see a few things the untrained eye might miss.

He slowed the moment down, giving himself time to examine the situation. Three delivery trucks, two emergency services vehicles, a few big black cruisers. No one was out moving around, but there was hardly a parking spot for two blocks.

Stanwood's men had been in place on the street for hours. They'd been ordered to keep a low profile and not to interrupt anyone coming or going from the structure. The Fox home was surrounded but only on paper.

The forest and canyon were unguarded. The urban-centric agents had not secured the trails in any way. They had not been told what they were doing there or what they were up against.

Von Kalt, King and the rest of the recon team occupied their residence. Fox counted seven active camera lenses trained on his home and three on the incoming taxi.

The Washington Security residence, that he had outfitted and staffed, was empty. The equipment was still present, and running, but the operators had all been removed.

Ahead of the cab, hanging in the afternoon sky, Fox saw the spectral shape of the Secretary of Defense, his oldest childhood friend, James Croswell, with the two men he trusted above all others, Major Kelly Ross and Chief Warrant Officer Eric Reid. They nodded to Dr. Fox as the vehicle cruised past.

Finally, his wife, the only woman who'd ever captured his heart and the mother of his children. Hiding under the pseudonym, Analynn Snow, and serving as an officer in the Marine Corps, Anastasia Zelena and Dr. Andrew Fox had not physically seen or spoken to each other in five years.

The woman Fox would embrace, the one who was waiting for him inside the house with their children, was Anastasia's clone.

As they slept, their minds were synched by their amplifiers, and each one woke up as the same woman each morning, but everyone was well aware of the fact that they were not the same.

Anastasia kissed her fingertips and let them graze against the window of the taxi as it passed.

When the taxi arrived and docked on the rooftop access port, they observed... The soldiers parked on the nearby streets, Von Kalt and his reconnaissance slash assassination team, the cameras in the abandoned Washington Security residence. Everyone watched, but no one attempted to intercept Dr. Fox as he exited the vehicle and entered the house.

Fox went into his study and called up his open security applications. The home was secure.

He went down to the basement living room and smiled to see Ash and Geoff stretched out on one of the couches, watching a vid stream.

"Dad!" Geoff jumped up.

Fox knelt and gestured for Geoffrey to whisper. "Quiet, Geoff. We only have a couple of minutes."

Ashley recognized her father's cautious manner and its implications at once. She sat up, hyper-alert.

"Ashley, do you still have that..." Fox hand out his hand in a shape that suggested the narrow rectangular switchblade in Ashley's dresser.

Ash nodded.

"I want you to go get it," he said.

Ashley rose to go upstairs.

"Geoff, go on upstairs with your sister." Dr. Fox said.

"What's going on?" Ana asked, stepping out of the laundry room.

Fox threw his arms around his wife. "Stanwood had me arrested."

"Where have you been? Ross was here. He said you went off the grid. Are you okay?"

Fox whispered into her ear. "They're going to try and take us, but we're going to fool them. I love you."

"Are we decanting somewhere already?" She whispered back.

Fox smiled.

"I love you too," Ana said, returning the smile. "I'm double checking the doors."

Fox followed his family as they headed upstairs.

Waiting in the hallway, Ash held the prototype in her hand. As her father approached she handed it to him.

Fox looked at it closely. He closed his eyes and time stopped.

Fox merged again with the device. It had been three weeks since he'd held it last. Everything he'd come to know, recorded and protected, reinforced by the density of the metal.

He compressed his current impression and blasted it to every server and terillium deposit in range. In just a few seconds, his image would be broadcast around the world, doubled and tripled.

Fox exhaled.

There was nothing Stanwood could do to him now

He had truly become immortal.

There was one more thing to do. Holding the Micronix, Fox opened a channel to his team waiting outside. He closed his eyes and projected his thoughts to them as clearly as if they had been spoken...

"Whatever happens to me down here, just let it happen. Under no circumstances are you to open fire to protect me. President Conway and I have an understanding, and as he said, you can't charge a man with murder if all he did was think about it.

"Ashley and Geoff are going out the back and down through the canyon. Stanwood's goons aren't in the forest yet, so as soon as they're clear of the house, I want you guys to stay with them.

"Do not use lethal force to defend me, but if anyone so much as looks sideways at Ashley or Geoff, shoot them twice. I know what I'm about to say might sound difficult, but please try not to break the fifth wall with them. Let them work the Micronix out for themselves. Don't tell them it can make them invisible or that it can stop time. And for God's sake, please don't tell them anything about the decanting tanks.

I trust you guys with my life, and I'm entrusting you with the lives of my children. I love you guys; don't let me down. I guess that's it. Thanks for everything, see you soon."

Fox opened his eyes and returned the Micronix to his daughter. "It's yours now, Ash. Take care of it. You won't lose it, let it help you."

Fox looked at his children, "Get your jackets, go on."

Geoff looked puzzled.

"Now," Dr. Fox insisted.

The children moved quickly to obey.

Moments later they returned in lightweight summer windbreakers.

Fox knelt in front of them. "Okay. This is it. The bad guys are coming, and they're the kind who shoot first and ask questions later." Fox's voice was warm and calm, at odds with the words he was saying.

"We're smarter, so we're going to out-Fox them, right?" he smiled.

The children were too scared to respond to the familiar pun.

"I programmed the car to take off in a couple of minutes, but that's just to distract them. Help is on the way. It's going to take a little while for them to get to you, so... Right now, I want you to go sit on the stairs next to that window." Fox pointed to the landing of the back stairwell its the large window.

"In a few minutes, you're going to hear the garage door open, and the car is going to take off. When that happens, I want you to go out that window, walk down the roof to that part where it's close to the ground and get into the forest."

"Why don't we go in the car, Dad?" Geoff asked.

"Because they're going to stop the car," Fox answered.

"Get in the forest and then what?" Ashley asked.

"Then you run, and you run."

"For how long?" Geoff asked.

"Never stop, you don't ever stop." Fox looked his son in the eyes. "Geoff, listen to your sister. Stay with her, do what she tells you."

Fox turned to Ashley. "Ash, don't lose sight of him, not even for a minute. Help is on the way. Remember that your mother and I love you very much. Smile, be polite, help others as much as you can and be careful. That's all there is."

Geoffrey threw his arms around his father. Fox hugged his son back and pulled them both close.

"Where are we supposed to go?" Ashley asked.

"I want you to go west till you hit the ocean, then turn left and go south, keep the water on your right hand side. You need to get to Mexico."

"To Mexico?" Ashley asked.

"Yes. Go to Mexico. You will be safe there, safer than here. If Ross doesn't find you, the Christians are the safest people for you to be with."

"Dad?" Tears filled Ashley's eyes, aware that these could be their last words.

"Be good, trust your instincts and take care of your brother," Fox said.

Ashley hugged her father.

The hangar bay doors on the garage opened, and the car lifted off.

Dr. Andrew Fox helped his children climb out the window and onto the low roof. He watched them as they ran to the edge, jumped down to the grass and slipped into the waiting forest.

Dunkirk reached the Fox house nearly undetected. He rose from an overgrown section of the property, took a couple of steps toward the kitchen door, swiped the key card and was inside. Only one of the observing agents saw him, but that was enough for the information to make it back to Stanwood.

King silently called his comrades over the Micronix. "I Love saying I Told You So, and I Told You So."

"What are you talking about?" Croswell asked.

"Fox's neighbor, Dr. Martin Dunkirk, just entered the residence."

"What?" Ross exclaimed.

"You guys didn't catch that? We've got the profile angle down here. He just swiped a key card and opened the kitchen door, southwest corner."

"You knew about this?" Croswell asked Ross.

"We suspected there might be someone in the area."

"This guy had been assigned to Bergstrom. There's no way that was coincidence," King said.

"Let's see what he's got. It's not like Fox or Ana are going to be easy targets," Croswell said.

Snow laughed.

"What?" Croswell asked.

"She might have my memories, but an hour of aerobics a day is not the same as living the life."

"Yeah, well, this guy Dunkirk may not be at the top of his game either. Have a little faith in yourself."

"I'm staying with the kids," Snow said.

"Copy that," Ross said, as the Captain drifted away.

"Ashley is carrying the Micronix," Snow said. "I'm activating its phase-cam."

After wiping his prints from it, Dunkirk set the keycard on a counter. The two hundred and fifty pounds of determined muscle that was Dunkirk peered into the nexus of the home. He saw no one.

Dunkirk withdrew to a corner of the kitchen and waited, listening. He watched the reflections in the windows and cabinets, waiting for what he knew must happen next. He relaxed his body and opened his mouth, allowing him to hear just a fraction better.

He heard movement upstairs, small footsteps, hurrying.

He heard sudden movement from downstairs.

In a window, Dunkirk caught the reflection of Mrs. Fox moving toward him, heading for the kitchen.

# Chapter 42 – One Shot, One Kill

Fox was halfway down the stairs when Ana screamed from the kitchen. He cleared several steps at a time, reached the doorway and stopped. A neighbor.

Fox recognized him, Mr. Dunkirk. He stood, hiding behind Ana.

She was in shock; she didn't seem to be breathing.

Dunkirk had one hand behind Ana's back. In the other, he held a knife, the sleeve of his sweatshirt wrapped around the handle.

Fox glanced at the carving block. There were two empty slots.

Fox rushed toward them as Dunkirk jammed the second blade into Ana's body and pulled them both out, just as Fox reached her.

Ana collapsed into his arms, blood sprayed all over the floor.

Dunkirk dropped the knives and exited through the kitchen door.

Fox held his wife as the color drained from her face. She couldn't speak, but Andrew held her close.

Fox could hear them arranging themselves outside his front door, getting ready to breach and clear.

Andrew held his wife close, protecting her from the concussive blast that followed. They came and pried her from his arms. The agents strapped her to a gurney and wheeled her out.

Fox followed.

Several soldiers raised their weapons at Dr. Fox, but none fired.

Stanwood was standing at the end of the driveway.

Von Kalt was behind him and on his right.

First Sergeant King stood on Stanwood's left.

Fox showed no recognition of King. He was focused on Stanwood. "Joe, you have to help, Ana. Please..."

National Intelligence Director Joseph Stanwood raised his handgun to Doctor Andrew Fox's face and fired.

Deputy Director Rudolph Von Kalt watched Fox fall to the ground. This was of no concern of his. The Micronix was not here. It was no longer in the house. It was the only thing he was interested in.

The Metachron rested in his pocket, his hands folded behind his back. He didn't need to hold it anymore.

Von Kalt watched Fox die. He didn't move.

No one did.

Having escaped the house for a distant ridgeline, Ashley noted that the sound of the shot came some time later than the shot itself and the splash of blood.

Ashley didn't say anything to Geoff. Being older meant being taller, and in this case, that meant being able to see the man who shot her father. From where they were on the ridge, it was likely that Geoff didn't see it. She was frozen in place, staring at the scene below.

Her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

Her father had mentioned help. He'd said help would find them.

She hoped it was soon.

Von Kalt turned and looked toward her. He saw her, but he made no gesture nor did he tell anyone.

Ash turned and ran as fast as her feet would carry her, focused on putting one foot in front of the other, pulling Geoff along, deeper into the forest.

There were a couple of dozen federal agents standing around in suits, while Von Kalt had only eight soldiers dressed in tactical uniforms.

Before he could issue an order, Stanwood gestured to King and waved to the bodies of Doctor and Missus Fox. "Get them out of here."

Stanwood turned to Von Kalt, "I want those kids within the hour."

Von Kalt nodded, "Bravo team, handle the bodies. Alpha, we're going into the forest."

Stanwood objected, interrupting again, "You aren't going anywhere." Stanwood pointed to Lt. Hernandez. "Lieutenant, You handle it. You have all these agents at your disposal" Stanwood waved to the suited agents.

He then turned to Von Kalt and gestured for him get in their vehicle.

Lt. Hernandez nodded and addressed the Federal Agents, "Gentlemen, we're going to go out ahead of you on the ground. Half of you will follow us on foot, the other half will pilot your vehicles overhead and search from the air. Leave no stone unturned."

Hernandez signaled and Sergeants Angstrom, Di Biase and Steinkirk set out at double-time, pursuing Ashley and Geoffrey into the forest.

Bravo team. King, Washington, Johnson and Welter, moved Dr. Fox into a white plastic body bag and then loaded he and Mrs. Fox into one of the idling trucks.

Major Ross, Secretary Croswell and Chief Warrant Officer Reid watched from overhead, silent for the moment.

Ross swallowed and looked over to Reid. "King, I'm sending Reid with you. When you're ready, he'll help you make the switch."

"Copy that," King answered.

"You want to do it?" Croswell asked, looking at Ross.

"What's that?"

"Light up the decanter, maybe?" Croswell smiled.

"Oh, yeah, of course, already done," Ross answered.

Doctor Fox tried to close his eyes and realized that would be impossible. He'd crossed over. Those eyes had closed, forever.

After Stanwood shot him, Ross must have flipped the switch.

It was the ambient light and the chemicals in the tank that caused the visual sensations. It had been awhile since he'd experienced the changeover. Decanting would take four to six months.

Fox never kept an imprinted clone on ice; it was too big a risk. Even though he had created the technology, it was owned by the government and restricted to the Three AM bodyguard program.

In a few moments, the drugs would kick in, and Fox would sleep until it was time. He savored these last few moments of consciousness as the chemicals worked their way into his mind.

Focusing became difficult and then he slept.

# Chapter 43 – Run, Rabbits, Run

Ash and Geoff ran down the familiar paths at full speed. The forest was warm and inviting. They took corners as fast as they could; Ashley discovered she could almost get horizontal while 'banking,' and still they ran. All downhill; Geoff almost flying. They ran until she couldn't breathe anymore and finally slowed down. Ashley released Geoff's hand.

Ash was winded, but Geoff seemed relaxed. They walked for a while, both reluctant to break the wordless spell of their natural temple.

Ash could tell the reality of their situation hadn't yet sunk in for Geoff. He walked beside her, calm and easy. There was no point in talking about it and upsetting him. Even though her stomach was doing somersaults and she was close to panicking, that was no reason to provoke the same response in Geoff.

In fact, Ash noticed his calm was influencing her, helping her to relax.

Feeling better, she glanced over to Geoff. "Want to keep going?"

Geoff nodded. They resumed a mellow jog, hands free.

"Where are we going?" Geoff asked.

"To the ocean," Ash answered.

"And then Mexico?" Geoff asked.

"Yeah, sure. Mexico," Ashley laughed.

"Otherwise they're going to catch us," Geoff said.

"They're not going to catch us," Ashley said.

"Probably they are," Geoff said.

"Okay. You're right, probably they are," Ashley answered.

"So then we won't know until it's too late," Geoff replied.

"Right, so let's go back to being calm."

"And Mexico?" Geoff asked. "What's wrong with Mexico?"

"Technically, we're still at war with Mexico," Ashley answered.

"No, we're not," Geoff said, parroting their father. "They were at war with us, and it's been over for eight years. Dad said."

Ashley shook her head. "War is war. Heading toward it sounds stupid to me."

"Dad says we'll be safe with them," Geoff argued.

"Don't you believe it," Ashley answered. "And I don't speak Spanish."

"You can learn, it's easy," Geoff said, smiling.

Ashley froze, the color drained from her face. In the distance, she could hear the soldiers closing, heavy boots and the rattle of weapons, sounds alien to the forest.

"We have to run, now!" Ashley said. She clutched Geoffrey's hand and hauled him along. It was all he could do to stay upright, planting one foot after the other, catching himself as they fell down the canyon trail.

A half-dozen turns ahead they came around a sharp bend and found themselves face to face with Mr. Dunkirk. He was covered in blood.

They skidded to a halt, Ashley's right hand found the prototype in her back pocket, but she didn't pull it out. Geoff stood behind her, right where she'd have told him to be.

Mr. Dunkirk stood still, apparently as afraid of the children as they were of him.

Then he snapped out of it and smiled.

It was the grin of a lunatic.

Ashley grabbed Geoff's hand, and they were gone, down a branching trail. They heard no sounds of pursuit, but the soldiers had to be getting closer.

Captain Analynn Snow hung above the earth, skimming the treetops of the little mountainside neighborhood. The phase-camouflage kept her invisible to the dog-walkers and their leashed companions. With the scanning suite provided by the Micronix, following people was easy enough. She registered the heat signatures of the children, as well as those in their immediate path.

When curious about the details, she raised her long bore rifle to her shoulder and peered through the scope. It had been easy for her to double check Ashley's Micronix and make sure its phase-cam was functioning, allowing the children to more though the canyon, invisible to prying eyes.

There was an adult ahead, in their path. They wouldn't know they were invisible to him, and Ana hoped they wouldn't give themselves away.

She watched as Ashley and Geoff found themselves face to face with Mr. Dunkirk. They only faced him for a moment, and then Ashley led Geoff down a separate trail, avoiding the adult.

Captain Snow considered taking her revenge right there; she had Dunkirk in her sights, but the shot would alert the dozens of law enforcement officials to her location.

Snow watched from above, her rifle on Dunkirk's face. She didn't fire. Ashley and Geoff had no idea they were supposed to be invisible, but it certainly seemed like Dunkirk had seen them.

Before they got much further, the brother and sister came upon Bobby Dunkirk. He was standing on the path with his hand in his pocket. Ash slowed to a walk, Geoff beside her.

Bobby looked stunned stupid, much as his father had.

Suddenly, Ashley knew. She knew what it was.

She pulled out the rectangle. She watched Bobby's eyes fixate on the dark metal obscured by her thin fingers.

"Bobby, Bobby? Are you all right?" Ash whispered.

His eyes were glued to her fist. She put the prototype back in her pocket. Once it vanished, Bobby seemed to come to his senses. His gaze snapped up to her face, as if he hadn't recognized her until that moment.

Ash ignored the fact that they had just come upon Bobby's father, covered in blood, and treated him as she would any of the neighboring children, in an emergency situation.

"Bobby, There are soldiers coming. We have to run right now. You should come with us."

Ashley grabbed Bobby's free hand and moved down the trail. He didn't resist. Ash moved downhill as fast as she could, pulling Bobby and Geoff.

After a few minutes, Bobby began to struggle against her. "No. No, it's okay. They're not coming for me. He's going to get them."

"What?" Ashley slowed, but kept moving.

"We don't have to run. Once he gets them, we can sit. I want to sit on the rock."

Ashley looked at Bobby as if he'd lost his mind, but she kept moving, slowing to a walk.

"He'll get them, watch." Bobby was getting loud, and pulling away from Ash.

Ashley was afraid the approaching killers would hear him, and stopped. She let go of his hand.

From the trails behind them, near where they'd run into Mr. Dunkirk, there came a heavy crash with a yelp. The cry was cut short.

Then came the sounds of wild gunfire.

Ashley took both Geoff and Bobby's hands and ran for all she was worth. The cries and gunfire continued until they were extinguished, one at a time. With the forest quiet behind them, Bobby began to drag his feet.

Ashley had no choice but to stop and let him go.

"He stopped them." Bobby looked out into the forest.

Ashley wasn't sure Bobby was playing with a full deck, but then again, those soldiers should have caught them already. If someone did stop them, it made sense that it was Mr. Dunkirk; he'd been covered in blood.

Ashley knew her father's work could put the family in danger.

Eight years ago, during the Battle of San Diego, her Uncle Geoff had been killed. She knew her father had engineered a dangerous weapon that had won the war. She knew he was still involved in military projects.

It wasn't too shocking that soldiers had come for them. This very predicament had long been a Fox family 'worst case scenario.'

What had now happened to the soldiers seemed even more menacing.

Bobby backed away from Ashley, as if she were dangerous to him. "Soldiers were chasing you," he said. "They want what you have. You have the power."

"They want to take us," Ashley answered.

"They want your power, but he got them. He got them all. They don't have the power. Not like you do."

Bobby turned away from Ash and Geoff and began to walk back uphill. He paused to look back over his shoulder. "He got them. He got them all." Then he was gone, vanished into the trees.

Von Kalt's pursuing alpha team was closing the gap. The four soldiers were heavily armed and moving downhill as fast as their feet would carry them. Ana was content to let Dunkirk serve as an obstacle for the soldiers.

Captain Snow looked back to the children and discovered they had stopped. A boy stood ahead of Ashley and Geoff. They were talking to him. She considered that perhaps Ashley had somehow overridden the phase-cam effects. Then she realized the boy clutched something in his hand. He'd been exposed; this boy was carrying around charged terillium.

Uphill the soldiers ran into Dunkirk. For a brief moment, no one moved. Ana watched, as the former military surgeon, her neighbor, attacked the men. Bare handed, he used their weapons against them. In moments, the four soldiers were dead.

Two groups of suited feds proceeded past the branching trail that would have led to Dunkirk and the murdered soldiers. Ana didn't mind that Dunkirk had survived, that ensured her another chance for revenge.

She stayed with Ash and Geoff as they continued in their flight, running down the mountainside with their new friend in tow. Ana recognized him from her other self's memories of the neighborhood: Bobby, Dunkirk's younger son. Before long, he'd pulled away and was making his way back up the hillside.

That night, far from their home turf, Ash and Geoff found a playground near one of the parking areas. They smoothed out the sand under a large playset and curled up against the chill mountain night.

"What do you think happened to Mom and Dad?" Geoff asked.

"I don't know," Ashley answered. "We'll find out in the morning."

Ashley stared hard at the tree line.

Soon, it was warm and cozy under the jungle gym. She was tired, but she watched the woods for an hour before her eyelids fell shut.

Stanwood called off the search long before Von Kalt was satisfied. He'd forbid Von Kalt from going into the forest himself. Otherwise, the deputy was certain he'd have caught Ashley and Geoff. He couldn't believe they had escaped. The feds had searched until the early morning hours but found nothing.

Thankfully, his men had been killed, the punishment for their failure appropriately embraced. There was one troubling fact. Their weapons and communicators had been found, but their bodies had not. The volume of blood and tissue suggested that no one survived, but they found no drag marks, no discernible tracks at all.

Clearly, the bodies were carried off in a transport, to conceal their murder, and the communicators had been left behind to prevent them being tracked and subsequently found.

Stanwood suggested that Dr. Fox had conspirators hidden in the forest; who had most likely rescued the children and killed his agents. The only thing they agreed on was that the children certainly hadn't done it.

When the transport carrying the bodies of Dr. Fox and his wife was re-directed, there was little Von Kalt could do; as Stanwood had assigned a volume of tasks to his Deputy Director. He was bent on the acquisition of Dr. Fox's technology and laboratories.

The corpses never arrived at their scheduled destination. Instead, First Sergeant King delivered an illegally acquired pair of overdosed junkies to a distant overcrowded mortuary. By the time Von Kalt looked into it, the corpses identified as Mr. and Mrs. Fox had long since been cremated.

First Sergeant King had been reassigned.

# Chapter 44 – Guardian Angels

Saturday, July 25, 2308

The next morning brother and sister woke early. They crawled out from under the jungle gym, stretched and wiped the dew from their clothes. Ashley looked at her brother and thought he looked as if he'd been through a war. She realized she must look the same and took a deep breath.

"Can we go home now?" Geoff asked.

Ashley stared at the tree line for a long time, debating whether they should head home or out to forage in the city. She pointed to the nearby park bathroom, "I gotta go."

"Me too," Geoff agreed.

A few minutes later, standing in the morning sunlight, face and hands washed, Ash felt better than she thought possible, having spent the night beneath a slide.

"We can't go home, Geoff," Ashley said. "We need to find out what happened. We need a library. There's got to be something in the news."

Ashley thought Geoff seemed to be handling everything rather well. "You okay?" she asked.

Geoff nodded. "I miss Mom and Dad. I want to go home."

Ashley said nothing.

She held his hand as they made their way down the canyon to find a public library.

Finding a local library branch wasn't difficult. Shortly after opening, Ash and Geoff settled into a wired carol where they scanned the latest news reports. There was nothing about her father being shot or their home being raided.

The most recent stories involving their father were about the Epsilon explosion out in the desert. He was mentioned in a piece about Pierce's suicide, but nothing recent, nothing from yesterday.

Twenty minutes later, Ash had some idea of what her father's latest projects had been. Anything compelling she read aloud for Geoff. She was amazed that he hadn't complained about being hungry, tired or bored.

Ash had assigned him the task of lookout, and he dutifully nudged her whenever someone wandered too close. They remained undisturbed, free to peruse the public terminal to their heart's content.

Ashley's Journal, Saturday, July 25, 2308

We're at the library. I don't know what to do. Dad said we should go to Mexico. That's insane. I'm not doing that.

First, I want to know what happened. I want to know who killed him and why. I know I should be sad, but I'm not. I'm just angry.

There's nothing in the news about him, nothing recent, anyhow.

I'm reading about how his first invention, the blue goo - now mass-produced for less than seventeen cents a liter, revolutionized medicine. He shot to the top ranks of several fields overnight. He didn't seem to have much trouble staying there, either.

There's lots of online controversy about the Centaur war tanks too. I was alive when that happened, and I remember it, even though I was only four. That was when Uncle Geoffrey was killed.

Ash tried to piece together the news reports she was reading now, with snippets of conversation she'd overheard back then. Names came back to her, Tasha Vangen and Major General Cruthers.

She remembered that the people who'd taken over the project had gone crazy, not following the proper procedures. She remembered the controversy, the threat her father could have been held accountable for the massacre and imprisoned. Almost a million people had been killed.

In the end, he wasn't even arrested, but it had been a tense time.

The war was over, and everyone agreed that her father was responsible for that. He hadn't been charged with treason, but the inevitability of betrayal at the highest levels hung over him like a black cloud.

Ashley could tell, even then, losing his brother had changed her father in a profound way. She looked over at Geoffrey. He'd abandoned his post as team lookout and had activated the terminal but was now snoozing.

It didn't matter, even with both of them looking, there was still nothing about the murder of their parents.

Something drew Ashley's attention from the screen. Several adults were looking in her direction.

A Chinese man across the room caught and held her gaze. He was wearing traditional silk clothes, a hat and small round sunglasses. His long white hair was pulled into a loose braid behind him. He looked as though he was trying to communicate something to her, but a movement to her right distracted her.

Four men approached the carol. Ash shook Geoffrey, rousing him, but in his drowsy condition, he was in no shape to run.

The four men were dressed in street clothes, but it was obvious they were law enforcement agents of some sort. Ash noticed they were wearing their sunglasses inside. She wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn't dare look away from them.

"Ashley and Geoffrey Fox, I need to ask you to come with me."

"We're not going anywhere with you," Ashley said.

"You don't have a choice about it," he replied.

"I can scream. I can call the police."

"Knock yourself out," he said, stepping into arm's reach.

As the agent grabbed her shoulder, Ashley leapt from the booth, kicking him in the crotch. He went down with a grunt, obstructing the other men's path to the children.

Ashley pulled Geoff from the carol, and they slipped into the rows of books. The library wasn't huge, but it was large enough. Ash and Geoff sprinted down the narrow aisles, moving faster than adults could in such confined spaces. They zigged and zagged, slipped around assistants and stayed quiet in their flight.

Then, as they neared the front door, with one wrong turn it was over. They came out into the central lobby. The four-man squad stood right ahead of them. The agent she'd kicked stepped up and backhanded her across the face, knocking Ashley from her feet.

The other civilians in the lobby all stopped what they were doing. There was one grey-haired man who looked as large and as dangerous as the agents. He'd been sitting near Ash and Geoff all morning.

Ashley recalled that he'd arrived at the same time as she and Geoff. He'd even held the door open for them. Now he stood with the other civilians, watching.

One of the soldiers grabbed Geoff's arm. Ashley scrambled to her feet. The agent who'd hit her stepped in and restrained her before she could reach her brother. He held her arms back and leaned down to her ear.

"You're quite a brat, aren't you?" He looked up to the other plainclothesmen, "Let's get this garbage out of here."

As the soldiers turned toward the main doors with their charges in tow, the grey haired man stepped forward, in front of the doors, obstructing their progress. He held up a badge and asked, "Is there a problem here?"

One of the soldiers reached for his gun, but the man with the badge stepped forward and struck him in the jaw. The agent went down, unconscious. The men holding Ashley and Geoff couldn't draw their weapons in a reasonable amount of time.

The grey haired man was already holding his, pointing it at the only agent with free hands. "Anyone else wants to play; I open fire. Now, let the children go while we wait here for the police."

The soldiers hesitated.

The grey haired man cocked his pistol and switched his aim to the forehead of the man holding Ashley.

He released her and his partner released Geoff.

The grey haired man gestured for Ash and Geoff to get behind him, and out of the building. "Get out of here."

Ashley opened the door and pulled Geoff out with her.

As she stepped out of the library, she realized she'd seen that man before. He was more than familiar.

She'd seen him at her home, years ago, for a barbecue. He was a friend for their father's. She was sure of it.

Ashley heard the lead agent threaten her father's friend. "Look, the kids are gone, fine. But we're not sticking around for the cops."

"You see this badge," the grey haired man answered. "That's the Defense Security Service. You're not cleared to know anything about this project, not even those children's names. The knowledge alone can put you in Leavenworth for twenty years. You're waiting here, or you're getting shot. It's up to you."

As they reached the sidewalk, Ashley and Geoff heard the gunfire erupt behind them.

Then the grey-haired man, Ashley remembered his name, Ross. He was a soldier, Major Ross. Now he was out of the building and moving down the steps.

"Run!" Ross said. "Run!"

Ashley grabbed Geoff's hand and sprinted from down the block. Behind her, the library doors burst open again. She didn't look back, but heard Ross and the agents trading gunfire behind her. Bullets whizzed by her head and then she and Geoff made a turn, carrying them out of the line of fire.

Back at the library, Ross had ducked behind a parked car, pinning the agents to the doorway and preventing their pursuit.

# Chapter 45 – Major Kelly Ross

Saturday Morning, July 25, 2308

From his mobile command center, Von Kalt watched the library surveillance feeds. He wanted to know who'd been responsible for the soldiers who'd gone missing yesterday. Stanwood had dismissed it as a rival department, but Von Kalt couldn't let it go.

Now, watching the shootout between Ross and his agents, he couldn't help but think about the soldier. Only a few short weeks ago, Von Kalt had seen the man killed in an explosion. He was later told that Ross survived, and clearly that information had been correct.

Ross would have known enough to leave the radio transmitters, but then why remove the bodies in the first place?

This shootout hadn't been anything special. It was clear that Ross wasn't shooting to kill. In fact, he was going out of his way _not_ to kill these men, just as he hadn't killed the agent at the taxi stand

Whatever had happened to his agents in the forest, it hadn't been Ross. It certainly hadn't been the children. The issue tugged at Von Kalt's mind. Something, someone close to the device had been responsible. The Metachron wanted to know who that was and so did Von Kalt.

"Dr. Angus MacPhail," Stanwood said, interrupting Von Kalt's cerebral locomotive.

"You arrested him, didn't you?" Von Kalt asked, smoothly shifting tracks.

"He lawyer-ed up and returned to Glasgow."

"So?"

"So, pack your gear."

"We have no jurisdiction there."

"That's why it's just going to be you and me."

"We're just going?"

"We'll be working with Scotland Yard and Interpol."

"Do they know that?" Von Kalt asked.

"What?"

"I think you're making a mistake."

"Surprise, surprise."

"What do you want with MacPhail anyhow?"

"He's got something he needs to give me."

"You honestly want to up and leave the kids?"

"They're just kids. We know Ross has them. When they turn up, we'll come back."

A car swerved to the curb in front of Ashley and Geoff, they froze. Ross popped open the hatch, "Get in," he said. Ross looked to be bleeding from at least two gunshot wounds to the midsection and another to his left shoulder.

"Hurry up," he said, with a calm that belied his injuries.

Ash approached the car, Geoff trailing along behind her

"Come on, they're going to be here any second, and I need your help."

Ashley put her right hand into her back pocket and slipped into the transport. Geoff climbed in and sat next to her. The door closed behind them, and they lifted off.

Ross put the vehicle in gear and scrambled the booster drives to get them away from the agents.

Once cruising safely in city traffic, he engaged the autopilot, took a deep breath and turned his chair from the console to face them.

"So, now, when you're running, there are three things you need to be aware of." Ross didn't waste time.

"Running?" Geoff asked.

"Three rules," Ross snapped his fingers, cutting off Geoff's interruption.

"One, family first. Trust no one. Well, trust each another, but no one else. As long as you've got each other, that's all that matters."

The grizzled veteran waited for some kind of acknowledgment. Ash nodded and elbowed Geoff who did likewise.

"Number Two. Never go anywhere you can't escape from. No small places. No confined spaces. Know your exits or don't go in."

The brother and sister nodded; the message was clear.

"Three. Never go anywhere twice, not ever. Never ever go anywhere twice. Repeat them, now, one two three, please."

Ross coughed, his hand came away bloody. "One two three," he said, grabbing napkin from the side console.

Ash looked to Geoff and nodded. "Family first," Ashley said.

"Family first," Geoff repeated.

"Two..." Ash started.

"Don't get trapped," Geoff jumped in.

"Don't get trapped, " Ash nodded.

"And three, don't go anywhere twice, ever," they said together.

"That's right. It's a big world. Plenty to see and never get bored." Ross seemed pleased. "Okay, now. Four things you need to survive. Some people say three, I say four. Here they are; food, water, information and energy. To get any of them, you can use cash."

This took a second to sink in for Ashley. Geoff remained quiet.

Ross relaxed into the chair and took slow breaths.

"Trust no one? What about you?" Ashley asked.

"Don't trust me either. You don't know me from Adam, but I'm wounded and not trying to hurt you at the moment. I'd say, right now, I need your help more than you need mine right now. Besides, you have a knife in your hand, don't you?"

"You worked for my father," Ashley said, ignoring his comment about the Micronix.

"I did, until yesterday."

"What happened?"

"You saw what happened," Ross answered.

"I saw..." Ashley let the statement hang unfinished.

"Where have you been?" Ross asked.

"What do you mean?" Ashley replied.

"You disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"We lost you. We were ready to pick you up last night, but you vanished off our scanners."

"What are you talking about?" Ashley asked. "We spent the night in the park."

"Under a slide," Geoffrey added.

"You what? The park was crawling with feds until after midnight."

"Not where we were," Ashley said.

"We didn't see anyone," Geoff added.

"No kidding." Ross coughed again.

"What are we going to do?" Geoff asked.

"We're going to a safe house," Ross said.

"Not Mexico?" Ashley asked.

"No. Why would you do that? That's a horrible idea. What's in Mexico?" Ross asked.

"Mexicans," Ashley replied.

"We're not going to Mexico. We're going to Canada. But not yet, we need IDs first and that's going to take a couple of days," Ross answered.

Ashley glanced over to her little brother. Geoffrey followed the conversation intently. Ash noticed that he didn't miss a gesture or subtle bit of emphasis.

"Are you going to tell us what happened to our parents?" Geoff asked.

Ross coughed. "You were there."

"But what happened?" Geoff asked. "Why?"

"That could take years. Hell, I'm not even sure I know." Ross took a deep breath and coughed again, pressing his hand to his side.

"Are you okay?" Ashley asked.

"I'll be fine." Ross plugged his phone into the console. "Hold on, I have to make a call." He dialed a line and leaned back, trying to catch his breath.

The call was connected, and CWO Reid's face filled the terminal "What's up?" he asked. "I was beginning to get worried. Are you okay?"

"I need you to send a trauma kit over to St. Vincent's."

_"What's up, you don't want to talk this way?"_ Ried asked in a thought, over the amplifier. Out-loud, he said, "We've got a few there, courtesy of our old friend, Justin Case."

_"Fox asked us to keep this fifth wall up, keeping up appearances. Ash has Mike in her pocket."_ "Great. I'm sending you the intercepts now. I'm pretty sure it's the NID and his deputy, but I want confirmation. Did you get anything?"

_"Sure, copy that."_ "We've got new units in the decanter, but there's no rush. We're one-eighty; however you look at it."

"I need twenty hours before I can travel, if you haven't already wrapped things up by then. Any progress on the visas?" Ross asked.

"Everything is approved and in the pipeline. It'll take forty-eight to seventy-two. I'll keep you updated. Manana, muy amigo."

"See you." Ross relaxed back into the chair.

Geoff looked over to Ashley, pleading with her to ask the question in his eyes. Despite their separation in age, Ashley and Geoff were still close enough to understand each other with a glace.

"Tell us," Ashley said.

"Tell you what?" Ross asked.

"Tell us what you know," Ashley answered.

"I'll give you a rundown, sure." He coughed, but lightly. "I've known your father since we were kids, went to school with him and a bunch of 'the guys.' Most of them were destined for greatness. I was destined for the officer corps, infantry. I did a good job most of the time, which means I excelled at killing bad guys. Eventually karma caught up with me and took my leg.

"When your father approached me with the 3 AM project, I have to admit, I was interested. There were eight of us, nine including your dad.

"You may think your old man was a book worm scientist, but he was not. He was one of the toughest guys I've ever met. His code name was Red, and I'm telling you, we never went on a mission that didn't get wet."

Ross leaned back in the chair. Talking seemed to be making him tired.

Geoff tugged on Ashley's shirt, "What does he mean, wet? Like seals?" he asked.

Ash shrugged him off. "Who was that on the phone?"

"Reid, he's chasing down some of your dad's friends, making sure everyone who might be in danger is safe."

"In danger from the guy who shot my dad? Why didn't you stop him?"

"Believe it or not, because your dad asked me not to."

"What do you mean?" Ashley asked.

"I mean your dad trusted that guy, and I don't think he believed he would hurt him."

"Isn't anyone going to do anything?!" Ashley was getting angry.

"Here's the situation," Ross said. "Our government is fractured. It's at war with itself and you two have just become the equivalent of a castle or a mountain pass, you represent tide-turning potential."

"What is his name?" Ashley asked. "The man with the gun. Tell me his name."

"They're looking for you, and the less you know the safer you are."

"What do they want with us?" Ashley said. "We're just kids."

"You're not _just_ anything. They want you, they want the evidence."

Ashley held up the prototype. "This evidence?"

"That's nothing," Ross smiled. "You are the evidence."

Ashley turned to look out the window.

After a long pause, Ross spoke. "When negotiations between the government and your father broke down, things unraveled pretty quickly and everyone started improvising. The people in Washington panicked. They were very scared by something your father had been working on.

"Those agents in the forest... Ashley, what happened to those agents last night, those soldiers who were chasing you? Did you kill them?"

"Last night?" Ashley asked.

Geoff looked up at her.

"Four soldiers were killed. Did you do it? What happened? Do you remember any of it?"

"We didn't kill anyone. I remember all of it," Ashley looked at Geoff.

Geoff nodded.

"It was Mr. Dunkirk," Ashley said.

"It was, " Geoff said. "We saw him in the trail, just before they caught up to us. But we were running, and we couldn't see what happened. We heard them fighting. We heard gunshots."

"It was him? He was there?" Ross asked.

"His shirt was covered in blood," Ashley added.

"Bobby was there too. We saw him," Geoff said.

"Who's Bobby?" Ross asked.

"Bobby Dunkirk," Ash replied.

Ross cleared his throat. "While you guys were at camp, your father went missing for almost three weeks. He vanished somewhere in the DC area, after a briefing at the White House. He didn't turn up until yesterday, when you saw him at home. We figured out where he was and who had him. We talked to him, but he asked us to stand down. He wanted to let this play out. None of us thought it would go this far."

"What are we going to do now?" Ashley asked.

"What did your father tell you to do?"

"He said to head south, to Mexico, until you found us."

"Mexico, right! Okay, sure, if you're ever all alone, that's the thing to do. But since I found you, we're going to do a little better than that."

"We're going to make them pay?" Ashley asked.

Geoff was fixated on the traffic outside his window.

"Soon we'll all have new identification and visas for Canada. I'm a software engineer who just got a big contract in Vancouver."

"I don't want to go to Canada," Ashley said.

"How would you know? You've never been there."

"How do you know I've never been there?"

Ross laughed and clutched at his side.

Ashley scowled, "I'm not going to Mexico or Canada. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to find out who did this. I'm going to find them, and I'm going to kill them. I'm going to kill them all." The tears in her eyes and her trembling voice did little to conceal the child's furious anger.

Geoff lowered his eyes to the floor, the streaming weather and vehicles no longer appealing.

No one spoke again until they reached their destination.

# Chapter 46 – Nostalgia

Saturday, Noon, July 25, 2308

The transport settled into a landing trajectory over the small parking garage for the T-shaped motel. It consisted of seven units, four singles and three suites, tucked away in a run down industrial district. They parked in an automated garage, and waited for the door to fully close, before exiting the vehicle.

"We'll wait here while I arrange new documents for us. We're going to set up your room downstairs. You can eat what you like, just don't go outside. There's nothing to see, and there is no such thing as fresh air around here anyhow."

Ashley and Geoff followed Ross from the garage to the central corridor. They could access all seven of the units from the central maintenance passage, as well as the garage and main office. It was obvious, from the damage to the walls, that the facility had been used as a safe house for some dangerous cases, not all of them successful.

"How long are we going to be here?" Ashley asked.

"A few days. We've got our work cut out for us tonight. Come on, grab those groceries."

Ash and Geoff realized the back of the transport was packed with lots of stuff besides groceries. As they carried bags into the kitchen, the children were hard pressed to find counter space. Ross gestured to the floor as the table and counters were covered with bags of other supplies.

Ross coughed a few times, his hand coming away wet with blood. "There's something I've got to take care of. I'll be back in half an hour. Don't break anything."

Ash and Geoff made several trips from the transport back to the kitchen. Ross had purchased every kind of pot known to man. Some of the bags threatened to rip; they were so full of metal cups, pots and pans. Deeper in the car there were several bags of industrial materials.

It took the children almost twenty minutes to unload the cruiser.

Forty minutes later, they still hadn't seen Ross and decided to eat. Ashley made sandwiches and Geoff poured juice.

Two hours later, after an uncomfortable nap on lobby couches, Geoff shook his sister awake.

"He's still not back yet?" Ashley asked.

Geoff shook his head. "Ash, I hear voices."

Ashley shot bolt upright.

Sure enough, from one of the units down the hallway, Ashley could hear them too. There were voices, plural, as in more than two.

Ashley was off the couch and pulling Geoff toward the kitchen. They didn't go through the door, but Ashley fished the Micronix from her back pocket waited for a few moments in the doorway.

"What are we doing?" Geoff asked.

Ashley raised her finger to her lips. She looked at the door they were crouched beside. She could back through it, into the kitchen and out of the central lobby. Opening it would make noise. There was no way around that. Across the lobby, and up three stairs, the hallway ran toward the intersection at the end.

She looked down at the Micronix in her hand. She pressed downward on the stiff button. It sunk a bit, but the blade didn't pop.

Ashley coughed and jammed down on the trigger. The blade snapped out. It was not quiet, but Ashley's ruse appeared to have covered it. The conversation in the back room continued, unbroken.

The wicked knife in hand, Ashley lowered her brow and set out toward the hallway entrance, Geoff trailing along behind.

They made their way down the hallway, toward the three-way intersection at the top of the T. At the corner they waited. The doorway to unit six, in the center of the hall, was open. There were at least three people inside, maybe four.

"I can't believe you sent me to Jerusalem," the woman said.

"I can't believe you came back empty handed," a deep-voiced male replied.

"I did leave in something of a hurry," she answered.

"Regardless," Ross interrupted the bickering. "What we need to do now, is work up a believable cover and get them out of here?'

"What did you have in mind?" the man asked.

"Vancouver," Ross answered.

"That can't actually be your plan? Canada?" the woman asked.

"What's wrong with Canada?" Ross responded.

"What about killing this son of a bitch?" the woman replied.

"What about it?" Ross sounded tired.

"Well?" The woman directed this to another part of the room.

"Well what? You heard him, he asked us not to shoot him."

"I think the President may have shined him on a little bit," a fourth voice suggested.

"That's exactly what I think," she replied, sounding way too familiar to Ashley.

"What's he after, then?" one of the men asked.

"Ha! Everything?" she replied.

"Fox told him about MacPhail and the Midway." Ross said.

Everyone laughed.

"Oh, you're kidding?" someone said.

"I'm not. Our friend had him arrested, and MacPhail asked for his lawyer, so now Woody is on his way to Glasgow for some Manx kippers and the keys to the Midway."

The adults laughed loudly.

Ashley hit the button, retracting the blade; they didn't hear it. She slipped it back into her pocket.

"I didn't think anyone was dumb enough to fall for it," the woman said. "Oh my god that's priceless."

"It gets better. After their scheduled visit to the fabled vessel, our intrepid director is scheduled to visit the Anserini-Chen Lodge, and ask for the managing director, Mr. Porter about participating in the Annual Snipe Hunt."

"He can't be that stupid!" someone said, between great belly laughs.

"Has he got anyone assigned to us at all?" Ross asked.

"The Agency, the Bureau and the Marshall's office formed a joint task force. You guys got your very own Federal Posse on your ass." The third male said.

"They didn't invite Ice and the Marlboro Man?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." The third replied.

"It's been twenty-four hours," she objected. "Why haven't we killed this ass hat yet?"

"Are we back to this?" the deep-voiced one objected. "Why don't we just jump to the end, blow into the oval office and shoot Potus?"

"who's potus?" Geoff whispered to his sister.

"i don't know. shhh," Ashley replied

"This is what Fox was afraid of happening," one of the men said,

"Well at least we have _Cause_ now. No one can say it's pre-emptive," the woman answered.

Ashley couldn't help thinking she sounded a lot like her mom.

Geoff suddenly pushed past his sister and walked into the unit. "Mom?" he said, in a loud shocked voice.

Ashley followed him, pushing open the cracked double doors.

The woman was facing them, leaning against a credenza. Behind her were windows onto the unit's patio. The sky cast her in sharp silhouette, but Ashley could still make out the heavy battle armor she wore.

She looked directly at them. She looked a lot like their mom, but her hair was longer; she was a little taller and much, much stronger. It was her, or her twin sister.

Geoff had frozen in place, as had Ash, for a moment.

They looked around the room. Ross was sitting in a deep chair, his shirt off, his chest and arms bandaged up.

The other two men were also wearing some kind of battlefield armor. The glass balcony doors were open. There were three rifles leaning against the patio railing and short-range weapons on the table, with exotic looking helmets.

Ross sat up. "Ashley, Geoff. These folks here are friends of your parents. This is Jim Croswell, Master Sergeant Steve King and Captain Analynn Snow."

"How come you don't have a rank?" Geoff asked Croswell.

"I'm retired," Croswell answered.

"What does Maj. Gen. stand for then?" he asked, pointing the roughed and fading designation on the shoulder and chest plates.

"Major General," Croswell answered, pointing at the three stars above the letters.

"You were a General?" Geoff asked, astonished.

"Yes, that's right," Croswell answered.

"And you knew my dad?"

"He was one of my best friends," Croswell answered. "I've known him since we were your age."

"How come I never met you before?" Geoff asked.

"Cause I was working a lot, and so was your dad," Croswell answered.

"Are you working now?"

"You could say that."

"I did say that," Geoff answered.

Croswell smiled and tousled Geoff's hair. "A complete smart-ass. Just like your old man."

Geoff smiled.

"So, they're dead, our parents?" Ashley asked.

"Yes," Croswell answered. "And the people who hurt them could still come back." Croswell glanced to Captain Snow.

"Aren't you going to kill them?" Geoff asked.

"If they come near you, you bet we are," Captain Snow answered.

Ash wondered if she were still lying on the couch and dreaming. The conversation was surreal. This was clearly her mom. In some ways, she was more her mom than her real mom was.

"We just need to be careful." Croswell said, looking at Captain Snow. He looked back to Ashley and Geoff. "You two, however, are going to be perfectly fine, don't you worry."

Ross coughed and sat up. "Yes, and we still have some work to do here."

"Guess that's our cue," Master Sergeant King said, slamming his drink, rising from the couch and stepping toward the balcony.

Ana took a step to the side, giving King room to exit behind her.

King nodded to Ashley and Geoff. "Sorry guys. Your dad was the best." He stepped out onto the patio and picked up his helmet and rifle.

Croswell finished his drink and stood as well. He addressed Ashley and Geoff. "Your parents were good people. I'm sorry they were hurt. Stick close to Ross here. He'll take good care of you." He stepped out onto the empty balcony.

Ash and Geoff both did a double take, realizing that Master Sergeant King had vanished while Croswell was speaking them.

Croswell put his helmet on, picked up his rifle, adjusted something at his waist and disappeared, right before their eyes.

Geoff blinked several times.

Captain Snow knelt before the children.

There were tears in her eyes.

She pulled them close and hugged them both. Her armor felt cold and bulky, alien. She kissed them on the forehead. "Smile, be polite, try and help people as much as you can. Ashley, take care of your brother."

Captain Snow stood, stepped out onto the balcony, slung her rifle and picked up the remaining helmet. She put it on, took a step upward, up into the air, and then vanished from the visible spectrum.

Ash and Geoff stared at the empty afternoon sky as Ross poured himself another dram from the almost empty bottle.

# Chapter 47 – Baking Bombs

Saturday Afternoon, July 25, 2308

Ross returned with Ashley and Geoff to the kitchen to help unpack the supplies. He seemed fine. He'd changed into a clean set of clothes, and his previous injuries weren't troubling him at all, allowing him to instruct the children in the preliminary steps of their new project.

Ashley noted large quantities of sterno, compressed propane canisters, motor oil, cooking oil, powdered gelatin, petroleum jelly, candles, liquid gas, pounds of cornstarch, soap, and then came the surprises. Bags from a hardware store yielded large quantities of nails, ball bearings, glass stones, as well as real stones and granite shards.

Ross smiled and stepped over to the electric stove, he set pots on each of the burners and turned them on to their lowest setting. Then he filled the pots with oil. Once warm, he began to add the thickening agents, the cornstarch and soap. He showed the kids how to mix in large amounts of alcohol, diesel fuel and finally the sterno. Ashley and Geoff watched as Ross used a spatula to dig the flammable gel from can after can, all emptied into the oil-filled pots.

Geoff turned up his nose at the pungent fuel-like smell of the jellied alcohol. "What are we making?" he asked.

"Munitions," Ross answered.

Geoff looked confused but didn't ask for an explanation.

"Ashley, would you unwrap those ice trays?" Ross asked.

Ash peeled the plastic from the metal ice trays.

Ross gestured to the various boxes of steel nails, glass beads and small ball bearings, "Get a big bowl and start mixing all those together."

Ross smiled at Geoff. "We're making bombs," he said.

Geoff's eyes grew wide with amazement.

An hour later the pots still simmered, the flammable gel bubbling around magnesium and aluminum shavings. Once Ross was satisfied that most of the excess water had boiled off, the thick gel was poured and scooped into rectangle cookie sheets covered with waxed paper.

Ross instructed the kids to pour a layer of nails, glass and sand over the gel. Then another thin layer of gel was poured over the soon-to-become shrapnel pies. They were topped off with a wet layer of sand, small rocks and wrapped in foil. Once filled, the pots and pans were stacked in the otherwise empty refrigerator.

Ross showed Ash and Geoff how to assemble detonators from a quantity of plastic tubing and a spool of wire. He clipped off six-foot lengths and taped them inside the plastic. He taped up one end of the tube; filled it with gel, squeezed through the clipped corner of a plastic bag. Once finished, the tubes were inserted into the pots and cookie sheets of explosives. Before long the supplies were used up. The pots and pans filled the fridge and freezer. They had also used most of the drinking glasses.

It was dark outside; they had cooked for six hours straight.

Saturday Evening, July 25, 2308

Stanwood and Von Kalt arrived in Glasgow in the middle of the night. The United Kingdom checkpoint required they dock their vehicle for inspection. Stanwood flashed his ID and suddenly all obstructions were removed, He even gained an official escort.

The UK gave international cooperation high priority when it came to partners like the Republic. The swarm of sirens and flashing lights that descended upon MacPhail's residence was astonishing.

Unfortunately, Angus was not at home that evening and missed the opportunity to appreciate the spectacle put on in his honor, for the second time that week. Stanwood and the local constable were informed that upon Mr. MacPhail's release, only a few days earlier, he'd returned home long enough to pack a bag and go on holiday.

Stanwood had no idea, but was repeatedly informed that Mr. MacPhail was some ninety-two years of age and in ill health. The excitement of the trip to jail had ironically done wonders for his spirits, and he'd decided, quite spontaneously, that he wanted to travel.

His landlady, herself an esteemed matron north of seventy, wasn't at all sure of her tenant's destination. She seemed to recall him mentioning all sorts of exotic locals and freely confessed that some of them may have been her suggestions, she could no longer remember which was which.

When Von Kalt informed him of MacPhail's reservation in Douglas on the Isle of Man, Mrs. MacTavish perked right up.

"Angus was born in Peel. He has two sisters living in Douglas and a brother near up Saint John's," she said.

Ross fixed a light dinner on what few plates were left, and spent the evening showing the children the best ways to wire the rooms and hallways. Together they laid out a fairly complex defense grid. They chose the downstairs storage area as the command post, running all the surveillance cables and detonation wires through a hole they drilled in the floor of a closet.

The foil wrapped pots were set in front of doors, behind doors, and to the sides of doors. They were also set well away from the doors, in the middle of rooms. Trays and cups were set against the few items of furniture, or under the liberal pieces of newspaper or magazines.

Corresponding surveillance cameras were set up for each position, along with trip wires for the places that the cameras didn't cover. Ross showed the children how to mount an armed cookie sheet on the wall of the shower and attach the trip wire to the curtain. Or to rig ank armed cup above a door, so once opened, the cup falls, detonating between the door and intruder.

In one of the entry rooms, they placed several charges in a large copper tub and set it on its side. In front of it, they stacked a few books and added some crumpled paper bags. From the back, you could see the insulated wires, secured to the floor by duct tape, but from the front, you could see nothing.

By the time Ross and the kids secured the last of the wires, it was well past midnight. They'd eaten light meals of fruit and energy bars throughout the night, pausing for a break every couple of hours, but they were exhausted and still not finished yet.

Sunday, July 26, 2308

UK Officers escorted Stanwood and Von Kalt from Glasgow to Douglas. Halfway across, new officers replaced the first group and accompanied them the rest of the way in.

Von Kalt wired ahead and booked appropriate lodgings.

Angus had a seven am tee time scheduled at the Mount Murray golf course and Stanwood suggested they make use of the intervening time to get some shuteye.

In his adjoining room, Von Kalt used the Metachron to organize and execute a thorough search of MacPhail's office and residence. He'd given the executing officers some idea of what to look for, anything concerning the USS Midway or anything resembling a Micronix prototype. Just before dawn the searches were called off with zero success.

Ross chose a partitioned basement room as their command center. He carried over clean, plastic-wrapped mattresses from the far end of the crowded storeroom to set under the sleeping bags.

The couch had been pushed back against a wall to make room for the mattresses and conference table. The table came with corresponding chairs and all held boxes of electrical equipment.

Ross sorted the dozens of cables, running in from the various wings of the facility. There were three suites, four singles and one group of rooms for the administration. The small patio sported sun bleached chairs, a plate-glass table with no plate-glass and a shallow pool that had long ago evolved into a shallow weed-infested garden.

Once they finished setting the individual charges, Ross asked Geoff and Ash to help him connect the monitors to the surveillance camera feeds. The monitors blinked to life and soon displayed the various cameras spread throughout the seven grouped sleeping environments and their adjoining showers, closets and toilets.

Ross showed the children how to create and label the wiring grid, from scratch. He laid out the rough diagram of the facility on a large wooden board and tacked a nail at the top left, where he tied the motley crew of labeled and taped-off detonation cables.

There were at least four cables for each of the rooms, the suites having six and the caretakers' quarters sporting eight. The hallway was a maze of nearly invisible tripwires, their charges covered by debris. Several cameras covered a dozen wired explosives, camouflaged among the tripwires. There were half a dozen cameras and an equal number detonation cables running from the garage.

Ross wrote numbers on the board, flawlessly remembering where they'd set the munitions. He drew dotted lines denoting the concealed tripwires and doubled the drawing below, sketching the garage.

Once he'd finished numbering the diagram, he handed Ashley the hammer and a remaining box of nails. "To the right and up from the numbers, please," he said.

Ross moved to the outside edge of the board, and for each of Ashley's nails, he hammered a nail along the edge. Ross attached extensions to the incoming wires and after peeling back the insulation, tied the bare wire around the nails. It was clear he'd set up the rooms anticipating a rooftop entry, or through the balcony. The central hallway was the most defended position, as it led to the basement stairs.

Ross explained how to manipulate the matrix based on which screens showed intruders. "If they show up in room two, entering from the balcony, to the living room, hit switch 2LR, detonating the living room. Those pots we set behind the thin closet doors and the flat pan, mounted to the back of that old framed poster," Ross said.

He went on until the children understood which cameras represented which rooms on the board. There were almost sixty separate devices, not counting the ones with old-fashioned tripwires. Ashley calculated almost one hundred in all.

Ashley and Geoff bunked down behind the surveillance screens. They could easily access the triggers, and the armor plate set against the legs of the table concealed them from anyone who actually made it down the stairs and through the soon-to-be rigged basement hallway.

The couch sat to the side of a small square hatch that opened to an empty sedan. The old car was garaged in a break away housing, designed to be dropped from the building at the touch of a button.

Should all the above defenses fail, Ashley and Geoff would retreat to the sedan and trigger a massive final explosion, dropping them and the car away from the facility, as if just another piece of garbage.

By the end of the night, it had become clear to Ashley that Ross had given the same speech a dozen times. She could tell by the leading questions he asked that he was aware of the knowledge that would be imparted to the student. She suspected he'd taught dozens of agents or officers the fundamentals of wiring a safe house.

Ross tucked the children in, explaining that there were a couple of errands he had to run and that he'd return in a few hours.

"Wait. There's something I want to ask you," Ashley said.

"What's that?" Ross asked.

"Before we leave, for Canada or wherever you want to go, before we leave, there must be some evidence at home. My dad had a great security system. There must be some recording of what happened. We have to try to get it."

"That's pretty risky; way too risky for all of us to go. We've got a few days. I'll check it out before we go, but I'm not promising anything. And just so we're clear, once our paper comes through, we are leaving, and that is non-negotiable."

"Aren't we breaking rule number two by staying here?" Ashley asked.

"Have you ever been here before?" Ross asked.

"Of course not, but you have, haven't you? It looks as if it's been through a war."

"Yeah, but not any war you or I were ever a part of. This is a safe house all right, but not for the cops or the feds. This is mob house," Ross said with a grin. "We got a hold of it in a judgment against one of the families. I made some of these bullet holes myself."

"Nice," Ashley smiled.

"Now, lock the door and set the shotgun in the brace, like I showed you, and I'll see you in the morning," Ross said.

Ashley set the Mossberg in the metal brace, as he'd shown her, and positioned it in a chair, in front of the door. She ran the trigger line from the spool through the brace, past the trigger guard and out to the door. Where the line passed the trigger, she attached the lanyard and clipped it to the line. It was done, armed.

If the locks were picked and the door was opened in the night, the line would retract, spinning back on the spool, pulling the clip and lanyard fitted over the trigger, firing the gun. Ashley had been careful to position the chair so the weapon wouldn't go off until the door cleared the Mossberg's barrel.

# Chapter 48 – Battle of the Midway

Sunday, July 26, 2308

As Stanwood and Von Kalt approached the first tee at Mount Murray Golf Course, a sharp and active old fellow rose from the bench. "I was expecting more of you," he said, smiling.

"Sorry to disappoint," Stanwood replied, extending his hand.

MacPhail took Stanwood's hand in both of his and gave it a firm shake. The elderly man was tall and thin, but seemed strong and healthy.

Von Kalt nodded to the bodyguard slash caddy standing nearby.

MacPhail glanced at his watch. "Right on time," he said.

"You were expecting me?" Stanwood asked.

"I've been expecting you for almost twenty years, son. Of course, I had no idea it would be you, whoever you are, but I knew this day was coming, without a doubt."

"Then you'll understand my desire to cut to the chase."

"Do you play?" MacPhail asked, ignoring Stanwood's impatience.

"I do, occasionally," Stanwood answered.

"Fancy a round." Angus gestured to his cart and a second set of clubs, clearly rentals, tucked into the small bed of the cart.

Stanwood rubbed his forehead and forced a smile. "Sure, why not?"

"You can tell a lot about a man by the way he plays golf."

"They do say that."

Over the course of the next eighteen holes, Stanwood held his own against the aged MacPhail. They traded jokes, clever and insightful observations and war stories about the recently deceased Dr. Fox.

At the clubhouse, Stanwood covered the tab, and at the end of the match, which he lost badly, he also covered the overpriced green fees.

After a massive lunch of steak and lobster, with no mention of Manx kippers, Stanwood again picked up the check. He'd genuinely enjoyed the old man's company, but the requirements of hospitality had clearly come and gone.

Angus was still one step ahead, however, and beat Joe to the proverbial punch. "Gentlemen," Angus included Von Kalt as much as possible, making eye contact and in general treating him as a friend, not a servant. "If you'll join me on the cigar patio, I'd like to address the reason you've traveled all this way." Ironically, MacPhail hadn't acknowledged or even spoken to his own bodyguard during the entire encounter.

Once ensconced in a leather chair, in a room with a completely opened west-facing wall, MacPhail handed out cigars.

"You know, when Andrew first asked me to take on this responsibility, I truly had no idea just what he had in mind.

"You see, I knew him as a youngster, that bright red hair and fire in his eyes to match. I knew his father and Grandfather, who'd been classmates with my old man. So, we go back a wee little bit.

"When he first entrusted me with the package, I honestly didn't know what to think. I was honored and every day since then has been blessed.

"However, every blessing, every gift, every act of grace, comes with a price. I've paid mine; I know I have. I'll go to meet Saint Peter with a clear conscience, which is more than most can say.

"But I'm rambling and you've been more than patient. Indulgent, I'd dare say."

Angus fell silent for a few moments and then leaned forward. "You're not wired, are you, son?" MacPhail answered his own question. "No, I didn't think so. I haven't seen your eyes doing any of that flickering nonsense." Angus leaned forward, examining Stanwood's pupils. "You ain't got any lights going on in there either, as far as I can make out."

"No, Sir." Stanwood said. "I take it you aren't networked yourself?"

"I'm old school. We don't believe in anything stronger than a fermented mash of barley and rye. A bunch of computerized-what-nots messing with your noggin... No, thank you."

Stanwood smiled. "I know a couple of fellows who might disagree with us, but to be completely honest, it's always scared the shit out of me."

"You don't seem like the type that scares easy."

"Stupid scares me. Putting something in you head that doesn't belong there... Well, sir, I'd think you were just asking for trouble."

Angus sat up straight, looked around the room and took a deep breath. "Speaking of which." He leaned back in the luxurious leather chair. "Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

Stanwood smiled. "Yes, actually. I've heard the Manx kippers are amazing. Would you agree?"

Angus narrowed his eyes. He waited. He blinked.

He turned his head a little bit and sat up straighter.

"The Manx kipper rouge, I mean" Stanwood corrected himself. "They're good here?"

Angus laughed, clapped his hands and rocked back in the chair, grinning broadly. "Yes, yes indeed. Best smoked herring you'll ever eat. Fresh in from over in Foxdale, just down the road."

"Imagine the coincidence," Stanwood said.

Angus laughed heartily and waved one of the servants over. "I dropped off a chest with the manager this morning. Could you have it brought around, please? I think we're ready for that now."

"Yes, sir," the waiter answered.

Angus gingerly rose from his chair. "If you'll excuse me for just a moment, my bladder is screaming."

Stanwood raised an eyebrow.

"Oh don't worry. I'll be right back. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Angus had only just stepped into the nearby restroom when the waiter returned with a heavy chest. He hadn't bothered to try and carry it and instead wheeled it out on a serving tray.

Stanwood waited almost ten minutes before sending Von Kalt into the restroom to retrieve the old timer. The bodyguard was nowhere to be seen.

Von Kalt promptly returned, as the restroom was predictably empty.

They both looked at the chest, growing more nervous with each passing moment, imagining a rather large bomb sitting before them.

The manager noticed their quandary and dutifully came over, inquiring as to their state of being.

Stanwood asked if Mr. MacPhail was still on the grounds.

The manager replied in the affirmative, a reflected look of fear and panic giving way to one of calm serenity, which he clearly favored. He briskly led the stupefied Stanwood and Von Kalt to another section of the clubhouse and introduced them to a completely different cranky old miser. The two men actually looked a bit alike, but Von Kalt suspected that had to do more with their shared age than genetic similarity.

"You're Angus MacPhail?" Stanwood asked.

"Have been all my life," he replied.

"Did you schedule a tee time this morning, sir?"

"I did. Damnedest thing though, came down with a bad case of indigestion last night after dinner."

"That's cause you were up all night jawing with that fellow from the old country." A woman interjected.

"I'd like to ask you sir, do you know Doctor Fox?"

"Well, of course I do. It was him who kept me up till the wee hours playing cards and swapping fish stories.

"He even mentioned that you fellows would be joining him for a swing of the irons and asked if I'd like to tag along. I was already feeling a mighty bit uncomfortable, so I begged off. Even gave him my slot. I think he was right behind me, so it was a small matter."

"Doctor Andrew Fox?" Stanwood asked.

"Alexander," MacPhail replied. "Andrew is his son. The boy lives out your way, if I'm not mistaken. Real shame."

"Yes. I've heard, a right shame what happened."

"A million people, in one afternoon. That's gotta be the most heinous atrocity I think I've ever heard of."

"The latest estimates put it at one point three."

"What a shame. It wasn't just the Fox boy, that's for certain. The culture is to blame. Most folks feel the Republic has taken a dark turn."

"Is that so?"

"It is son. Listen here; ever since you folks introduced those Gates of Citizenship, well, Europe thinks you have gone a little bit crazy. With the labor farms and the executions, and all that nonsense." MacPhail scowled and turned away from the younger man.

Stanwood rolled his eyes. "At least we still believe in private enterprise. Europe's slow submersion into socialism and bureaucratic control is nauseating, and I work for the government."

"I've heard all that sonny. I think it's time for you and your manservant to push on."

"I'm sorry to interrupt your afternoon, sir. Excuse me."

Stanwood and Von Kalt promptly returned to the cigar parlor.

"That wasn't Andrew's father," Stanwood said. "Alexander Fox died ten years ago."

"You're sure?" Von Kalt asked. "He looked like he might be."

"I was at the funeral," Stanwood answered.

"So, if it wasn't his father... Uncle? Brother? What?"

The chest remained on the silver cart, right where they'd left it.

With a growl and a curse, Stanwood flipped the latch and threw open the lid. There were three items inside the chest. A key tied to a red ribbon. A small gift-wrapped box and a card.

Stanwood reached in and lifted out the card. He read the front aloud. " _What's the Secret of the Midway?_ "

He opened it. " _Preparation_."

Von Kalt laughed, "What?"

Stanwood lifted out the key, on its red loop. A card on the ribbon read USS Midway: Forward Hold.

"And finally," Stanwood lifted out the small gift-wrapped tin. He peeled the paper back to reveal the image of smoked herring. "Manx Kippers: red herring, hysterical." Stanwood dropped it back into the chest.

"I wouldn't eat those, if I were you." Von Kalt smiled.

At sunset, the government cruiser arrived at the Republic's maritime museum in the Virginia sky. Dozens of ancient warships had been repurposed as tourist attractions, outfitted with anti-gravity drives and anchored in celestial airspace over the east coast shipyards that spawned them. Von Kalt suspected that, sooner or later, these relics would be ground up and recast into a terillium alloy.

The Midway stood between the Enterprise and the Constellation. Von Kalt thought the ships looked small, relative to some of the urban sprawl of the new terillium age. The east coast of the republic had long ago become the equivalent of a patchwork quilt, draped over what was once, long, long ago, pristine shoreline.

On the eastern seaboard, entire stretches of the actual earth had not seen sunlight in over a hundred years. It was a well-known fact that you could walk from Virginia Beach to Boston, without ever touching the ground, if one were so inclined. Von Kalt thought it inevitable that sooner or later, every last bit of metal would be incorporated into some sort of gravity-fighting metallic-mixture.

Some likened mankind's discovery of anti-gravity technology to the hatching of butterflies. But butterflies are still flies and flies still come from worms. The more cynical members of society lost no time connecting man's continued pollution of the skyline with the metaphor of pestilence.

The rotting derelicts had been consigned to a slow death, fit for nothing more than the fleecing of those poor saps with excess revenue and deficits of intellect. Von Kalt sighed.

The deputy director had arranged for the management personal to meet them, and they were escorted to the locked doors of the forward hold, in a section of the ship that was off-limits to the regular tours.

Stanwood asked the ship's crew to leave before he approached the forward section. There were two locks on the heavy metal hatch. Stanwood swiped his hand across the digital unit's sensor, activating it.

"Secret of the Midway?" the display blinked.

Stanwood typed "Preparation" into the terminal.

The digital lock's indicators switched from red to green.

Stanwood fished the key from his pocket and slipped it into the second lock. He turned it. Nothing happened.

He reached out and took a hold of the large wheel at the center of the door, the heavy-duty knob that, once turned, would open the storage area beyond. He turned it slowly and gently.

The door hissed as the pressure equalized, then the seal popped and the metal hatch swung outward, toward them.

Stanwood pulled it fully open, triggered the overhead lights and stepped into the hold. Von Kalt followed. The space was filled with office-style storage boxes.

Stanwood pulled the cover from one and fished out a random file. "The aggregate cost of over fishing in Alaska, circa 2245 - 2279."

Von Kalt opened a box. "Diabetes and your Pet. Oh, this looks good, The Continuing Fight against Copyright Infringement Behind The Great Wall. Smells like more Manx kippers."

"What the hell?" Stanwood said. "Why would he go to all the trouble?"

A loud ping ripped through the hold and a hissing sound filled the empty space that had earlier been only silence.

"What was that?" Von Kalt asked.

Two more Pings and the hiss rose to a dull roar. The room at the very front of the ship was shaped like a triangle. The point, directly opposite them was at the prow of the ship, but well above what was once the waterline. The room had been designed for the feeding of supplies, deeper into hard to reach forward sections and the outward swinging doors of had been pinned over a hundred years ago. If it hadn't already been dark out, a seam at the center of the far wall would have become visible, where boxes didn't obscure it.

"Oh shit." Stanwood turned and scrambled for the door behind them.

Von Kalt also realized what was happening, but they were both too late.

The hatch leading to that section had been closed and locked for who-knows-how-long. The ship had been an ocean-going vessel and designed for keeping water out. It had not designed to be pressurized from the inside, for service at higher elevations. The aircraft carrier had been retrofitted somewhat, to accommodate civilian tourists, but Stanwood's foray had not been properly prepared for.

Neither man had the opportunity to appreciate the irony of the password, before the Virginia sky corrected the pressure imbalance and ripped open the hold, venting its contents into the purple evening sky.

# Chapter 49 – Wireless Geoff

Earlier on Sunday, July 26, 2308

Geoff set himself up on the couch in front of the TV. From the look on his face Ash could tell he wanted to talk.

Finished with the Mossberg, she sat next to her brother on the couch.

"What do you want to watch?" she asked.

His answer came quietly, almost hollow, "I don't want to watch anything." His eyes were vacantly glued to the dark screen.

"I saw what happened to dad," Geoff said. "You thought I didn't, but I did. And I heard mom scream before we got very far from the house."

"You heard her?"

"Didn't you?" Geoff asked.

"I don't think so, no. I was running," Ash said.

"You were pulling me really hard."

"Sorry," Ashley said.

"It's okay." He looked her in the eye. "Who was that woman?"

"Captain Snow?"

"She looks like her and mom could be sisters."

"They sure do," Ashley said.

"Do you think what Major Ross said is true? Mr. Dunkirk killed those cops?" Geoff asked.

"Bobby thought so."

"And he said it was because of the Micronix thing? How did he know about it?" Geoff asked.

"He was there," Ashley said. She pulled the rectangle out of her pocket and held it up.

"Did you know what dad could do with this?" she asked, setting it on the table in front of them.

Geoff picked it up. For a moment, he closed his eyes.

Then he opened them again and spoke. "He could use it to talk with the computers, directly, with his brain. He invented it. That's why they're after him. That's why they killed him."

Ashley took a breath. "Why didn't he just give it to them?"

"He tried to. That's how you got it. A lot of people really didn't want it. They said it killed people.

"Sometimes, the first time they touched it, they died. Then, also, there was a big explosion out in the desert.

"Remember what happened when it fell. Remember how everything was frozen?" Geoff asked. "Did you think it would kill me?"

Ashley shook her head. "It's just a chunk of metal. Until you hit the button and pop out the knife, you can't hurt yourself with it."

"What do you see when you pick it up?" Geoff asked.

"What do you mean?" Ashley said. "I just see it. In my hand."

"I don't know what it is, but it's not a knife. Who told you that?"

Ashley didn't answer.

"You don't see anything? When you hold it?" Geoff asked.

"Hit the button," Ash said. "It's a knife."

"It's a power button, but it doesn't turn it on. Contact turns it on."

"Hit the button," Ashley said again.

Geoff pressed down on the button. Nothing happened. He pressed again. Still nothing. "It doesn't do anything."

"You're not pressing hard enough," Ash said, holding out her hand.

Geoff gave her the metal rectangle. Ashley pressed the button, hard, with her thumb, and with a loud crack, the black metal blade snapped out.

"Damn," Geoff said, with mock amusement. "It's probably not even sharp." He reached for the blade.

Ashley let him take it from her.

Geoff ran the knife over the back of his forearm and watched as the blade shaved all the short hair from his arm. "Whoa!! Wow!" Geoff said.

"Be careful with it," Ashley said.

"Okay, okay. But that's nothing. Nothing at all, compared to what it can do. Listen, did you know all the cameras have a dormant network IO?" Geoff set the knife on the table.

"Io?" Ashley asked. She picked up the dark blade and hit the button again, retracting the edge.

"In, out. And okay, what about this..." Geoff closed his eyes and paused for a moment.

The video stream on the table across from the couch clicked on. The monitor changed streams until arriving on one of Geoff's favorite cartoons. A moment later the lights in the room clicked off. Then, in truly immature fashion, the lights clicked on and off over and over again.

"Okay, I get it," Ash said.

Geoff smiled and opened his eyes.

"Could you turn the lights back on now?" Ash asked.

Laughing, Geoff got up and crossed the room, switching on the lights.

"Why walk, why not just think it?" Ash asked.

"Ha! I don't know. It's easy to get out, but takes a while to get back inside the systems," Geoff said.

Ashley stared at her little brother.

"What?" he asked.

"What do you see?"

"It's like having a computer in your head." Geoff answered.

"Can you see it right now?" Ashley asked, 4holding the device.

"No." Geoff looked at the interface in his sister's hand.

"Do you have to be holding it?" Ashley asked.

"I don't know. Let's see." Geoff closed his eyes. The lights went off.

"So, no." Ashley said.

In the dark room, illuminated only by the flickering video screen, Geoff opened his eyes. "You have to concentrate."

Ashley set it back on the table. "You can have it."

"I want to try something." Geoff closed his eyes. A moment later he said, "Okay, I'm in. I want you to take it way over there." Geoff pointed to the furthest part of the basement.

"Okay," Ashley answered. She picked up the device and carried it across the basement. She didn't rush, she walked kind of slowly, prepared to stop whenever Geoff might object, but he didn't.

When she set the device down, Geoffrey screamed and jumped up. Ashley ran back over to him, the device forgotten.

Geoff was gasping for breath and looked panicked.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm ok," Geoff replied. "What happened?" he asked.

"I just set it down," Ash answered.

"Wow. It did not like that," Geoff said. "Where is it?" he asked.

Ash led her brother back to the device.

He picked it up and handed it to her.

"You can hold onto it," she said.

"No, It's yours. I can use it, but you have to carry it," Geoff said.

"Whatever." Ash returned the amplifier to her pocket.

Geoff staggered and rubbed his head. "Man!" Geoff shook his head.

"What's wrong?" Ashley asked.

"Nothing! It's..." Geoff paused to catch his breath. "Hold on."

"When you're holding it, damn! It's strong. The signal is so strong. But..." Geoff moved across the room. "Only if I'm right next to you."

"Then why don't you carry it?" Ashley asked.

"Are you kidding? No way! This is tons better!" he said, smiling.

Ash got nothing more out of him that afternoon. She flipped though bad video streams while Geoff lay on the couch next to her, eyes closed, but never asleep.

Sunday Evening, July 27, 2308

As Von Kalt fell through the night sky, he took advantage of the opportunity to smile.

Boxes of meaningless records streamed past like shooting stars burning up in orbit.

Everything about the past twenty-four hours had kept him on his toes. He was honestly glad Stanwood had left him alone most of the time.

Using the Metachron, he was never at a loss for intellectually stimulating activity.

When they boarded the Midway, Von Kalt had kept their personal transport nearby and idling, ignoring the staff's invitation to take advantage of the nearby docking branches. Now he was thankful for his obsessively paranoid and suspicious nature.

Using the Metachron, Von Kalt piloted the car while simultaneously plunging toward the earth at a hundred, twenty miles an hour.

He activated the side hatch and swung the vehicle under the director. Von Kalt caught his supervisor with the anti-gravity car and then set about to rescuing himself.

The Metachron was in his hand as he entered the car and set his feet on the deck. He took a deep breath as the hatch closed. He felt his gravity return as the vehicle pulled out of its dive-bomb maneuver and set a course for the west coast.

Stanwood was sprawled across the back seat, his legs and arms extended, clutching the seat and floor as if it could in some way help him.

Von Kalt leaned into the turn, smiling wryly.

Stanwood noticed the amplifier in Von Kalt's right hand.

Von Kalt looked Stanwood in the eye and asked, "You still want to chase down Henry Charles Porter and Johnny Wyndham?"

"No, I don't think so."

Stanwood paused.

"So you did take it from him?" he asked.

"Of course, I did," Von Kalt replied.

"I'm glad."

"You are?"

"It's all a part of the plan," Stanwood said.

Von Kalt laughed hard and long. "The plan, huh?"

"I still have one more ace up my sleeve, one more card to play. We're not done yet," Stanwood answered.

"What makes me laugh is how a dead guy still has you chasing your tail." Von Kalt took the pilot's chair and leaned back, chuckling as he closed his eyes.

Ashley's Journal, Monday July 27, 2308

When I woke up this morning, I checked the security feeds, like Ross said. Then I spent like an hour in the shower and bathroom. Still haven't seen any life signs from Free Bird.

A couple of years ago, Geoff wanted to go on a camping trip with his class and when it came time to go, mom was crying. Geoff was only like five and this was his first night away from home.

He said, "Don't cry Mom, I need to be a Free Bird."

I laughed my ass off.

Mom and Dad laughed too, but for a whole year, I don't think I called him Geoff once. Mom had to outlaw it, or I'd probably still be calling him Free Bird today.

Ashley found Ross in the kitchen, preparing a generous breakfast.

"I let you guys sleep in today. Tomorrow that stops." Ross set a cup of juice and a few slices of fruit before her. "I have to run a bunch of errands, so today is the last day of the rest of your... of your old life."

"And that means what exactly?" Ashley asked.

"I don't know, eat cereal, watch cartoons, keep the shotgun in the brace and keep the line tied to the knob till I call you."

"Till you call me? Why don't you just knock?"

"I had a buddy who knocked once. It was just enough to knock the line off the knob, cut him in half. Don't ever knock. If you do have to knock... Whenever you knock on a door, stand off to the side. That way he would have maybe just lost his hand. They can get you a new hand."

Ross gave Ashley a phone. "There's one number programmed into this; emergency use only. Don't even open it unless it rings. You got me?"

Ashley nodded, picked up the phone and looked at it.

Ross finished with the pancakes and set a short stack in front of Ash. "Where's your brother," he asked.

"Sleeping. Guess yesterday was a lot for him."

"You're probably right." Ross rinsed a few dishes and piled a few others. "I have to go. Lots to do. Make sure he eats, yeah?" Ross said.

Ashley nodded.

Ross came around from the back of the small kitchen counter and patted Ashley's shoulder. "It's going to be okay."

Ashley smiled, but something dangerous in her eyes made Ross pause. "What?" he asked.

"It is going to be okay," Ashley said. "I can just feel it." She took a bite of her pancakes, grinning.

Ross laughed.

# Chapter 50 – The Wolf Pack

Monday Morning, July 27, 2308

Von Kalt sat in the chair reserved for bodyguards and flunkies while Stanwood took the seat in front of Senator Miller's desk.

On the far left of the room, a sheet of plywood filled the space where one of the floor-to-ceiling windows had been knocked out.

Stanwood noticed but said nothing.

"What can I do for you, Joe?" the Senator asked. Miller didn't even bother to look away from his monitor. He held a stylus before the screen, occasionally tapping or dragging one section or another.

"I presume you've kept abreast of events?" Stanwood asked.

"Somewhat." Miller tapped the screen with the stylus, like some kind of digitally interested bird. "If there's something specific you'd like to address, please cut to the chase, I don't have a lot of time."

"The warrants on Fox's properties were served," Stanwood stated.

"Ah, yes. The committee is greatly looking forward to putting several of his technologies on the fast track. I can't wait to hear all about it."

"Well, Sir, that's why I'm here."

"This doesn't sound good at all." Miller put the stylus down and clicked off the display. He held up his hand. "Let me stop you before you begin, Director. You wouldn't believe what happened while I was out at lunch the other day. The window, that one," Miller pointed at the sheet of plywood, "It just blew out, all of a sudden. And then, the security team says, all my files, my personal belongings, everything, just started flying around the room. Sounds kind of crazy, doesn't it?"

"It is a problem sir."

"Obviously. Otherwise, you would not be here, would you?"

Stanwood cleared his throat. "We served over seventy warrants for properties belonging to or even associated with Doctor Andrew Fox. Not one of the addresses yielded anything worth noting."

"NOT ONE?" Miller was on his feet. "Are You Frigging Kidding ME!" He was screaming; his face had grown beet red.

"We spent years accumulating that data! There was not one FALSE LEAD in the Bunch!" He was leaning all the way across his desk, his index finger in Stanwood's face.

"What Kind of incompetent morons did you put on this job? Do you REALIZE YOUR LIFE IS ON THE LINE? You let these idiots smash up my office! You let them make fools of the both of us! Do I have to tell you how much hot water you are in right now?" Miller paused to catch his breath. "WE ARE TALKING TREASON!"

The Senator withdrew to his plush leather chair and took a moment to adjust himself. "This is treason, Joseph. You killed one of the country's leading scientists, and I will see that you are prosecuted for murder in the first degree."

Von Kalt suspected that, years ago, while Stanwood was still new to government, this sort of outburst might have unsettled, or even frightened Director Stanwood. Von Kalt certainly wasn't impressed. These sort of idiots get people killed. He wondered how Stanwood had tolerated the buffoon for so long. That must have been eight long years.

"I have a plan, sir." Stanwood sounded as cool as could be.

Von Kalt had heard that kind of cool before.

"I'd be more than happy to share it with you. But I understand that you are a busy man."

Von Kalt placed the vocal pattern, the tonal nuances and implications. He smiled; Stanwood was biting Fox; imimtating his personal speaking style.

Miller blinked.

Stanwood read this as an invitation to continue. "We know that Fox had conspirators, inside the highest levels of the Republic."

"So?"

"So, now Fox is dead. We are in control.

"You don't seem very..."

It was Stanwood's turn to get loud.

"We Are In Control." The man was hypnotic.

Miller calmed down.

Von Kalt was impressed.

"We will put the word out that we are in possession of Fox's research and that it is being put under lock and key, for further consideration. In this, we show our humility and our ambition Not To Become Tyrants."

Stanwood paused.

Miller waited.

"We will let our enemies come to us, curious to see what we do or do not know. Their own curiosity will undo them. Instead of walking into their traps, we will make some of our own."

"So we turn it around on them. Okay, I like that," Miller said.

"Good. Because this is where you come in, Sir."

"How's that?"

"We have two options. The first one is rather direct, but requires a significant sacrifice on your part."

"Let's hear it?" Miller sounded intrigued.

"Well, as we can see, our enemy clearly has you in their cross hairs. We can exploit that." Stanwood gestured to the plywood sheet.

Miller cocked his head to the side.

"If you were to be heard bragging about the Fox operations. I think that might accelerate some sort of traceable reaction."

"You're talking about using me as bait."

"If you want to be crass about it, I suppose that's accurate."

Miller snorted.

"I do have another idea, one that requires significantly less of a contribution on the part of your office."

"That already sounds better. Usually I'm the one asking for contributions."

"I need the Wolf Pack."

"I'm afraid that's completely out of the question! Why would you ask me that? Why would you even suggest that? What is wrong with you? You must really be desperate."

"Sir, I was just violently depressurized from thirty thousand feet.

"Earlier this week I activated the full forces of Scotland Yard to subdue a ninety-two year old curmudgeon, who thoroughly enjoyed it and later lectured ME on the evils of the Republic. After shooting my childhood friend in the forehead, I played golf with his Ghost of Christmas Future and shared war stories about our childhood. There's not a lot you can do or say that would surprise me, short of giving me what I ask for and sharing a drink from that bottle in your lower drawer."

"Do you really think this will work, Joe?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't, Sir."

"It would be a lot easier to garner support if you had some kind of evidence."

"I completely agree, Senator, but how long have you known me?"

"You're whole career, of course."

"Have I ever steered you wrong, Sir?"

"Of course not. What's your point?"

"My point is; don't I have something in the bank with you? Was all that time worth nothing? Don't you trust me at all?"

"That is a one time ploy, my friend."

Stanwood said nothing.

Miller smiled. "You're usually so resourceful with this kind of thing."

"A one time ploy, huh? The Wolf Pack would not exist without the work I did, for You! Illegal work, I might add. The list of illegal things I have done while working for This Office could choke a team of Clydesdales. This is not a one-time ploy, Sir.

"I only came here as a courtesy. I can get to Bergstrom on my own; I simply thought you might appreciate the opportunity to give your blessing to this endeavor.

"Our enemy, in this case, is smart and cunning. He knows how to cover his tracks and we're not going to get what we want without some leverage."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Something simple, something direct."

"It seems if you went after one of these other fellows, Porter or Wyndham, they might be rather valuable, considering. Don't you think?"

"That certainly is an option we can keep on the back burner, sir. But not the sort of immediate target I had in mind."

"All right, Joe. I'm thinking maybe it's time to bring Dr. Bergstrom and his Wolf Pack into the loop. What do you say?"

"Thank you, Mister Senator."

Miller activated his communications terminal and called up Cedric in his contacts, placing the call.

Dr. Bergstrom's system answered and asked if the Senator would like to leave a message. "Cedric, this is Senator Miller. I'm going to be sending Joseph to see you. He's got a project I think you could really help out with. Thanks."

Miller turned the terminal off. "He's probably just got his hands full."

Stanwood nodded.

"Well, regardless, if you want to get right to it... He's out on D13, Angel City. I'll forward you the docking codes."

"Thank you, Senator."

"Would you take some water?"

"Some aqua vitae? What the hell, it's six o'clock somewhere."

Miller pulled out the bottle of Connemara and two glasses.

# Chapter 51 – Feedback Loop

Monday, July 29, 2308

After eating, Ashley found a vacant space in the basement to stretch and do her exercises. The maintenance level / basement, beneath the garage, hadn't been wired as there was little point. It was almost entirely self-contained. There was one entrance, and despite some separation walls, it was open and empty.

When Ashley finally returned to the room she was sharing with her brother, she found him still stretched out on the couch. "Geoff, you missed breakfast. There are pancakes up there if you want them. Pretty good."

"Ash, how's it going?" Geoff's voice was calm, but distracted.

Ashley looked over at her brother, lying on his back, eyes closed.

"What's the matter with you? Aren't you getting up today?"

"I've been up," he said. With his eyes closed, Geoff maneuvered into a sitting position, letting the blanket cover his legs. "I barely slept."

Ashley walked around the couch. "What? You're serious?"

Geoff reached out, picked up the black metal rectangle and flawlessly tossed it to his sister, eyes closed, like some kind of blind ninja.

Ashley remained silent until he opened his eyes.

Geoff smiled at her.

"Can you show me how?" Ashley asked.

"It's easy. Here, sit down." Geoff nodded.

Ashley sat next to him, holding the device in her hands.

"Close your eyes and imagine a blank vid screen."

"Okay," Ashley said, her eyes closed.

"First, you just see black space. Then one word is going to come up..."

Ashley was quiet for a few moments. "What word?"

"Just relax and wait for it," Geoff answered.

They both waited.

Then Ashley caught her breath. "Micron... Micronix."

"That's its name," Geoff said.

"Its name?" Ash asked.

"Tell it your name."

"How?"

"Just imagine the letters, then it opens an operating system."

Ashley was quiet for a few moments.

Then it appeared. A screen in her head, filling her field of vision, it displayed a group of typical computer operating system icons and folders. The system was named Micronix, below it, a second item with Ashley's full name - Ashley Erin Fox.

Ash focused on the icon above her name and found that it contained several common computer folders, applications, contacts, documents, networks, and utilities. The folder for applications opened, it was filled with basic skills, memory, comprehension, mathematics, reasoning. She opened contacts and a box headed with the words Micronix Op Sys opened and flashed 'Importing Contacts.'

Ashley felt a sharp twinge throughout her head and discovered four sub groups on the screen - family, friends, classmates and acquaintances.

Ashley backed out a level and opened the object named Networks; a box headed with Available Networks opened, listing several. Ashley clicked on the top, a ten-digit number.

The phone in her pocket rang. She fished it out and answered it. An ear splitting feedback loop erupted over the phone and Ashley's voice box. She screamed, threw the phone along with the device, and collapsed.

Geoff had realized what was happening when the phone rang, a moment too late. He jumped up and rushed over to his sister.

Ash was out cold.

"Oh, my God! Ashley! Are you okay?" Geoff listened to her heart, she was still breathing, and despite her being unconscious, she seemed okay.

"Holy shit," Geoff said to no one.

He retrieved the amplifier and phone, setting them on the table.

Monday Night, July 27, 2308

Croswell, Ross and King hung in the air over Angel City.

"So, what's the story on the ID package," Ross asked Croswell.

"It's almost done. I checked on it just before coming out today."

"What could possibly be the hold up?" Ross asked.

"I needed to get photos of the kids," Croswell answered.

"Faster, Mr. Secretary," Ross teased.

"That's what she said," King and Croswell said together, laughing.

"Is she coming," King asked. "By the bye."

"She is coming," Ross replied. "She'll be here."

"We can catch her up easy enough," Croswell said. "Here's the deal. Stanwood finally melted down and went to Miller, who also proceeded to meltdown. They considered hanging Miller out as bait for us, but settled on reactivating the Wolf Pack."

"Did I hear that right?" Captain Snow asked, approaching from the west. "Be careful what you wish for, huh?"

"Understatement of the year," King said, raising his hand in acknowledgement.

"How are the kids?" Ana asked Ross.

"They're fine, fifth wall intact," Ross answered. "I made them pancakes. Reid's on overwatch."

"So," King said, "the real question is, did Miller leave his office stained and dirty on purpose, or is he actually that stupid?"

"Oh, he is that stupid," Croswell answered. "That guy is a goddamn idiot, no contest."

"Wolf Pack, huh? They are serious," Snow said.

"Are you ready for the good part?" Croswell asked. "You know why we haven't been able to find them, all this time?"

"Spill it," King said.

"They're hiding on an orphanage."

"What?" Ross exclaimed.

"No..." Snow was shocked.

"Eight years, near as we can figure, ever since San Diego. Not all of them, but a few, at least. And Dunkirk, he'd worked with Bergstrom before Wolf Pack, we suspected him, but we didn't have anything solid."

"Whatever," Ana said.

"I can't believe he got the drop on you like that," King laughed.

"He didn't get the drop on Me," Ana said.

"What do you call it?" King smiled.

"You want to know what I call it? What I call all of this?" Ana waved her hand in a circle through the air between them. "Do you honestly think I'm this stupid? Fox put up a firewall didn't he? I've been noticing little things. She knew things I didn't. Sometimes little bits and pieces slipped through.

"But now, you tell me Fox's arch-enemy happens to be hiding out on an orphanage, three days after he makes his kids orphans. What kind of asshole do you take me for?" Snow asked.

"What are you suggesting?" Croswell asked.

"I'm suggesting that we're going to fly over there and realize that Bergstrom has dug himself in so well, that we'd have to blow up the entire goddamn district just get him to stick his head out.

"Or we can wait and let the Wolf Pack come to us, while all our Centaurs are in fucking orbit! You all know we're never going to get them here in time and we sure as hell can't hide them."

"It's worse than that," Croswell said. "When Fox met with Conway he arranged to put the Centaurs to work, mining the hammered bracelet."

"Oh, fuck you very much. So, we've got a real bad guy on an orphanage, exploiting children; let's send in _Astral_. Why don't we just nuke it?

"I've got news for you, you're not doing it. She's Twelve for Christ's Sake! You can't send her into an urban orphanage; she's a goddamn ballerina! She has like three weeks of some lame ass kung fu camp for experience! Fuck you all! If I ever find out that you had any part in this, I swear, I will never forgive you."

Croswell held up his hands. "Ana, none of us knew. I don't think even Fox knew. He never would have sent the tanks into deep space otherwise, I'm sure of that much at least."

"You're not sure of anything, James! You can't send a Centaur Cyber Tank onto an orphanage! That's why he's there in the first place," she said.

"I will not tolerate Ashley and Geoff going to an orphanage. That is not happening. It's not even on the table. Do you understand me?" Snow looked back and forth from the eyes of the men before her.

Croswell nodded, "You have my word."

"Okay. Then let's hear your plan..." Snow said.

"I want to put you three on a rotating post on this orphanage, to see if Stanwood or Von Kalt show up."

No one objected.

"And we have confirmed that Von Kalt has the amplifier he took off Fox when he arrested him. So even though we managed to clean out all the labs and send them on a wild goose chase, they've had it the whole time.

"Then what does Ashley have," Ross asked.

"Ashley has the original. Von Kalt got what remained of Epsilon. Apparently it was left at ground zero. I confirmed with Carlson up on Kojima Station; the Doctor retrieved it."

"This gets better by the minute," Ana said.

"Our only saving grace is that Von Kalt is at least semi-retarded, or he would have figured out how to use it by now." Croswell nodded to King.

King explained, "This ass-clown hasn't activated a single filter or effect. He's satisfied with digital augmentation and basic intrusion. He walked one of the wired mercs off a balcony, but mostly he's reserved himself to the net. Kid in a candy store, with no concept that daddy's account will also buy power tools and guns, if he wanted."

Croswell nodded. "I was going to put the three of you on it, but I think instead... Ana, I'd like you to take a permanent position over Saint Vincent's. Take a trailer and anchor it close enough, but not too close. You guys go out to this orphanage, D13, and do the same thing. I'm going to go visit Stanwood and see if I can get him to reconsider all this nonsense."

"Ready... Break!" King said, laughing.

# Chapter 52 – Contingencies

Ashley's Journal Monday Afternoon, July 27, 2308

That was pretty weird. I realized what I'd done, even as I was doing it. It looked like Geoff did too. It felt like I was plugging a fork into an electrical socket only the phone was the fork and my brain was the socket.

I'm not too thrilled with this little toy.

When I woke up, I was alone. I found Geoff upstairs in the kitchen, finishing the rest of the pancakes. At least he's eating.

I can't believe our parents are gone.

We don't talk about it.

He seems okay.

I told him I was not happy about getting my brain fried and he actually laughed. The rest of the afternoon went pretty fast. It's already dark. Geoff spent the day in Micronix-land while I did a complete second session; I stretched again and did my full practice.

We watched a movie and napped. It was lame, some secret agent chasing some super weapon. Shit, I'm living that movie. No wonder my dreams are all messed up. There was that cable full of knots that hurt to look at. The cable was made of light, and everything else was complete darkness. That's what I get for sleeping in the middle of the day, as Mom would say.

It's after nine and Ross still hasn't returned.

I cooked frozen pizza.

I haven't touched the Micronix or the phone since this morning. They are sitting right where Geoff left them. He seems to have no difficulty accessing it without holding it.

I have zero interest in exploring the cyber-verse as represented by that black tool-of-vengeance. To me, it's a knife; maybe a bit more fancy, but still and primarily, a knife, for cutting.

Midnight, Late Monday, Early Tuesday July 28, 2308

Inside the surveillance trailer, Ross and King sat before panels of spectrometers and scanners.

King tapped on Ross's arm as a cruiser approached the district. Ross magnified the image of the cruiser's cockpit. Sure enough, it was Stanwood and Von Kalt.

"I'm going," King said.

"Go," Ross replied. "I'm going to call the secretary."

"Patch me in," King said and triggered the hatch. "I'm guessing he never got that meeting." King activated his phase cam and vanished before he stepped out of the trailer. The hatch closed and Ross was alone.

"Mister Secretary," he said, as the communications terminal came alive.

Croswell had given up his battle armor for the more conventional uniform of three-piece, double-breasted terillium weave suit and tie.

"What have you got Major?"

"The First Sergeant is inbound on our tangos, let me patch him in." Ross looped in King's codec; he accepted the link. A third window appeared on Ross's terminal as King patched in his helmet camera.

"First Sergeant?" Croswell asked.

"Yes, Sir," King answered, without actually speaking.

King had entered the expansive parking structure. He slowly approached the government vehicle from just a couple of feet above walking height.

On the screen, Stanwood and Von Kalt had just docked and were exiting the vehicle.º

King stayed with them, and by proxy, so did Ross and Croswell.

Both Ross and Croswell were amazed. The massive First Sergeant moved himself into tiny spaces and flawlessly stayed with his prey. He never made a sound, never obstructed an elbow or a knee; majestic.

In less than three minutes, King had followed Stanwood and Croswell and gained access, as they were greeted by Bergstrom's staff and led to his not-so impenetrable lair.

While waiting in the antechamber, King inquired as to his firing parameters and Croswell replied, "Under no circumstances. This is reconnaissance only."

"Understooooood," King replied, sounding every bit like a sullen teenager who's just been told he cannot throw a party while the parents are out for the evening.

Finally Stanwood, Von Kalt and the unseen specter hanging over their shoulders, were ushered into a massive hall.

The room looked as though it hadn't been used in a considerable length of time. Cedric entered from behind and hit the light switches.

Stanwood and Von Kat turned on their heels while King quickly went inverted. In his trailer, Ross activated the image compensator and rotated the signal back to something not so nausea inducing.

"Intelligence Director Stanwood, I presume?" A rather small man, Dr. Bergstrom, walked toward them and extended his hand to Stanwood, completely ignoring Von Kalt, but only for a moment.

Even before he reached Stanwood, his attention turned to Von Kalt and he came to a dead stop.

"Who are you?" Bergstrom asked.

Before Von Kalt could answer, Bergstrom screamed, "NO! I don't want to know, don't tell me!" Bergstrom turned to Stanwood. "Please ask him to wait outside."

"What?" Stanwood asked.

"Ask him to wait outside, please!"

Stanwood nodded to Von Kalt, who pursed his lips, but turned and left the hall without a word.

"Go back to the goddamn car, please!" Bergstrom yelled after him.

King righted himself, hanging behind the intelligence director, just a few inches above the floor.

"So..." Stanwood said

Ross had returned his monitor to the natural setting, once King had tired of his handstand. Now he and Croswell watched as King practiced his silent draw. The first sergeant smoothly, but silently drew his side arm and took a bead on the back of Stanwood's skull, over and over again.

Finally Croswell spoke up, "Knock it off, Steve."

King laughed over their comm. link, but remained silent as Bergstrom and Stanwood had their little stare down.

"It's clear that Fox's technology has made its way to you, So you should understand my commitment to this sentiment when I tell you, You have to Give to Get. Now, don't waste my time."

"What's your price?" Stanwood asked.

"Your partner is carrying one of Fox's amplifiers."

"It's his funeral," Stanwood said.

"I'm glad we understand each other." Dr. Bergstrom looked into Stanwood's eyes. "You've never been exposed."

"Do you think I'd be here now if I had been?"

"No, I wasn't asking. I mean it as a statement. I can tell, just looking at you. You know what else I can tell? You've never pulled a trigger."

"What?" Stanwood asked.

"Even during your practical, you didn't, did you?"

"It wasn't like that," Stanwood said.

"Like what," Cedric asked. "Explain to me how it is that the Director of National Intelligence has never pulled the trigger. I tell you what. You convince me how you got out of the practical and I'll hear you out about the rest of this nonsense."

"I've never told anyone this. But, it was... I knew her. This girl I went to school with, she'd been out drinking and got into an accident. The other driver died, she was just a young mom. It wouldn't have been a capital case, except the car had been reported stolen. Jessica didn't know, it belonged to the boyfriend of one of the other girls and they'd taken it without saying anything. He'd called the cops before he realized that the girls were just out on a liquor run.

"They arrested her for a homicide committed in the commission of a felony. It was an open and shut case. The jury returned a unanimous guilty verdict and she was remanded to the Hall of Justice.

"I didn't know she was going to be there. I swore my oaths of allegiance, served on my first jury and marched over to the handgun-training course.

"I went in there totally committed to executing a convict. I'd already been accepted into the officer's program at Williamsburg and so going into the practical, I had my mind made up. I was going to collect my executioner's fee and spend it getting drunk as hell.

"Instead I walked in and saw Jessica.

"She recognized me and started crying. I already had the light nine in my hand, I hadn't charged it, but I was fucking holding it. I moved to walk past her and she called me by name.

"I didn't think she even knew my name. I don't think she'd ever said it before.

"She screamed, _"Joseph, No!"_ I looked over to her and I couldn't leave. As I walked over to her, she was sobbing, _"Please, please, please."_

I think I had been in love with this girl, for like forever. But nothing ever came of it. She liked this other guy in my class."

Stanwood laughed.

"Anyhow, as I walked up to her, I realized I was holding the gun. I holstered it, slid my newly minted ID through the slot and hit that big green clemency button.

"She thanked me about a thousand times, but I never said a word. She got carted off for a life of hard labor on the farms, but it beats a bullet in the head. I couldn't let that happen to her.

"You could see all the closed tubes, that opaque frosted panel, with the darkness splashed across it, or just dark inside.

"I remember, as we left, it was my Dad who sponsored me... As we left, he was crying. He was really impressed. We were always really close after that. I didn't see that coming either.

"Anyhow, last week I put a bullet through the head of the guy Jessica always liked more than me, a guy I have known all my life. Don't tell me you know anything about me, about me _pulling a trigger_. Because right now, if you don't help me find this man's children, you are going to be the next person I put a bullet into."

"Who might this guy be? Miller mentioned something about enemies of enemies and new friends." Bergstrom asked.

"His name is Andrew Fox."

"Mm, hmm. And then his children... A daughter, named Astral?"

"Ashley."

"That's pretty goddamn close."

"I know you know about Fox. I know you've had dealings with him before."

"You don't know shit, son."

"I know that I killed him. And I know that I can kill you."

"But why come to me? She's a twelve-year-old girl. Why can't you handle her? Are you an idiot? What's your problem?"

"Dr. Bergstrom, when Senator Miller approved your Wolf Pack program, I was his associate. I wrote all his correspondence. His fingers never even touched a keyboard while I worked for him. I am now the Director of National Intelligence. I know everything there is to know about you. You are going to help me, or I will dismantle your life, one locked door at a time."

"You know everything, huh? Tell me something, shit-for-brains, did you watch the 3AM Trials? Did you see what She did to those soldiers? She wasn't much older than twelve when she did that."

"What do you know about it?" Stanwood asked.

"Enough to know better than to even try and help you. I mean that was a cute story, and now I heard you out, even with your silly little threat there at the end, but you'd better have something of equal or greater value if you want access to the wolves."

Dr. Bergstrom had approached a second set of switches and now illuminated the rest of the massive hall. Almost a dozen massive cyber suits stood in various stages of completion.

"Only about half of them are operational, but if you've got to crack an especially hard nut, this is the tool you want."

"Name your price," Stanwood said.

"My price? My conditions are that I want a support squad for every suit we activate. These things look tough, but concentrated fire is a problem for anyone, so I want a squad of bullet catchers for support and distraction on any incursion into enemy territory.

"Second, I have a question... What is preventing the return of Fox's Centaur Cyber-tanks?"

"They are locked out of orbit. We have a magnetic quarantine in place. If they tried to get in, we would know, and we will stop them. It was the mandate that won Conway the election."

Cedric raised a hand, "So then we are going up against the Black Willow Gun Trees. We can only go in force. Meaning, when it comes to the Wolf Pack, I only have four pilots. That means, you and your ass hat out there in the car will have to pilot two of the suits. I'm not sending four, if they could be six. If you want this, you must take it yourself."

"Do we need training?" Stanwood asked.

"You'll learn fast or you'll die." Cedric smiled.

"Encouraging."

"Now, my price." Cedric raised his hand. "You said children, plural?"

"Yes, a boy and a girl," Stanwood answered.

"My price then, dead or alive, I want significant access to their DNA and dead or alive, I want The Girl."

"That's all?" Stanwood asked, shocked and astonished.

"That's all," Bergstrom answered.

"Fine, you have a deal, Doctor." Stanwood realized he actually didn't care. Suddenly the entire adventure had lost its allure. Stanwood didn't want to have anything to do with Bergstrom. He felt dirty just standing in the man's presence. He'd agree to anything, just to leave this space. "How soon can we get started?" Stanwood asked.

"I need forty-eight hours, more or less," Dr. Bergstrom replied.

"That's fine. I've hardly slept in three days."

Filled with revulsion, Stanwood handed Bergstrom his card. "I'll be expecting your call."

King was invisibly holding his weapon on the two men and switching his aim from one to the next and back again.

Croswell interrupted him. "First Sergeant, I want you to follow the director back to his car and spray everything you see along the way with the micro-transmitters. Acknowledge."

"Copy, yes, sir," King replied over the thought link, and holstered his pistol to pull out the aforementioned transmitter spray.

# Chapter 53 – Active Missions

**Tuesday Morning, July 28,** **2308**

At four in the morning, Ashley's phone went off. She answered, still groggy with sleep.

Ross's voice came both over the phone and from right outside the door. "Time to get up. I want you and the little guy dressed and in the kitchen in five minutes."

A few minutes more than five minutes later, Ashley and Geoff walked down the maintenance hall toward the kitchen. The lights were still off, and no light came in from behind the pulled shades and blinds.

Ross met the children halfway to their destination. "First things first..."

Ashley's Journal, Tuesday, July 28, 2308

After early morning patrols, we had breakfast and talked about ways to improve security. Ross had all the correct answers, but he wanted us thinking about it. We discussed the finer points of distributing weapons, ammunition and first aid supplies where they could do the most good.

He explained that you had to think about it as _Fortifying Your Base_. As if you were always less than six hours from an actual attack.

Where would you want weapons and ammo stashed during a firefight?

It's a bit of a tie, actually, between the bathroom and the kitchen, he said. The bathroom has a reinforced tub and a window you can occasionally escape through, but it's also called a Kill Box for a reason.

The micro-transmitters Croswell had sprayed at Stanwood's home informed the secretary that Stanwood had finally returned for the first time since shooting Fox.

In full battle armor, Croswell arrived at Stanwood's residence. Hovering overhead, he performed an intimate scan. He read the security entries and the residential event logs. Stanwood had opened the fridge, taken nothing out, proceeded to the bathroom where the relieved himself, showered and was now asleep in his bed.

Von Kalt was nowhere to be seen.

Secretary Croswell, having already hacked the rudimentary security system, instructed it to open the patio door as he arrived. It closed a moment later, after Croswell had invisibly entered, having made zero contact with the domicile.

The Secretary checked Stanwood's room to be sure it was actually him and that he hadn't somehow been duped.

It was indeed the Intelligence Director, whom Jim had known since grammar school, lying fast asleep.

Croswell drifted into the living room and fixed himself a drink. He was in no hurry. As long as Stanwood was here, there was little possibility that he was piloting a war machine at the same time.

The Secretary relayed his location to the other members of his team. First Sergeant King acknowledged, from his place above the orphanage, as did Captain Snow, from her monitoring station above St. Vincent's.

Ashley took notes in her journal as Ross spoke, "There's almost never a way out, plus lots of tile and glass. So where bathrooms are concerned, if you don't know ahead of time, avoid it. The kitchen is better for hiding weapons and ammo, and there's usually a backdoor, but it's mostly open and indefensible. They will believe that our transportation is out in the garage, making that a definite target."

"So that will be the first thing they go after," Geoff said,

"Exactly right. They'll try to disable any escape," Ross said.

"So they'll be watching the other exits too, right?" Ashley asked.

"Yes. We've got two sets of bad guys to worry about: those with limited budgets and exposure and those without limits. That means, the people who want to keep their activity a secret and those who can send forty agents after us."

"They're going to keep looking for us, as long as we have this." Ashley pulled out the black rectangle and set it next to the maps.

Ross smiled. "Despite how valuable it is, that's just a piece of hardware. They want you."

"Loose ends," Ashley said. "We're just loose ends."

"You're not 'just' anything," Ross said. "They want me, Mr. Reid, and a couple of other guys, we're loose ends. You are about profit and power. We stay together, we stay alive, and we go to Canada."

"I don't want to run. I don't want to go anywhere. I want my old life back and I want them dead." Ash said, coldly.

Both Geoff and Ross remained silent for a few moments.

"In the trash cans," Geoffrey said. "Under the garbage bags."

"What?" Ross asked.

"In the bathrooms, that's where we put the guns," Geoff smiled.

Ross nodded and smiled. "I've mapped out the best escape routes."

He laid out some local maps, showing the nearby streets and buildings. "There's a twenty-four hour public parking structure here. If you have to detonate this place, go there." Ross pointed to a square four blocks from their location. "And another one here," Ross pointed to a second location, on the other side of the map.

"Whichever direction you find yourselves going, just go. You can get to either of them almost unseen by taking this street and this alley, here." Ross laid out the trail with his finger on the map. "I traced it yesterday. Once you get there, in each garage is a black transport. Ditch the sedan."

Ross handed them an electric key. "Hit the button and the closest one will come to you.

"We're going to be the Roberts family, Ashley, your new name is Erin. Geoff, you are Michael, and I am Michael Senior. Once we're over the border, we pick up a second set. All we have to do is get there."

"Did you get a chance to check on the security footage, at our house?" Ashley asked.

"I checked. The house looks secure, but I spotted three roving patrols and two stationary units. It was too dangerous to go inside."

"We should just go after them, find out who they're working for."

"It's not that easy?"

"We can't just let them get away with it," Ashley argued.

"They already did," Ross said.

"What's the point of learning how to fight and fortify your base, if you're just going to run all the time?" Ash asked.

"You're too young," Ross said.

"They know you're helping us. They're going to have the borders covered. They won't be expecting us to attack."

"They will destroy any evidence we don't already have. As much as you may want this, we don't have the resources."

"I'm not leaving," Ashley was serious.

Geoff looked at her, shocked.

"I'm going after them. My father was a good person. He never hurt anyone and our mom was super-nice. They killed her, and I'm not just going to run away and forget. I'm going to find out who did this, and I'm going to stop them!"

Geoff and Ross were both quiet in the wake of her determination.

Finally, Ross spoke. "We still have some time, and we need to be prepared to escape at any moment, but there is such a thing as overwhelming firepower and the odds are against us."

"Maybe we can use the Micronix to get the footage," Geoff suggested. "We just need to get somewhere with better coverage. There's not enough bandwidth out here for me."

"We need to set a trap," Ash said. "Catch someone who knows something and make an example out of him. If they're staking out our house, then let's grab one of them. I'll make him talk. You don't have to do anything." Ashley was dead serious.

"For one; _You_ are Insane. For two; too many things can go wrong. There's too few of me here to try that. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you're still kids. Maybe we'll try Geoff's plan, tomorrow, maybe. End of discussion," Ross said.

# Chapter 54 – Payback

Tuesday Evening, July 28, 2308

Secretary Croswell, lounging on Stanwood's couch, used his Micronix amplifier to handle the digital day-to-day requirements of his office. He was caught up before lunch and spent the afternoon getting a jump on the next day. His helmet sat on the coffee table.

The battle suit supplied all the nutrition he needed in the form of Dr. Fox's Super Blue Healing Goo. Between panels, Croswell carried more than two gallons of the thick syrup. The noontime injections in each hip surprised him, but as the goo replaced the sensation of pain with one of pleasure, after a few moments, only the fading adrenalin dump caused by the initial shock remained.

Croswell heard Stanwood begin to stir late in the afternoon. At six, another injection would be triggered, unless had settled this dispute and gotten out of the damn suit. Frustrated and angry; Croswell rose from the couch. He had long since turned off the phase shift camouflage. If Stanwood had awakened, he would have seen him, but that was the whole idea.

Croswell walked to the doorway between the elite-shelf living room and bedroom.

Stanwood was half awake and sat up, shocked to see Croswell standing there. "James?"

Without any warning, Croswell discovered he was furious. He'd known Joe Stanwood almost all his life. And Joe Stanwood had shot his friend, their friend, Andy Fox, who created the blue goo that had healed Wendell's smashed knee.

Without any sort of pause, before Stanwood could speak, Croswell drew his weapon and fired. He didn't just fire once, or twice. Croswell shot Stanwood at least a dozen times. Then he stepped onto the blood-splattered sheets and blankets and grabbed Stanwood by the neck.

The intelligence director coughed and choked, gasping for air through his ruined lungs and esophagus.

Secretary Croswell unsnapped one of the hoses to the reservoir on his back. He smiled and sprayed Stanwood with the blue goo.

"You didn't have the balls to try this when we were kids, Joey. So, here you go." Croswell could see the goo stitching Stanwood's splattered organs and bone back together. He knew first hand how painful the process actually was.

Stanwood tried to scream, but couldn't, as he could hardly breathe.

Croswell held his old friend in a crushing vice with his armored hand on Stanwood's throat. After a few minutes, it was clear that Stanwood was breathing properly. "I missed your heart," Croswell said. "I can do better than that."

"Stanwood tried to raise his hands. "Jim, listen..."

"Listen to what? You fucking shot Andy, you asshole."

Croswell held the barrel of his weapon on the soft spot beneath Stanwood's ribcage and fired three more times.

Croswell's face was in front to of Stanwood's. "How do you like that, you son of a bitch?"

Stanwood began to gag and sputter. It was clear he was dying.

Croswell rose from the bed and doused Stanwood's ruined midsection with another liberal helping of the healing blue syrup. The intelligence director would survive. He'd probably be in even better shape than before Croswell shot him.

Stanwood convulsed as the polysynthetic nano-stem cells did their work. He coughed up a considerable volume of blue-tinted blood and bullets.

"You've still got a pretty high concentration of syrup in you there, Joey. I think you can take a couple more. What do you think?" Pointing the handgun at his abdomen.

"No! No, no more!" Stanwood pleaded.

"Yeah, well, fuck what you think, you dick." Croswell aimed at Stanwood's knee. "You pushed Wendell into the pool didn't you?"

"No! I swear!"

"Bullshit." Croswell put two rounds through Stanwood's knee.

Stanwood screamed and cried, holding his knee and his ruptured guts.

Croswell stepped away from the bed and reattached the tube to his reservoir tank. "If I were you, I'd try and spit some of that syrup onto your knee, cause I'm not giving you any more. And I'd bet, you being the shit-bird you are, my money says you don't even have an emergency pack stashed here somewhere.

"And don't take the crap they give you at the emergency room. It's watered down to nothing. Hell, you should call your little butt-buddy Cedric. He's got his own version of the stuff. But be careful, I've heard his grape-mix doesn't go well with Fox's blue nectar. In fact, this stuff has a tendency to turn hostile against any competitive nano-products."

Croswell pulled out his phone. "Now shut up for a second, I need to make a call."

Stanwood actually tried to silence his pain-filled whimpering but could only reduce the volume slightly.

"Kelly, hey it's Jim. I'm over here at our friend Joe's place, and we have reached an understanding."

Croswell looked over at Stanwood. "He's going to take a step back and drop this case. After all, he has plenty of real work that needs doing, don't you?"

Stanwood nodded.

"So, you guys are okay, nothing to worry about anymore. Isn't that right Director?"

Croswell held the phone out toward Stanwood, who whimpered and cried, "Yes, yes, yes."

Croswell returned the phone to his ear and listened for a moment.

"Yes, of course." He picked up his helmet and walked toward the front door. "I'll bring them directly to you, but don't you think it would be better if we didn't need to go that route."

Croswell listened for a moment then said, "No. It's just that coming back will be so much more difficult, you know that."

"Okay. I'll talk to you in a bit." He disconnected the call and turned back to Stanwood.

Croswell gave the suffering director the finger and said, "Fuck off and die, Joey. Don't even think about teaming up with Bergstrom. If you go anywhere near D-Thirteen again, President's nephew or not, I will put a bullet in your head."

Croswell walked toward Stanwood again, stopping at the end of the bed. "I want you to listen me very carefully, Joe. We've known each other a long time, and I have never bull-shitted you, or bull-shat you, whatever.

"My point is; it's time for you to resign. If you don't, President Conway is going have to hold his sister's hand at your funeral. Are you hearing me, over all that whimpering you're doing over there?"

Croswell drew his weapon and fired a single shot, destroying the Director's personal phone. He then put a round through every terminal monitor in the condo. "Just in case I was less than clear: Get the hell out of Angel City, shitbag."

Croswell exited through the front door, donned his helmet in the open courtyard and vanished into the darkening sky.

# Chapter 55 – Bandwidth Surfing

Wednesday, July 29, 2308

The next day Ross, Ash and Geoff climbed out of the transport in an upscale park of a high class business district.

"Oh, this is great," Geoff said, looking at all the trees and smiling.

"What, being out in nature?" Ross asked.

"No, the bandwidth, it's thick out here."

"This is not nature," Ashley mumbled, referring to the floating structure they stood on.

"Wow," Geoff was amazed, grinning as he took a seat on a nearby park bench. "Ash, you brought it?"

Ashley patted her back pocket.

"We can stay out here all day!" Geoff laughed.

"No, we can't. Stay on task, Geoffrey." Ross didn't even smile.

"Copy that, Gold Leader, stay on target." Geoffrey grinned.

Ashley watched an older Chinese man practice Tai Chi across the park. He seemed absorbed in what he was doing, as if nothing in the world could disturb him. Ashley was envious of his moment of peace. She hoped someday she would reach his esteemed age and find a park of her own.

Two men walked along the sidewalk, distracting her from the old man. Ashley watched them closely. They weren't mercenaries or government agents, just executives taking a stroll. Ashley watched them, and the young woman walking opposite. Ashley watched all the people moving through the park. Ross watched too. Geoffrey sat between them, leaning back, his eyes closed.

An hour or so later, Geoff took several deep breaths, then spoke in a whisper, "You have to keep it. Keep it safe. There is another. It wants to destroy it. The other, it's pure evil. It wants to kill us and destroy the Micronix."

"What are you talking about?" Ashley asked, quietly.

"Dad had it. He had both of them. But he doesn't have it now. It's out here and it's looking for us. It is The Metachron."

Ashley shook her brother by the shoulder. "Geoff, Geoff. Wake up."

Geoff blinked awake. "What? What happened?"

"Yeah, what happened? What were you just saying?" she asked.

"I wasn't saying anything."

Ross glanced at Ash.

"I'm hungry," Geoff said.

After a long and fruitless morning, the three of them headed across the street for lunch at a local restaurant called Four 'n Twenty. The logo featured a blackbird breaking free from a pie; Ash found it morbidly disturbing.

They talked about where Geoff was looking, and how to look more effectively, but by the time lunch arrived, Geoff had begun complaining of a headache. He remained distant during the meal, distracted. Ashley suspected he was still in the network somewhere. Suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head, and he crashed into the table.

His nose bled, but it was unclear whether that was due to his collision with his lunch, or if something more ominous was responsible.

Ross paid in cash and got them out of the restaurant as quickly as possible. After an extra hour of cruising the freeways behind tinted glass, they returned to Saint Vincent's.

Von Kalt's phone rang, he answered it and was taken aback. It was Director Stanwood, but it was his location that caused his shock.

"What's the situation, Deputy?" Stanwood asked, rather formally.

After visiting Bergstrom, Stanwood had pulled forty agents from the bureau and twenty each from DHS, ATF and ICE. He left Von Kalt to manage the search operation by traditional methods, until Bergstrom's Wolf Pack was ready.

At the restaurant where Ross and the Fox children had eaten, Von Kalt and the 'bullet catchers' as Bergstrom had referred to them, had locked the surrounding area down. The agents were thick around Von Kalt; they interrogated witnesses in teams, examined everything and bagged the plates and silverware from their target trio's table.

"The boy's game stream account came online. He was here, but it looks like someone else was looking for him too, he tussled with a reflected security daemon and got himself reset," Von Kalt explained.

"I trust that's a mistake you won't be making yourself," Stanwood said, though it was unclear as to whether he actually understood his deputy.

"Director Stanwood, Sir?" Von Kalt asked, ignoring Stanwood's barb.

"Yes?" Stanwood replied.

"Why are you in the capitol?" Von Kalt asked, recognizing the office.

"This isn't the only challenge facing the Republic, Deputy."

"Of course not, sir," Von Kalt replied.

"It looks like you're on top of things there. Did they leave anything?"

"No. Someone noticed that they took a napkin, but that's not the same as leaving a hotel pen or a book of matches, is it?"

Stanwood gave a short, uninterested laugh.

"We were within a couple of minutes. They were here. I can feel them."

"About that..." Stanwood paused for a moment.

Von Kalt snapped out of his self-indulgent sixth–sense and returned his attention to his superior.

"Bergstrom certainly sensed the presence of your amplifier. He's creating a device that can track it. He says it has something to do with hearing smells and smelling sounds, if that makes any sense."

"Perfect sense, sir. The amplifier saturates an area with particles. Those particles are inhaled and absorbed through the skin. Then messages are reflected across the particles, like a chain of mirrors. At the same time, the crystals, it's not a metal, it's a crystal, the crystals all in contact with each other and they also reflect high-frequency oscillation, controlling the direction of the reflected light. It uses opposing forces to stay balanced, the way a helicopter does."

"That's fantastic, Deputy. As I said, I've spoken to Bergstrom. He's going to contact you when the wolves are ready."

"Will you be returning then?"

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it."

"They were here, Sir. I'll catch them. You have my word."

"Oh, now that you mention it, Bergstrom has a condition for his assistance. You need to be aware of this. When you finally take them into custody, Bergstrom gets the girl. He expects a _significant volume_ of DNA from both, but I agreed that he can have the daughter."

Von Kalt was surprised to find this didn't bother him as much as it might have in the past.

"Also, the parameters on this case have been expanded to include the Black Willow operative group; namely Major Kelton Ross. However, anyone suspected to be giving them material aid, must be considered an accomplice. All suspects are considered extremely dangerous and cleared for _Dead or Alive_ protocol."

"Understood, sir." Von Kalt nodded.

"That is all, Deputy." Stanwood disconnected the call.

Von Kalt smiled and squeezed the Metachron in his hand.

Geoff was glued to the TV, watching footage of the park. After a while, Ashley realized there was no newscaster. She asked him what channel he was watching. Geoff explained he'd hacked into the police band. Ash sat with her brother and watched the footage of the local citizens being interrogated.

Von Kalt had flooded the restaurant and park with agents. Everyone for three blocks had been identified and questioned.

The hair on Ashley's arms stood up as she remembered the man doing Tai Chi. She'd seen him in the library too, staring at her, just before the agents jumped them. He was nowhere to be seen in the police footage, but Ashley was sure it had been the same man, the same long braided white hair. Something about the coincidence disturbed her immensely.

Despite all her extra stretching and practice, Ashley felt agitated. A storm had come in a couple of hours earlier, but it was more than that.

Geoff's reaction to the Micronix had been troubling. Her initial reactions felt justified. The prototype was not a toy; it was not something to be casual with.

She had no desire to use the mysterious hunk of metal, either as a weapon or a mental computer connection. Yet somehow, having it with her relaxed her. It had been her father's, and for better or worse, it was all she had left of him.

After dinner, Ross seemed weird, nervous. "Well, I think Geoff may have tripped some alarms somewhere."

Ashley's brow furrowed over her bright blue eyes. He had no idea Geoff continued to peruse the intelligence files over the Micronix device.

Geoff took a deep breath.

"From what I understand, we dodged them by about two stop lights. The whole park was crawling with cops, mercs and feds. They had two fistfights and three arrests, just among each other. Dragged everyone out of the restaurant and took them downtown. Then went and found everyone else who had lunch there and brought them in too. Always pay in cash."

"This is bad, huh?" Ashley asked.

"I don't know," Ross answered. He looked at Geoff. "How bad is it?"

"Well. It's taken me a little to put it together, but I think it's maybe, pretty bad. They've got bounties out on us, eight actually. They're calling you a kidnapper, and they're offering five hundred thousand for you, dead or alive, with an additional bonus of four hundred for each of us, if they bring us in alive."

"That's over a million dollars," Ashley said.

"We need to know who is offering that kind of scratch," Ross said.

"The Angel City Police Department, Los Angeles County Sheriff, State of California Police, Federal Beaureu of Investivgation, Immigration Customs Enforcement, National Security Agency and the Alcohol, Tobacco..."

"Okay, we get it. We can't go after everyone," Ross interrupted.

"What about just the last guy?" Ashley asked. "The National Intelligence Director?"

"Who gave you the nose bleed?" Ross asked Geoff.

"All he said was, _This is Eel_ , and then, bam and I was down."

"The Electric Eel, damn. I've heard of that guy. I know the FBI has full-time operators hardwired into their defense grid, so he just thought he was shutting down your system. How could he know he was shorting-out our head?

"Anyhow, the documents are coming in today. So I want you guys to be ready to go as soon as I get back with them."

"What about the storm?" Ashley asked.

"Visibility is for shit, radio comms are all fouled up, you couldn't ask for better weather; the Gods are smiling on us," Ross answered.

# Chapter 56 – The Black Willow Gun Trees

Sunset, Wednesday, July 29, 2308

The invisible surveillance trailer drifted in a bending loop, locked into a track that delivered line-of-sight with the western side of District Thirteen and Bergstrom's attached hangar.

Inside, First Sergeant King monitored the transmission steams from the tiny micro-transmitters he'd sprayed through Dr. Bergstrom's section of the orphanage. Stanwood had called three times, and Bergstrom repeatedly claimed to be on track to deliver his first 'Micronix Scanner' by nightfall.

Stanwood had in turn, called Von Kalt and the deputy dutifully returned the call to Dr. Bergstrom.

Now, as the sun continued to sink toward the Pacific Ocean, Bergstrom approached final preparations in his hangar. Assistants ran through checklists on the armored war machines, making sure they were fueled up and the ammunition magazines were loaded and made ready.

King's trailer and attached Black Willow Battle Suit both had their own phase-cam and were operating under a hundred meter avoidance protocol; meaning the auto pilot, on it's anchored loop, would maintain a hundred meter cushion from any passing vehicles or drifting vendors.

The Angel City skyscape, with three hundred days of summer, had always been one of the more crowded utopias of the modern world. To ask for much more than a hundred meters would be difficult.

Given their invisibility and the autopilot protocols, a knock at the trailer door surprised King. He opened it without getting up.

Croswell activated the magnetic anchor on his battle suit, linking it to the trailer, and climbed out. He fearlessly launched himself into the open sky, leaping across the significant gap between his suit and the trailer.

The Secretary of Defense crashed into the trailer, needing every bit of the two steps he had to stop, before smashing into a bank of surveillance equipment.

"That was a bit excessive, don't you think?" King asked from his place at the terminal.

Croswell laughed. "Gotta push yourself a little harder every day."

"That's what she said." King smiled.

Croswell laughed. "No Snow, No Ross?" he asked.

"ETA five mikes," King answered.

"Goddamn Stanwood. He gave me his word he'd drop it, that little bastard. We're going to visit him next."

"His calls were being relayed through a D.C. substation."

"I don't care where he is. I'll find him," Croswell said.

"Well, here's his little buddy, right on cue." King pointed out an approaching vehicle.

"All right. Let's get in our gear." Croswell said.

"Just let me finish routing these streams into our suits," King said.

"I'll be waiting for you." Croswell took two steps and grunted as he leapt from the trailer.

King laughed and sighed, rising from the terminal. The First Sergeant called his suit over and lightly stepped from the trailer into the modular cockpit. The suit was more of an armored vehicle, a man-shaped tank, stocked with a variety of cannons and missile banks.

Inside, the surveillance streams were arrayed in a strip across the top of the windshield. King settled into the suit, his arms were its arms, his legs were its legs, regardless of the fact that his hands and feet, at their most extended, never reached outside the suit's main cabin, in the chest.

There was no head, per say, just a cluster of scanners and cameras. Twin long-barreled sniper rifles protruded from the sides of what would have been its jaw-line. Above them, antennae reached out at twenty-degree angles. Centered between them, like a mow-hawk, three missiles were stacked, one atop the other, in a narrow magazine.

The armored limbs served both offensive and defensive roles, boasting heavy armor plates and gun barrels in a variety of caliber. Flanks of missiles were mounted to each hip and six-barreled Gatling guns on both the shoulders and on the outside of the massive feet. Anti-gravity drives on the soles of the feet, the floor of the cabin and the underside of the forearms managed elevation, pitch, roll and acceleration velocity.

King's feet were strapped into the flight controls, while his hands managed the three-dozen weapons systems, displayed on the windshield and dashboard. The video and audio from Bergstrom's lab was piped in as well. King listened and occasionally glanced up as the suit ran through its preflight spooling operations.

Director Bergstrom introduced Von Kalt to his assistants and the other pilots.

"You ready for this?" Croswell asked.

"Are we not waiting for Ana and Kelly?"

"They'll either be here or they won't," Croswell said. "I want to line up on the right side of that hangar door, and when it slides open, wait for me, but once I open up, just let 'em have it."

"Sounds good to me," King replied.

Croswell explained the next step, "I'll take the outside, and as they begin to react, I'll slide up and around to a perpendicular position, but aiming at a downward trajectory. That will keep the bulk of the orphanage out of the line of fire."

"Until they fire back, that is," King replied, piloting his tank into position.

"Well, that will have to be on them, then," Croswell answered, taking up a position to King's left. "I'll open up first. After the first volley, if I can effectively suppress them and keep them from getting out, I'll move up out of the way to reload. That's when I want you to swing inside."

"The good old Jab-Cross."

"Exactly. After you blow your load, fall out and I'll swing in to give them another helping."

King laughed. "We're going to cut this place in half."

On the feed from inside the hangar, Bergstrom was helping the pilots get situated.

"Okay, you see that big device against the outside wall?" King asked, pointing to a landing pad, featuring a large radio dish; where Bergstrom had spent the bulk of his day.

"Yeah," Croswell answered.

"That's their scanner. From what I understand it works like radar. He said it's probably good for thirty miles in every direction. He claims he'll be able to forward them coordinates on any active amplifier in the city," King said.

"He hasn't tested it yet?" Croswell asked.

"Apparently not, or they'd be scrambling," King answered.

"That's some pretty serious arrogance."

"Yeah, well, he wouldn't be Bergstrom otherwise, would he?"

"I suppose not." Croswell laughed.

In the hangar, the first two wolves were airborne.

"Here we go," Croswell said.

King heard the Gatling guns on Croswell's unit engage their motors, humming as they spun up, but not firing yet.

The second two wolves had been activated and lined behind the first two. The wolves were just dumbed-down versions of the Black Willow suit, carrying about a third of the firepower and none of Fox's top secret tech, like the phase-camouflage.

The phase-cam was just one of the Black Willow team's hidden aces. No one had been able to mimic it.

Apparently, they'ed found a replacement pilot for Standwood, as the last two wolves lifted off and moved into place,

Bergstrom triggered the hanger door.

Croswell waited. King waited. The wolves waited.

King's angle along the district prevented him from being able to see Dr. Bergstrom, deeper in the lab. He watched him on the surveillance streams from the micro-transmitters.

Bergstrom crossed over to his newly completed Micronix Scanner. "I've calibrated it for the most range possible, so let's give her some juice." He reached out to it, switching it on.

The piercing electronic scream, caused by the immediate proximity of King and Croswell, shattered the otherwise quiet afternoon.

The wolves, their pilots stunned, stumbled from their few feet of altitude and fell to the floor of the hanger. Bergstrom jumped to the controls, cranking the power down.

In the same moment, King realized their phase-cam was completely compromised.

Then Croswell opened fire, ripping into the forward wolves; his heavy rounds denting their armor and driving them back as they struggled to recover from Bergstrom's sonic surprise. Croswell launched his loaded missile banks, nine rocket powered warheads streaked into the hangar.

The wolves were tossed about like leaves before a late autumn wind.

Croswell swung up and around to reload.

King jumped into the fray, landing on the hangar floor, streaming rounds from every barrel he could fire at once. He leapt in the air, switched from guns to missiles, and let go with his nine.

As King rolled toward the left side of the hangar door, the missiles ripped holes in the far side of the structure. Only three of the wolves were still intact; the forward units had taken the brunt of the attack and come apart..

King's magazines spent, he moved back toward the open sky, hesitating before clearing Croswell's line of fire. The remainder of the home squadron opened fire with their guns. King took the hits as Croswell returned fire over his head.

King tumbled from the lip of the hangar. At least one of his drives and a stabilizer had been compromised, given the way he rolled. Then seven more missiles streaked away from his unit, arcing from the damaged tank and crashing into the open hangar.

Croswell laughed. King hadn't hesitated; he'd been getting a heat lock. The secretary pulled back as five more missiles streaked toward the hangar. King had gotten his damaged tank under control and fired again, three missiles, then his final warhead.

When Croswell hovered down, the hangar was a billowing cloud of smoke and debris.

Over the radio, King called out, "We've got two fleeing to the north."

Croswell dropped down below the hangar. A massive hole had been ripped in the far end. In the distance, two wolves could be seen ducking under the hovering plates of the industrial district.

"What's your status," Croswell asked.

King activated his personal anti-gravity harness and ejected from his Black Willow battle tank just a few moments before it exploded.

"That's not the answer I was looking for." The secretary muttered.

Croswell retracted the barrels from his right forelimb and extended a three-pronged mechanical hand. He chased after the tumbling and unconscious first sergeant, catching him and re-engaging his phase-cam.

Croswell retreated to the now visible surveillance trailer and docked his invisible battle tank. Inside, he triggered the trailer phase-cam again and after a moment of sputtering, it engaged.

"Fucking Bergstrom," Croswell muttered.

On the monitors he saw Captain Snow and Major Ross pull up outside the trailer and laughed.

As they entered the trailer, Croswell's phone rang. He answered.

"Secretary Croswell..." they heard someone say.

"Yes sir, Mister President," Croswell answered.

"I need you to come down to my office with all remaining members of the black willow operations."

"You know there's only two of us left, sir. Myself and Major Ross."

"In my office, ASAP."

"Yes sir," Croswell replied.

Conway disconnected, and Croswell closed the communicator.

He looked up to Captain Snow and Major Ross. "Looks like we're going to the east coast."

"I'll load some extra magazines," Ross answered.

Croswell laughed.

He looked over to Snow. "You should go directly back to Saint Vincent's. Two of the wolves escaped, and the slippery little turd Bergstrom did too. He'll have another scanner fabricated by midnight.

Croswell looked over to Ross, "Call Reid and have him join her." He looked back to Ana, "We'll be back as soon as we can."

Ross laughed. "If at all. And where is the package?" Ross asked. "How long does it take the Secretary of Defense to work up some fake IDs?

"Where do you think we're going?" Croswell smiled. "Chill with the negative waves already."

# Chapter 57 – Supplication

Wednesday Night, Eleven pm, July 29, 2308

Croswell and Ross got some much-needed shut-eye on the three-hour flight to the east coast. They docked in the guest-parking unit and reported to the secret service checkpoint in their battle armor.

The saluting guards fell over each other to admit Major Ross and the Secretary of Defense. Croswell was a common enough sight at the White House, but these guards had never seen him in a fully augmented Black Willow terillium battle suit.

Conway left them waiting in a conference room for almost an hour.

Finally, the guards returned and escorted Croswell and Ross to the Oval Office. The room was empty. Neither man sat down, but waited another hour, standing at parade rest.

Finally President Conway entered, furious. Croswell and Ross both noticed the diplomatic pouch he carried and dropped on his desk. The White House Chief of Staff, John Phillips, followed closely.

"Would you gentlemen explain yourselves please?" Conway asked.

"What's the issue, sir?" Croswell asked.

"The Issue? The Issue, Sir, is two Black Willow Battle Tanks opening fire on an stateside orphanage?! Enlighten me, Please, Sir?"

"If you know that much, you know precisely what is going on, Mister President."

"I'd like to hear you say it, Mister Croswell. I'd like to hear your explanation of events."

"Go fuck yourself, sir."

Phillips was suddenly screaming, jabbing his finger in Croswell's face; "That's the Gad Damn President of the United States..."

Phillips's assault came to an abrupt halt when Croswell grabbed his finger and broke it. Croswell held the man at his side, like a dog on a leash. "I don't think you understand who you're speaking to, Big John."

Croswell slowly returned his attention to Conway. "Mister President, please know, everything I do is in defense of your person and in defense of this office, as well as the Republic at large.

"Sometimes, I have to make decisions that you might disagree with. For those I ask your forgiveness. As the chief of your generals, there are things that I cannot tell you, burdens I carry, so that you don't have to.

"What I did today, opening fire on known criminals who had infested a public institution and exploited the youth of this Republic to their own ends, while regrettable, was necessary. And I protected your office from any culpability, as much as I could."

Croswell looked down at Phillips. "However, it would appear that we also have another problem."

"James, please let Mister Phillips go."

"Sir, it would appear your office has been compromised. Dr. Bergstrom is a known criminal. He's been on the Republic's most wanted for the better part of a decade. He's experimented on children."

Phillips seemed to have found his voice, "Fox is a criminal and he experimented on children too!"

"We both know that's not true," Croswell answered.

"What about the 7982 plant?" Phillips asked.

Croswell squeezed the finger and the big man whimpered.

"That was a genetic engineering research project; all done on slides and in Petri-dishes, on a microscopic level." Croswell fixed Phillips with a glare that could melt glaciers, but released the man's broken finger.

Phillips retreated several steps, but couldn't stay quiet. "You're nothing without Fox. Now he's gone and you're a paper tiger."

Croswell laughed. "I've been called a lot of things, but never that."

The secretary turned to President Conway. "While you left us waiting, I did a little digging of my own. You both know that Major Ross and I are registered Micronix owners. It took us less that a half-an-hour to assemble a paper trail implicating your office in this Bergstrom mess.

"Someone in this office put Deputy Director Von Kalt in touch with Dr. Cedric Bergstrom, with the express purpose of chasing down two unarmed children."

Phillips snorted. "Consider this an act of goodwill... Why don't you take a look at Senator Miller?"

"I did, last week. Major Ross and I blew out the Senator's window and sprayed his office with about three thousand micro-transmitters."

"That's illegal," Phillips objected.

"For just about anyone except me, sure. I hold the Office of Secretary of Defense and as such, am vested with legal powers that exceed those of any commissioned officer, and are second only to the Office of President in the military hierarchy.

"You, Mr. Phillips, are the White House Chief of Staff. You're just a glorified assistant, and have very little real power outside this structure."

Croswell smiled. "You see the thing is, I intercepted about a dozen messages between Senator Miller and someone in this office. What would The Public think about sending Bergstrom's Wolf Pack after kids?"

"There's a warrant out for those children," Phillips interjected.

"That doesn't mean you get to break the law to recover them, Sir. Let me remind you, we are talking about the children of Doctor Andrew Fox. Do you honestly think he'd let you just cut them up?

"Those children are outfitted with one of his most secret inventions. He called it _The Failsafe_. If they are killed by violent means, an implanted chip will be detonated, releasing a five-kiloton yield, on the spot, decimating whoever might be responsible.

"Now do you understand why I cannot permit them to be taken, under any circumstances?"

Phillips pulled himself upright and narrowed his eyes, "The warrant specifically says _Alive_ , Mr. Secretary."

"To what end?" Croswell asked. He shook his head. "You can't take them alive and you know that."

"The Warrant Stands!" Phillips shouted. "It's completely legal! It is watertight! Fox Broke The Law! He Endangered Everyone on the Entire West Coast! And this failsafe sounds illegal as hell. What if there was an accident? What gives Fox the right to kill everyone in a twenty block radius because his kid got mugged?"

Croswell laughed. "Because he can."

"It does sound rather selfish and more than a bit careless." President Conway interjected.

Croswell paused.

Phillips leaned forward. "Besides, we already had them once, but Ross interfered! That's Obstruction of Justice!" He gestured with his damaged hand.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ross answered, humbly.

"You were seen at an Angel City Library, obstructing a federal investigation."

"Oh, you mean those guys who were threatening people with guns? I don't know what that was about. I saw some idiots who seemed like they were trying to stick-up a public library, yeah. I pulled my badge and identified myself. Two of them grabbed some kids as human shields, but whoever they were, they didn't have any ID or a warrant. I never did find out what it was all about."

"You were shot," Phillips stated.

"That's right, twice."

"I heard it was three times?" Phillips said.

"I should know," Ross replied.

"Why didn't you wait for the police?!"

"I needed emergency medical attention!"

Conway raised his hands. "Could everyone just calm down, please?"

No one spoke for a few moments.

Croswell cleared his throat before speaking quietly. "I'm sure you recognize what kind of legal and moral issues this represents for your administration. Either yourself, or your chief of staff, provided material support to this known criminal, Bergstrom."

The President raised a hand. "Dr. Bergstrom was prosecuted by the previous administration, Mr. Secretary."

"That's absolutely true sir, and with good reason. He has not been pardoned, also with good reason. And believe me, Sir. I really am sorry, but since it would be treasonous on my part, to charge you, or any sitting President with treason, and collusion with such a publicly despised enemy-of-the-state, we are only left with one option."

Croswell drew his handgun.

Conway stumbled backwards.

Croswell turned to face Phillips.

The humbled Chief of Staff glared back.

Croswell offered Phillips the gun. "Do the honorable thing, for once in your fat, filthy, disgusting worm's-eye-view of a life."

Ross smiled, despite his best efforts not to.

Conway stared in dumb-founded shock, as his Chief of Staff seemed to engage in a struggle against himself.

Phillips's hand shook, his arm and face twitched, but he reached out and took the pistol from Secretary Croswell.

"John, no," President Conway said.

The weapon gradually came up, pressing against Phillips's temple. He screamed and struggled to pull the pistol away.

The Secret Service guards, posted at the closed doors, burst into the room and witnessed the President's Chief of Staff 'Big John' Phillips, blow his brains all over the back wall.

Croswell turned to President Conway. "I'm very sorry for your loss sir. I'll continue to do my best for your office and the Republic of the United States. As for myself, I'd like your permission to collect the ID packet I requested and return to the west coast. I assure you, I will wrap this up as quietly as possible."

Conway said nothing but lifted the diplomatic pouch from his desk and handed it to Croswell.

"Good evening sir," Ross said, following Croswell out of the office and past the stunned Secret Service guards.

In the transport, Croswell held the diplomatic pouch.

"What the hell was that?" Ross asked.

"I actually don't want to give you this," Croswell said, looking at the republic seal stamped onto the leather document pack.

"Don't you think you could have gotten Ids in some easier way? I mean, why would you go through Conway, of all people? That seems like the definition of stupid," Ross asked.

Croswell looked at him. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Let me ask you, why did you ask me to do this for you?"

"Because I knew, whoever I went to, it was going to set off some alarm bells and that you'd end up hearing about it sooner or later anyhow. There was no point going behind your back."

"Well, it goes a thousand times more for me and Conway. However I did this, even if it wasn't until you guys were long gone, sooner or later he was going to have to come to me and ask why I went behind his back. It's much easier to speak to him like a man and give him the chance to do the right thing. This way his conscience is clear."

"That's why you don't want to give it to me?" Ross asked.

"No. I don't want to give it to you because I don't think those kids should have to run for their lives. They deserve better than that. There has to be a better way."

# Chapter 58 – Over-Watch

Wednesday Late Night, Early Morning, July 29-30, 2308

Out on the far western edge of the Republic's border, the derelict hotel, bearing darkened signs reading St. Vincent's, drifted over the Pacific. Before Ross left, he'd set the building's autopilot to a drifting loop out over the ocean. It would mess up the children's escape routes, but at least they wouldn't be there when the enemy arrived in the first place.

Further inland, the 405 freeway cable ran up from the south, past the city, until it was bisected by the 101, running from the east side of downtown, through Ventura county and on to Santa Barbara.

St. Vincent's hugged the pocket caused by this freeway intersection, not too far from the canyon neighborhood where Ashley had grown up.

Ana had convinced Reid to stack themselves and their battle tanks, anchored in a vertical line over the hotel. She reasoned that since Cedric's Micronix scanner used a flat-scan radar-style technology; the battle tanks, and Ashley's Micronix, at the same location, would read as a single device. All they had to do was stay anchored in tandem, synching their personal harness with the tanks. At the top of the stack, they scanned the slow-drift traffic with their rifle scopes

What Captain Snow did not predict was the military convoy that had cued up behind the two remaining wolves.

"Are you sure this is a good idea," Reid asked, feeling his heartbeat rise as he spotted the wolves and the convoy approaching below. They were still a dozen miles out. "What about Ashley and Geoff?" he asked.

Ana sighed. "Let's worry about that if we survive. Ross wires a good safe house, from what I remember."

Below them, the Maxwell Armored Fighting Vehicles slowed and moved into a flying-v formation, drifting in step as the wolves prepped weapons and accelerated toward their targets.

"Let her rip," Captain Snow said.

"Yes, ma'am," Reid answered. Below them, his battle tank launched missiles in series, three, then two, three, two, five and three.

The Wolves proved surprisingly agile, kicking out chaff and rolling past the warheads. Their independent tracking mini-guns chased the missiles and triggered them at a safe distance from the tank's armored hide.

Ana's Black Willow tank opened fire with its machine guns, ripping into the nearest wolf as it launched a handful of its own missiles.

"Look," Reid said, pointing to the five Maxwells that had begun creeping forward again.

Their weapons were adjusting, aiming for the invisible origins of the fire hurled against the encroaching wolves. Reid's battle tank opened fire on the armored vehicles.

One of the wolves, fleeing the line of fire, turned upward and climbed directly toward Ana and Reid.

Ana and the Chief Warrant Officer smiled at each other and aimed in with their long barreled rifles. Together, they opened fire on the armored wolf as he accelerated up through the atmosphere.

Ana's first shot hit the wolf in the shoulder, screaming wildly off the armor plate, but slowing his ascent significantly.

Reid had aimed at the second one and struck him at a gap in the plate, his round ripping into the wolf's mechanical aorta.

The first wolf opened fire and as the rounds of his min-guns reached them, Ana released the gravity-synch with her tank, executing an aerial cartwheel, her body no longer in the line of fire, but her shot lined up. She fired but only hit him in the thigh, spinning to the left.

The second wolf, venting pressurized fluids and incapable of maneuvering, after being plugged by Reid, found himself with a shot on Ana. He opened up with everything, blindsiding her, but sacrificing himself.

Reid, still in control of his gun tree, fired with four rifles and five missiles; scoring enough direct hits to separate the wolf in loaf-sized pieces, but the damage was done.

The tumbling wolf had righted himself and retreated, as Reid's battle tank, though wounded, ascended toward their elevation. Reid put the wounded Captain Snow in the tank and programmed it for a safe house across town.

The Maxwells had not missed either aerial engagement and moved in to continue the assault. Their fifty caliber guns chased Reid and the severely wounded Captain from the sky, scoring several more hits before the pair of them escaped to a safe distance.

# Chapter 59 – Shotguns and Tripwires

Thursday, July 30, 2308

Geoff shook his sister and whispered, "Ash, wake up, they're here."

Ashley woke with a start. "What?" She rubbed her face. "Where's Ross?"

"He's not back yet." Geoff looked up, "Listen."

Ashley heard it, booms that sounded like thunder and an underlying rat-a-tat-a-tat sound she recognized as the sound of machine guns.

"What's going on out there?" she asked.

"Some kind of fire fight," Geoff said.

"You should get in the car," urged Ashley.

"Not yet," Geoff answered.

Ashley glared at him.

"They don't have a heat signature on us, the building is shielded somehow," Geoff explained. "I'm tapped into their frequencies, I can hear everything they're saying. They've been attacked by Black Willow units and lost the Wolves, but were expecting more resistance. Sounds like the fight is over."

Overhead the booms became more sporadic and then ceased all together.

"They're regrouping," Geoff said. "They have orders to take us alive. And somehow they know Ross is gone. They've ordered a room by room search."

Geoff pointed to the security monitors.

On three of the seven balconies, dark forms descended on ropes. They huddled in front of the sliding doors and went to work, cutting circles in the glass. Once they cracked the circles of glass free from the doors, they simply reached in and unlocked the sliding panels.

Ashley appreciated the old-school nature of the situation. The balcony doors at this hotel weren't voice operated, or even digitally wired. The attacking soldiers had prepared appropriately.

The first tripwire was hit. The explosion shook the hotel; much louder than the aerial combat, this blast rocked the cement floor under the children's feet.

The three soldiers in unit four were blown out through the balcony doors. Two lay crumpled and bleeding, while the third was blown from the balcony all together. If the shrapnel and concussive blast wave injuries didn't kill him, his impact with the ocean below surely would.

Ashley and Geoff watched the remaining the soldiers in rooms two and six. They didn't move. Using a flashlight, the lead man in two identified one of the monofilament tripwires. He crept toward the charges attached the to the line, brushing away a piece of newspaper.

Ashley took the open wire and touched it to the appropriate peg, shredding the room with steel and glass.

Geoff tugged at Ashley's elbow as a wall of the garage was blown out. On the monitors, a small group of soldiers entered, detaching their fast-drop lines before moving deeper into the garage.

Ashley waited until they were aligned with the wired trashcan before blowing it. The blast separated the soldiers, slashing into the soft spots between their armor plates, lacerating vital organs and arteries.

The soldiers in room six had not moved since the first blast. Ashley held the live wire close to the peg for 6LR. It was largest of the suites and subsequently contained more explosives.

After some time, one soldier straightened up a bit and took one step backward, toward the balcony.

Another soldier shook his head and pressed deeper into the unit.

The third man stood his ground, neither advancing nor retreating.

The inward soldier spotted a tripwire and pointed it out to his comrades, slipping toward the charges to defuse them.

Ashley's hovering hand went to the nail and the charges detonated. The soldier attempting to defuse the charge came apart, while his comrades were knocked flat.

"More coming," Geoff said.

On the monitors, the sliding glass doors of units one and five were shot out by the heavy machine guns of the circling transports.

Three more soldiers came in through the hole in the garage.

Ashley triggered another trashcan, knocking them from their feet.

A dozen soldiers landed on the balconies of the blown out units.

"You have to run the board," Ashley said. She took the Micronix out of her pocket and set it on the table. "How good are you with this thing?"

"I'm getting better," Geoff said.

Ashley pulled out the phone Ross gave her. "Do you think you could call me on this?" she asked.

Geoff nodded. "Why?"

"Because I'm going upstairs," she said.

"You're what?" Geoff said, shocked.

"I'm going up there. They're not all dead yet."

"Yeah Ash, they're not dead yet! And there's going to be more of them coming!"

She plugged her earphones into the phone. "Can you do it or not?"

A moment later, the phone rang. "Can you hear me?" Geoff asked.

Ashley nodded, smiling.

She disconnected the shotgun and pulled it from the brace. "Can you put this back?"

"I can do it," Geoff answered.

Ashley hugged her little brother and slipped out the door.

"Why don't you take it with you?" Geoff asked.

"There's plenty up there. Now, lock the door." Ashley grinned.

Geoff locked the door behind her and put the shotgun in the brace.

"You're clear to the kitchen," Geoff said, returning to his place in front of the detonation board. Not that he needed to see the monitors, the Micronix provided more surveillance options than the few cameras they'd set up. Geoff could see through the soldier's helmet cams.

"Ash, the Micronix is picking up the command vehicles. Sounds like there are two of them deploying troops and three on standby. They're big enough to carry thirty men and a ten-man crew."

Ashley whispered, "get in the car, geoff,"

Geoff scanned the monitors. "No way, this just started."

Upstairs, Ashley crept into the kitchen, pulling a few extra explosive pies from the fridge. There were three exits from the administration offices: into the main lobby, the garage, or the maintenance hallway. In the main hall, the offset doors were all wired to their own sets of charges.

Ashley peeked out through the lobby into the hall.

Everything was quiet.

None of the charges in the hall had been detonated, and the lobby doors leading to the garage were closed.

"Coming in from the garage, four this time. No wait, six. Oh God, six more! They're heading to you, to the lobby," Geoff said over the earphones.

Ashley ducked behind the main counter as the soldiers opened the doors to the garage. The blasts shook the floor underneath her.

Somehow, over the ringing in her head, Ashley heard Geoff say, "They're down. The guys in one and five are holding still."

Ash slowly stood behind the counter, surveying the damage. The doors had been blown from their hinges and lay out in the lobby. Soldiers lie twitching and groaning or still.

Ash boldly walked toward the garage. She picked up the first loose weapon she came across, a tactical shotgun, similar to the one downstairs.

She clicked the safety off.

The smoke hung in the air the way the ringing hung in her ears.

Ashley approached the first soldier. He lay at her feet and moaned. Blood ran from his eyes, mouth, nose and ears.

Ashley pointed the shotgun at his head and squeezed the trigger. It erupted with a boom. She ejected the spent shell and chambered another, as Ross had shown her.

She entered the garage and walked directly toward the next man, who objected to the best of his ability, raising his hands and crying, "No, no, no?"

"Who sent you?" Ashley asked, aiming the shotgun at his face.

"Command," he admitted. "We have legal warrants!" The soldier turned his face away from the gun, tension knotting his features.

"Who?" Ashley demanded.

"We were cleared at the top! National Intelligence Director."

Ashley raised the collapsible stock of the shotgun to her shoulder, aiming in. "What's his name?"

"Director Stanwood! Director Stanwood!" he screamed.

Ashley fired.

The name rang in her head, forever chiseled into her memory by the concussion of the blast.

She walked to each of the soldiers in turn.

From those who were already dead, Ash collected weapons and ammunition. If they were awake enough to answer, she asked who sent them. Some answered her honestly for which she granted them a quick and merciful release from their pain.

Some soldiers showed a bit more fortitude and refused to answer. They were rewarded with the loss of a limb. Either way, the end result was the same. When the shotgun ran out of shells, she picked up another.

Occasionally she heard the sound of explosives from some other section of the hotel, but no one interrupted her until she'd finished.

Even Geoff had gone quiet.

Over and over again Ashley heard the names Stanwood and Von Kalt. When her ears stopped ringing, it was her own name she heard being repeated by a little voice inside her head.

"Ashley, do you hear me? Ash? Ashley? There are more of them coming! You have to get out of there!"

Ashley was all the way across the garage; close enough to where the soldiers breached the wall to enjoy a refreshing breeze blowing in from the night outside. Ashley stepped closer. The fresh air smelled incredible after the stale motel.

Two soldiers suddenly appeared before her, hanging on spider-lines.

Ashley raised the shotgun and fired, causing them to vanish in an explosion of lead and smoke.

Ashley turned and sprinted from the garage.

"It's okay," Geoff said. "It's okay. They pulled back for a second."

Ashley slung the shotgun and sprinted for the kitchen. She collected as many extra bomb-pots as she could carry and returned to the garage. She armed four pots, and set them in series before the gaping hole.

Geoff spoke up over her earphones. "They're shifting their approach. Coming from the units, number five, they're coming."

Ashley sprinted across the garage and again into the kitchen. She grabbed a few plastique-and-nail-packed glasses and crept toward the doors to the lobby.

From behind the counter she peered into the hall.

It was empty.

Ashley slipped around the counter and toward the larger doorway.

Number five's doors had already been blown from their hinges.

Three men stepped from blasted room into the hall.

They carefully picked their way past several of the tripwires.

Ashley was trapped, and she knew it. There was no way she could escape without drawing them after her. From here, if they were careful, they could follow her all the way to the basement.

Ashley took a deep breath and stepped out to confront them.

They hesitated at the sight of a child standing before them, even if she did have a shotgun strapped across her back and her hands full of what appeared to be improvised explosives.

Ashley narrowed her eyes and tossed the glasses at the soldiers and dove for the kitchen as the barrels of their guns came up.

The moment stretched into slow motion.

The soldiers sprayed the area with bullets.

They missed Ashley but detonated the charges flying toward them.

The burning shrapnel ripped into them.

She rose to discover there was no one left for her to interrogate.

Ashley collected as many of the glasses as she could carry and rushed from the kitchen, through the admin offices and down the basement stairwell, setting the charges behind her as she went.

From the units above she heard several more detonations. She waited, crouched to the side of the rigged door leading to her brother and their escape vehicle.

She waited, listening.

The explosions had stopped.

After a few moments of silence, Geoff whispered over the phone, "All clear. They're pulling out. They said they lost enough for one evening."

"I'm going to double check," Ashley said, creeping back up the stairs.

"Okay, but be careful, they could still be alive."

Ash made a careful second sweep of the units.

For any found alive, she had one question... _Who sent you?_

_Stanwood_ or _Von Kalt_ was always the answer.

Ashley's mercy was consistent and quick. She didn't think about it. She didn't wonder if she was doing the right thing. She didn't care if Geoff or her parents might disapprove. She didn't care if the enemy was listening over their radios.

It did occur to her that they were answering too easily; almost as if she were asking, "Who's the President of the United States?" The soldiers didn't seem to be giving up _secret information_ in their betrayal of their superiors.

Once she'd cleared the upper floors, Ash collected their weapons and ammunition, carrying it all downstairs. She lined the walls of their command center with shotguns, assault rifles and pistols.

Ashley used their grenades to replace some of the spent munitions, re-wiring the kill zones and booby-trapping several of the bodies.

She and Geoff didn't discuss the situation as she busied herself with the tasks at hand.

Once she finished, she took a seat next to him, scanning the monitors, behind the table and the giant armor plate set in front of it.

Ash didn't realize she'd drifted off to sleep until Geoff woke her.

"Ross is here," he said.

A moment later Ashley's phone alerted her with an incoming call.

# Chapter 60 - Breakdown

Thursday, July 30, 2308

Chief Warrant Officer Reid called Major Ross, "Sir, we just got our asses handed to us! Snow is out, and I'm limping back to Montrose on a residual charge. I hope you guys are on your way back?"

"What do you mean? You're leaving them alone?!" Ross shouted in reply from the passenger seat of the speeding transport. "Chief, I need you to put Snow on auto-pilot and turn around immediately!"

"They bought in five Maxwells, Major. I'm happy to go back, you know that. But Captain Snow and I are both _Last Legs_. If she doesn't get some medical attention... Well, her suit isn't going to save her.

"We knocked out both the remaining wolves, but we lost one of the gun-trees and this one isn't going to make it very far. I hope you wired Vinnie up tight, because whether I go back or not, it is locked down."

"Do not go back, Chief. Do you hear me?" Croswell said. "Their orders are to take the children alive. They won't go in heavy-handed. Proceed to rally point Montrose. We will meet you there."

"I called the Preacher, and the rest of Charlie team, none of them are any closer than twelve hours. I also activated a despooler on Ashley's Micronix, so whatever signals are bleeding out of St. Vincent's they won't be able to record them. We need to get to work on jamming that scanner of Bergstrom's or even if they do manage to escape, it won't be for very long."

"Are you still streaming those signals, Chief? Can you forward them to us?"

"Hey, is this true? Phillips's dead?" Reid asked.

"I asked you to forward the signals, not scan the latest headlines."

"Copy, sir. Mirroring to your amplifiers now."

Von Kalt regained control of the battle suit, but there was no returning to the fight. He'd expended most of his ordinance, and he was bleeding altitude. He was still considerably higher than most of the hanging city, but unless he moved inland, sooner or later he was going to drown.

The alarms ringing in his head made listening to the progress of the assault on Saint Vincent's impossible. If he didn't get out of the suit soon, he wouldn't.

Von Kalt crashed into the courtyard of an abandoned shopping center, shattering the tiles under the wolf's heavy terillium-armor plates. He triggered the ejection handle and the suit blasted him across the parking lot, the parachute unfurling behind him. Von Kalt tucked and rolled as he crashed into the courtyard. The guidelines and kevlar chute, wrapped around him like Cleopatra in a carpet.

The battle suit, no longer occupied with protecting the meat-puppet pilot, attempted to right itself and exploded. Fiery shrapnel hit the deputy director hard enough to bruise him, but didn't rip through the bulletproof weave.

A few minutes later he'd extricated himself and taken a cooler seat across the courtyard. The sky-mall gave Von Kalt a perfect view of the ongoing hostilities at St. Vincent's. The Maxwell vehicles hung overhead like vultures, while white and orange flashes sporadically erupted from the motel, followed by billowing plumes of smoke and tongues of fire.

His ears had only just stopped ringing when his communicator took up the challenge. It was Stanwood.

Von Kalt accepted the call but didn't speak.

"Oh my God, what happened to you?" Stanwood asked.

It must have been clear, given his beaten and battered visage, that all was not well. He didn't answer but looked back to St. Vincent's.

"I'm monitoring form my end, a rescue craft is inbound."

Von Kalt looked back to Stanwood's holographic image projected before him.

"Phillips is dead. Croswell and Ross were in the room."

Von Kalt took a deep breath. He didn't say a word, but his glare spoke volumes.

"Conway has ordered you to stand down. He wants you to call back the Maxwells. Apparently Fox, the sick fuck that he was, implanted his own kids with five-kiloton failsafe devices."

Von Kalt broke his silence. "So what? They're in the middle of nowhere."

"The order was for them to be taken _Alive_ , Director."

Von Kalt looked at the burning motel and the hovering assault vehicles. He snapped the communicator closed and tossed it over the nearby ledge.

Ross returned to St. Vincent's at dawn. The sun's first rays revealed the extensive damage to the exterior of the motel, highlighting the wholesale carnage on the balconies. He noticed that several of the soldiers had been blatantly wired with explosives, right where they lie, like some macabre battlefield joke.

Ross triggered the remote for the garage doors and was greeted by the sight of a dozen more soldiers, dead and still wet. He noticed that none of them were armed and doubted they had arrived that way.

He took the cruiser off autopilot and found a section of floor where he wouldn't be setting the transport on top of a corpse.

The major cautiously picked his way past Ashley's hasty-ambush lines and made his way to the basement.

He dialed the phone, but Ashley was already there, disengaging the shotgun and opening the door.

Ross killed the call and entered. He did a double take at all the assault rifles and handguns. He met Ashley's eyes but said nothing.

Ross, Croswell, and Reid had all caught the same streamed bits of Ashley's interrogations.

Where was he supposed to start that conversation? Don't break the fifth-wall? God give me strength.

"I have the papers. It's time to go," he said.

"But we know who did it! We have evidence!" Ashley said.

"What evidence?" Ross asked.

"Their confessions! They told me..."

"Before you blew their faces off?" he asked.

Ashley hesitated to answer the obvious flaw in her logic.

"None of these cameras are spooling, so there's no recording of their confessions, and lucky for you, there's no recording of their executions."

Ashley had no reply.

"Now. Let's get out of here," Ross said.

Von Kalt had never called off the assault. Stanwood had been forced to take remote control of the op, all the way from D. C. The deputy director couldn't have cared less.

As Stanwood had promised, one of the Maxwells broke off and stopped to pick him up. He made no effort to board the flying pig. Two sergeants had to run out and half-drag half-walk him aboard.

The vehicle's Commander was incensed. He wanted to rescue the wounded or at least recover the deceased. He swore that this wasn't over.

Apparently suffering from shock, Von Kalt made no attempt to reply.

They reached the armory sometime later, and Von Kalt was taken directly to the medical ward and treated for his injuries.

In the National Guard medical ward, Von Kalt held the Metachron. He became neuro-digital water; he flowed over the facilities' systems, effortlessly filling the cracks and hollow spaces until he was the system.

When the two fully-loaded drones came online, the operators were already locked out. The soldiers panicked and alerted their superiors, who panicked even more, having less control.

The hangar doors opened and the drones lifted off, streaking away from the armory. Inquires as to the volume of escaping warheads only fueled the chaos of rising pulses and tempers.

Von Kalt was never suspected, as he, for all appearances, was fast asleep. He was greatly pleased with this solution, as he would no longer be required to deliver _significant amounts_ of DNA to that snake Bergstrom.

Watching the chaos through various satellites and traffic cameras, Von Kalt wondered if he'd be able to distinguish between the pops caused by the warheads and those cause by the children's failsafe devices.

"We're not just going to leave all these guns?" Ashley asked.

"We _are_ leaving all these guns," Ross said.

Geoff threw himself onto the couch. "They're here! Get Down!"

Ashley and Ross looked at him as if he was crazy, but then two devastating explosions rocked the facility.

The structure screamed as it cracked apart in several places. Two more rockets hit, damaging the gravity drive and throwing the motel's horizontal balance into seizures. The plate's ability to stay balanced had been upset, and the facility was losing altitude.

The furniture slid fore and aft, threatening anyone trapped between it and a wall. They dodged the sliding mattresses, the table and various electronics as Ross corralled them toward the sedan.

Geoff made it in first, climbing into the back seat, followed by Ash, who held the door open for Ross. He climbed in and started the car.

Ashley pulled the door closed as the building took a rather severe tilt, throwing her against the glass. Ross triggered the remote to release the breakaway hatch, but the sedan refused to separate from the falling building.

Ross threw the vehicle into drive, trying to pull away by force, but the hatch wouldn't break free. He put the car back in park and opened his door. He'd have to do it by hand.

Before he got out, Ross reached inside his jacket and pulled out the diplomatic pouch, containing the false identification and reservations that would get them across the border. He handed it to Ashley without a word.

Ash and Geoff watched as Ross tried and failed to pop the hinges by hitting the emergency release levers.

Finally he pulled out his pistol and shot them off.

The first one gave easily, the second practically exploded.

The third and fourth ripped free as the car returned to its fixed elevation, rocketing away from the falling motel.

Ash and Geoff watched Ross fall away from them.

He stood at the hatch, shrinking as the distance between them increased. They watched as he continued to shrink.

The facility turned, they could no longer see him. The rockets and internal explosions had destroyed the motel's structure.

A few seconds later, it smashed into an oceanfront community. Any of the munitions that hadn't been detonated went up in a series of booms and ka-booms.

The explosions were so forceful that none of the soldiers' bodies were recovered from the wreckage. There were plenty of weapon fragments and bodies belonging to innocent civilians, but no evidence of what precipitated the attack.

Of course, neither Ross nor the children were found among the debris, as once the unit was far enough away from Ashley and Geoff; he'd activated his phase camouflage and flew away from the falling motel.

Things had definitely taken a turn for the surreal.

Croswell had just executed the White Hose Chief of Staff, after framing him for conspiracy in the Bergstrom mess.

Ross had been surprised; Croswell hadn't filled him in on his plan. Maybe he'd made it up on the spur of the moment. _My God, lunatics and mad men surround me._

It was little trouble for the experienced vet to keep up with the cruiser's autopilot. He followed Ashley and Geoff; as long as they were safe, he'd keep his word not to break the fifth-wall.

What the hell was Fox thinking?

# Chapter 61 – Angel City Devils

Thursday, July 30, 2308

Ross was gone. Now Ashley and Geoff were completely on their own. Geoff tuned the scanner to the police band. The lack of pursuit was unnerving.

"They don't see us!" he said. "They must have been tracking Ross. They didn't know we were there. The whole time you were upstairs, they kept saying that they couldn't get a reading. It must have been the Micronix!" Geoff sat bolt upright. "Where is it? I left it on the table!"

Ash pulled the device from her pocket.

"It must be jamming their scanners." Geoff said. He looked at her. "Are you using it?"

"No. It freaks me out. I don't want it in my head."

Geoff smiled. "I don't know how to say this, but I think it thinks."

"What about?" she asked, holding it out at arm's length.

"It's very angry." Geoff looked at his sister, "That's why it likes you so much. You think about the same things."

Ashley raised an eyebrow.

"It wants revenge."

Ash smiled. "What does it want revenge for?"

"Same as you and me, for what they did to mom an dad. And for being separated from its brother."

"Its brother? What are you talking about?"

"There were two of them," Geoff said.

"Who got the other one?" she asked.

"I guess whoever got Dad."

Ashley smiled. She knew their names, _Stanwood and Von Kalt_. "If we're not careful, they're going to get us too."

"Then let's be careful," Geoff said.

Ashley pulled up the sedan's pre-programmed destinations and selected the nearest transfer car. She double-checked the black remote key Ross had given her and pulled the lever to recline her seat. Ash and Geoff slept until the autopilot gave its distinctive three rings, announcing that they had arrived at their destination.

Ashley sat up and looked around. They were in another parking structure, but much busier, more upscale. Ash looked over to the car next to them, a black armored hatchback. She triggered the key; the monster came alive, its lights winking, acknowledging the _unlock_ command.

"Geoff, we're here," Ashley woke her younger brother.

Geoff looked around. "Here, where?"

"A mall I think."

"I'm so hungry," Geoff said.

"I know. I am too. We have to get some money," Ash said.

"We could try using Mom's cash station codec," Geoff suggested. "This is an emergency."

"This is definitely an emergency, but if we use it, we'll have a brand new one. That's always how they get caught in the vid streams."

"They won't catch us! We should go to a transit port," Geoff said.

"What are you talking about? You're asleep."

"No. One time, on Simon Timex, they had to get cash and didn't want to be followed, so they waited till five minutes before a shuttle for Vegas and then used a cash station."

"We're not going to Vegas."

"Neither did Simon," Geoff explained.

"Ha." Ashley laughed.

"But the bad guys spent twenty minutes trying to figure out where he went. They split up, and he was already long gone."

"We're not going to a transit hub, Geoff. Maybe that works on vid streams and cartoons, but this is real life. Transit hubs are full of cops, it's a bad idea."

"Not to hide out, just to get cash. That way, if they do pick up on us, they'll have to scan all the carriers to see if we even got on a shuttle. If we just go to some regular old bank, they're going to be all over us."

"Okay, okay. We'll try it. But the first sign of anything and we're out."

"The first sign of anything and it'll be too late," Geoff answered.

Ashley smiled. "As long as we're clear."

Geoff smiled back.

Reid joined Major Ross on overwatch, silently keeping an eye on the children from a few hundred meters above. Ross worried that, much as Geoff had said, at the first sign of anything, it may indeed be too late.

Two hours later, the siblings had parked, staked out and approached a cash station set next to a transit hub. People crowed the terminal. Each shuttle discharged a multitude of passengers and then sucked up the new fares, leaving the platform nearly empty.

Ash and Geoff spent fifteen minutes circling, watching the terminal from different locations. There were a dozen automated ticket stations, each doubling as a cash station. This particular platform also happened to be empty of uniformed policemen.

Geoff and Ashley both noticed other orphan children who'd begun stalking them, but considering recent events, they weren't worried.

As soon as they stepped onto the platform, a tall, lanky boy confronted them. "This is the Devils' station. You want to use it, you have to pay the Devils' tax."

The Angel City Devils were a notorious street gang. Everyone had heard of them, many who had no affiliation claimed to be members. Ashley suspected the boy in front of her was of the later group.

All true members of the Angel City Devils bear the Devil's mark. At first glance, she didn't see his mark. Ashley stepped toward him. "Unless you want to bleed red blood, you'd better step back."

Geoff noticed that Ashley's right hand was held behind her back, as if keeping him away from the bully, but then he saw the black rectangle.

The tall boy laughed. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and he looked as if he hadn't had a shower or a picked up a brush in years. "You don't understand. We have to collect the tax. You don't pay us, we get beat."

Despite his unclean appearance in all other respects, the boy's teeth glowed a brilliant white. They were clean and straight and perfectly out of place in his filthy mouth.

"We're not paying, so get lost," Ashley said, moving back half-a-step, just enough to appear scared and push Geoff back a couple more.

"Oh, you're paying all right. You're paying."

He mistook Ashley's retreat for cowardice and stepped toward her, raising his hand to strike.

There were four other boys and Ash noticed that the others didn't seem as into it. They were all leaning back, turning away, hardly even watching. Ash was familiar with dangerous groups of bullies, and these guys weren't participating.

There were also several adults nearby, ignoring the incident entirely.

The boy with the pure white teeth swung at Ashley. He caught her right across the cheek. The CRACK, the volume of the slap, brought the entire room to a complete and sudden pause.

No one said anything, everyone looked over to Ashley and her aggressor. Lots of the adults were now watching.

Ashley recognized the same older Chinese man across the hall. He was the same man she'd seen in the park and the library.

Dirty face giggled. "Five across the eyes bitch!"

Ashley had allowed herself to be distracted. Her face burned, the skin raised where his hand had made such abrupt trespass. She felt violated. She felt helpless. She felt fury, and then she moved.

Stepping forward with a powerful front kick, she caught him square in the groin. His sudden intake of air and silent, pained look confirmed her accurate impact with the target.

Ashley stepped back, letting him collapse to his knees.

She tried to resist the urge, but couldn't, and delivered several savage strikes to the boy's exposed face.

Over and over again, she brought her fist down into his nose and mouth. Blood exploded from beneath her hand.

After the flurry of punches, the boy collapsed to the station floor. His hands clutched at both his crotch and face.

Between the fingers, under the red ripped flesh, two rows of perfectly white teeth. Ashley hoped she'd chipped at least one but refrained from kicking him in the face.

Most people were watching, except for the Chinese man, who appeared to be studying the schedule board.

Ashley scanned the faces of the boy's friends.

None of them seemed interested in taking revenge against her, their eyes all found other things to look at.

The adults, who hadn't done anything when the boy hit Ash, likewise didn't do anything now. They turned back to their original conversations, and the busy air of the station picked up once again.

Dirty Face had gotten into a sitting position, his right hand investigating the damage to his nose.

Ashley saw a nearby cash station and led Geoffrey over to it. She wiper her bloody knuckles on her jeans and punched in her parent's codec, withdrawing five hundred republican talents.

No one noticed. No one came rushing over to arrest them. No one cared. Ashley looked for the white haired Chinese man again, but he wasn't in the terminal anymore.

Ashley and Geoff wheeled a cart through a massive grocery store. Ash had gotten a backpack from the _Back to School_ aisle, and it sat in the center of the cart, gradually filled it with camp supplies and less-perishable foods; a variety of fruit, nuts, and granola.

Geoff was frustrated because his sister kept nixing his requests for candy, soda and chips. He wanted to get two backpacks full of stuff, but Ash had objected to that as well; so the single backpack was filled with what Geoff referred to as birdseed and other slowly rotting biomass.

"Sugar's not good for you," Geoff mocked. "Soda's too heavy to carry. Chips take up too much space. No matter what I want, you're going to say _No_ ," he complained.

Ashley almost blurted out, _'No, I won't'_ but realized that would prove his point. "I'll make you deal," she offered. "How about instead of coke, we get juice."

"Whatever, Mom."

"We need to think long term. After this, we are done. Total underground, understand?"

"What do you mean?" Geoff asked.

"After this we are not showing our faces in Angel City again. No more shopping. We get the evidence, and we leave. Canada. Deal?"

"Well, when the new comics come out, we could just wear masks."

"Ha! No." Ashley rolled her eyes, and the cart, deeper into the store.

Ashley's Journal, Thursday, July 30, 2308

At the moment, everything is okay. Geoff and I are having a picnic, eating burgers and reading comics. Well, Geoff's reading comics and we just finished the cheeseburgers. They were awesome. I swear I could live on cheeseburgers.

This morning we bought backpacks and sleeping bags, all the comics Geoff wanted and set off no alerts. We were using the secret emergency account, and it seems clean. We bought whatever we wanted.

I was looking through Geoff's comics. He shoved one at me; it was a western - cowboys versus ninjas and pirates. I'm not sure how pirates and ninjas ended up in the old west, but I guess that's the point of the story.

# Chapter 62 – Montrose

Thursday, July 30, 2308

First Lieutenant Grey arrived at the Montrose cabin in the late afternoon. He anchored the massive tank at the end of the row of similarly anchored tanks. Their phase-cam caused them to shimmer in his Micronix-enhanced vision.

Grey landed on the deck and deactivated his phase-cam before opening the sliding glass door. Reverend Wolfe and Ambassador Becket were both present, also wearing their Black Willow armor. It had been some time since either of them had been serving members of Uncle Sam's Misguided Children.

"Kilo," Becket nodded.

Wolfe rose and nodded as well.

"Gentlemen. What's the situation?" Grey asked.

"King and Snow are in the stew," Becket answered. "Ross is on over-watch and Reid ran out to prep a server farm for degaussing."

"What are we doing?" Grey asked.

Secretary Croswell came into the living room from a hallway leading to one of the decanting tanks.

"We have a very urgent task before us, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Sir. How can I help?"

"Gentlemen, we need to find a way to jam this Micronix scanner of Bergstrom's or we are sitting ducks."

"Well, let's not all congregate in one place," Grey joked.

"And you wonder why you haven't soared up the ranks?" Croswell smiled.

"Actually, I don't. And you'll never hear me complaining. I'll stick it out as long as they let me. I live for the shit, you know that."

"Animal Mother," Becket laughed.

"Oo-rah," Grey smiled.

"The issue at hand?" Croswell asked.

"How's it work?" Grey asked.

When King infiltrated, Bergstrom said something about being able to hear and smell it. We figure he's got some particle reflection algorithm or something."

"Or something, huh?" Grey looked at the ceiling.

"It works like old school radar. Snow was able to spoof it by tethering to her battle suit and sniping them from overhead."

"So she looked like one blip?" Grey concluded, smiling. "Well, the obvious conclusion is to saturate the city with the op sys. How fast could we do that? Could we even do that at all? And barring that, what about altering the signature?"

"How's that?" Croswell asked.

"Doesn't this guy Von Kalt have an amplifier?"

"It's corrupted," Croswell said. "He's already burning out from exposure."

"He was piloting one of the wolves. Why didn't his Metachron set off the scanner? Obviously Bergstrom used it as a model, as a reference point."

"Obviously?" Croswell asked. "You're just plug-full of attitude aren't you?"

"I'm right. You know I'm right," Grey said. "You want my help or not?"

Croswell looked over to Becket, "What kind of figs are you feeding him, out there in the holy land?"

Ambassador Becket raised his hands. "He's his own man."

"If you want to jam it, here... Give me your amplifiers." Grey held out his hands, his own amplifier in his right palm.

"Wait, what about Ross, Reid and the kids?" Becket asked, handing Grey his Micronix, as Croswell and Wolfe did the same.

Grey held the amplifiers in his hands and closed his eyes.

"It's done," he said a few moments later, returning the devices.

"What's done?" Croswell asked.

"Let me forward it to the others... There, done and done." Grey smiled.

Croswell raised and eyebrow.

"I wrote a script. It will react if pinged. It was easy enough to check the amplifier's history. Bergstrom's scanner is operating at 608-614 megahertz, Channel 37; the medical emergency band; it's mostly empty. The next time he turns it on, it will over heat and burn up, if not blow up."

"You're sure?" Croswell asked.

"I'm sure," Grey answered. "He used a similar device back in eighty-five. I read about it. That one operates on a parallel oscillation of airborne terillium. This will cause the process to double exponentially and melt his components."

"So you're saying our phase-cam is tight again?"

"Yes, Sir. Speaking of, my platoon was holding some desperate ground when I pulled out. I should be moving, unless there's more I can do here?"

"Do you think you could leave your tank here?" Croswell asked. "We lost a couple, and you can't exactly go exposing top-secret assets on the front line...."

"If I can have your permission to swing by El Toro Nuevo and pick up a couple mortar platforms, that would be a very fair trade, Mister Secretary, Sir."

Croswell laughed. "Take what ever you need, son. Good luck out there. We appreciate your sacrifice, Lieutenant."

"Say _Hello_ to the rest of the team for me." Grey shook hands with the senior men. "If the situation changes, please don't hesitate to call."

Grey exited the cabin and vanished, flying to the southeast, headed for the massive Marine Corps anti-gravity air-station.

"Fucking smart ass," Croswell muttered and looked over at Becket. "What does he know about Andrew?"

"Not a thing. He was given a cursory introduction to the Micronix and believes it to be a neural interface with the battle suit. He has no idea what the amplifiers can really do," Becket answered.

"Keep it that way. "He's too smart for his own goddamn good."

Becket laughed. "He's harmless."

"Harmless? Hence the nick name, Kilo, right?" Croswell smiled.

"Is that a true story?" Reverend Wolfe asked.

"Oh, it's true all right," Becket answered.

"Didn't work out the way he expected, though, did it?" Croswell laughed.

"You could promote him," Becket said. "He probably just saved our lives."

Croswell gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "Not today, and don't you go expanding his permissions either. He doesn't need anymore access than he's already got."

"Oh, relax." Becket said.

Reverend Wolfe leaned forward. "If you don't mind my saying so, you trust him because you need him and you distrust him for the same reasons. How do you expect him to react?"

"Yeah, thanks buddy." Croswell smiled.

"I don't mind sticking around a couple of extra days." Reverend Wolfe offered.

"Me either," Becket said. "You guys should have called us in sooner."

"It kind of unraveled all at once," Croswell explained. "To be honest, I'd hoped we could keep a lid on it."

"You had to let it spin totally out of control?" Becket asked. "You let Fox and Ana get killed, King and Snow are in the healing tank? Really?"

"You should have called us when they went after Kelly the first time," Wolfe said.

"Thank you, Captain Hindsight. It happened how it happened. And all for the best, I might add. Dr. Te has agreed to share his bots," Croswell nodded to Becket. "Thank you for that. And Fox had a real breakthrough while he was out in the desert."

"What do you mean, breakthrough?" Rev. Wolfe asked

"He forwarded the details, but if you've been that wrapped up fighting demons, I guess it's possible you might not have noticed."

"What?" Becket asked. "I haven't had any time either."

"Fox did it, boys. I think he truly 'expanded' for lack of a better word, beyond the confines of his body."

"What are you talking about?"

"Stanwood took him prisoner out at White Sands for a few weeks. By the time we found him, Fox had manifested a second body out of sand and was out walking around, beyond the perimeter.

"From there he visited Conway in the Oval office and tried to bring him onboard. Conway gave him clearance to take the Centaurs out to the asteroid belt to do some terillium mining.

"He also, apparently hinted that while Stanwood might be something of a thorn in his side, but that he couldn't be charged with murder until he'd committed murder."

"So that's was why Fox blasted us all with that _Don't Fire Until Fired Upon_ bit? He was taking one for the team?" Becket asked.

Croswell touched his nose.

"God, what's that done to the kids?" Reverend Wolfe asked.

"Which catches us right up to the present," Croswell said. "Oh, I did give Stanwood a bit of a belly washing the other day. I'm sure he's still pissed about that. Probably walking with cane too, but he earned it."

"Why not just kill him?" Reverend Wolfe asked.

"He's President Conway's nephew," Croswell answered.

Becket whistled and rolled his eyes.

"He and Fox have hated each other since grammar school and Epsilon was just the excuse he needed to paint Fox as unstable," Croswell said.

"Well, dragging Bergstrom into it was a mistake for sure," Wolfe said.

"Yeah, but it was a good one. Fucking great mistake," Croswell said.

# Chapter 63 – Surrounded

Thursday, July 30, 2308

On the National Guard complex, Von Kalt rose some time after sunset. He had tossed his phone, but apparently he hadn't been divested of his powers as Deputy Director of National Intelligence. He walked from the medical ward to the command and control center of the Angel City National Guard Armory.

When he demanded the Officer on Watch turn over the ready response teams, the man did so without thinking twice. Von Kalt, discovered, however, he had no commands to give.

Von Kalt apologized to the watch commander for his abrupt tone and submitted that a government sedan would be a perfectly acceptable method of transportation for the few logistical errands he needed to run.

The commander nodded and reassured Von Kalt that they were there, should he need them. the deputy director left the facility and just drifted in a loop on the urban freeways.

Using the Metachron, the director sought out Bergstrom on District Thirteen. The doctor didn't answer his call; he'd been badly burned during the assault that destroyed his hangar.

Friday, July 31, 2308

The next morning, Ashley and Geoff drifted through the local mall. Whenever Geoff asked why they weren't on their way to Canada, Ash replied that she wanted to wait until it was safer to travel. In truth, she wanted to find out just who Stanwood and Von Kalt were, but she didn't dare tell Geoffrey, for fear that he'd go looking in cyberspace and run into the Eel or other equally sinister fellow, someone capable of causing him serious harm.

When he mentioned that she'd said _no more shopping_ , she changed the subject. They checked out stores, played sample video games and tried out furniture. Ashley noticed several different sets of people in the mall around them.

She knew that anyone could be there to abduct her and Geoff. At any given moment, someone might approach them, produce a weapon and bark clipped commands, as the agents in the library had.

Ash realized she was increasingly reluctant to search for Stanwood or his deputy online, it was her search for her father that had brought the other agents to the library. This time she seriously doubted that there would be another Major Ross waiting to rescue them. From here on out, they had to be more careful. They couldn't be making stupid mistakes.

She did consider walking through one of the busiest shopping centers in one of the busiest cities something of a mistake, as did Geoff. However, she told him they were _hiding in plain sight_.

She also understood that all the guns and research in the world couldn't get her any closer to what she wanted. She needed evidence, solid, concrete, undeniable evidence. If it existed, there was only one place she was going to find it. She just needed a way to convince Geoff the returning home was the best idea.

Meanwhile, Ross, Reid, Croswell and Reverend Wolfe all took turns hovering above the children.

Ambassador Becket had been called back to his post in Jerusalem shortly after Lt. Grey returned with a small fleet of mobile mortar platforms. This was close to being a breach of the non-proliferation agreement for the tinderbox of an area, but Grey had fairly distributed them to all the front line units and thus avoided a major international incident, and possibly war crime charges.

Croswell had rolled his eyes and asked Becket to forcefully remind Grey of the difference between a 'couple' and a 'fleet.'

Saturday, August 1, 2308

Tired of the cramped sleeping conditions inside the car, Ash convinced Geoff that they should go camping. Being the middle of summer, there were dozens of campsites throughout the city.

That evening, they registered a space over the car's online connection and landed a short time later. They laid out their sleeping bags, and watched the stars as thin pale clouds rippled through the sky overhead.

"Geoff," Ash said. "We have to go home again."

"We can't, Ashley! They'll catch us if we do."

"It's the only way," she said.

"What about Canada? We could almost be there by now."

Ashley didn't answer.

Brother and sister fell asleep together beneath a carpet of stars.

At midnight, Chief Warrant Officer Reid joined the Croswell on post, hovering over Dr. Andrew Fox's sleeping children.

"Bet you never thought you'd be standing post again, huh, Sir?"

"You'd be surprised, Chief. Some things never change. What's your Seventh General Order?"

"What general order?" Reid smiled, as he saluted Croswell.

Croswell returned the salute "Clever."

Sunday, August 2, 2308

At dawn, Ashley awoke under the bright, morning sky.

Geoff woke up a short time later. "I'm hungry. Let's get pancakes for breakfast."

"Look, you agreed. We're not going to a restaurant, we're not going back into town."

"You don't want raisins and nuts for breakfast, do you?" Geoff asked.

Ashley said nothing.

"Come on, really? You want to stay out here?"

"You agreed," Ashley said.

"Yeah, but it's been two days." Geoff argued.

"Hiding is all we'd be doing in Canada. Why not here?"

"I'm out of comics," Geoff said.

"So read them twice," she replied. "We will go to Canada, we will get you more comics, but we have to get the evidence first. So, for now, we camp out here, until it's safe to go get it. We're not that far from home. All we have to do is get the security footage, and we'll go. Okay?"

"Today?" Geoff asked.

"Yes, today. Tonight. We'll go at night."

"I don't care if we go to Canada. I just want to stay together. We'll be safe; Dad said, whatever happens, just stay with Ashley and you'll be safe."

Ashley didn't say anything.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Geoff said.

# Chapter 64 – Separated

Sunday, August 2, 2308

Von Kalt had returned to the canyon residence across from the Fox home. Using the Metachron, he created scanning daemons to read every camera and wired public service employee in the entire metropolitan area of Angel City. Sure enough, one of them finally scored a hit.

The Deputy Director rose from his lounge chair and called the west coast director of the FBI. He explained the situation and was assured, he would have the bureau's full and complete cooperation.

Von Kalt explained that he needed at least twenty experienced field agents. He had no idea how many agents he needed or wanted. However, since the director agreed so easily, he felt compelled to say, "Double that if you can."

"Done," came the reply. "Vehicles?"

"Three men to a vehicle. Small arms will be sufficient."

"Yessir."

"You have a bright future." Von Kalt smiled.

The director nodded humbly.

_Bright indeed?_ Von Kalt knew he would be well served to copy a trick or two from this young man, if only his pride didn't prohibit it.

Ash and Geoff walked toward the restrooms a few campsites away.

Behind them, a group of uniformed boys in their late teens patrolled the park. A few were walking and a few more sat on the companion golf cart, floating along the path.

They grinned at Ash. She didn't like it. Despite their slow pace and non-threatening behavior, they were following them, and they looked a little too interested.

"Can we go out for breakfast, please," Geoff asked, ignoring the escalating situation as they reached the toilets.

"You know what? Sure, no problem," Ashley folded. "Just hurry up."

Geoff smiled and disappeared behind the door with the male icon.

Without looking at them, Ashley kept a close eye on the trailing young safety officers. They slowed, and the driver of the cart stopped their advance.

The three uniforms continued their walk toward Ash.

One of the cart's riders climbed off to tie his shoe.

The three boys drifted past, ignoring Ashley, highly unusual behavior for boys at or even close to her age. Ashley considered the possibility that she must really look like a mess if these clowns were ignoring her.

"After this were going into the mountains, I mean it," Ashley said to the bathroom wall.

"Okay, I hear you," Geoff answered from inside.

Ash watched the boys, they moved with exaggerated slowness as they reached the bend up ahead. The boys on the cart were talking, not paying any attention to her, but not leaving either.

Ashley waited for Geoff. She'd heard the toilet flush, but that was at least a couple of minutes ago. It was too long ago.

Ash turned around and looked at the structure. The bathrooms were attached to a much larger building, a Parks' Services building. The back half of the structure was arched and curved downward into the hovering facility. Ashley recognized it as a train access tunnel, leading into the city.

"Geoff?" she said.

"In here," he answered.

Confused by the waiting game with the boys, Ashley decided to call their bluff and went into the boy's bathroom.

In addition to the sinks, stall and urinals, there was a half-open door to the structure beyond. The massive garage was filled with landscaping equipment, two more golf carts, as well as a locker area and a couple of desks.

Geoff waved to her from the back of the hall. He stood beside an open panel in the huge hatch, sealing the maglev tube. Although there were no train cars present, it was obvious enough that the garage had been built to repair the hover trains that ferried people throughout Angel City.

"Come on," he yelled, ducking back behind the panel. "Whoooo!" Geoff's voice slid away from her far quicker than his ability to run.

Ash sprinted across the hall, following after her brother, into the tunnel. Like Geoff, she slid with one leg stretched out and the other curled beneath her, zipping down the steep incline of the terillium-laced tube.

When Ashley reached the place where the pipe flattened out again, she found herself standing. Geoff was ahead of her, making his way past a couple of gates leading into a hub of maintenance corridors. Ashley followed silently.

"Ha!" A barred gate slammed shut behind Geoff. "We got another one!" a young truant officer shouted.

A group of boys materialized from deeper in the tunnels.

"Hey, there sewer rat."

"Looks like we got us one more for the stew!"

Geoff spun.

Older boys, their uniforms identifying them as members of the civil services, had surrounded him. Several of them held long electric prongs. Geoff saw handcuffs in several hands, as well.

"Our job is locking up stray dogs, and you are about as homeless as I've ever seen," one boy taunted.

Another leapt and pinned Geoff's arms behind his back.

"No orphans in our tunnels," one yelled.

Handcuffs were snapped over the struggling Geoff's wrists.

Ashley charged the gates, kicking the iron cross bars. "Let him go!!"

"Oh, hey, we got us another one! Someone trip the lock."

The boy jabbed his electric staff through the bars, grazing Ash.

Ashley grabbed the staff, jerking it away from him.

The boy reached through the grate and grabbed Ashley by her shirt.

She grabbed the offending hand and twisted it back on itself, using the bars of the grate as leverage. He fought her, but she had an unbeatable position, he was over-extended.

Ashley heard the ligaments of his shoulder begin to rip and tear. The older boy screamed.

"Let him go!" Ashley yelled.

The other dogcatchers looked up from their struggle with Geoff.

Ashley twisted the boy's wrist, he howled in agony.

She released the tension just enough for him to catch his breath and stop screaming.

"I said LET HIM GO!" she yelled.

One of the boys stepped forward to say something.

Ashley gave her captive's wrist a quarter turn and his screams drown out the words of his comrade.

Ashley released the tension and let the pain subside. He became quiet again. In the silence, Ashley spoke, "Let him go or I will cut his arm off."

For emphasis, she held up the Micronix and pressed the button. Six inches of razor-sharp steel jumped into her hand.

Geoff struggled with his captors, "You heard her, let me go!"

The forward soldier spoke, "We... We uh... We don't have a key for that gate. We couldn't even take you with us if we wanted to."

Ashley wrenched the boy's shoulder from its socket, the screaming and ripping sounds magnified by the tunnel walls. A moment later his screams ceased as he had passed out from the pain.

"Did you kill him?" one of the teens asked.

Geoffrey broke loose and ran. "Ashley!"

Acting on instinct, one of the kids pulled his stun gun and fired.

Geoffrey went down, out cold.

The teens rushed over to him and checked his vitals.

Ashley watched and listened, helpless.

"He's still breathing."

"Pick him up. Let's get him in the cart."

"I'll get his legs, okay, yeah."

The older boys carried Geoff back of their segmented cart.

"If you're not orphans, just have your guardian come down to the pound and pick up the little mongrel," one of the boys said.

Ashley's reply caught in her throat.

Lights approached the young truant officers from the deeper in the darkness. Three men appeared; federal agents in suits, carrying guns.

Ashley turned and ran from the gate, leaving her prisoner hanging, broken and unconscious.

Reid was standing his post, the invisible over-watch, his tank tethered above, a hundred feet overhead. After the children failed to exit the restroom, he began to panic and called Ross.

"Major Ross, I think we've got a problem here," he said.

"What's going on?" Captain Snow cut in.

"Ma'am, Good to hear you up and about."

"What's going on, Chief?"

"They got away from me ma'am. They went down inside this terra-formed structure, and I'm picking up radio chatter. There was some kind of incident. The Feds are here and there's like thirty of them all of a sudden."

"Armored Feds?" Ross asked.

"No, sir. Suits. They're everywhere. What do you want me to do?"

Captain Snow answered, "Stay put, I'll be there in five."

# Chapter 65 – Deeper and Deeper Still

Sunday, August 2, 2308

Ash didn't want to try going back for the car. The teens at the top of the tunnel had been too interested in her and Geoff. She suspected the lot of them had been working together and turned down one of the branching tunnels.

At first she just walked into the inky black. There was nothing to see, even if she could see. The trains no longer ran through these tunnels, the lines had been cancelled long ago.

At one time, this had been a commercial hub; busy enough to warrant several local lines. Its cavernous malls had been gutted for distribution chains where faceless packages were sorted between more upscale and current destinations.

Drifters, parolees, laborers, all drawn to the low-stress employment offered by the shipping outfits, made up the clientele of the local shops, restaurants and the scattered urban living structures. Wandering through the tunnel, Ashley doubted she'd find much assistance, wherever it led. She slowly became able to make out the tunnel wall, there was light coming in from somewhere.

Suddenly the earth around the girl began to shake and rumble. A train roared as it passed by, unseen, beyond the walls of her dark enclosure. Shocked from her complacency, Ashley ran down the tunnel, sprinting toward whatever it was that lie ahead of her. Ashley ran until her thighs burned and her feet ached, until her lungs were pushed to their limit.

Ashley had almost reached the light source. As she approached it, she noticed the light source was wavering, wobbling. That was when she heard the voices. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but these voices were adult. Light spilled from around a corner at an intersection up ahead.

Ash crept closer to the edge. Peeking around, Ashley saw figures in the distance. Several adults held flashlights, grilling a group of juveniles - the dogcatchers. Ashley saw one of their vehicles in the background; it was empty. It took her a couple of minutes, but Ashley was able to work her way closer to the heated conversation.

These were some of the same kids she'd tangled with an hour earlier. She recognized them.

She got close enough to make out some of their words, only when only one person happened to be speaking at a time.

"Well we haven't seen her!"

"Then where is she?"

"She has to come this way."

"We're just doing our job!"

"And the other one?"

"They took him back to the processing center."

"He's in custody."

"We should split up."

Ashley didn't wait for the flashlights to turn in her direction. She retraced her steps back down the darkened tunnel. She continued on, into the darkness, jogging smoothly, trying hard not to panic.

The lights were behind her now; she was cornered. Then she reached the cracked wall. The tunnel that snaked its way through the superstructure had broken open, spilling filler earth into the tunnel and exposing a wicked gash, leading into the man-made facility.

Ashley knew it wouldn't take her pursuers long to reach her. She was cornered, trapped, unless she crawled into the fissure. She saw the flashlights then heard the staccato stomps of their footfalls. Ash didn't wait to make out their voices. The dirt that filled in the gaps of the structure had hardened, upon its exposure to the air. She pushed herself into it.

Ashley tried to grip the wall of the superstructure but slid downward, deeper into the crevice. She wondered how such a thing could happen to such a large facility. The section was almost large enough to be a city by itself. She could see the crack. She wasn't too deep, yet.

She pushed deeper and screamed as the dirt beneath her feet gave out. Ashley slid through the earth, riding the soft edge of the broken section.

She dodged struts rushing toward her from odd angles, threatening to take an eye or rip an internal organ into the external world. The ride seemed to have no end. She was terrified that the crack would vent her into the open sky, ten thousand feet above the earth, far from any potential safety nets.

Finally, the sliding dirt spilled her into a vaulted room, onto the top of a ten-foot mountain of black earth. Ash tumbled down the mound into the midst of a construction crew, engaged in repairing the rip. A cloud of dust and debris billowed from the girl as she stood and brushed herself off.

Aside from a few scratches, Ash seemed okay. As soon as she was assured of this fact, she bolted from the vault, the workers calling after her.

Sprinting down the new, well-lit tunnel, sprinting for her life, Ashley out distanced them immediately. She ran into the curve, all the tunnels seemed curved, and Ashley ran right into the heart of it.

Suddenly, as if she'd been splashed with cold water, Ashley realized why her pursuers gave up so quickly. Then she heard it, the rumble.

Ashley increased her speed. It was her only option. Overhead, the magnetic cable was mounted to the ceiling.

When the train came, there would be no room for her small body, but Ashley continued running. She managed her breathing and launched ahead with a speed she didn't even know she was capable of. Ashley gave it everything she had.

There, up ahead, was the platform. Just as Ashley's eyes and brain recognized the promise of safety, her mind also recognized the increased illumination coming from behind her. Then the train rounded the corner, and she grew a shadow.

The train operator jerked the horn in reflex, telling Ashley something she already knew, and waking up the sleepy passengers waiting on the platform. Everyone leaned out to watch the approaching train. They pointed and watched the sprinting girl, who was sure to be crushed.

Ash redoubled her efforts.

Ahead, to the left, she spotted the small offshoot, a walkway and stairwell. There was a short gate at the top. She pushed hard at the ground.

The train screamed again, desperate not to run her over.

Ash made the walkway just one step before the train would have killed her. The wind in its passing carried her up the stairs. Ashley's foot found the top of the gate two steps earlier than she'd anticipated.

Now she was hurtling into the crowded platform, trying to keep her balance and control the accelerated momentum. She stepped out, planting her right foot on the window of a passenger car, as the train slowed for its scheduled stop. The step was all she needed. It was enough.

Ashley landed, sliding across the tiled floor, the waiting passengers making space for her.

They applauded her, as she and the train both came to a complete stop. The engineer dashed out, he ran up and hugged the filthy girl.

Ashley smiled, was polite, even posed for a few photos pointing to her footprint, high on the train's glass window-sidewall.

Then the appearance of a uniformed driver snapped the young girl back to reality. She said her goodbyes and abandoned the platform for a nearby restroom.

Ash had no change of clothes and no way to disguise herself. She simply washed her face and arms, and dried them as best she could.

After encountering the mercenaries, Ashley was glad that Geoff had been taken by innocent truant officers. The young officers, only eighteen or nineteen, were doing their two years of public service. From the conversation she overheard, it was clear that they weren't working with the Federal Agents pursuing her.

If Geoff was with other kids, he was probably safe. Even though she knew that couldn't possibly last long. _If she didn't do something smart, something different and mighty soon, they would find him. And if she didn't do something right now, they were going to find her._

Ash spotted the nearby shopping center and headed for it. She watched the people she passed without looking at them. None of them were watching her, which was a good thing, from every possible angle.

A small park ran alongside the shopping center. Ash was hungry, but didn't want to go into any of the stores. She headed toward the park. That was when she spotted him.

The Chinese man was sitting on a bench. He wasn't looking at her, but turned to meet her gaze. He patted the bench next to her, gesturing for her to take a seat.

She did.

"Ashley. I knew your father," he said. "My name is Dr. Lao Te. It's been a long time since I've seen you."

"Not that long," Ashley replied. "I saw you in the park the other day, and at the library. I even saw you in the transit terminal."

"Yes. You really took that boy apart. Don't you think you may have over done it?"

"I didn't kick him. He deserved what he got."

"Did he? Very much your father's daughter," Lao smiled.

"How did you know him?"

"We worked together, when we were younger."

Ash said nothing. Dr. Te spoke crystal clear English; only the pacing of his words was unique. He took his time with each thought, as if fixing it in his mind before actually vocalizing it.

Looking at Dr. Te, Ashley realized he must be older than seventy, maybe over eighty. His skin looked thin and brittle. Every hair on his head was white, even his eyebrows were without pigment. His eyes were bright and clear, almost luminescent. His clothes were from China, or at least Chinatown, an authentic silk shirt, canvas pants and thin cloth shoes.

"How much do you know about your father's work?" he asked.

"I know this is important," Ashley showed him the prototype. "I think it's what they want."

"Indeed."

"Geoff says it can think."

"Your father wasn't so sure."

"Geoff's not guessing. He said there are two of them. He says there's another one, that someone has it and that they're looking for us."

"And so, what will you do?"

"Well this, it was my dad's, and now it's mine. No one is ever taking it from me."

Lao was silent.

"How do I know you really worked with my dad?" Ashley asked.

Lao smiled.

"It's just that I don't know you," Ashley explained.

"True. You have no reason to trust me." He looked at the sky.

Together they sat quietly for a moment.

"You aren't trying to kill me," Ash observed.

Lao smiled, "That would be quite problematic for us both."

"What do you mean?" Ashley asked.

Lao composed his thoughts. "It seems anyone who has tried to kill you, has been unsuccessful."

They watched pedestrians and shoppers drift past the small park.

After a long moment of silence, Lao asked, "What will you do next?"

"I don't know. They caught Geoff. They killed my parents, right out in front of our house, for the whole world to see. My dad sent us out into the forest. He told us to go to Mexico."

"They say David was about your age, when he fought Goliath. Youth is no reason to give up on the path to enlightenment."

"The path to what?"

"The path is the reason you get out of bed in the morning. If you were not on the path to enlightenment, you would be dead."

"So then, what happens when you find enlightenment? You die?"

"Some people die. Some people just start over, but the second time, it's easier."

"Did you find your enlightenment?" she asked.

Lao smiled at her. "I like to think I did."

"So then, what do you think I should do?" Ashley asked.

"A popular saying today is, 'if you drop your car keys in the garage, do not look for them under the streetlamp, just because the light is better."

Ashley stared at the cobblestones under her feet. The rocks resembled the stones used for their backyard patio, only glossier. Here, they had been polished and washed regularly. The absurdity of the entire structure made her laugh. Here they were, sitting in a fake park on a fake street, on a manufactured anti-gravity hub, floating six thousand feet above the ground.

At home, Ashley had always been impressed with the way the forest asserted itself. The way Mother Nature threatened to cover the patio with moss growing along the mortar grooves. The way the forest climbed over the grass, and the grass crowded the stones. Here, there was none of that.

Here, the earth had been tamed. Man had moved off her surface, to pollute the skyline with his floating cities and flying vehicles. Ashley was struck with the idea that mankind had gone from being a maggot on in the earth's skin, to a swarm of flies above its surface.

Feeling awful, she realized she'd love to see it all burn. Except for the fact that Geoffrey was out there, somewhere. Even if she could destroy the whole world, she wouldn't, not today. She had to find her brother.

"I have to get Geoffrey back," She said. "Ross gave us travel visas."

"Ross, Kelly Ross? He's here?"

"He was. They killed him." Ash was quiet for a moment. She laughed, "His name was Kelly?"

"Well, Kelton, yes." Lao looked at her. "You cannot get your brother back without exposing those who have taken your parents."

"Expose them to who? They run the whole world."

"Anyone with power has enemies."

"Is that why you're here?"

"No, I can't really help you. Sitting here with you like this... is the extent of my power here."

"So what, get proof and go to the police?"

"That's what I would do."

"I'm just a kid. This is crazy."

"Your father was a cautious man. If there is any proof to be had, it's going to be at your home. They must have left something."

"Yeah, a dozen agents, staking out the house."

"How do you know?"

"Ross thought there might be some security footage, but he said it was surrounded. They're just sitting there, waiting for us to show up."

"Hmm."

"I told him that we should kidnap one of them and interrogate him, but he wouldn't listen to me."

"Probably very wise. A tortured man can give you nothing but his pain."

"I'll take it," Ash said.

"It would be best for you to remain cautious. You still have much to lose. Your thirst for revenge might be great, but it might also prove expensive."

"I'm sick of running and hiding. I'm not doing that anymore. I can't just give up. If they left something, I will find it."

"People always leave something. It's in their nature."

Ashley laughed. "You're not really here are you?" She looked at the rectangle. "You're in my head."

"Yes and no," he answered.

With her left hand, Ashley reached out and passed her fingers through the edge of the illusion.

"I'm in Jerusalem," Lao answered.

"You're talking to me over this thing?" Ashley nodded to the prototype.

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"All I can think of is to go home."

"Seems you've tried everything else."

Ashley laughed. "Seems?" she asked with a smile, squinting into the afternoon sunlight.

Lao smiled.

Ashley and Lao ate lunch together, rather, Ashley ate, and Dr. Te told her stories about her parents. He'd known her mom since childhood, and actually it was he who'd first introduced them. Ashley's father had been infatuated with Ana from the moment they met.

A few times Ashley thought she was going to burst into tears at the stories Lao was telling her. As she finished her meal, Lao explained that he had to go offline and that she would be on her own for at least the next twenty-four hours. At his advanced age, his health required long periods of rest. He wished her luck and asked her to be careful. Taking his leave, he simply rose and walked through a nearby wall.

# Chapter 66 – Agents

Sunday, August 2, 2308

A short time later, feeling good after the proper meal, Ashley moved stealthily through the sporting goods store. She didn't think anyone was looking for her, but she reasoned that it would be profitable to avoid others, so that when the time came, she wouldn't be out of practice.

She found the most expensive hoverboard in the shop and a top-shelf whip-sail. She picked out a new set of clothes, changed in the dressing room and carried the items and tags to the automated check out.

When asked for payment, she entered the family code into the terminal. Alarms didn't go off, the terminal didn't hiss, smoke, or burst into flames. It processed her purchase and asked her to have a lovely day.

Outside, Ashley ripped open the kite. It was tricky, but she assembled the sail and attached it to the board's central grommet. Standing the board up was more difficult still.

The sail restricted her to just a couple directions, forcing her to acknowledge the breeze and respond to it. She practiced in a small abandoned parking lot near the shopping center. She had two walls to bank off of, and if she wanted to get creative, there was a parking garage across the central walkway.

It was the railing she was preparing for. From this level, there were eight railings she'd need to clear before it would be just her, the board and the horizon. Ash wasn't sure she was up to it just yet. The way she'd done so far, she was more likely to fall off the kite than ride it.

It had taken Dr. Te the better part of an hour to properly modify his server to mirror Ashley's ocular streams to Captain Snow's amplifier. And as helpful as this was, it didn't actually help Ana pinpoint her daughter's location as fast as she'd have liked. They'd cut in after Ashley purchased the kite and watched her during her practice. To say the child struggled was an understatement.

Ashley had been at it for almost twenty minutes when the federal agents showed up, putting an end to her practice. They waited until she had a particularly ugly spill.

She saw them coming, four men in two teams, from both directions. She picked herself up and dusted the dirt from her new jeans and sweatshirt.

They stood all around her now. Two of them, the junior two, had their hands on their weapons.

"Is there some kind of problem?" Ash asked. The idea of picking up the kite and running for the rail had occurred to her.

It seemed to have occurred to them too, they had positioned themselves to block her in every direction. They would catch her, and they knew it.

"We need you to come with us." The closest one spoke. Ash suspected the role was interchangeable.

"I need your gun," she said.

The agents looked at each other, confused.

Ash stepped forward, her hand snaking into the man's jacket. She spun, coming away with his weapon and ending up behind him.

The other suits drew but hesitated, as the guy in front blocked Ashley. From behind him, she opened fire, killing two and wounding the third.

The disarmed leader elbowed her in the head, knocking her to the ground. Ashley fired twice, once as she went down and again with her rough landing, killing the lead man.

The wounded agent fired at her. Three rounds zipped by her head and arm as Ashley ducked behind a park bench and trashcan. He'd missed.

She slipped behind a utility box.

Consumed with his injury, the agent didn't see her.

She slipped further away, flanking him. She then approached from behind. The man struggled into a crouch.

Ash stayed in his blind spot, taking the last two steps, she was directly behind him now. He took a difficult breath and coughed.

She smashed the heavy gun into the side of his head.

He collapsed unconscious.

Ash tucked the hostage weapon into her belt and dragged the kite away from the bodies.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. Holding the mast as a soldier with his rifle, she ran straight for the ledge.

Ashley stair-stepped a bench and then the rail. Keeping the kite horizontal, as though it were a giant wing, she leapt into the sky.

The next floor was coming up fast, Ashley dropped the board, the mast and sail pivoted, the board swinging under her feet.

She came down, accelerating toward the next rail and over.

With the next level, she fell less, the sail took up more of the weight, and suddenly she was airborne.

Level by level, she gained altitude, until it was clear she was no longer over the shopping center at all. And like some cartoon character who has realized he's going to fall, gravity stretched its hand out to her and the board began to lose altitude.

Deputy Director Von Kalt stood on the patio, several hundred yards behind her, and watched the girl sail out into the empty sky. He held the Metachron in his hand. Three of his agents were dead. Emergency medical technicians were tending to the wounded man. Several agents stood on the balcony, watching her escape and coordinating with pursuit squads.

Her brother was caught. He was in the system. Von Kalt didn't have him yet, but that was just a formality. If she hadn't run for an international border yet, she wasn't going to now. All Von Kalt had to do was find the boy, and she would come to him.

He had felt her presence. Or rather, the Metachron had sensed the Micronix. It was getting more and more difficult for him to tell the difference between the pocket computer's suggestions and his own desires.

The director dropped the device into his pocket and rubbed his eyes. Even without holding it, the mental projections of the device were still present. Von Kalt was wired into the camera systems of three satellites, his approaching tactical vehicles, and several other reconnaissance teams.

Dr. Fox's magical little device had given him a hundred hands and a thousand eyes. He was damned if he wouldn't use every one of them. Yet he found it ironic that none of those informed him, as clearly as his own intuition, as to where the scared child might be going.

Once Ashley had gotten airborne it didn't take Captain Snow long to spot her. Von Kalt's pursuing agents found themselves coming under fire from an unidentified source and pulled back.

# Chapter 67 – Sky Riding

The wind whipped at her clothes, hair, and skin. The board bucked and snapped under her feet, strained by the opposing forces of gravity and her weight attached to the kite.

The city seemed to hang in place around her, the bulk of Angel City's floating towers behind her and to the left. Below, the hard structures of grounded Los Angeles.

The ocean floated on the horizon. Only the clouds appeared to move, or rather she through them.

It was beautiful.

Ash felt as if she were a bird combined with a jet. She easily adapted to the ride. Leaning into the bowline and the mast, she piloted the kite across the sky at what felt like eighty miles an hour.

The clouds rushed around her, one moment she would be enveloped in white and then suddenly, the world would reappear.

Finally, she was through the lowest ones and there was nothing between her and the sharp-pointed structures of steel and glass, rising from the Hollywood below.

Ashley banked as the buildings reached up for her, their giant metal teeth, disguised as antennae and radio receivers, gnashing at her. The kite snapped in the wind, and Ashley held on.

The kite, board and rider spun toward the ground. She was going at least a hundred now and accelerating. She held on.

The first rip appeared. She saw it, it was small, and then it was huge.

The wind caught the kite and threw her toward a structure to her left. She lifted the board and slid along the side of the building. For a few brief moments, she was in control, then she cleared the building and all was noise and wind.

Ashley felt lifted, she'd caught an updraft, and it threw her toward another skyscraper. This time her approach was smoother and the broad building provided much more stability. She carved a path up the side of the scraper, upsetting business meetings and launching herself from the structure at a forty-five degree incline.

She found herself able to control the free-fall a little better, angling toward one building after another. She even landed on a few flat rooftops and skidded down another's sloped side. She wasn't doing it just for fun, buzzing the metropolitan offices slowed her to fifty and sixty miles per, instead of free fall at over a hundred.

There were four rips in the sail now. Ash started to panic. She'd heard them, now she saw them as well.

She made her way toward the curving arch of the Santa Monica Mountains. She came in from the north, sliding down over the structures of old Hollywood, keeping the Mulholland freeway cable to her right and gradually drifting down over the familiar residential neighborhoods and streets of a life gone by.

Ashley curved down toward the mountains, banking off the slower magnetic-cable traffic. She slid down the side of a moving truck, drafted a cruising flatbed and then kicked out toward a mountain wall.

She caught the cliff side as easily as any of the twenty buildings she'd whipped past, but pushed away quickly as the weeds whipped at the sail, her fingers and her face.

The steep slope leveled out, and Ashley caught her breath. She sailed down the ridgeline, cresting mountaintops as if they were swells on a stormy sea.

Cruising along the peaks, on relatively solid ground, Ash felt her heart, arms and shoulders relax. She realized she'd been clutching the kite with everything she had. Her hands had cramped into claws. It took repeated flexing to get them feeling normal again.

Ash sailed down the paths, coming closer to the neighborhood where she'd lived. She came in from the back, down the side of a steep mountain and then around the base on the low side, sailing into her neighborhood along the retaining walls and unprotected backyards of the families living against the mountain.

The knowledge flooded back, intoxicating her.

Sailing down the familiar trails, Ashley hit turns at full speed, banking off trees into huge vertical jumps and landing in sweeping curves to dissipate the shock.

As Captain Snow watched her daughter fearlessly ride the kite board, a thousand feet above the ground, she was overcome with awe and admiration. There is no way she'd have had that kind of courage at her age.

Ross's voice interrupted her train of thought and distracted her as Ashley dipped below the tree line.

"We've got a twenty on Geoff. He's at the dog pound."

"Can you get him out?" Snow asked.

"Not without breaking cover and a bit of gunplay. We'll post up here until they move him. For the moment though, he's safe."

"Says you," Captain Snow said.

"No need for thanks, really. My pleasure," Ross chuckled.

"Thank you, Kelly. A thousand million Thank You's for ever'n ever."

"You're welcome, but we're not out of the woods yet."

"Not by a long shot," Snow replied.

Ashley came toward the house from the mountainside and slid her board to a stop in the backyard. Skimming over the streets and rooftops, she hadn't spotted a single parked car with agents sitting in it. She hoped that, if they were out there, they hadn't spotted her either.

Ash pressed her hand against the panel and the backdoor opened. She hauled her kite into the house and closed the door.

Inside, she looked around for any kind of security system. She looked for pinhole cameras or alarm boxes. Ashley checked the main doors, finding just the basic locks, no hint of any kind of security system at all.

In her father's study, everything appeared to be exactly as he'd left it. There was nothing about the house that looked as if it had been searched, ransacked or pilfered. Whatever the agents had wanted, it hadn't been among the family's material possessions.

Ashley's father owned a pair of Japanese samurai swords, standing on a rack in a glass case. Ashley stared at them from across the room, thinking about the reported incident with the blue goo, from his childhood.

Ash walked over to the computer displays behind the desk. She reached out and waved her hand over the console, waking the display.

It requested a password. "Zelena," Ash said, giving her mother's maiden name. Ashley had heard her father give the command many times.

"User recognized," the computer said. "Ashley Erin Fox, Welcome."

"I need security footage for this location, for Friday, July 26th, around three pm please?"

"Sorry, that footage is inaccessible from this location. This location has been compromised and all data stores have been scrubbed clean. This station must be reinitialized with a new user before any tasks or applications can be run."

Ashley sighed. She otherwise left the study as she found it, not disturbing any more of its secrets or forcing its locks.

Not feeling especially hungry and already bored, Ash headed toward her own room. She moved slowly, just taking everything in. She peered though the windows at the front of the house. She saw no vehicles closing in, surrounding her. She saw no one at all.

Upstairs, she opened the door to her bedroom. It was just as she'd left it. No Goldilocks had been sleeping in her bed, filling the right half of the room. To the left, set at an angle, her desk was exactly as it had been.

Ashley looked at the center drawer of her desk. Of course, the prototype was in her pocket, but somehow the desk would always be its home.

Between the bed and the desk, the dollhouse her father had built her, years ago. Behind it, the picture window displayed a magnificent view of the canyon and the homes spotting the other side.

Ashley took in the view.

In the distance, the windows of the homes reflected the brilliant sunlight.

She checked her waistband. The agent's gun was gone. Somewhere during the ride she must have lost it. She hadn't felt it fall away, but she didn't have it anymore.

Staring out across the canyon, she remembered the night of the fire, just before she'd come into possession of the prototype. One of the homes across the canyon had been engulfed in flame. She looked for it and picked it out. It had been fully renovated, of course, but she was sure, it was the one on the crest.

Ash had gone into Geoff's room that night. She'd heard her father get sick in the nearby bathroom. Somehow that house was connected. Ashley stared at it. The all-glass wall and cascading balconies stared back at her.

Suddenly she understood, while there were no obvious cameras in her house, there might be other kinds of sensors, but the _cameras_ were all across the canyon, behind those glass walls. That was where she'd find the security footage she needed, she was sure of it. Maybe that terminal hadn't been scrubbed.

Not forgetting the need to be careful, Ashley left the house the same way she'd come in, through the back and into the forest.

"Take us up above the halo," Von Kalt ordered.

"Yes, Sir." The pilot merged into the afternoon cable traffic. "Sir, the Director said we should..."

Von Kalt stared into the pilot's eyes.

"Yes, Sir," the pilot said, reconsidering his question.

The traffic above the central hub of the city was sparse, they could see in all directions. Von Kalt pulled up the teams' vehicle and helmet cameras. The Fox residence was quiet.

Von Kalt triggered his radio. "Status checks with a pause for course correction." He pulled the Metachron device from his pocket.

"Foxtrot: We've got nothing at the residence."

"We just reported an access at the residence!" Von Kalt interrupted. "Logs say it was the daughter. You missed her, or you've given yourselves away. Remove to a circular patrol, five miles out. Do not screw this up!"

"Copy, Foxtrot Out."

"Golf: holding position at the school."

"Very Good, Continue."

"Hotel: We're on the labs, all quiet here. "

Von Kalt's phone rang, it was Stanwood. "Hold," he said over the radio to his soldiers and accepted the incoming call. "Yes, Director."

Stanwood appeared to be riding in a transport of his own

"I heard you had a run in with our little superstar?" Stanwood asked.

"Yes, sir. She killed three agents at a shopping mall."

"And then what, she escaped?" Stanwood asked.

"She jumped, sir."

Stanwood laughed.

"I already forwarded you the footage."

Stanwood continued laughing. "Keep me informed." He disconnected the call.

"Of course, I'll keep you informed." Von Kalt hung up and tossed the new phone out the window.

With the Metachron in hand, he dove into the digital maze that was the Child Services Department.

All he had to do was find the brother, and she would come to him. He will rewrite the other, the first one, The Micronix. He will rewrite it, and he will kill her if he has to. She will give it to him, or she will die.

# Chapter 68 – Calistan Canyon

Sunday, August 2, 2308

Ashley flew down the paths, making her way toward the far side of the neighborhood. In her excitement, she overshot the street leading to the security house and drifted too far down into the canyon. She needed to go uphill.

The kite wasn't helping anymore. The fall had drained the charge and she wasn't able push it up the steep canyon walls. It was shredded. While it would be fine for riding downhill, that wasn't helping now, she needed to cross the canyon and go up the other side.

Ash knelt and disconnected the kite from the board. She collapsed the whip and folded up the sail. The kite had saved her life, but it was worthless to her now. Ash wrapped the sail around the mast, and tied it with a bit of guideline. She stuffed the whole mess into a 50 gallon trashcan, at the intersection of two trails.

Returning to her board, in the middle of the path, Ashley had the intense feeling of being watched. She knelt to tie her shoe, scanning the trees and paths around her. She saw no one, and discovered that her shoe did indeed, need to be tied.

When Ashley looked up, she saw Oscar, the Dunkirk's cat. _What was he doing out here?_

Ashley turned to grab her board, and found Bobby Dunkirk standing just down the path from her. She couldn't understand how he'd gotten behind her, but there he was, dressed in all white, and he was staring at her. Oscar had come with him.

Ash noted how much Bobby had changed since she'd last seen him, weeks ago. His hair was slicked down close to the scalp, and his clothes were white, clean and pressed. He looked as if he were ready for picture day at school. Bobby's expression was also quite formal, no smile, his hands folded behind his back. This was not the same boy she had known. This Bobby was different. He seemed more adult than most adults did.

"What happened to Jack?" Bobby asked, without any sort of greeting.

"He died," Ash answered.

"It was the very next day, wasn't it?" There was something eerie about Bobby, from his dead-white suit to his ultra-smooth demeanor. He didn't seem drugged. In fact, he seemed wide-awake.

Ashley found herself strangely calm. "Yes, it was the next day."

"Do you miss him?" Bobby asked.

"Very much," she answered.

"I need your help," Bobby said, without a pause.

"My help?"

"You were there that day, in the canyon. That's when it all started. It touched you, I can tell. You're the only one who can help me."

"What are you talking about?" Ashley asked. She knew he was talking about the Micronix, the prototype in her pocket. The same way she'd known her father was involved when Jack died.

Oscar seemed oblivious to all of it. He sniffed the grass and weeds, watching everything and nothing.

"He's after me. He killed them and now he's after me." Bobby looked up the hill toward their street. He sounded a little more normal, but the words he was saying were disturbing.

"Who's after you?" Ash asked.

"My dad, he killed them. He's killed so many."

"Your dad?" Ashley asked, pulling out Ross's phone. "Do you want me to call the police?"

"No. They can't help me. He kills the police. That night you were running, he killed lots of them. You're the only one who can help me."

"I'm just a girl. What am I going to do against your dad?"

"You have the power. You can stop him. You have to stop him," Bobby was growing more impatient.

"You sound crazy, you know that?"

"Please just come with me, I'm begging you." Bobby had gone from weird monotone creep to panicked and terrified little boy.

Ash almost laughed but caught herself.

"Please, Ash," Bobby was almost in tears now. "He's going to kill my Mom! Please, you have to help me. He's gonna kill them." Bobby paused and composed himself. "Please, just talk to him, Ash. He'll listen to you."

"Why do you think he'll listen to me?"

"I can feel it. You're different. When the man fell you found something. You found something, and it's in your pocket right now. That's why he'll listen. You have all the power. You can cure him."

Bobby seemed more normal now than Ash had seen him so far. He sounded okay. He was a little keyed up, but he wasn't doing his weird zombie monotone and he wasn't panicking. "What do you mean cure him?"

"Like you cured me," Bobby said.

"When?" Ash asked.

"Just right now," Bobby answered.

Ashley looked at him. He certainly seemed less uptight.

"Everything will be all right, I'm sure of it. If you just come with me. Evan and Anne and my Mom will all be okay. If you talk to him, he won't hurt them."

Ash walked forward and put a hand on his shoulder. She looked Bobby in the eye. "It's going to be okay, I'll help you."

Bobby seemed to calm down. "I have to show you, then you'll understand," Bobby said.

As Bobby walked through the forest, Ashley followed on her board. Her hand found the hard metal rectangle nestled in her pocket. Somehow she was not reassured by its flat texture under her fingertips.

Ashley stood with Bobby atop a small rise, past where the old asphalt street stopped. They stood, looking at the side of the modern-art fiasco Bobby called home. Ash could see her own house, just down the road.

Ash looked over at Bobby, he was terrified. She felt awful for having left him in the forest, that night a few weeks ago. It would be difficult to say that Bobby was okay. Ash didn't think he'd ever been normal, but he seemed better at the moment than when she had run into him ten minutes ago.

Bobby lived in one of the most expensive homes for miles. The white structure stretched out into the canyon, vast and angled. The rooms intersected in odd arrangements, walls and ceilings set together in disturbing ways, resulting in massive amounts of wasted space. For a prosperous slumlord and art connoisseur, Ashley felt Mr. Dunkirk had exhibited zero taste in choosing the family domicile.

Ash hadn't seen Bobby's older brother, Evan, since the Pierce incident, and she rarely saw Anne outside of family barbeques. This summer, the Dunkirk's' hadn't thrown any of their trademark parties. Mrs. Dunkirk loved to host giant events, inviting hundreds of people. Shirley worked as a professional coordinator, served as head of the PTA, and was a member of the neighborhood homeowners' association. She planned school field trips, coordinated weekend outings to amusement parks, and organized multiple-family gatherings at local restaurants.

The Dunkirk's also had a habit of slipping away for fancy trips. Upon their return, the neighborhood kids would be tortured with story after story about how they went tiger hunting in India, or fishing for giant carp off the Sea of Japan. "And did you know that, in Japan, they have red dragonflies?" Bobby would go on and on, repeating the same trivial facts day-after-day.

Ash found their familial enthusiasm nauseating. Her family never took vacations. Ashley's father rarely took breaks of any kind from his work. As a result, Ashley hardly knew him, but as her mother put it, he made the sun shine and the grass grow. "If your father stopped going to work, the world would fall apart." Small comfort, even when the she believed it.

Now her world had come crashing down. Her parents no longer existed. She had lost her brother. This was a new world she was living in. Here, the rules were different.

Bobby reached into his back pocket, produced a key card and handed it to Ash.

"Is there a code," Ashley asked.

"No code, just swipe it. Go in through the back."

"Look Bobby, I'll go in there. I'll check on your family, but I want you to understand, it might already be too late. If your Mom is in there, if she's hurt, I'm calling the cops, okay. If anyone is hurt, it's nine-one-one, images attached."

"Please, just check, okay?"

Ashley rode her hoverboard right up to the back door and leaned it against the house. She used the key Bobby gave her and entered the kitchen.

# Chapter 69 – Martin Dunkirk At Home

Sunday, August 2, 2308

Inside the house, everything was white. From the walls to the furniture, it was all white, off white or a tranquil blue-white. Only the floors were not white. The kitchen was a deep maroon stone. The hardwood floors of the living room and stairwell, an earthy variety of mountain lion, a pale, sandy grey.

Ashley noticed the trim of the home. Crown moldings, runner boards, the railing on the stairwell, all bone-bleached, smooth wood.

By the time Ashley had crossed the kitchen, she'd picked up an odd coppery smell. She breathed shallowly, looking for an abandoned sandwich or forgotten plate of food, anything that might contradict her overwhelming instinct.

A sound came from upstairs, movement.

Oscar meowed behind her. He'd slipped inside and was now contentedly cleaning a paw.

Another sound came from the second floor, heavy lifting.

Ash moved down the short hall from the immaculate kitchen and into the main foyer. She prepared to call out, but her voice caught in her throat. Bright crimson streaks stained the impeccably white walls.

Mrs. Dunkirk lay at the bottom of the stairwell, her head at the foot of the stairs, white-clothed body curving up over the wide circular staircase. If the fall to her present position didn't kill her, the deep stab wounds to her torso certainly did.

Ash heard Oscar drinking water behind her in the kitchen.

The bright crimson stains stood out sharp and crisp. Several hand prints and smears marked the railing and stairwell around Mrs. Dunkirk's body. Ash felt guilty for having disliked her so much. No one deserved to be butchered on the stairs like that.

Behind her, Oscar crunched his food into bits before swallowing.

Ash turned to her right and discovered Evan's decapitated corpse sprawled across the white downstairs couch. Neatly placed on the coffee table, his head sat in a pool of blood and plasma. It looked altogether different from Mrs. Dunkirk on the stairs.

The blood was not so scattered about. There were no bloody prints around the corpse. Evan's sprawled body was also dressed in white from head to foot. Ash suspected perhaps there had been some family photo scheduled, because this was not Evan's normal attire.

The killer had grabbed Evan by the hair as he sat on the couch and cut his head from his body. It had been done with a significant amount of surprise.

After decapitating his son, Mr. Dunkirk, (Ashley realized there was no reason to guess about it anymore), had chased his wife, Shirley, to the front foyer where he got a bit more aggressive.

Ashley snapped a couple of pictures of Mrs. Dunkirk, followed by a couple of Evan. She attached them, typed MURDER, 1826 CALISTAN WAY, and dialed 911.

Forgetting the phone, Ash found her eyes drawn to the top of the stairwell.

Mr. Dunkirk stood, watching her, from the open two-story flight. The short, overweight, and usually harried businessman had gone triumphantly mad.

Previous to this moment, Martin Dunkirk always appeared perfectly combed, coifed, and perfumed. He was usually attired in garments worth an affluent banker's yearly salary.

Today he looked exactly as Ashley had always imagined him, drunk, unshaven, a rat's nest of greasy, tangled hair, dirty tank-top concealing his massive gut, wrinkled work pants held aloft by a single strained suspender.

In his left hand, where Ashley might have pictured a newspaper or a doughnut, Martin held a large, finely serrated kitchen knife.

The young girl and the homicidal murderer stared at each other.

Martin blinked first, and Ash sprinted for the kitchen door, pocketing the phone as she ran.

Behind her, she heard the blood-crazed lunatic, thundering down the stairs. The pursuit went silent for a brief moment, as he leapt to clear his wife's corpse. Then he crashed on, chasing after her with a series of hard thuds.

As the Micronix naturally monitored all frequencies, Captain Snow and Chief Warrant Officer Reid both heard the 911 call go out and saw the images Ashley forwarded to the cops.

Snow was still looking at the images when Ashley burst from the house.

Ashley slammed open the back door.

Outside, momentarily blinded by the afternoon sunlight, Ash panicked and made her first mistake, sprinting across the deck and forgetting her hoverboard, leaning against the house.

She ran for the low, adobe wall where the property met the sloping canyon, as Mr. Dunkirk barreled down the kitchen hall behind her.

Bobby was nowhere to be seen.

Ash cleared the wall as Mr. Dunkirk burst through the kitchen door. As she ran, she heard him pound his way across the wooden deck and down the stairs. The heavy steps went quiet as he crossed into the foliage-carpeted dirt.

Ana and Reid were both caught off guard by the fleeing Ash and pursuing Dunkirk. Ana immediately chambered a round and fired on Dunkirk but missed. She fired twice more before he vanished into the undergrowth.

Ana signaled Reid, gesturing for him to flank Dunkirk at ground level, from the East, so he'd be outside her field of fire as she lined up a shot from the air.

Ash recklessly sprinted down the paths, her feet hardly touching the ground. She didn't know she could move so fast. If she fell, the impact would fracture bones. She morbidly joked with herself that if ballet didn't work out in the long term, she might follow in her mother's footsteps and enjoy a career running track.

Well over two hundred pounds, wide-shouldered and thick-necked, Marty Dunkirk hurled himself after her. She didn't risk looking back, but she could hear him gaining on her.

She could hear the knife-wielding hand, chopping and hacking at the obstructing vegetation.

The leafy trees obscured the sky overhead as paths cut through the forest. Ashley ran, downhill mostly, turning often enough to slow down and avoid losing control all together.

She heard Dunkirk fall, twice, then again a third time.

She thought she'd lost him, but he'd come down the mountainside the hard way, and she could now hear him approaching from a different angle.

Ashley ran harder. She heard him burst onto the path behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. He followed, closer than she'd imagined.

She accelerated, moving faster, but he kept coming.

Ashley took a turn to her right, a slight upward angle, past the glen where Bobby liked to sit with his disciples. Of course she didn't know that.

She slid down a sharp defile, the grass and weeds coming loose under her feet, luckily reaching the bottom without a twisted ankle.

To her left, where the defile became narrower and continued up the mountainside, there was an area that had recently collapsed.

From her place at the bottom of the stack, Ash could see the bodies, piled atop one another, surrounded by loose dirt. Dozens of bodies, stacked almost twenty feet high, loose earth poured in between them, like mortar. A thick funk of decay and rot hung in the air.

Behind her Dunkirk roared with laughter as he clumsily made his way down the hillside.

Ash turned to run, but vomited after the first step.

She dragged on, stumbling and spitting out the remainder of her lunch, as she fled the lumbering psychopath.

She took another uphill path, dense with trees and underbrush.

She didn't think, she just ran. The mistake hit her too late.

The path led to a narrow sliver of high ground, a peninsula with sheer-drop cliffs ahead and to both sides.

Mr. Dunkirk howled with primal blood lust as he pursued her.

To her back and both sides, a few sparsely covered feet of dirt was all that stood between Ash and a fall of forty meters or more.

Back down the trail was the only safe way off the sliver of high ground. The sweat soaked Mr. Dunkirk appeared at the mouth of the trail behind her and stalked forward.

Ashley backed out further onto the plateau.

Dunkirk paused in the shadow of the trees, just a few meters away. He hesitated to reveal himself, as the precipice could be seen by any of several residences, as well as passing traffic.

Ana waited, her scope was fixated on the big man, but the shadows, the heat of the afternoon and her angle unbalanced the shot. She waited for him to step out of the shadows and she would have him.

Reid watched from a lower position over her right shoulder.

With a muttered curse, Dunkirk stepped into the sunlight and raised the knife overhead.

Ash saw bits of green leaf streaked over dried blood. She backed away, moving further out onto the dangerous bit of mountain land.

Just as Ana's finger tightened on the trigger, she was hit from the back. She released the trigger, the rifle stayed silent as she tumbled through the sky, trying to get her bearings.

Below her, two police cruisers filled the sky she'd occupied until a moment ago. The officers in the cockpits were focused on the action below. Utterly invisible, they hadn't noticed her at all.

Ana's back ached where the cruiser had punched her, killing her shot.

Below, Dunkirk continued forward, but instead of bringing down the knife, he surprised Ashley, leaping forward with a heavy knuckled backhand, knocking the girl from her feet.

So much for _Don't Get Hit_ , Ashley thought. She crouched where she had fallen, just a few inches from the edge. His rings had opened a wicked gash in her brow; blood ran into her eye. Her head rang like a tower bell.

_He was so fast_ , she thought to herself.

"Sorry about your Mom," Dunkirk said.

Ashley didn't understand. She looked up at him but didn't reply.

"It was just a job, not like what you saw back there. Not like Shirley, that was spectacular."

Ashley and Mr. Dunkirk stared at each other.

_He'd just admitted to killing her Mom!_ Ash was furious and near panicking. Her emotions were all over the place, but then something happened and she just shut off.

The words of Sihing Shou came back to her. _It will be at that moment when you are weak, tired and probably very hurt, that is when you must act to save your life._

As Dunkirk stepped forward, she recognized his poor posture. He let his knees turn inward. They were weak, vulnerable.

Ashley struck. With her hands planted in the dirt, she kicked at Dunkirk's left knee. The joint gave with a splintering crack.

Martin crashed to the ground, screaming.

The knife lay between them.

Dunkirk clutched at his ruined leg, growling, howling and snapping at her. With a deep breath, he lurched up. Even on one knee, he towered over the small girl. He reached for the knife.

Ash moved, kicking again. Staying close to the earth, she unleashed a series of horizontal kicks to the large man's face, neck and chest.

Her persistence and coordination unbalanced him. She delivered the last three directly to his mouth and nose, stomping the deranged killer over the lip of solid ground and from her sight.

She heard him scream until his voice grew obscured by cracking branches and then silenced by a muffled impact.

The knife remained where it had fallen.

Ashley stood.

Above her, two police vehicles hovered, watching. Having just arrived, they were helpless to do anything but witness.

She saw the nearest officer grin and raise his fist in salute.

Ashley did not wave back or smile. She did not feel victorious.

They turned off to land in a nearby clearing.

Ash noticed her breathing had leveled out, her heart, calm.

Now, she did finally feel powerful, capable, more than just confident. She felt superior.

High above the action, Reid and Snow watched the cops land and check on Ashley.

"That fifth-wall..." Reid said.

"Completely intact," Captain Snow answered. "Even at the cost of my spine."

Reid laughed. "Nothing a little blue goo can't fix, right?"

"Thank God for the blue goo," Snow agreed.

# Chapter 70 – Metachron Closing

Sunday, August 2, 2308

Later, Ashley sat in the open back of an ambulance parked at the end of the street, out past the Dunkirk house. An EMT checked her vitals.

The tech smiled at her, "I'd say you look perfectly normal, considering the excitement. Any shortness of breath?"

Ashley shook her head.

The tech removed the sensors and opened a first aid kit. He gestured to her eyebrow and asked her to look to the right. The tech cleaned the wound and applied nanotape to help heal and regenerate the damaged tissue.

"You know, that was really brave," he said, looking her in the eye. "From what the detectives are saying, you saved a lot of people's lives today. You're a hero."

Ashley looked away and lowered her head. "I'm no hero. I was scared. I ran." Ashley watched uniformed officers stretch yellow and black police tape across the Dunkirk property.

As the medical tech finished patching up her face, a pair of detectives approached. The older one said his name was Urich and that he would like to talk with her for a couple of minutes. He was going to send her back to the station with his partner Detective Cole, but before that, it was essential that she tell him as much as she could remember.

In the distance, Dunkirk was being airlifted from the ravine. Ashley watched the police vehicles winch up the killer's unconscious body. She remained silent.

Urich looked at his partner, "They're taking him to our place?"

"Should be, but I'll double check," Cole said, turning away to make the call.

Urich turned back to Ashley. "So, Princess. Can you tell me what happened?"

Ashley looked at the man's face. He wasn't being condescending with her when he said _Princess_. Her father never called her that. Ash decided she didn't mind, In fact, she kind of liked it.

"Mr. Dunkirk killed his family," she said.

"That's whose house this is, with all the dead bodies in it?"

"Yes, the Dunkirk's."

"So, what happened?"

Ashley paused for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts.

Urich misread her hesitation for distrust. "Look. We're here to help you. We need to know what happened. The more you tell us, the more we can help you, better." he smiled. It was disarming, despite his otherwise gruff appearance.

Ashley laughed at the detective's unintended humor. She took a breath. "I met Bobby Dunkirk in the forest, he lives here. He said he needed my help, that his dad was going to kill his mom and would I go in and check."

Ashley blinked into the afternoon sun. There was no quick or easy way to explain everything, so she started with the important facts. "He's a lot younger than me, and he was scared."

"Where's Bobby now?"

"I don't know. He was gone when I came out. Did you get the pictures I sent?" she asked.

Urich looked over to Cole.

"These?" Cole held out the photos Ashley had sent to 911 on his screen.

"There's more," she said.

"What do you mean, more? More what?" Urich asked.

"More bodies," Ash answered. "Out that way." She pointed out into the canyon. "A lot more."

"Could you show us?" Urich asked.

Ash nodded, "It's not far." She climbed down from the back of the ambulance and led the detectives down into the forested canyon.

Two uniformed officers accompanied Ashley and the detectives as they hiked down the trails.

Fifteen minutes later they stood at the bottom of the stuffed gorge. The two young officers threw up, as did Detective Cole. Only Urich held it together, and Ashley although this was her second time around.

Just as the officers managed to regain their composure, Cole's radio went off. "Detective Urich, Detective Cole, we've got feds up here. They'd like a word with you," the officer on the radio explained. "They're pretty agitated."

"Already?" Urich sighed and shook his head.

"What's that about?" Cole muttered, reaching for the handset.

"They're looking for me," Ashley said.

"It has nothing to do with you," Urich replied.

"Two weeks ago my parents were murdered. An hour ago, Mr. Dunkirk told me that he killed my mom. He told me that he was hired to do it, he said it was business and that he killed his wife for pleasure."

"He talked to you," Urich asked. "You didn't tell us that he talked to you."

"I didn't tell you lots of things. If I had told you my name, I might be dead already."

Urich looked up at the stack of corpses and remained quiet for a couple of moments. "Two weeks ago, huh?" he asked, after a prolonged silence. "And he said he was hired to kill your mom?" Urich asked.

"One of the Agents shot my dad. They were waiting for him. They had the whole house surrounded."

"You saw them?" Urich asked.

Ashley nodded. "This morning they caught my little brother."

She was beginning to tear up.

Urich gestured for the two officers to spread out, guarding the paths leading into the little clearing.

Once they were out of earshot, Urich knelt to meet her at eye level. "Well, then, your name has to be Ashley Fox, doesn't it?"

Ashley didn't answer but became much calmer.

She realized that she had no reason to consider herself safe, surrounded by these four men. For all she knew, they were every bit as dangerous as everyone else she'd encountered recently.

Urich stood up straight.

He looked around the forest, not at the pile of corpses, but at the trails leading to and from their position. He scanned the tree lines and horizon, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

"We heard about your parents," he said. "Me and Cole here, we're homicide detectives. That means when someone turns up dead, they call me, or one of my friends.

"It's not as if you can call some other police department, there's only one. You could say we've got a monopoly on solving murders. So even if the victim is a famous whatever, it's all the same clean up crew.

"When we don't get a call, on a double homicide, like what happened to your parents, then we just know something's rotten somewhere.

"Oh, we heard about it. The Feds are required to file paperwork with the state, in order to clear it with the Attorney General. They filed your address. We got notified, after the fact. We should have been there."

Urich looked up to the towering gulch of limbs and dirt then back to Ashley.

"So, what I'm telling you is, I believe you, and I'm going to _order_ my partner to believe you. He has to do whatever I tell him. We're going to help you, but you have to help us too, okay?"

Ashley nodded.

"Tell him everything. Don't leave anything out."

Ashley realized Detective Urich was about the same age as her father, maybe a little older, maybe the age of Mr. Dunkirk. She also realized the heavily muscled detective could eat Mr. Dunkirk for breakfast.

"My partner is going to take you back to our office. You stay right next to him. Tell him anything that you think may be significant. We need to find out who's behind all this."

"I know who it was," Ashley said. "It was National Intelligence Director Joseph Stanwood and Deputy Director Rudolph Von Kalt."

Urich turned to Cole, "Take her back to the station. Get her statement."

Urich looked to Ashley. He took the time to kneel, getting eye-level with the girl again. Urich held up his finger and looked around at the other people. He pointed at Cole. "Tell him everything." Then he pointed to the other officers, just out of earshot. "But when there's people around..."

"Not a word," Ashley agreed.

Urich nodded and stood, summoning the uniformed officers back.

"Don't you want to be there for that?" Cole asked.

"Sooner the better. I'm going to be here for a while, and we need her on record now. Don't file, just take it and sit on it. She's just another juvenile witness, confidential identity; need to know only, like any juvenile, nobody special. Don't let her out of arm's reach, handcuffs, if necessary, understood?"

Cole nodded.

"I'll go back up this way with the uniforms. Once you get out of this mess, just call the car over to you, I'll put it on remote once I get up there. It took fifteen minutes to get down here, so give me twenty or thirty to get back up there. Don't even call it for an hour. If the spooks see our cruiser pull out empty, they'll know something's up."

"What the hell are we going to do for an hour?" Cole asked.

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd get the fuck out of dodge. What's an hour? I just don't want the car taking off two seconds after I walk away from it. They're feds, but they're not stupid."

"We can just call a cab, they'll be here in five minutes."

"Are you a complete asshole, James? Why not just race me back and hand her over? Call a cab?"

"Sorry, wasn't thinking."

"I don't have any coffee, but oh, wait, here's a cup full of _Wake The Fuck Up_!" Despite the cruel nature of his words, Urich was half-joking.

Cole nodded. "No cab, I get it. Okay."

Urich rolled his eyes and smiled. He looked to Ashley and raised his finger to his lips. He then looked at the two uniformed officers and said, "Same goes for you. What you saw here today, you take it to the grave, understand? Direct order."

The patrolmen nodded.

If Urich had some hidden agenda, Ashley thought he was doing a marvelous job of disguising it.

Deputy Director Von Kalt stood at the center of the maelstrom. The agents infested the crime scene, questioning and badgering the municipal investigators.

He could smell the girl, but something was off. She had been here, just minutes ago. He could feel the presence of the Micronix, but there was something else, something broken, and fragmented.

He was better, greater. He was the Metachron. He had the power of forty thousand. The child was only one.

Detective Urich crested the hill with the uniformed officers. One of the crime scene techs directed him over to the Federal agents, standing near the cruisers.

"Where is she?" Von Kalt demanded, not even waiting for proper introductions.

"You mean he? The suspect has been taken into custody."

"She is extremely dangerous. We believe this child has been in contact with terrorist organizations. She has information that is vital to national security."

"I'm sorry, you must be confused. We're investigating multiple homicides here. You feds must be so used to muscling in, you must have gotten your parties mixed up."

Urich moved to walk past, but Von Kalt drew his weapon, he kept it pointed at the ground. "I am Deputy Director Von Kalt of the National Security Agency. This is a matter of national security."

Von Kalt then raised his pistol to Ulrich's face.

Every officer at the crime scene drew their weapons and pointed them at Von Kalt.

Urich smiled.

Von Kalt didn't need the multiple surveillance angles of the Metachron to see he was outnumbered. Then he smelled a third scent on the breeze, something different. Despite the dozens of weapons in his face, he looked across the canyon.

Bobby stood, watching them from a nearby rise. He was still wearing his all white suit, and Oscar sat at his feet.

Von Kalt could not see the power Bobby held, but he knew it was there. He lowered his weapon. "I'd like to speak to that witness," he said.

Von Kalt waved to his new crew of agents and pointed at the little boy in the white suit. "Go," he ordered.

The agents set out in the direction of the small hilltop.

Bobby turned and walked from the rise. Oscar remained where he'd been sitting, untroubled by the boy's exit.

Urich nodded, and several officers set out to assist, or interfere, with the Federal Agents attempting intercept and interrogate Bobby.

All anyone found was Oscar, who happened to wander across their path some time later.

# Chapter 71 – Faith Without Works

Sunday, August 2, 2308

Von Kalt returned to Stanwood's Angel City office after being utterly unsuccessful in the canyon. The news stream from Calistan Way played on a wall-mounted display. The reporter's commentary on the grisly procession of white plastic body bags being pulled from the canyon was thankfully muted.

Stanwood was speaking to President Conway on his desk terminal. "I completely understand Sir."

"I hope you do, because nephew or not, I can't protect you from this."

"Yes, Mister President."

"This could take down my entire administration. If that happens, I promise you Joseph, you will pay the ultimate price."

"I'll take care of it."

"You do that, Joey. You do that."

The terminal clicked off.

Stanwood grabbed his terillium jacket and with his newest accessory, a silver-handled cane, he limped past Von Kalt.

"What do you need the coat for," the deputy asked. "It's the middle of summer."

Stanwood ignored him, but Von Kalt followed anyhow. "I told you Dunkirk was a mistake," he muttered, unable to help himself.

"He wasn't the only one," Stanwood replied.

Cole let Ashley take the lead as they hiked out of the forest. She headed for a street that ran parallel to her own, but went up the opposite wall of the canyon.

They saw no one as she and Detective Cole walked up the block, soon arriving at their destination. The house was at the apex of the hill, facing the open canyon. Ashley was worried that she wouldn't recognize the structure from the front, but it wasn't difficult.

"I came to get proof," Ashley told him. "This is where it is. When I ran into Bobby in the forest, this is where I was coming."

"And where is here?" Cole asked, looking at the imposing, yet abandoned structure. A layer of soft, fine dirt, blown by the wind, covered the driveway and the walk leading to the door.

"I don't think anyone is home."

"I came back for security footage, and this is where it is," Ash said.

As she walked up the driveway, she was surprised Cole didn't object or move to stop her. In fact, he stayed right next to her.

Ash slipped her hand into her pocket and held the device. She waved her other palm in front of the access panel.

The door chirped, depressurized and hissed open.

She hesitated. She hadn't done anything clever or special. Ashley had no idea why a panel at a house she had never been to before should recognize her. It was possible the Micronix had done it for her, but she didn't know how.

A car screeched to a landing in the driveway behind them.

Ash and Cole froze as two suited agents exited the car. They both wore mirrored sunglasses.

Seeing Ashley and Cole, the older passenger gestured for his younger partner to calm down. He surveyed the surroundings and respectfully approached.

"Hello Ashley, I'm Chief Warrant Officer Lee," he spoke to Ash, but then extended his hand to Detective Cole, breaking eye contact with her to look over to him.

"Detective Cole," he said, as they shook.

"How do you know my name?" Ashley asked.

"What are you doing at this house?" Lee asked.

"You're on my father's security team, aren't you?"

Lee nodded and bowed slightly, "At your service."

"It was you that Ross saw," Ashley said. "He thought you were the bad guys staking out my house."

"Oh, they're here too. Don't be fooled." Lee smiled. "They almost caught when you stopped by your home. It was only because they pulled one team off to replace them with a fresh crew. You hit the only window in months of surveillance. We were all very impressed. Congratulations."

"What happened to you guys? When they came for my Mom and Dad, why didn't you stop them?"

Lee gestured for them to enter the residence. He followed his partner in and waved at the panel. The door closed behind them.

"They came here about an hour earlier, arrested everyone. They had warrants with our names. There was nothing we could do. We haven't come back to this location, but we've kept them out too. We have lawyers protesting the entire fiasco, everything is frozen until it gets settled in court."

"I need evidence," Ashley said.

Lee waved a hand over the control panel. The sensors recognized his presence and fired up the displays.

Everything was sill operational, feeding real time streams of Ashley's house and street. The four motion sensitive relays were trained on various sections of the property, while the oscillating and static positions displayed focused locations.

Several high-powered rifles and large bore weapons were trained on key positions of her family home. Crosshairs over street level doors, the front, sides and even the landing pad, all covered.

Lee pulled up the date of the attack. He scanned through the footage, slowing as the rooftop landing pad and front lawn filled with black vehicles and federal agents.

"That's them," Ash said.

Lee backed up a few minutes and switched through the focal ranges. He found the infrared and panned through the house. Ash saw her mom coming up to the main floor from downstairs. Even though her figure was represented as light, translated by the heat in her body, Ashley could recognize her mother's walk.

"We've stayed away from the residence since you were taken. We thought you were taken. We've been staking out the neighborhood. Your place and here, waiting for something to break."

The infrared footage revealed a thick-bodied man entering the kitchen from a door on the back of the house. She watched her mother enter the room, and their glowing silhouettes merged as the intruder pounced. They struggled for a few moments and Ashley watched liquid heat began to run down the legs of her mother and the intruder. The white liquid pooled around their feet, spread and faded to a cool purple-blue.

On the monitors, a streak of light rushed into the room and drove the thick shape of the intruder from her mother's from. Ashley recognized his shape; the new, quick moving light was her father. The intruder fled through the same door he'd entered. Ashley watched as her father caught her mother and together, they sunk to the floor. More liquid heat pooled around them and then faded.

Lee panned over to the side of the house, where the intruder was entering an uninterrupted shot. He switched back to full color, and the image snapped into focus, it was Martin Dunkirk; he was covered with blood and grinning.

Lee scanned forward in time; they watched the federal forces assemble on her front lawn. The front doors stood open. Soon soldiers wheeled out someone in a white body bag, presumably the body of Ashley's mom.

Ash watched as her father burst from the house, his hands and shirtfront, covered in blood.

Dr. Fox said something to the lead agent, the man who was obviously in charge. Director Stanwood drew a pistol, raised it and pulled the trigger. Ashley's father fell, mortally wounded. Lee rewound the footage and turned up the audio. Microphones, set on the property, played back the words her father said as he came out of the house.

"Joe, you have to help, Ana. Please, Stanwood..."

Then the pistol fired, it sounded so loud it may as well have been in the room. Dr. Fox fell again.

Stanwood motioned for the soldiers to pack up Dr. Fox's body. They rolled it onto a white frosted body bag and carried it to one of the waiting transports.

"We need a copy of this," Cole said.

Lee selected the time range, less than four minutes from start to finish, and exported a clip. He opened a network browser and copied the clip into a dozen mirrored storage accounts. Lee wrote a network address down and handed it to Ash, who smiled and nodded, "Thank you."

Cole fixed one of the live cameras on a hostile argument between Urich and Von Kalt across the canyon.

"That's Director Von Kalt." Ashley said. "He's trying to kill me."

From overhead, Captain Anastasia Snow and Chief Warrant Officer Reid watched Ashley and Cole leave the security residence. It had been little trouble to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Captain Snow found herself conflicted with relief at how events were unfolding and furious about having so little influence. It appeared that the only person who wanted Stanwood dead more than her, was her daughter.

The cognitive dissonance caused by her simultaneous joy and revulsion at the recent turn of events prevented her from inserting herself. She couldn't explain it and didn't feel compelled to.

Thankfully, Reid didn't ask for any kind of explanation.

Ashley and Detective Cole reached the police station a little after dark. Once in his office, Cole logged in and had no trouble locating Ashley's brother, Geoff. He was at a juvenile holding facility not far from where he'd been picked up.

Cole filed a request for Geoff, a material witness, to be brought up to his office ASAP. The facility supervisor sent Geoff with a young social worker. Unfortunately, they were sent by way of public shuttle, an hour's ride at least, maybe two if the shuttle had prior scheduled deliveries.

Cole's phone rang. "What's going on?" he asked.

He walked over to the printer and pulled up a sheet of paper from the tray. "Yeah. It's here. Office of the Director of National Intelligence, it says. Material warrant for all persons, property or information pertaining to the ongoing investigation into Sixth Gate Citizen Dr. Andrew Fox, matter of national security, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, there are twelve, numbered and signed."

Cole listened for a moment. Ashley could hear was frantic yelling from the other end of the line.

"What, Dunkirk? Yeah, sure, I'll triple it. Hold on, I'll be right back." Cole set down the receiver and gestured for Ashley to stay put. He rose and left the office.

Ashley found herself immediately bored. She picked up the warrant. There were indeed twelve names and corresponding signatures.

She opened the drawer to Cole's desk. There were two guns, a small revolver and a pistol. Ashley tucked the revolver into her belt and closed the drawer, pulling her shirt over the butt of the weapon.

She leaned over to the terminal and pulled up one of the storage mirrors Lee had given her. Ashley downloaded the surveillance file and opened it. She watched it seven times before the detective returned.

Cole paid no attention to the video clip running on his screen and picked up the phone. "He's in our wing, strapped to a bed. One leg is just destroyed. We've got four guys on him, he's not going anywhere."

A large commotion at the doors to the office distracted Cole from the call. He set down the phone.

The storm at the other end of the line had reached them.

# Chapter 72 – Synthesis

It was easy for the small man with the doctor's bag to slip past the chaos. Dr. Cedric Bergstrom moved through the station with intent. The ACPD was beyond over-confident. No one questioned him or even gave him as much as a sideways glance.

He reached the holding cell and nodded to the soldiers. They didn't hesitate either, promptly opening the cell for the diminutive doctor.

Bergstrom nodded and smiled his thanks, waiting as they closed the heavy metal door.

Dunkirk was unconscious.

Bergstrom opened his bag and removed several wicked looking syringes. He pulled out his scanner and slowly examined Dunkirk's shattered body. He'd seen the news clip on his way to the station.

Boy, that Ashley, she sure could kick.

Dunkirk's body was a mess of superficial wounds, but his legs had taken the worst of it in the fall.

Cedric calculated that he'd need to prepare twenty-two injections to get the boy right. He went to work, filling the syringes with his own proprietary formulae, purple, as opposed to Dr. Fox's more famous blue product. "When this is all over, you've just got to come visit me down at the work shop, my old friend."

Three uniformed officers tried to keep out a throng of black suited agents. They pushed right through Urich and several other detectives; who simply couldn't hold them back.

The entire swarm of people flowed into the detective's workspace, filling the open corridors between desks with angry, shouting, law-enforcement officials.

When Von Kalt, who was at the center of the fracas, saw Ashley, he froze and gave her leering predatory grin.

A moment later he pointed at her and shouted, "This is a case of National Security! You're obstructing Justice! You're all under Arrest!"

Ashley pulled out the detective's revolver and pointed it at Von Kalt with one hand.

The room fell silent.

No one moved or spoke, and to Ashley's utter shock, no one raised a weapon at her.

Deputy Director Von Kalt didn't answer, so Ash pulled out the piece of paper, "This warrant says you're after me. You killed my parents and now you want to kill me? You think I'm a threat to National Security?"

Detective Cole reached down to his computer and hit a button.

The video Ashley had opened was broadcast to the wall-mounted screens around the room.

The sound silenced the onlookers.

The assembled officers and agents watched the footage.

They saw Dunkirk emerge from the house, covered in blood.

They saw Dr. Fox approach Director Stanwood, asking for help.

Deputy Director Von Kalt was there, standing next to Stanwood.

Dr. Fox called Stanwood by name and he shot him.

As the video started again, a new group of agents arrived in the detective's offices. There was hardly enough room for all the angry law enforcement officials.

He entered with the second batch of Agents. It was him: National Intelligence Director Joseph Stanwood. He was there, in front of her, staring at her. He was limping and used a cane.

Ashley smiled.

She folded the warrant and tucked it into her back pocket, moving her aim from Von Kalt to Stanwood and taking hold of the weapon with both hands. Ashley was positioned behind Cole's desk, near an open hall door.

Cole stood next to her.

There were still no guns in anyone else's hands, yet.

"What the hell is this?" Stanwood asked. "You're just going to let a child stand there, holding all of you at gunpoint?"

Over the speakers, a shot was fired.

Stanwood looked at the closest screen. He saw the image of himself, standing over Dr. Fox's body.

Detective Urich stepped forward, confronting Stanwood. "My witness isn't going anywhere with you. Neither is my prisoner. I believe we have plenty of evidence to place both of you under arrest."

"Is that a fact?" Director Stanwood said. "Habeas corpus has been suspended? You are a homicide detective, if you intend to charge someone with murder, you need the body, don't you?"

No one replied.

"Might I also point out the fact that Dr. Fox violated dozens of international laws and was threatening the state? He was in possession of advanced weaponry and threatened to hold the entire country hostage. The man was a danger to himself, as well as those around him. The warrant is legal. Now, if you obstruct me in any way, I will shoot you myself. Turn over my prisoners, Both children," Stanwood glared at Ashley, "And The Dunkirk." Stanwood referred to Dunkirk as if he were a thing, a weapon or some sort of monster.

The small doors on the far side of the office opened. A uniformed police officer entered first, with another officer close behind.

The first man was scared. He'd been struck above the left eye; his forehead was swollen and cut. The holster at his belt was empty.

The man behind him, the somewhat mobile Martin Dunkirk, wore a police issue vest and jacket as he held the young officer with a gun to his back. "Looks like this is as far as we go," Dunkirk said.

The officer swallowed.

Ashley switched her aim from Stanwood to Dunkirk.

The moment seemed to stretch into infinity.

Everyone else reached for their weapons now, but it was too late.

Only a fraction of a second had passed.

The hostage officer was wearing a bulletproof vest, Dunkirk hiding behind him. Dunkirk raised his shotgun.

Ashley fired, hitting him in the arm.

Suddenly the office came alive as agents fired and dove for cover simultaneously.

Dunkirk jerked the trigger, blasting at Ash and Cole, but Urich jumped in front of the shot, sacrificing himself for his partner and the girl.

Cole flipped the desk.

Ashley swept her hand over eight light switches, plunging the floor into darkness. As the light vanished, she marked Stanwood's position and scrambled to avoid the officers pursuing Dunkirk.

Dunkirk dragged his hostage down one of the nearby hallways.

Cole tended to the wounded Urich. He'd taken some of the scatter shot to his arms and shoulder, but his vest saved him from mortal injury.

Von Kalt went with the agents and officers in pursuit of Dunkirk.

Ash slipped through the shadows behind cabinets and desks until she found herself just a short distance from Director Stanwood. She held the Micronix in her right hand and the detective's revolver in her left.

The sounds of the pursuit returned. Dunkirk had become ensnared in the famous police department maze and was on his way back to them.

They all turned toward the hall where Dunkirk would emerge.

Ash crept closer to Stanwood.

There was a small credenza between the director and what would be the oncoming pursuit, and he was further obscured by a filing cabinet.

As Dunkirk and his hostage backed into the Detectives' Hall, he did a double take, frustrated to realize he'd simply moved in a circle.

Ashley leaned out from behind Stanwood, seeing Dunkirk and being seen by him. She glared, taunting him.

Dunkirk abandoned his hostage and opened fire on Ash with both weapons, hitting Director Stanwood several times.

Ashley hid behind the credenza and the Director.

Dunkirk's aim was off due to several police-fired rounds. He replied with blasts from the shotgun. Pursued, the fight raged on, into another section of the station.

It had all happened in a singular moment.

Stanwood, wearing terillium threads, was largely unharmed. He'd gone down, but none of Dunkirk's shots had even drawn blood; at the worst, he might be a little bruised.

National Intelligence Director Stanwood clambered to his feet with the help of his cane and was in the process of brushing off his jacket when he first caught a glimpse of Ashley.

She had noticed it was the left knee he was struggling with and approached from that side. As he spun to confront her, she stepped forward. Her right hand shot up to his neck, punching the Micronix into the left side of his throat.

"I remember how long time lasted, when I first touched this thing," she said. "I hope you're feeling every last second of this."

Ashley pulled the blade all the way around to the other side of his neck, dropping with the man as he fell to the floor.

She stared into his eyes as his breath came out his throat, making a sad flute-like sound. She watched the light fade from his eyes as his oxygen-deprived system slowly ceased understanding and experience.

Crouched low, Ashley had not been seen.

Cole and Urich were on the other side of the credenza, in the other section of the office.

Using the natural cover, Ashley crept out of the detectives' wing. She found a restroom and stopped to ditch the gun and wash the blood from her hands. From there, according to the evacuation placard glued to the wall, it was no more than thirty steps to an unguarded stairwell.

Ashley moved quickly, but without hurrying. By the time her brain realized it had been too easy, it was too late.

Ashley was halfway down the first flight of stairs when she saw Deputy Director Von Kalt. He was just standing there, waiting for her.

He was holding his gun at his side. He was also holding the second prototype. She could see it.

She could feel it, The Metachron.

Ashley was still holding the Micronix herself. She hadn't retracted the blade. She had washed it, in the bathroom, but the matte black edge was still exposed to the cool night air.

Ash felt an alien confidence well up from deep within her.

She stood up straight and walked toward the man who'd been pursuing her for weeks.

Coming down the stairs, they both knew her power. Ashley reached Von Kalt. Saying nothing, she held out her empty hand.

Von Kalt could have raised the gun.

Instead, he handed her the Metachron and stepped aside.

Ashley didn't look at him; she just took the device and walked past.

As she reached the landing, she heard him exhale.

The sudden shot startled her.

His body fell onto the hard metal steps with a resounding thud.

Three floors later, Ashley retraced the blade and pocketed the Micronix. She was evacuated right out the front door with dozens of other people. A crowd was beginning to form due to the ongoing chaos, and naturally, no one was being allowed to enter.

Not far from the shuttle gates, Ashley spotted a familiar little head, struggling to see above the adults and catch a glimpse of what was going on. Geoffrey and a young social worker watched the building, along with dozens of onlookers.

Ashley made her way over to them, gesturing for him to stay quiet. From just a few feet away, Ash nodded and Geoff slipped away from the social worker. She looked like a nice enough girl, but she could cause real trouble for them if she were to insist on delivering Geoffrey to proper authorities.

Geoffrey inched further and further away from the distracted girl. Before long he just turned and walked away from her.

Moments later the reunited brother and sister were sprinting away from the police station, dodging pedestrians, giggling and laughing, the chaos behind them forgotten.

# Chapter 73 – Catharsis

Captain Snow watched Ashley and Geoff escape the police station, her long rifle held at her side. Reid hovered beside her.

Croswell, Ross and King had arrived late, and tried entering the department invisibly but had become enmeshed in the chaos on the lower floors, and completely missed the action.

Snow and Reid lost no time teasing them and complaining that they had allowed both Bergstrom and Dunkirk to escape.

"It was insane in there," King argued.

"It looked crowded," Snow answered, smiling.

From this position, King, Croswell and Ross discovered they could see right into the homicide wing of the department.

"But you saw what she did?" King asked. "That was great! Brilliant!"

Ana held up her rifle, with the huge scope. "I see everything."

"She was great!" King laughed. "I don't know why you were ever worried."

"I'm not worried," Ana rolled her eyes. "I mean, look at this, there's five of us and we couldn't protect them at all."

"I don't know if I agree with that?" Croswell said.

"I just wanted her, both of them, to have a normal childhood. Why can't she just have a normal childhood? Why is that too much to ask?"

Secretary Croswell put an arm around Ana's shoulder.

"What's normal?" he asked. "When I was her age, Fox cut my arm off. That was definitely not normal.

"And if I recall correctly you were an Olympic double-threat."

"That was at sixteen." Snow begrudgingly returned the smile.

"Oh that's right. At twelve you only won for track. It was four years later you won for track and marksmanship. I gotcha. Perfectly normal." Croswell laughed.

The soldiers cruised along overhead, laughing and joking as Ashley and Geoff made their way down the promenade, putting distance between themselves and the Angel City Police Department.

"It's not like you can change who they are," Ross said. "And I don't know why you'd want to. They're perfect. You did a great job."

Snow laughed, " _She_ did a great job. _I_ was out here, with you clowns."

Ashley's Journal, Monday, August 3, 2308

We got to the second backup cruiser after midnight. This one is bigger. There's plenty of room to stretch out and the three monitors to surf all the vid streams we want.

We've been trying not to watch the news, but Dunkirk is everywhere. He escaped from the cops in an ambulance with another hostage. They lost him in a parking garage when he carjacked a rabbi.

Dr. Martin Evander Dunkirk III; once a frontline battle surgeon turned landowner and patron of the arts, new to the ranks of infamous sociopaths.

At least they didn't mention me, or Stanwood, or Von Kalt That's one thing to be happy about.

Ashley's Journal, Wednesday Afternoon, August 5, 2308

With over a hundred victims discovered in the first days of the investigation, Dunkirk was the news of the summer. They're calling him the _Calistan Canyon Killer_. Over the last few days, the whole world has watched the footage of bodies being airlifted out of the ravine. It was ghastly. The commentary repeatedly pointed out that most of the victims were children. Time-lapsed footage of the forest showed body bag after body bag just streaming out of the canyon.

The police got warrants for all the buildings owned by Mr. Dunkirk, and the horror show expanded to a dozen new locations. For years, he'd been abducting and murdering all varieties of people, some were his tenants, others complete strangers.

They're saying he's a _killer of opportunity_. He wasn't particular about age or appearance, his victims ranged from children to the elderly. Where most other killers stick to a specific type, Dunkirk enjoyed variety.

At its peak, the investigation included two hundred, twenty-seven corpses, and sixty-four missing persons. They think his first victim may have been his mother, at thirteen. Originally her death had been ruled an accident, but now they're saying it was probably Martin.

He is a genuine psycho.

If he comes after me again, I'm going to kill him.

I talked to Dr. Te for a bit this afternoon.

After Geoff and I picked up the second spare car Ross left us, I put the autopilot on a freeway loop, and we took a nap. I woke up, and he was sitting inside the transport with us.

I didn't want to wake up Geoff, so we talked silently, just in our minds. I said it was nice to see him.

He said he was glad to find us healthy and whole, and that it seemed like we were finally okay, now that the heat was off of us.

I pointed out that our parents were still gone.

Geoffrey was crying in his sleep earlier, but he didn't do it while Te was here, and I didn't tell him about it.

He said we don't need to worry now.

I told him we'd heard that before. Before Ross got killed.

He said that the police were working hard to catch Mr. Dunkirk.

I said, better him than us.

He asked what we were up to, and I told him that Geoff and I were on our way to Magic Mountains theme park, and that we planned to hit a new fair or amusement park everyday, whether they catch us or not. So it was just as well they weren't looking anymore, or they were going to have a fight on their hands. I said even if we did go to Canada or Mexico, at least we would never go anywhere twice.

Dr. Te listened and then laughed really hard. He said he was jealous and that his body couldn't withstand the challenge of one new thrill a week, let alone days filled with them, one after another.

He made me laugh too. I didn't realize how long it had been since I laughed.

Ashley's Journal, Wednesday, September 2, 2308

After a month on the road, Geoff and I agreed that, with summer ending, we have to do something different. All the other kids are going back to school. We can't pretend we're on vacation much longer. I've been thinking about this, and I've got a good idea about what to do.

I plotted a course for Angel City, and Geoff immediately asked if I thought going back home was a bright idea. He said I was breaking our number one rule. I told him we were going somewhere neither of us had ever been before.

At a truck stop, I bought an electric razor and made him help me shave my head. Later that day, we arrived at the Flying Dragons Martial Arts Academy and presented ourselves for check in at the front desk.

A bit of digital preparation on Geoff's part made the paperwork a breeze. He used the Micronix to fill out the applications and forward our transcripts from Rivendell before we got here. Once the tuition charges cleared, there was nothing to worry about.

I've been using my parent's accounts ever since Ross disappeared. We were safe for a whole week before they caught us at the campground. I've been thinking about all that.

When I bought the hover board, it wasn't the transaction that brought the agents. If it had been the codec, it would have been the mall cops that caught me.

So... The charges cleared. After that, who cares? I'll fight them when they get here.

Also, because of our short notice registration and late arrival, _Ashton_ and Geoffrey would be rooming together, despite their age difference, which was what we wanted anyhow.

It will be a lot easier to maintain my disguise as a boy this way. I'm going to learn everything they teach here, the same way I did with ballet.

Someday, I'm going to see Martin Dunkirk again, and when I do, I'm going to finish the job. He's been running circles around the cops. Sooner or later, he's going to come after me. It's just a matter of time.

The next time, I will be ready, and he will be dead.

# Epilogue – Hic Sunt Dracones

A week after the horrors of Calistan Way, a pair of uniformed patrolmen wandered through the ocean-side park where Bobby slept. Their morning duties largely consisted of chasing away the neighborhood indigents, but a homeless child called for more immediate intervention.

A social services team was called out, and Bobby was transported back to a local holding station. It didn't take long to identify the silent child and deliver him to his new home.

District Thirteen, the Angel City Orphanage and Juvenile Detention Facility, housed almost ten percent of the metropolitan orphan population. The district maintained prenatal care for infants, school for orphaned students and a massive wing for the criminally inclined delinquents of Angel City.

Bobby hadn't uttered a word since his arrival. Silent amidst a teeming sea of children, he wandered the district, seeking hidden, quiet, out-of-the-way places where he might gaze upon his gleaming treasure of brass, copper, and lead.

Within a few days, Bobby discovered an abandoned wing of the orphanage. Wandering, he noted the strong scent of death and rot. He followed his nose and soon encountered a cruelly deformed guard. The man was a hulking brute and his eyes glittered with malicious intent.

Bobby approached with an honest, open expression and showed the man his bullets. The monster smiled and led Bobby through several locked doors into a concealed section of the district.

The reek of death was overpowering. They passed through a bloodstained dorm, beds gone black with gore. That was when Bobby first began to hear the cries.

They entered another dorm, filled with children, all chained to their beds. Several had been beaten or were the victims of hideous disfigurements.

Gruesome scars adorned their young bodies, holes in the flesh, when internal organs had been removed, stitched closed with stiff black thread. Those not chained to the beds were largely amputees. Misery, pain and torment, enveloped them.

Bobby realized that he once again stood with Death. He found that he didn't mind the stench of their suffering. In fact, he rather relished it. The pain and suffering of others made him acutely aware of his own excellent health, his own good fortune. He felt Death was a wise and generous friend, the only friend he needed. He felt honored to be so warmly wrapped in its embrace.

It was after Thanksgiving and before Christmas that Morgenstern got a line on their former associate, Mr. Dunkirk. He was in Phoenix. The battle-scarred giant packed provisions for the trip and double-checked his route into the desert.

The grizzled veteran had once worked as a surgical assistant to then Dr. Dunkirk. He was now employed aboard the Angel City Orphanage - Juvenile Detention Facility, as its coroner. It wasn't everything he'd ever hoped for in life, but it did provide an unending feast of delicious victims.

Franklin Gustav Morgenstern had accepted his appetites early in life.

Several of his co-conspirators aboard the floating orphanage were intrigued by the proposal of meeting the infamous Dunkirk. They wished him safe travels and hoped he returned soon.

Before Morgenstern set off, he stopped by Bobby's room to let him know that he might have a surprise for him in a couple of days. The light reflecting off Bobby's necklace of brass shells made the serial killer smile.

Bobby asked Morgenstern to reaffirm his pledge, once they found his father, they'd go after the person responsible, the one who'd betrayed him and informed the police.

Morgenstern nodded. He was fascinated by what he'd heard of Miss Ashley Fox. She sounded like marvelous sport, and he was looking forward to the hunt. He didn't inform Dr. Bergstrom however.

Dr. Bergstrom didn't know what to make of Bobby. After a brief conversation; establishing that the boy had indeed grown up just a few doors from the Fox family, Cedric kept him at a distance. Bobby was pleasant enough, and everyone else he met seemed enamored of him, another effect Bergstrom couldn't quite wrap his head around.

He was clearly Dunkirk's son, but he had some internal power of his own. He smelled and sounded like the Micronix, but something was wildly off. The patterns and commands were skewed.

Cedric was content to refrain from action until he knew what he was dealing with. The Micronix had adapted after his last encounter with it, and Ashley had taken the counterfeit device from that fool Von Kalt. He feared the other shoe had yet to drop. He intended to be anywhere but beneath it, when it finally did come down.

Six months after he died, Doctor Andrew Fox was awakened by a jolt of electricity. He sat up, his head and shoulders breaking the surface of the tank. The sensation of air on his skin and a second shock of electricity contracted the muscles of his midsection, causing him to exhale the breathable fluid from his lungs and take his first breath of recycled laboratory oxygen.

A third shock and he threw himself from the tank, a puddle of blue syrup spreading beneath him. He vomited and coughed up the blue-tinged fluids. Doctor Fox caught his breath and stood. He wiped the thick syrup from his limbs and reached out to a nearby stack of towels. In a few minutes he was mostly dry, if stained a faint blueberry. He ignored the puddle he'd left, the bots would get it soon enough.

Wrapped in towels, he walked from the tank, passing another with a similar, recently cleansed but not-fully-faded stain on the floor.

Fox entered the dressing room and opened his locker. The clothes he'd requested were there; simple linen pants, a long sleeved shirt and a pair of casual loafers. He'd grown quite fond of his prison outfit. It was rather comfortable.

He had also noticed the chill in the air and as this was his locker, he ignored the desert apparel and opted for something warmer. Fox exited the locker room in jeans, boots and a heavy shirt. He'd recognized the surroundings already, the snow-covered landscape outside the frosted windows confirmed his suspicions.

Apparently Stanwood never made it down to Chile to visit Wyndham. In a moment of weakness, Fox had told Stanwood everything. He'd given up the testing site on the Isle of Man, the fabrication site near his wife's childhood home in Czechoslovakia and the McMurdo annex, where he found himself at the moment. He hadn't lied. He'd just set out some diversions for his old friend.

He heard voices from somewhere nearby.

Fox continued down the hallway and entered the common area. The room went silent as he entered. He saw the faces of his friends, Ross, Croswell, King, Reid, Wolf and Becket. Dr. Te was there, with both Anastasias, the original looked pissed, but he'd come to expect that. Even Sabor and some of Te's bots were present.

Fox took a seat on one of the empty couches and smiled.

"So, how are the kids?" he asked.

###

About the Author

John Carrick grew up in northern Illinois and spent four years with the Marine Corps. He graduated from The Art Institute of Los Angeles with a degree in Computer Science: Animation.

### Bonus Chapter

### Centaur Cyber Tanks

December 31, 2299 – Eight-and-half years earlier

Another night on the office couch. It was just after six when Fox awoke.

Being the dead of winter and the last day of the year, the sun still had not yet lit the horizon. Fox had a couple of hours before the Generals arrived. Fox knew the project waiting outside his office, the ten thousand cyber-tanks, would win the war.

It was footsteps that awakened him. Someone was coming. Dr. Fox sat up in the darkness and rubbed his face. Visitors' plural, there were at least two of them. Fox switched on the light.

A moment later came the knock at his door. "Yes, come in."

Chief Operator Chris Matthews and Special Agent Tasha Vangen entered.

The Doctor smiled. "So, this is it. The big day."

Matthews nodded, "We're all ready, Sir."

Third Gate Citizen, Chris Matthews was one of those gung-ho patriots that rarely looked before he leaped. Fox didn't trust him to think for himself, but if you gave him an order, he'd die before giving up. You couldn't have everything in a project manager, and Matthews was better than most. He was honest and loyal, and those were qualities valuable beyond measure.

"We've got thirty-six units spooled up and another twenty-four taking on fluids and ammunition," Matthews reported.

Special Agent Vangen looked troubled. Tasha was special for several reasons, the least of which being her status as in international dignitary on loan from Sweden. By default, the clear-headed young woman often found herself elected to go up against the party line Matthews.

She was the most socially well-adjusted scientist Dr. Fox had met in years; she was sharp as a neutron laser, cool under pressure, and a pleasure to work with.

Being from such a socially progressive country, Dr. Fox suspected it was the tradition of community that allowed the young researcher to share her discoveries and triumphs with the team. Most of the other members, Citizens of the Republic, were fiercely competitive.

Tasha was also dating Andrew's younger brother, Geoffrey. They were secretly engaged and waiting for the project to be officially over before they said anything.

From the look on Tasha's face, it was clear something had gone sideways. Fox knew, at this late stage of the game, that's just the way it went sometimes.

Major General Cruthers and his staff had arrived at the nearby observation station a day earlier. Ten miles north of the border, they reviewed intelligence data, watching in fast forward as the enemy flooded into Tijuana over the past month.

Over two million strong, the Christian Socialists intended take San Diego with the force of sheer numbers alone. The tension in the room was palpable. The intelligence officers were panicked, but not about the enemies' numbers. They couldn't identify any weapons. The enemy had arrived empty handed.

The socialists always marched with artillery. There was no other way they could cross the border en-mass without some method of detonating the mines. The presence of cannon had always been the justification for the republic's overwhelming response.

It would be difficult for the talking heads in Washington to explain the dropping of bulk munitions on a group of civilians. The officers continued to scramble, but all they could find were light arms: handguns and rifles. The People's Army of Christ the Redeemer hadn't brought a single cannon. Usually they had an overwhelming amount of artillery, but today, they had none.

Cold California sunlight hit the few remaining sandstone and glass structures. Ground-bound buildings and houses that could not be moved reflected a dull, empty sky. Until as little as a month ago, the sky was filled with hovering structures, but now San Diego stood empty, evacuated.

Only freeway cables remained, hanging flat and lifeless. All the hover-tech high-rises had flown away, north to Angel City, or northeast to Palm Springs and Phoenix. Washington did not want the relocations to become permanent, even if the destruction of the ground based structures in San Diego proved unavoidable. The concept of surrendering San Diego was unacceptable. The Republic would rather see the remainder of the city razed than to let it fall into enemy hands.

Despite the fact that the enemy was armed with little more than light-arms and ethanol driven vehicles, once the Christians marched in, the consensus in Washington would be to dump bulk munitions, destroying the South American People's Army of Christ the Redeemer, as well as the cities of San Diego and Tijuana.

General Cruthers advocated dropping the big one and being done with it.

His superiors strongly disagreed, arguing that the radioactive fall-out would endanger the entire coastline.

General Cruthers didn't care much for California, but his superiors made themselves clear that even a three-day carpet-bombing campaign was preferable to a nuclear event on national soil.

The General had been hearing good things about the cyber-tank project, and he was excited about its delivery in just a few hours. Today was New Years Eve, and if the intelligence estimates were correct, the Socialist People's Army would be massing at the border by sunset, crosses, guns and flags held high, prayers on their lips.

It was always the same, the faithful came and died by the thousands, and San Diego would succumb to it's bloody fate as so many smaller cities already had. The socialists would not retreat, and another rotting cavity would be created on the Republic's southern border.

The General longed to be able to stop them without destroying a hundred stories of steel and glass. He held no concern for human life. In fact, San Diego was already lost.

No one had stayed. No one was going back anytime soon.

The only thing left was to punish the enemy for their forward momentum. That was enough for him. That was all he needed to feel victorious.

The cyber-tanks were his best hope for that victory.

Two hundred miles north and seventy miles west of the coast, a twelve layer military testing facility hovered above the ocean. The unit's anti-gravity drives maintained a comfortable ten thousand feet above the water, nothing but ocean and sky in every direction, as far as the eye could see.

Three prowlers circled the facility at a ten-mile radius. Their weapons systems were always hot, ready to fire on any errant vehicles that might enter their perimeter.

Each layer of the facility was composed of several floors, with an array of hover-disks, working in unison to maintain equilibrium. The twelve levels were arranged in a stacked formation, several miles square. Each deck featured a unique environment, desert, forest or swampland. The levels grew in square footage as one went upward.

The top level stretched ten miles square and featured a rich urban environment, several blocks of seven to ten story buildings. The tests at this facility employed live ammunition and many areas had been reduced to heaps of rubble and twisted steel. While others were clearly in a state of construction, being rebuilt for the umpteenth time.

In the east, the sun touched the distant horizon. The early desert air felt clean and crisp against the Doctor's face. For the past week, he'd been in a state of panic. Finally, all the last minute details were complete, and the project was ready for delivery.

The transport landed on the upper receiving dock, and the personnel disembarked. Major General Cruthers, followed by his colleagues, was glowing with excitement. After brief introductions, Dr. Fox led the gentlemen to the storage hangar.

The cyber-tanks sat connected to various cables, power and fluids snaking along the floor to ports and pumps. The hangar smelled of industrial chemicals, gun oil and fuel. The tanks themselves were dark masses of armor plate with wicked looking tracks and munitions delivery systems protruding from several angles. Extra ammo drums were mounted on the rear fenders. Belt-fed twelve-barrel machine guns were mounted to the front. Running perfectly, they glided over rough and rocky ground smoother than ice on glass, four diesel engines powered the heavy-duty treads, top speed - two hundred kilometers an hour.

Dr. Fox led the inspection team up to one of the forward units. He pointed out the shielded sensor array, the triple redundant communications drives, overlapping armor plates and other external features before touching on the internal functions of the unit.

Colonel Thompson, standing next to General Cruthers, raised his hand. "Are these units autonomous or do they require rear-echelon support?"

"Both and neither. They house organic operators, wired to the control systems, and they also maintain constant communication with command and control agents, here at the facility."

"You're saying there are people in there? A soldier, an operator?"

"An experienced soldier, battle tested veterans. They have some of the best reaction times we've ever seen..."

"But isn't that illegal?" the colonel interrupted.

General Cruthers rolled his eyes. "Thompson, do you want to be part of this unit or can I just transfer your ass back to Washington?"

"Sir, it's just..."

"We're trying to win a war here, Colonel."

"Sir, direct weapon-to-brain wiring systems have been illegal for over seventy years. The political ramifications could be..."

"It's illegal for citizens, Thompson. We can't be expected to fight a war with fucko's back in Washington making all the rules."

Cruthers turned back to Dr. Fox. "Please continue, Doctor."

Later that afternoon, as he was escorted from the facility, Dr. Fox had an awful feeling about the impending skirmish. He had tried to impress upon the General and his staff that the bio-tanks should never be taken above level six when facing civilians. The higher levels were reserved for more advanced enemies. The Christian socialists could hardly be called an organized enemy. Their defense and offense were one and the same, a human wave of men, women, and children: healthy and young, old and sick. Their attack came in the form of a protest march. They all came.

Fox felt sick to his stomach knowing that Cruthers and staff would be commanding the base-side operators. Fox knew that Matthews and his team weren't likely to play along. Unfortunately, they were no longer under his jurisdiction. The operators were contracted as part of the project deliverables and now accountable to the military authorities responsible for the project.

Dr. Fox suspected Cruthers intended to take the mechanized war machines to their highest level, ten, reserved for training only, one mech against another. At that level, the machines would drive over infants, relishing in the squishy sounds from beneath their treads.

Fox was suddenly awash in fear, regret, and shame. He contemplated demanding the pilot turn the vehicle around but didn't. He knew the captain would not change the flight path. If he went back and opposed Cruthers now, it would be career suicide. They would call it treason. Now there was little Fox could do besides get himself shot.

A ripple went through the crowd; it was time. The barbecues were hastily put out, and the caravan prepared to press north. Small arms were given a quick field cleaning and oiled. Ammunition was passed around and loaded into clips. Children and old folks packed into cars, alongside sand bags and ammunition crates.

The faithful fell silent for a final blessing. They crossed themselves, kissed their rosaries and plastic glow-in-the-dark statues of Jesus, (which were passed around and placed on the dashboards of the cars). They waited while the audio up front was sorted out, excusing the whispered joke or interruption to pass the tequila bottle.

Father Ricardo raised the microphone. "En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo." He made the sign of the cross over the crowd, holding a crucifix in his hand, which he kissed, the microphone held low, in his left.

The people made the sign of the cross, each in their own way, in their own time.

"Brothers and sisters, we are gathered here this evening to celebrate freedom and community in the Lord. This is the birth of a new age. Tomorrow the sun will rise on another city, freed from greed and tyranny. Once these were our lands, but for 500 years, the liars and hypocrites from across the sea have stolen our birthrights.

"Yes, I say hypocrites, though many profess to be members of the faith. They were once People of the Lord, but they have fallen. For the Lord says that one cannot serve two masters, and they are the servants of gold.

"They erect borders and issue citizenship cards of different status. That is not truth. For are we not all children of the one true God? What is a citizen? It's just a word, an idea. It's an idea that is used to separate the children of God. Used to put one person's worth above another's. We are not different, American or Mexican, European or Asian, African, Columbian or Canadian; we are all children of the Lord. So we must be - brothers and sisters.

"Show me a border in the earth. It does not exist. The Lord did not create borders. He created mountains, rivers and oceans, which some men miscall borders, but they are only mountains, rivers and oceans.

"We serve truth. For only the truth can set you free. I am the way, the truth, and the life. Serve the poorest among you, so that he may know the Lord's tender loving care.

"When We, The People Of The Word, arrived here in this place, our Lord struck the enemy with fear and made him take flight. He does not stand and face us. He does not want to hear the Word of God. He knows we come in the name of Justice, Liberty, and Equality.

"There is not made, the missile that can kill an ideal. Our enemy once worshipped these same ideals, and they know how powerful they are, but they have grown corrupt and criminal in their twilight years. The Lord has raised us up and put us in this place that we might spread his word among them.

"Our Heavenly Father has done his part. He has shown us the road we must travel. It is up to us to follow it. Let's bring the light to those who are lost, trapped in darkness. Lord, though the way before us may be full of peril, give us courage to press forward and return to these, our ancestral lands. I bless you in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ. En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo. Amen."

The blessing over, celebratory beers were cracked and the People's Army fired up competing mariachi music from rival sound systems.

In the failing light, torches, flashlights, and vehicle-mounted flood lights burst to life. The engines of the faithful were put in low gear and the army surged forward, crossing the imaginary border from Mexico into the United States, with high-pitched screams, and bursts of automatic gunfire punctuating the auspicious nature of the event.

Shaped like an elbow, the coastline of San Diego is dotted with hills, climbing from and returning to the Pacific Ocean. The People's Army had a twelve-mile march to the center of the downtown area. The first few miles were littered with mines: a cratered, barren stretch of barbed wire, collapsed trenches and half-buried corpses. The Immigration Customs Enforcement Agency had declared the land a free-fire zone decades ago. Both sides fired mortars into it anytime someone tried to cross.

The Christian Communist Army made slow progress, as everything in their path was consumed. Stretches of barbed wire were rolled up and secured to vehicles. Metal barricades were cut with high-powered torches and used like railroad ties to repair the path ahead. From the sand bagged backs of rolling pickup trucks, the People's Army fired homemade mortars across the no-mans land, detonating the waiting mines and blowing holes in the longer stretches of barbed wire.

The battle had just begun, but already the city had been given up for dead. Only the inevitable desiccation of the metropolitan corpse remained - the smashing of street-level windows and burning of storefronts. San Diego had no power or water flowing through her veins, no foodstuffs were delivered to her markets. Not one floating residence or business structure adorned her skyline. Anything that could be carried out during the evacuations had been taken long ago.

The marines had built their barricades on the southern wall of the city. Teams of sharp shooters occupied every room with a view and platoons held strategic locations along every major route. But all combined, they numbered under twenty thousand. The People's Army had swollen to several million strong.

The marines were required to stop the enemy at all costs, but against millions, they knew they could hardly even slow them down. Before long, the remaining soldiers heard the first of the proximity mines go off.

The Christians ran vehicles into the minefields at high speed. The mines were set to be triggered by foot traffic, so a single vehicle could take out several, providing it didn't crash into a collapsed tunnel, crater, or any of the dozens of other likewise destroyed remains of its ancestors.

The marines heard the mines begin, and the call went out over the radio for all soldiers to retreat to bravo positions as air strikes were expected to begin any minute. The young soldiers retreated and waited, but the air strikes never came.

At the Centaur Facility General Cruthers argued with the high command about the launch orders. He wanted to activate half the arsenal, but couldn't get Washington to commit that level of support. Besides, there were only a dozen control stations and a dozen operators, restricting the initial run to only a dozen units, launched one at a time. The General's demand to allow the tanks run unsupervised had ended the debate. Cruthers roundly cursed Washington as a bunch of rear echelon cowards, and only managed to get seven tanks off the ground.

The first cyber-tank unit crashed into the no man's land opposite the Soldiers of Christ. The People stopped in their advance and regarded the impact site.

They had watched it come whistling in and expected a massive explosion. The impact was immense, huge clouds of dirt and debris billowed upward, but there was no explosion.

Several shots were fired at the vehicle, the bullets screaming away as they bounced and tumbled from the armored surface.

The unit offered no response.

Despite their fear of the blackish metallic vehicle, the men crept forward. It took several minutes for the rag tag band of resistance fighters to surround the vehicle, but eventually, they did.

They inspected its government-assigned markings, meaningless combinations of letters and numbers. One drunken soldier leaned up close against a tinted window. " Oye, hay un tipo aqui." <Hey, there's a guy in here>. He looked over his shoulder to his comrades. "Y sus ojos son de oro." <And his eyes are golden>.

The crowd jumped back as the engines inside the tank ignited. Before they could move away, barrels rose from the machine's hide, and it lurched forward. The courageous men closest to it were crushed under the sharp treads.

Hundreds were mowed down by the fire-belching machine guns, blasting hot shrapnel into the Soldiers of Christ.

The next two units landed closer to the northern side of the border, and had to drive forward to meet the enemy.

The following four came to earth behind the southern border, chewing up God's People from behind.

There was no escape. There was no mercy, and by dawn, there was no more conflict in San Diego.

A shootout in the operations lab prevented more than seven launches. When ordered to set the tanks to level ten, the lead operator, Matthews, objected and found himself in a heated argument with the soldiers. One of them accused him of being a traitor and struck him. Matthews drew his weapon and two soldiers shot him a dozen times.

Matthew's comrades, including Geoffrey Fox, drew their weapons and had themselves a wild-west shootout with the soldiers, right there in the control room. Wielding small arms, the operators shot at the soldiers who, sporting assault rifles, opened fire on everything, killing the operators, each other, and utterly destroying the machinery.

The Generals, watching the satellite feeds in the officer's command center, weren't present in the operations lab and failed to either prevent the massacre or be caught up in it. And to be fair, they didn't much care.

The tanks were free to destroy everything that moved along the forward battle area; a job they executed with ruthless and brutal efficiency.

One young operator, who'd stepped out to use the washroom, managed to escape. Tasha hijacked a maintenance vehicle and slipped from the facility with a shipping convoy.

The patrols overhead ignored her, distracted by the news from the research station. By the time the generals realized a possible witness was at large, Tasha had long since vanished.

Reading about the political fallout, Ashley had recognized her photo. She remembered the chaos that followed her Father's delivery of the tanks. The war in San Diego was over, but the method used to accomplish the victory had left the Republic sick to its stomach.

Much of the blame had fallen on Fox's shoulders for designing the tanks. He was called a Monster and a War Criminal. He was accused of being some hideous mixture of Hitler, Stalin, Genghis Khan and John Robert Oppenheimer.

The in-house security video of the control room shoot-out was leaked to the press, and the truth of the soldiers' actions, as well as the loss of Andrew's brother Geoffrey, silenced the interest in seeing Dr. Fox take the fall for the debacle.

Ashley had read, in the library, that a short time later, a new task was presented to her father... Project Epsilon.

