Unpopular Science

Chapter 37

Jack Fast wasn’t a happy boy. “Those meatballs gutted the Big I, Pops!”

“Get out of there, Jack,” Fastbinder ordered, his voice distorted by the digital satellite feed.

The laptop sitting on the copilot’s seat beep shrilly and Jack jumped. “I got a fix on Ballboy, Pops! He’s sending!”

“Jack, don’t do anything risky.”

“What in tarnation is happening? You seeing this, Pops? This is all freaked out.” Jack could hear his voice rise as he grew more agitated every second. “He’s not on the White House grounds anymore. He’s moving away. His gyros are totally out of whack.”

“They apprehended him,” Fastbinder said. “They will get him away fast as possible, just in case he is wired to blow zee House up.”

“I’m not buying it, Pops. If it was the Service they’d have stuck him in a sealed vehicle so he couldn’t get communications out. Ballboy is still sending full-strength, it’s just all messed up. The GPS is fluctuating like—like— Hey, Pops, Ballboy is rolling down the street!”

“That is unlikely, Jack.”

“Yeah, look at the fluctuations in the GPS feed. It’ll model out to pi, I guarantee it. It must be those weirdo friends of Senator Whiteslaw who nabbed him. It isn’t the Service at all…”

Fastbinder read volumes in the thoughtful tone in his son’s voice. “Jack, please do nothing that is foolish.”

“I gotta know, Pops. These jerks have caused us nothing but trouble since the beginning. They killed Ironhand, Pops! He’s an heirloom. He’s what we’re all about.”

“He’s a machine only, Jack. He can be reconstructed.”

“You’re not getting it. Pops. It’s not about Ironhand—it’s about this pair of reprobates who keep ruining everything we do. We gotta stop ’em. We gotta.” Jack Fast steered the aircraft into a bank so sharp he felt the blood travel into his legs. Time to return to the scene of the crime.

Fastbinder was still talking on the radio, trying to convince the teenager to keep his distance. “We will get them sooner or later. You risk getting caught or shot down.”

“They’ll never catch me. Pops. Not if I dive.”

There was a moment in which Fastbinder said nothing. “Do not dive—I beg this of you.”

“Sorry, Pops,” Jack said, “I’m diving already.”