Victor Koman: Captain Anger Adventure #1 The Microbotic Menace

At the moment, Flash Hoile posed it a simple question. He adjusted the lightweight voice-input headset and asked, “Can you find Dr. Julius Frederick Madsen, Ph.D.s in molecular biology and electronics?”

Within a seconds, Dr. Madsen’s file appeared on the screen.

Dr. Julius Frederick Madsen

Age: 55 Height: 5’ 4" Weight: 125 Hair: White Eyes: Grey Race: European B Fingerprints: On File, National Security Net Voiceprint: On File, National Security Net Retinaprint: Not On File DNAprint: Not On File

Cyclops listed his education from grade school onward, noting degrees, honors, scholarships, fellowships. Page after page scrolled past on the screen, noting everything in public records concerning the life of Dr. Julius Madsen. Flash read every line, digesting the information into the personal computer behind his eyes.

Dr. Madsen had led a salutary life, creating enough new technology to have contributed significantly to the betterment of mankind. Flash concentrated on Madsen’s career over the past few years. He had been a professor emeritus at Stanford University while performing research at the Drexler College of Nanotechnology. Flash read over the list of patents awarded to Madsen. Certainly enough variety and utility there for him to license and live comfortably off royalties for the rest of his life.

A year ago, the record started to turn spotty. Missed appearances at conferences, research papers scheduled for publication going undelivered, a squabble with a graduate student over credit for a discovery. What discovery, Cyclops did not know. Dr. Madsen, though, had his funding cut off and his position at the college terminated, which indicated to Flash that there had been more to the incident than any public record indicated. The student, in addition, had been found dead-an apparent handgun suicide-three weeks before Dr. Julius Madsen disappeared from the face of the Earth.

He lived in Palo Alto until his disappearance four months ago. Cyclops showed mortgage payments and taxes current, something Flash noted with interest. Utilities also remained on.

He switched on the communications link to Captain Anger and crew.

“Cap-I’ve got an address for Dr. Madsen’s domicile.” He waited a few seconds for a reply. “Cap?” he said.

No reply.

“Skipper?”

Digital silence filled his headphones.

Captain Anger, Rock, and Dr. Bhotamo turned to stare at the silvery pool. Where once the surface had been flat and reflected the sky and buildings around it like a mirror, now the image seemed to bend. The eastern end of the pool arced like a concave mirror-the reflection of the collapsed building stretched and curved as if printed on taffy. The western end- the part closest to the street and the cluster of reporters-bulged convexly upward, like the rising crest of a silver wave.

“It’s flowing west!” Rock cried.

Without a word, Captain Anger jumped from the van. Still in his grimy disguise, with ripped pieces of flesh-colored rubber hanging from his face, he looked like a nightmare creature racing toward the line of police officers and the throng of reporters and onlookers.

“Get out of its way!” he shouted in a voice that commanded attention. Everyone turned to stare at the bizarre man, then at the microbotic shoreline.

Rather than eat its way through the pavement, the sea of churning electronic life now flowed out of the hole it had made, washing up over the street in a decidedly unfluid manner. Parts of it seemed to extend like the pseudopodia of an amoeba-a quick surge, followed by a resting phase while other rivulets caught up. Within moments, a shiny protuberance reached the police cordon. The officers scattered-all except one, who struggled to move the yellow vinyl tape farther forward, as if that would keep the monster contained.

“Drop it!” Cap cried. “Just get away!” His feet pounded the pavement as he sped toward the man.

A glittering pseudopod shot blindly toward the officer. Cap shoved off the pavement in a flying leap that propelled him along the police line. Sailing past the arm of death just inches below him, Cap tackled the cop with full force. The powerful collision knocked his target five feet sideways and out of the path of the microbotic scavengers.

They hit the ground and rolled across asphalt and gravel, the cop howling with pain and surprise. Cap merely grunted upon impact, rolled, and sprang to his feet, catlike and ready.

Fearful and enraged, the officer yanked the revolver from his holster and fired at the slithering mass. The bullets pounded deep holes and disappeared into the stuff, the cavities quickly filling in. Shooting the parts had in no way harmed the whole.

“Forget it,” Cap said. “You’re just feeding them.”

The cop turned and ran to join his fellows at their new redoubt.

Cap switched on his earcomm. “I think they’re at least partially solar-powered,” he said to the others. “And I think they’re trying to follow the setting sun.” His dark, emerald-hued eyes scanned the horizon. Sunlight glinted off something atop a building.

“Or maybe they’re being guided !”

“ Cap !” Flash’s voice sounded. “ Am I glad you’re back on line! I’ve -”

“Not now, Flash!” With an alarming burst of speed, Captain Anger rushed down the street toward an ancient brick building, ratty tweed coat fluttering in the breeze.

“Rock-Follow me and bring the guns! Lei-clear everyone away from that stuff. Clear the whole block!”

Rock seized a holstered pistol and jumped from the van, rushing to join Cap at the far corner of the street. His short, thick legs powered him to an impressive speed for his height and ungainly, squat shape. His massive arms swung back and forth with each stride, adding even more force to his motion.

Cap disappeared into a doorway. In seconds, Rock sailed through.

“Cap!” he shouted, forgetting that he still wore his comm earplug.

“ Upstairs ,” Cap replied. The sounds of his footsteps echoed through the building. Rock ran through the lobby of a seedy- and evacuated-hotel, heading for the stairway at the rear.

Four flights brought him to the roof door, which hung open on bent hinges. Cap had slammed through it at full speed.

Rock emerged into daylight, pistol drawn, gaze darting here and there across the tarpaper-and-gravel roofing. Cap stood to his left, peering up into the blue sky.

“Gun!” Rock cried, tossing the holster toward Captain Anger.

Cap’s outstretched arm snatched it from mid-air without his turning to look. He strapped it on while examining the object of his attention. In front of him, a small video camera stood mounted on a tripod. Its lens focused on the now-demolished diner. Next to it stood a satellite dish antenna pointed heavenward. Cap stared in the direction its beam would be taking.

Rock holstered his pistol, knowing better than to interrupt the captain while he was thinking. He knew that Captain Anger was deep in calculation, estimating the altitude and azimuth of the transmission’s destination. After a moment, he said, “Flash- someone’s been watching the action and uplinking to the military satellite Carnelian Sapphire . Find where it’s downlinking.”

“ Might not be traceable ,” Flash radioed back, but set to the task nonetheless.

Cap examined the apparatus closely, searching for brand names and serial numbers. The Anger Institute’s computer digitally recorded every word transmitted over their radios as part of its myriad duties. Cap’s transmitters scrambled the messages so that anyone even capable of intercepting the spread-spectrum transmissions would interpret the rasping signals as nothing more than static. If they tried to decode the apparent noise, the most powerful computer in the world-even the Anger Institute’s-would need centuries to find the incredibly huge prime numbers used as multipliers in the intricate mathematical function known as the One Way Trapdoor that served to encrypt the signal.