Unstable Prototypes (36 page)

The gunship experimental was still aloft,
slowly rotating while its engines released a ragged purr that
didn't give one much confidence for their state of repair. The
sleeker of the two had landed, its crew door deployed and a pair of
armed soldiers at the ready. They were badly scarred, heavily
tattooed, and sporting the same absurd goggles that Lex had seen in
Ma's surveillance images. Michella, Jon, and Lex crept up to a
chest high wall near the outside edge of the courtyard and huddled
behind it. The ship that had landed was barely twenty meters away,
and the other one was practically overhead. To make sure that the
camera didn't decide to give away their location on its own, Jon
switched the automatic mode off and handled it personally.

"It's them..." remarked Michella and Lex
simultaneously, then replying in chorus. "You know them?"

"Those are the people who took Karter," Lex
said.

"That ship. The terrorists I've been
investigating stole several of them."

"That's definitely them," Jon nodded. "Some
of the old footage you had me look through had brief shots of
people dressed like that."

"What do you know about these people?" Lex
asked.

"Stand by for news," she said, turning to
Jon. "Is the feed running? How's the sound level? Okay, when I tell
you to, push it live, and watch for my direction."

Michella pulled the emergency scanner out of
Jon's bag and scoured the text logs for a few seconds, then handed
it back to Jon and nodded. When the live feed light turned on, she
spoke in a hushed but precise tone.

"Michella Modane, reporting now from the
courtyard surrounding the Materials Science Building of Weston
University. As you can see, the two ships belonging to the
individuals responsible for this terrible disaster have got the
whole of the university in a grip of terror. On the threat of a
second attack, the police and military have been forced to maintain
a cordon of no less than a half kilometer from the building. Latest
reports estimate the death toll at nearly one hundred and fifty,
mostly in orbital facilities adjacent to the target. That estimate
is likely to increase as casualties on the surface are reported.
Though unconfirmed, it is possible that these are representatives
of a group currently under continuing investigation by both the
authorities and this news organization. They call themselves the
Neo-Luddites, drawing their name from a labor movement from the
nineteenth century, and are composed primarily of disenfranchised
veterans of active military duty. There is strong reason to believe
that the group has members among the ranks of nearly all branches
of military for most governments in the galaxy. They have existed
for years, but their actions have been minor and mostly
inconsequential until very recently, when they were believed to be
responsible for a string of information breaches and equipment
thefts across the galaxy. Since then their activities have
escalated. If this attack is indeed the work of that group, then
the ramifications are dire, as it means that they are now
motivated, organized, and possessed of the technology to be a
threat on a pan-global scale.

"Though most investigative bodies currently
classify them as a terrorist organization, their current actions
seem to be motivated by more than a simple attempt to cause panic.
No statement of agenda has been issued, and the ships have deployed
with military precision into the Materials Science Building. It is
clear that they came here with acquisition in mind, though what
they are after, and to what end, is unclear. We will attempt to
keep our coverage rolling without attracting the attention of the
attackers."

Jon lowered the camera shakily to the ground
and slid it out beside the wall, adjusting it until it was pointed
roughly in the direction of the men standing at attention outside
the ship. He then pulled his hand back as though he'd been holding
it in boiling water. With a gesture, Michella instructed Jon to
mute the audio.

"Trevor, there was no indication that these
people had anything remotely as dangerous as whatever it was these
people used in the atmosphere. It has to be a recent development.
Stuff like that is tightly controlled, so if they had been stolen
along with their other thefts, it would have come up in my other
research. You said they took that scientist. Could he have built
those for them?" she asked.

"Knowing that guy, he might have just had
them laying around. I guarantee he either made it or gave it to
them."

"What sort of lunatics do you associate with,
Mr. Alexander?" Jon asked.

"He's the only lunatic, I assure you," Lex
said. "At least, the only lunatic of that caliber."

He looked around him. People were huddled
around the windows of all of the surrounding buildings. Some were
hysterical, others were concerned. Half of them had slidepads
raised, providing a lower quality, shakier counterpart to the
footage Michella was providing. The gravity of the situation was
seizing his mind. This was real. People had died. More might die.
Many more.

"What other things could this scientist make
for them?"

"I don't know... Anything... He could make
these guys anything they want..." He said. His voice was distant,
his eyes lingering on the hole in the clouds punched by the
explosion.

"Do you have any idea what they could be
after here?"

"I don't know... I... this is my fault,
Mitch."

"What do you mean this is your fault."

"I knew he was taken days ago. I should have
called the cops or something, or the marines."

"Did you know where they took him?"

"No."

"Then it wouldn't have done any good. Don't
get me wrong, baby, you
are
stupid for not letting the
proper people know. You're stupid for trying to take matters into
your own hands. But making the call wouldn't have helped. No single
police force has the jurisdiction or resources to go after these
guys, and the military has already been after them since they stole
the ships. I've spoken to someone inside the group, and they were
definitely active military. Unless you had some concrete
information to share, you probably would have just ended up tipping
off their men on the inside. Now, how long ago was this scientist
taken? Could he have been involved in the original ship
thefts?"

"Uh... I don't remember. I think it was about
a month ago. Not longer than that... You're right. Calling the cops
probably wouldn't have helped, but sticking with the others and
trying to find him might have."

"Honey, I think you need to calm down a bit.
Even if this scientist of yours did build that bomb for them, I
don't think he's the biggest problem. The way these people
accelerated and organized, I think there is someone new in control.
A few of my investigations turned up evidence to suggest it. That's
the real source of the problem. That's the person who had them get
your scientist in the first place, I'm sure of it."

"How can you be sure?"

"Feminine intuition and journalistic
instinct," she said, taking his hand in hers, "So calm down,
okay?"

"Why isn't someone trying to calm
me
down!" Jon hissed angrily.

"No offense Jon, but aside from the fact he's
my boyfriend, if things start falling to pieces around here and we
need to make a quick getaway, Trevor's the only one who is likely
to get us out alive."

"... You need to calm down, Mr. Alexander!"
Jon said in a counterproductive tone of voice.

Lex's mind churned as he considered his
situation. He'd learned from the VectorCorp incident that sometimes
you can't just sit idle and hope that things turn out okay.
Sometimes you need to take a stand and see things through to the
end. This was one of those times.

"They were trying to find him.
We
were
trying to find him. We had to find where they took him..." Lex said
out loud, mostly to himself.

"Did you find anything?" Michella asked.

"No... No, but they are right there. They are
right there
!" he proclaimed, as though he'd just become
aware of the fact.

"Keep your voice down!" Jon urged.

"These guys are going to
have
to go
back to the nest, right? These cops and marines and such should be
able to track them when they leave, right?" Lex reasoned more
quietly.

Michella shook her head, "Cloaking ships,
remember?"

"Yeah, but that scientist told me once that
cloaking was bogus because you can still track a cloaked ship with
the right equipment. We're on Tessera. If anyone has the right
equipment it is these guys!"

"As a matter of fact... I think I remember
reading that somewhere..." Michella said, tilting her head and
digging into her memory.

"Cloaked ships can be tracked by utilizing a
meson emission analyzer array, but only at extreme close range,"
Jon said.

The others looked at him curiously.

"What? You had me doing research on cloaking
technology for the report you're working on," he explained.

"So what you're saying is that by the time
anybody with the right equipment shows up, these guys could be long
gone," Lex said.

"Pretty much. It is designed to detect them
approaching, not escaping. So... Oh Jeez, everybody get down,
they're coming back out!"

Michella turned to watch, directing the audio
to be restored.

"As you can see, the troops, for lack of a
better word, are exiting the building now. They appear to be
carrying packaged ingots. They are too far away to identify with
the naked eye, but check back at the GolanaNews site soon to see if
video analysis turns up anything..." she narrated, nudging the
camera carefully to try to keep as much action as possible in frame
until finally giving up and forcing it into Jon's hands, quietly
insisting that he keep everything in view.

While Jon and Michella devoted their
attention to the news event unfolding in the center of the
courtyard, Lex was rummaging through his pockets. He didn't know
what he could do, or even what he wanted to do, but he knew that
whatever it was, it would have to be done now. That meant he'd need
to do it with whatever he had on hand at the moment. His many
pockets were emptied onto the ground and an inventory was taken.
There was his own slidepad, as well as one of the spares that he'd
been considering upgrading to. He also had a tangle of tiny tools
and other useful gadgets, all linked together on what should
technically be called a key chain, except that nothing Lex owned
required an actual physical key anymore. Aside from those, there
was nothing but the usual scattering of random candies, gum, poker
chips and wrappers that typically found their way to the bottom of
one's pockets.

A quick glance up revealed six men hurrying
to board the experimental ship that had landed. The ship's engines
were already flaring as a rather innocuous plastic crate filled
with vacuum-sealed, brick-sized blocks of reddish metal was carried
inside by two of the soldiers, while the other four brandished
weapons and swept the courtyard with their eyes. As the last
soldier stepped onto the lowered cargo door, it started to close,
the ship raising into the air. Time was almost up.

"Think, think, think. What would Garotte do?
What would Karter do? What would Ma do?" he rambled. Suddenly his
eyes locked on the rugged little slidepad on the ground and shot
open.

That was it! His brain clutched at an idiotic
crumb of an idea, which tended to be the only sort of idea that
ever came up in situations like this. He snatched up the slidepad,
tapped at the screen, and proclaimed "Open Com Ma." Both ships were
getting steadily higher, hydraulic pistons pulling the heavy cargo
door shut. Lex quickly silenced the bellowing voice of common sense
and sprung up from behind the wall, grasping the slidepad by its
corner, and flinging it at the retreating ship. The pilot, the
assistant, and the reporter watched as the device spun through the
air.

People often feel that something that is
extremely unlikely will never happen. No one ever chooses "edge"
for a coin toss. As any lottery winner will tell you, though,
sometimes the impossibly unlikely comes through. Sometimes,
lightning
does
strike twice. Sometimes, the roulette wheel
does
land on double zero. And sometimes a panic-thrown piece
of consumer electronics finds its way through the closing door of
an airborne ship. By the time Lex realized his toss hadn't fallen
short, bounced off, or failed in any of the dozens of other ways
he'd predicted, the ships were firing their engines and flaring
into the sky. A few instants later, far sooner than perspective
would dictate, they vanished from view, hidden by their cloaking
devices. Even the sound of engines slipped away. All who witnessed
it stood dumbfounded for a few seconds.

Michella was the first to recover, snapping
her fingers to draw the attention of the camera, which Jon had
allowed to sag toward the ground. He quickly pointed it in her
direction.

"We will continue coverage until local
sources are able to take over. Stay with us for detailed analysis
and continuing investigation. This has been Michella Modane," she
said.

The feed light blinked off.

"Okay, push all of the raw footage to Lou.
All of the video, all of the audio. Let him chew on it and work his
magic. Then put the camera on action tracking with manual override.
I want to catch as much as possible before someone with a better
camera shows up," Michella said.

"Doing it," Jon said, making the appropriate
changes to camera settings before releasing it.

Now that the journalism was done, one could
almost see a physical transformation come over her. The
diamond-hard shell of competence and professionalism fell away. She
looked nervous, concerned. In short, she looked precisely the way
someone who was standing in the center of a disaster ought to.