by Joe Nobody
Mitch became passionate. “In six months, I can design a generator that will provide 100% clean, 100% renewable energy from your device, all for free. Just think Dusty; this discovery can eradicate electric bills for both individuals and corporations. In two years, we can eliminate every fossil fuel-powered electrical plant in the United States. In ten, we can tear down the dams and decommission the nuclear power reactors. In 20 years, the internal combustion engine will be obsolete. The cost of goods and services will plummet; economic growth will explode. Every nation will be able to feed its people and raise its standard of living. We could build ships that could travel to Mars in days rather than years.”
Dusty nodded, seeming to accept his brother’s premise. After taking another sip of his coffee, the older Weathers stood and scanned the horizon. “You know, brother, you’re right. I shouldn’t destroy this thing; I should utilize it for the good of all.”
Sweeping his hand across the campus, the gunsmith continued in a low, serious voice. “Now that begs the question. What is good for all? And I’ve decided on the answer. I, Durham Anthony Weathers, am good for all.”
The professor’s expression made it clear that he was puzzled by his sibling’s behavior, but before he could ask, Dusty continued his speech.
“So here’s the deal. Since I’m good for all people – since I know best how things should proceed, I’m taking over. I’m going to fly my little plane to Washington and demand to be made emperor. Oh, they’ll turn me down at first. I’ll have to knock down the Washington Monument, maybe the Smithsonian and definitely the Supreme Court building... and let’s not forget the Capital building – but that’s okay, we won’t need the House or Senate after I’m running the whole show.”
Mitch grinned at first, thinking his brother was making some sort of joke, but as Dusty continued, the smile disappeared.
“Now they still may resist, but that’s okay. I’ll just fly offshore a few miles and fire a shot into the Atlantic at full power. I’m sure the tsunami won’t wipe out too much of the east coast – no more than a few million people will die.”
The professor shook his head, “Don’t fire the gun at full power, Dusty. I’m not quite sure you would survive the aftermath. On a larger scale, that weapon could split the earth’s crust… a more powerful model might be able to split the planet in half.”
“What about shooting up in the air?” The question meant to be funny.
Mitch sighed, then looked down at the ground. “Again, on a larger scale, hitting the moon might knock it out of orbit, or maybe just cause it to explode. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that a bigger version, if my thinking is correct, would simply cause the sun to collapse on itself and then go nova. The inner planets would all be destroyed shortly after.”
Dusty bent at the waist and put his face directly in front of Mitch’s, forcing the younger man to look him in the eye. “Don’t you see what I mean, Mitch? Damn it, man, this thing is too much. Mankind is not mature enough to handle this sort of power. Some damned old fool is going to get his hands on it, and then we’ll all be fucked.”
Mitch was becoming desperate to defend his position. “Dusty, how about a compromise? Give me six months to present you with a reasonable plan to manage and control the capabilities you’ve discovered. If I can’t set something up that meets your approval by that time, then we’ll destroy the weapon together and forget it ever existed.”
The older man rubbed his chin, analyzing the proposal. “And how are you going to set something up without telling everyone the rail gun exists?”
“I don’t know, I’ll think of something, I’m sure. Hey, what’s going on over at Anderson Hall?”
Dusty followed his brother’s gaze, back toward the building that housed the lab. At least five police cars on the south side, another half dozen on the west dotting the roadside. The two men could hear numerous sirens in the distance.
“Did someone find the damage in the lab?” Dusty asked.
Before Mitch could answer, a student came by, casually peddling a bicycle. Mitch waved at the kid and said, “What’s going on over at the physics building?”
“I don’t know for sure,” reported the young man. “The FBI and police are over there looking for a guy called Professor Weathers. Something about terrorism was the only snippet of information I heard before they started forcing us to evacuate the building.”
After Mitch had thanked the student and sent him on his way, he turned and looked at Dusty with troubled eyes. “I’m not sure how, but the FBI is here. This isn’t good. If they’ve been in the lab, they no doubt saw the videos and know what we’ve been doing.”
“So,” questioned Dusty, “We’ve not broken any laws, have we?”
“Let’s go back to your point just a bit ago. The gun is too strong for any one person to control. Do you want to hand it over to the local FBI agent? How about the chief of the campus police? Maybe one of the SWAT guys? Think about that for a minute, Dusty.”
“I see your point. I’d better skedaddle out of here until you straighten this all out.”
“Give me six months. Hide, run, travel – whatever you need to do, but give me six months to work out my end of the bargain.”
Dusty nodded and then moved to hug his brother. After the embrace, he turned and began to walk off when Mitch yelled for him to stop. Reaching in his pocket, the professor pulled out a small thumb drive, a data storage unit. “I almost forgot. I put this in my pocket. This is the only copy of the blueprints the computer scan created of the gun. Keep them safe.”
Nodding, Dusty then smiled and winked at his brother. “See you in six months, Mitch, hopefully sooner.”
Glancing back at Anderson Hall, the professor noted the rapidly increasing number of police cars. He instinctively knew Dusty needed time, so he tossed the nearly full coffee into a nearby receptacle and turned back for the Java Barn.
Dusty headed directly away from the main cluster of police cars around the lab building. He had no idea how many law enforcement officers College Station employed, but it sure looked like every single one of them was converging on the lab.
He found himself in a small area of shops and restaurants with more than a few people strolling along the sidewalks. That was good – he could get lost in the crowd and take a bit to think through his escape. He suddenly realized that a tall guy with a cowboy hat and boots didn’t exactly fit in with the average person on the street. The police would have his description soon, if not already.
Two blocks ahead, a police cruiser turned the corner and headed directly at him. Quickly glancing left and right, he spotted an open shop. Ducking inside, he found himself in a campus bookstore. He quickly moved to the rear of the sizable facility, pretending to casually browse while glancing over his shoulder to see if the police were coming in behind him. The squad car passed on by.
The assortment of A&M paraphernalia displayed on the shelves was amazing. Glassware, bumper stickers, shirts, pants… you name it. Stopping in front of a rack of sweatshirts, it occurred to him that he needed a disguise, and this seemed the perfect place to acquire one.
A few minutes later, he was standing in the checkout line, a bundle of A&M logoed clothing in his arms. The girl working the register didn’t even look up, scanning the items one by one. Never one who believed in credit cards, Dusty rolled off two $100 bills from his sizable wad and then asked the young lady if the store had a restroom. It did, and tucking his bag under his arm, Dusty headed to the men’s room.
Despite the washroom being completely empty, he chose the last stall and breathed a sigh of relief as he locked the door behind him. The commode became his workbench as he quickly began digging through his purchases.
Grimacing, he replaced his best hat, a Resistol Horseshoe model purchased in El Paso long ago, with a baseball cap. The extended bill, pulled low, would make it difficult to get a clear view of his mug. Next, he pulled on a hoodie sweatshirt. Oversized sunglasses rounded out his disguise
, the outfit covering much of his head and face.
Loading the backpack was next. Taking the rail gun, batteries and ball bearings out of their hard-sided case, he gently transferred the equipment to the pack. The weapon was followed by the two bottles of water, packages of beef jerky and an extra T-shirt for padding.
After making sure he was still alone in the room, Dusty stood on the seat and pushed one of the square ceiling tiles up and out of the way. The dust falling from above made him sneeze. He carefully stuffed the gun’s case in the space above. He eyed the Resistol, common sense telling him to get rid of the big hat, but he couldn’t part with it. The tile was fitted back to its original position. He then used toilet paper to wipe up the particles of insulation and dirt that had floated down. It wouldn’t be good for someone to wonder what was up there as he sat doing his business. He stuffed the cowboy hat into the pack.
Exiting the stall, he paused to look in the mirror. The disguise wouldn’t pass extra-close scrutiny, but if he kept his head slightly bowed, it would be difficult to see his face from any angle.
Laughter sounded outside the door, two college age guys then entering the facility, their conversation focused on the co-ed working the cash register. It was the first test of Dusty’s getup. The two fellas passed right by him without a second glance, heading directly to the urinals without missing a beat.
Slinging the pack onto his shoulder, just like he’d seen other students haul books, Dusty made for the bookstore’s exit. He froze at the door when the shoplifter alarm began buzzing loudly, the alert causing a sense of panic to well up in his throat. He was tempted to run out of the store, sure the incident would bring some sort of security force rushing to the door. On the other hand, sprinting out of the place would draw the attention of any police officer in the area.
Half-turning to look at the clerk, he shrugged his shoulders while digging the receipt out of his pocket. The girl behind the counter waved him over. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I must have forgotten to remove one of the sensors. Turn around.”
Dusty did as instructed, and felt the girl tugging on his new hoodie. A click and a snap later, she removed a beige colored button with a special tool and held it up for him to see. “You should be okay now,” she said.
“Thanks. I’m trying to surprise my daughter.”
“Well, you should probably let me cut that tag off the back of your hat then. It kind of looks a little nerdy.”
Embarrassed, he pulled the hat off and let the girl snip the tag. A few moments later, he exited the store.
Normally a man who welcomed being outside, the fresh air no longer gave him a sense of comfort. Instead, he felt exposed, almost vulnerable as he meandered down the front steps.
Trying his best to maintain a normal gait and keep his shoulders slightly slumped, Dusty wandered through the streets of the college town. He tried to remain in the retail section, pretending to window shop while trying to think of a way out.
Renting a car was out of the question. By the time he could locate an agency, his driver’s license would be posted everywhere. Stealing a vehicle wasn’t realistic either – he didn’t know how to hotwire a car. The bus station was probably as off-limits as well. That boiled it down to two options; his plane, or walking out. The latter plan would most likely to get him caught, lost, or shot for trespassing.
As he wandered the sidewalks, Dusty tried desperately to get his bearings on the airport. He knew where it was, the general direction, but the route Mitch had driven into the campus was completely exposed and likely to get him apprehended if he attempted to get there on foot. He tried to think about where he could safely acquire a map of the area, but couldn’t come up with a workable solution.
Turning a corner, his heart jumped a beat at the sight of two policemen at the far end of the block, his coronary pace increasing again when they began walking his way. He glanced across the street, hoping a quick jaywalk would avoid the lawmen, but saw a similar patrol on the opposite side.
It would have been too obvious to turn around. Feeling like a rat caught in a trap, Dusty pretended to window shop at a men’s clothing store, his mind frantically searching for a way out. A car engine sounded behind him in the street, and in the warped image of the window glass, he saw a vehicle with writing on the side and a contour on the top. A police car!
The vehicle pulled up to the curb behind him. Sure, it was a squad car, complete with lights on the roof, Dusty’s mind told his legs to run, but they were frozen stiff. About the only thing he could manage was a half glance over his shoulder. It was a taxi, delivering a middle-aged woman to the men’s store.
A taxi! That was it! Spinning quickly, he was at the back of the cab before the woman could deposit the change in her purse. Bending slightly, Dusty made eye contact with the driver and asked, “Airport?”
Without a word, the cabbie waved him in, and then they were speeding off. Four blocks of freedom and several glances out the back window later, the blood returned to Dusty’s cheeks.
Mitch was nursing his third cup of coffee, trying to remain calm at the only open table in the Java Barn. He didn’t want the brew, but believed he’d look weird just loitering in the shop.
He didn’t pay much heed to the two uniformed police officers when they strolled through the front entrance, assuming they were just stopping in for a quick caffeine fix. With a clear vantage of the counter, his breathing stopped as one of the officers held up a sheet of paper to the kid working the register. He knew it was up when the barista nodded, stood on his tiptoes and scanned the tables. He pointed directly at Mitch.
By the time his vision cleared, the professor was looking at two policemen standing in front of his table. “Professor Weathers,” one of them was saying. “Could you please step outside for a moment, sir?”
Mitch couldn’t remember his legs ever feeling so weak. He somehow managed to stand, and then one foot was moving in front of the other. It felt like liquid was running down the back of his knees. On the way out, the man in front of him lifted a radio from his belt and reported, “This is 117, and we’ve located Dr. Weathers at the Java Barn.”
“Hold him there,” responded a metallic sounding voice through the small speaker.
Mitch was thankful to lean against the hood of the police car, the support allowing him to concentrate on his next move. “What’s the problem, officer?” he asked the closest cop.
“I’m not sure, Doctor. We had instructions to locate and detain you immediately. My supervisor is on his way. I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”
Mitch didn’t have to wait long. A government-looking sedan pulled up, a man in a fancier uniform and another in jacket and tie exiting the vehicle. The guy with the tie was clearly in charge.
Extending his hand, the tie said, “Dr. Weathers, I’m glad to see you’re okay – we were worried about you.”
Mitch accepted the handshake, anticipating a crush, but the grip was only firm. “Why would you be concerned about my well-being? And who are you, anyway?”
“My name is Agent Shultz, FBI. The U. S. Air Force detected an electromagnetic event in your lab. When Dean Floss let us in, we found damaged equipment, but no sign of you. Witnesses and surveillance cameras showed you walking through the building with a rather rough looking character, and we thought you might be being forced to act against your will.”
Mitch laughed, partly at the description of Dusty, partly because he’d anticipated immediate arrest. “No, I wasn’t being forced to do anything. As far as the man who was with me, he was a colleague of sorts.”
Shultz started to say something else, but was interrupted by the beating-disturbance of an approaching helicopter. The agent turned to Mr. Fancy Uniform and said, “Well, so much for calm, cool and collected – Houston is in the building.”
Mitch watched the copter fly low over the skyline of College Station, the pilot evidently spotting a safe place to land the noisy machine. When normal conversation was again possible, the FBI m
an asked, “Professor, would you please accompany me? My superior has just arrived from Houston, and I’m sure he’ll want to speak with you.”
“Do I have a choice?” Mitch asked, a hint of defiance in his voice.
“Sir, I don’t see any reason why you would wish to hinder an investigation. Am I missing something?”
The meaning was clear to Mitch – come along nice, or we’ll find a reason to bring you along. He was beginning to seriously dislike law enforcement.
Shultz moved to the sedan and opened the back door, another strong hint that he wanted Mitch to come along. The professor complied with the lawmen’s request.
A few minutes later, the men were back in the lab underneath Anderson Hall. Mitch’s initial reaction to the throng of law enforcement poking and prying in his lab was protective. “What are all these men doing in here, Dean Floss? They should all leave immediately before something is damaged.”
Floss ignored the protest, instead pulling Mitch aside. “What the hell happened in here, Mitch?” the dean asked in a low voice.
“I was asked by a colleague to evaluate a new invention, and it damaged the ballistic tube. I was going to fill out my report after I had a cup of coffee.”
Before Floss could comment further, Shultz and another man approached. He didn’t offer his hand. “Professor Weathers, I need to know where this man is,” said the newcomer as he pointed to an enlarged photo of Dusty, obviously taken by one of the campus’s numerous security cameras. “We know he was in the lab with you and is carrying some sort of weapon.”
“And who might you be, sir?”
“I am Special Agent in Charge Monroe, FBI. I am responsible for the Central-South region.”
“Well, Agent Monroe, I don’t know where that man is. I parted company with him at the coffee shop some time ago, and I don’t believe he was carrying any sort of weapon.”
