Legacy of a Mad Scientist Page 3

  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. My Dad is being a jerk about it.

  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 Air 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 '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.