Legacy of a Mad Scientist Read online

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?” Preston asked, clinging to the conversational thread.

  “That which goes down, must come up,” Fox answered.

  Preston collapsed around a wastebasket, vomiting.

  Fox looked on in open disgust.

  The download had started again but moved at a crawl.

  “You can see how valuable it is, can’t you?” Fox asked.

  “I can?” Preston replied, spitting into the wastebasket and wiping his mouth.

  “Sure you can. And that which can be written to, can also be read.” Why was Fox telling him this? He didn’t need to know this.

  Preston wiped his mouth, repulsed by the smell from the wastebasket.

  “The algorithm I used to write the code is similar to modern telecoms, but I created a cubed switch structure to support the human mind. It has limitless storage space. All of my research is stored in that little device. I can generate and receive correspondence over it. I can even crack other systems, without leaving so much as a hint of my presence.” Fox was smiling at the device, and realized he was talking to it and himself more than he was Preston.

  “You have to know, the FAD will rape you over this one.”

  “The Federal Acquisitions Department can bite me. They have no proof.”

  “They have me. And if that can do what you say it can do, you know it’s a matter of National Security. That’s treason for sure.”

  Just a few more minutes.

  “You know, after all this time, I still haven't settled on a proper name for it,” Fox said. “For marketing purposes, it could be called the Mental Computer Interface, as that’s what it does, but lately I’ve been calling it, The Micronix.”

  Preston seemed to be listening, and the download was almost finished now. Fox let it run.

  “The thing's genesis felt more like discovery than invention; as if it had been there all along, guiding me, one step at a time. After the last upgrade to the interface, I have trouble telling where the box leaves off, and my own mind begins.” Preston Did Not Need To Know This!

  “I mean, maybe the device named itself and then filled me in. How would I know, right? It’s kind of difficult to tell which thoughts are mine and which aren't. But Micronix is still my suggestion for the marketing team.”

  “You know how much investors love to rewrite the title.” Preston held up a finger while his chin rested on his chest, eyes to the floor behind closed lids.

  The download was nearly there, but refused to finish.

  “I didn't think it can think, but if it can, I have to confess, I might not know it. There isn't any way for me to pinpoint the origin of my own thoughts, any more than the origin of those that aren't mine. I’ll tell you, the concept disturbs me more than a little bit.”

  Preston raised his head and looked at Fox and blinked.

  Dr. Fox continued vocalizing thoughts he’d never before spoken aloud. “When I use my own memory, I can easily recall lots of information, but sometimes, after processing the data, I often find myself working in the Micronix environment. I can’t remember the last time I pressed the power button, the only button. I mean, it’s always there, at the edge of my consciousness, whenever I want it.”

  Preston looked like he might pass out.

  Fox continued, “If I’m doing something physical, it can be more difficult to interface. Sometimes, if I’m too far away, response times lag just a little, but those are minor glitches. I’ve polished the interface to be as supportive to the human mind as possible. I don’t see how it can be improved.”

  The download chimed, it was done.

  “Well, that’s not true. I still haven't really figured out how to secure anything. Since I’m the only user, I never focused on signal separation, or partitioning. Before it can be made to work for the public, it needs testing.”

  “You’re saying it can read your mind?” Preston asked.

  “Not just your mind,” Fox answered. “You.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Preston asked.

  “I think, with what I just discovered tonight, I think it can make you immortal,” Fox said. “Don’t you understand?”

  Preston shook his head.

  Fox opened a file folder. He spread pictures of constellations and nebulas across the desk. “See that,” he said, pointing. “That’s Regulas. We can go there.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Deep space exploration, without the suspended animation. We could go there. Tonight, if we wanted.” Fox lifted the photo. “I took this, do you understand that?”

  Preston laughed. “Next you’re going to say we’re all stardust.”

  “In a manner of speaking, that’s it exactly.” Fox smiled.

  “You’re crazy, man. You know that?” Preston coughed. “Why take the risk? That’s what I don’t get. You’ve got everything. Why take the risk?”

  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.

  “I hope it doesn’t slide off of this. It has a habit of doing that if there’s metal nearby. It doesn't need to have the feed tray out to eat. It can move itself to reach whatever might be close at hand. If it slides off the tablet, it will try to eat the desk. That’s how it got my handgun.” Fox was rambling.

  Preston coughed.

  “I haven’t calculated how the new equations will affect its appetite. I mean, will it curb it, or kick it into overdrive? It’s possible the signal requires massive amounts of energy. Maybe it will need to eat more instead of less?”

  Rob straightened up. “Maybe it will, Fox, maybe it will. Did you ever think of that? You are so screwed. Even if I don’t say anything, sooner or later this is going to explode on you. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  Fox put a friendly arm over Preston's shoulders and led him toward the open balcony door.

  "Let's get you some fresh air, huh?"

  Preston leaned over the railing, vomiting again.

  Fox assessed his options. The download had finished, but he didn’t bother opening it. He didn’t have the time to scan new code, hoping for a flaw. He could burn the storage drives; it might kill the drunken schmuck, or at least fry his mind, but even if he purged the data stores, it would leave 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.

  Preston 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 Preston's system, burning everything, scorching his mind as he watched the man 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. The patio became stained with black splotches where the desk touched it. Fox tipped it onto its side, against the metal 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 bars 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 the Micronix into the ocean, but didn’t. He slipped it into his pocket and 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 locke
d 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 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. It feels like such a waste of time. They’re just out 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.

  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.

  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 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?”

  “What,” Geoff asked, “Are you going to tell a teacher?”

  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.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Steve asked.

  Ashley rolled her eyes and reached for the backpack.

  Steve lunged at her and shouted, “Hey! I was talking at you!”

  Ashley involuntarily jumped back, frightened.

  Ash straightened up, “To.”

  “What?”

  “Talking to, not at,” she said.

  “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 now I’m talking to you! You interrupted me and Ted, 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 Steve or Ashley. 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 even the girls can kick your ass."

  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?"