Unencouraging News

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Xavion shook his head. "That takes this mess to a whole new level. Now we're talking hate crime."

"Yeah. That's what the police said," Erik said quietly. He glanced over at Zave and Kay. "Uh, can I have a word with Alan, alone?"

The brothers exchanged puzzled looks, then turned to Alan, who shrugged slightly. "It's okay with me," he told them.

"Okay," Zave said. "C'mon, Kay." The brothers stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

"I – I wasn't sure if... I didn't know... uh, I thought you might possibly be... gay," Erik stammered, looking down at his feet, not meeting Alan's. "And I didn't know if they knew..."

Alan blinked several times, his mouth open in shock. "You... you actually still think I am... that way? Even after I told you..."

Erik shrugged, and winced, interrupting Alan. "I know you told me before that you weren't, but I wasn't certain. I thought maybe you said that just in case someone was listening." He raised his eyes to meet Alan's again. "Are you?"

The question caught Alan off-guard. "No!" he cried, shaking his head emphatically. "I'm not!" The quick denial seemed to surprise Erik for a split second, then he looked disappointed. Alan noticed this and asked quietly, "Are you... gay, Erik?"

The freshman sighed. "I think so. It's kinda hard to know for sure; I mean, I'm only fourteen. I haven't exactly had any... experience or anything." He looked off toward the window. "When I heard that you were, I thought – I hoped that maybe you'd be..."

"Your boyfriend?" Alan asked, his voice nearly squeaking.

"No! Not that!" Erik turned back to Alan an exasperated expression on his bruised face. "Not a boyfriend. Just a... a friend. Someone I could talk to about things – about 'it'."

"Oh." Alan blew out a relieved breath. He smiled slightly, a rueful expression. "I'm afraid that Fermat and me being gay was just a rumor. Not true at all! It's a long story; the short version is that I made someone mad and he thought that spreading the rumor I was gay would be a way to get back at me."

"I see." Erik still seemed disappointed.

"Hey, we still would have been teammates... and friends, too," Alan said. "I think so, anyway. Once I got over the initial shock, and realized that you weren't interested in me.. that way..." He suddenly shook his head, exasperated with himself. "Hell, I'm not really sure how I would have reacted if you'd approached me, but I'd like to think I could look beyond... 'it' and be your friend." He gazed Erik, frowning. "Who did you tell about this? I mean, somebody had to know."

"That's what the police asked," Erik said, shaking his head carefully. "But I can't think of anyone, not at Wharton. Only a couple of my close friends know, and now, my mom. She hasn't told my step-father, and I hope she doesn't. We clash enough without adding this to it."

Alan snorted a laugh. "I know what it's like to clash with my dad."

"Yeah?" Erik stopped for a moment, then added, a touch of bitterness to his voice, "But he's your dad, your real dad. Not someone pretending."

Alan didn't have an answer to this. How would I have felt if Dad had remarried? I don't suppose it would have mattered much when I was little; I don't remember Mom very well. But now? What if he remarried now? And what if it were... Lady Penelope? He stopped those thoughts right there, shook his head, then asked, "Do you mind if I let Zave and Kay back in?"

"No, I don't mind, but... please, don't tell them about 'it'." Erik sounded as if he was pleading.

"They're going to ask," Alan told him.

"I know, but they really don't have to know. Please, Alan. Promise me you'll keep it secret?"

Alan took in a deep breath, and nodded. "I won't tell."

Erik relaxed, sitting back against the upraised mattress. "Thanks. Go ahead and let them in."

Getting up, Alan opened the door, and not only did Xavion and Qaeshon come in, but so did Mrs. Sanford. "Have you had a good talk, son?" she asked. "I called Colin; he and Keith have your things packed. They'll be here in a little bit."

"Yeah, we've had a good talk," Erik said.

"But, uh, I think we'd better get going," Alan said, standing up. "Still have that shopping to do, and I'm getting hungry for lunch." He ignored Kay and Zave's identical frowns, and held out his hand to Mrs. Sanford. "Nice to have met you, ma'am." Turning to Erik, he said, "You take care, and we'll try to keep in touch, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Erik said. "Zave, Kay, thanks for stopping by."

"Uh, sure, Erik," Xavion said, looking confused. "We'll miss you on the team."

"Hope you get better soon," Qaeshon said, reaching for Erik's good hand and shaking it firmly. He offered his hand to Mrs. Sanford, saying, "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sanford."

"Thank you, boys," she said with a smile. "I hope you'll keep in touch with Erik. Maybe he'll be back at Wharton next year."

"Sooner, I hope," Erik said firmly. "Once the police catch these creeps."

His mother gave him a warning look, and the trio took that as a cue to leave. None of them spoke until they were back in Xavion's car.

"Well?" Kay demanded.

"Well what?" Alan replied.

"Is he or isn't he?"

Alan didn't pretend to not understand, but stopped to think carefully about his answer. Finally he said, "Listen. Whether Erik is gay or not isn't the point. The point is that whoever attacked him thought he was. And Erik felt it was important that I be on my guard, knowing that people are saying that Fermat and I are gay." He sighed. "He just wanted to make sure that I was comfortable talking about what happened, that's all."

Zave looked over his shoulder at Alan, an incredulous expression on his face. "Erik actually thought you were gay?"

"He wasn't sure," Alan said. "Now he knows I'm not."

Shaking his head, Zave turned back, fastened his seatbelt, and started the car. "Okay, where to next?"

"Is there a mall? We can shop and eat lunch there," Alan suggested.

"Good idea," Xavion said. "The mall it is."

The six o'clock commuter train from Tshwane-Pretoria to Johannesburg and points south left on schedule, its magnetic levitation technology causing the two cars to float above the track, and allowing the train to move at a high speed from one point to the other. Built to relieve some of the traffic congestion foreseen for the 2010 World Cup games, the maglev commuter rail had been a boon to both business and government, and it had been recently extended as far as Bloemfontein, the judicial capital, with a completed spur from there to Kimberley. Another branch was under construction, which would eventually link the administrative capital – Tshwane-Pretoria - to the legislative city of Cape Town. When complete, one could travel non-stop from one end to the other in roughly three hours and it would be the longest maglev line in the world. The trip to nearby Johannesburg, however, took less than 20 minutes.

This particular train usually had four sections to it, sleek and streamlined for maximum speed. It used a combination of state-of-the-art maglev technologies. Supercooled electromagnets raised the cars a full four inches off the single rail, while the base of the cars wrapped loosely around it, guaranteeing safety from derailment. There were no wheels here, just the electromagnets and a set of permanent magnets in the cars themselves. Every system was redundant, and seemed virtually accident-proof.

From the control tower, located at the station in Tshwane-Pretoria, the electronic order went out for the train to start. Radio masts along the route transmitted signals from the control room to the train itself, while fiber optic lines carried instructions to the actual rail line, controlling switches and turning the electromagnets on or off. The system had been working with very few glitches since its inauguration in 2010.

But tonight was different. A former rail line employee, one with a deep-seated grudge, had hacked into the computer system at the control center and dumped a nasty virus into the software. The malware took time to filter through the system, but when the six o'clock train left the station, it carried a virtual passenger: the virus, tucked securely in its onboard computer. The malware that had infected the control center started to send out erroneous signals along that track, while the bits aboard the train itself overwrote the onboard software, keeping the train moving, accelerating it to near maximum speed, and making it impossible to stop. Sensor readings along the line were affected; everything read as normal, when, in fact, there was something terribly wrong. It would take a good twenty minutes, when the train reached then blew by the Johannesburg station, for anyone to discover that there was a problem.

The immediate response was to try shutting down the train from the control center. But it soon became apparent what the problem was, and that the system would require rebooting at the very least. Even so, that measure would not clear the infected onboard software. There was a call to shut down the power on the line, and a scramble to get in touch with the officials responsible for the various sections of South Africa's power grid. A good deal of bureaucratic red tape, and a general sense of disbelief slowed down the response there. As a result, by the time one part of the grid had accepted the necessity, the train was beyond it. There was also talk of diverting the train to Kimberley once it reached the judicial capital, but it became clear that the train would not accept the orders to divert.

"The line beyond Bloemfontein is open as far as De Aar," the head of the railway told his people in an emergency meeting. "We must try to stop it before it gets beyond that point."

"Won't the train stop once it reaches the portions of the track that aren't open?" someone asked.

"There's been testing going on all along the completed parts of the line, including those that aren't open for use yet," said the head engineer. "This virus has activated as much of the line as has been tested. When the train runs out of powered rail, there will no longer be any levitation. The cars will drop to the rail and friction will take over, but according to our calculations, the friction will not be enough to halt the train's momentum. It will still be moving fast enough to slide over the unfinished end."

"What can we do?" the IT supervisor asked. "There must be something!"

The head of the railway moistened his lips. "There is one organization that may be able to stop the train manually. We must call International Rescue."

A.J. came back from breakfast just as Fermat was readying for lunch. Mr. Trumbull came into the room with his son, each carrying a suitcase, and they were followed by a chauffeur laden down with a number of empty plastic totes.

Mr. Trumbull smiled when he saw Fermat. "Oh, hello there, young Mr. Hackensack..."

"Hackenbacker," Fermat and A.J. said in unison.

"Ah, yes. Hackenbacker." Mr. Trumbull's smile faltered a bit. "How are you today?"

"F-Fine, sir," Fermat answered politely.

"And how did your quiz team do yesterday evening?"

"We w-won, sir."

Mr. Trumbull's smile returned in full force. "Excellent!" He turned to his son. "Perhaps your next school will have need of someone with your intellectual capabilities, Andrew."

"You know I'd rather sing, Father," Andrew answered sullenly. He motioned to an empty spot along the wall between the door to the room and the door to the bathroom. "You can put those over there, Reynolds."

"Yes, Master Andrew." The chauffeur did as he was told, and set the totes down.

"Andrew tells me that you are staying here at school," Mr. Trumbull said, turning back to Fermat.

"Yes, s-sir, I am." Fermat replied, smiling. "My father and I d-discussed it and we felt it was a-all right for me to stay... provided I am c-careful."

"Hm." Mr. Trumbull rubbed his smooth chin. "Of course, you are much older than my Andrew here..."

"Actually, sir, I'm n-not," Fermat said. "He's tw-twelve and I'm th-thirteen. This is my s-second year at Wh-Wharton."

"Really?" Mr. Trumbull frowned. "And your father is letting you stay? Even with a broken arm?"

"Yes, sir." Fermat bristled a bit. It galled him to hear his father's decision questioned, even in such an oblique manner. "He t-trusts me to be c-careful, and I have fr-friends to help me. We w-watch each other's b-backs."

"It's a pity they couldn't have kept you from breaking your arm," Mr. Trumbull said, his voice indicating that he didn't approve of Fermat's plain speaking.

"I told you, Father," Andrew piped up irritably. "He broke his arm because I was a being a jerk and made him take the top bunk when he told me he needed the bottom one. Just drop it, please?"

Mr. Trumbull gave his son a quelling glare. "I remember what you said, Andrew." He paused and took a breath to recover his equilibrium. "Well, I have to go and fill out the paperwork, then I have some calls to make. You need to pack up your things, and be ready to go by five. I'll be back then to get you." He nodded to the chauffeur. "Reynolds, the car."

"Yes, sir."

The chauffeur left, and Mr. Trumbull made ready to follow. Glancing back at Fermat, he said, "It was nice to meet you, Fermat. Thank you for putting up with Andrew for the past two weeks."

"It wasn't hard, sir," Fermat replied. He paused, then added. "Uh, Mr. Trumbull?" When the man nodded, he continued. "Please reconsider your d-decision. I'm sure the p-police will catch these hoodlums soon, and... my friends and I will miss A.J. - I m-mean, Andrew. He's become p-part of our group. We can watch h-his back, too."

"I am sorry, Fermat, but I don't have much faith in the police. A result of my work, I'm afraid," Mr. Trumbull replied. "And I really feel it would be safer for him to be with me, his new friends notwithstanding." He paused at the door. "I will return soon, Andrew. You may say your goodbyes then."

The door closed behind him, and A.J. swore. "Damn. I hoped you could persuade him."

"I h-hoped so, too, but I also f-figured he wouldn't l-listen to a k-kid." Fermat shrugged, then gave his roommate a small frown. "Y'know, you c-could have been less sn-snarky to him. He's d-doing what he thinks is b-best."

A.J. flopped into his desk chair. "I know, but it's always been what he thinks is best for me, whether I like it or not." He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "He thinks it's best that I go to boarding school, so he can be free to do what he pleases. He thinks it's best for me to spend my summers at camp, so he doesn't have to keep an eye on me. He doesn't know me, Fermat... and I don't think he wants to."

Fermat nodded. "I can s-see your p-point, A.J., but I've g-got to admit, you s-sounded like a sp-spoiled brat when you were t-talking to him."

A.J. opened his mouth to protest, then stopped and cocked his head. "Did I?"

"Y-Yeah," Fermat said, nodding. "You did." He paused again, and said, more slowly, "My d-dad once told me that it's his job to d-do what he feels is b-best for me, even if I d-disagree. That he's tr-trying to k-keep me from getting hurt... and from m-making the same mistakes he m-made." He shrugged again. "It d-doesn't sound fair, but that's the way things a-are."

"But your dad listens to you," A.J. said. "Mine doesn't."

"If m-my dad didn't think I c-could be careful, he'd have pulled me out, too, regardless of what Alan's d-doing... and regardless of my own f-feelings," Fermat said firmly. "He still might, if things e-escalate." He leaned forward, and fixed his roommate with a keen gaze. "One thing I've learned is that if I t-talk to my dad the way I'd like him to t-t-t... speak to me, he listens better. When I wh-whine, it's like he can't hear past the t-tone."

"I think I understand what you're saying," A.J. replied. He slumped his chair. "But I don't think it's going to work in this case. My Dad's already got his mind made up."

"Hmm." Fermat rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We st-still have one more chance."

"What's that?"

"Alan."

A.J. rolled his eyes. "You really think my father would listen to him?"

"Nothing v-ventured, nothing g-gained," Fermat said, winking at A.J.

The younger boy laughed. "All right. I'll let Alan have a go at him." He glanced around the room. "In the meantime, I guess I'd better be the obedient son, and start packing my stuff."

"I'll g-give you a hand," Fermat said, then he chuckled. "Since a hand is all I can give."

"Oogh," A.J. groaned, shaking his head. Then he pulled out the first plastic tote.

"What do you have for us, John?" Jeff said as he sat down at the command and control center. His hair was ruffled, and he was wearing his threadbare bathrobe. Scott and Gordon came in, looking every bit as disheveled, with Virgil bringing up the rear, yawning, his tuft of hair sticking out five ways to Sunday.

John, too, looked like he'd just woken up, his bright blond waves askew. "The maglev train line from Pretoria to points south has been sabotaged by a virus. The locals are trying to track down the hacker," he glanced up, as did the others, as Brains entered the room, "but between the malware in the control center systems and what's in the train itself, they don't think they can stop the train before it runs off the track, somewhere between De Aar and Cape Town."

"F-A-B. Let them know we're on our way." Jeff glanced at his boys, and his eyes narrowed. "I think we may need a bit more brain power on this one. Scott, get moving... and take Brains with you."

"M-Me?" Brains asked, incredulous.

"Yes, you. Bring whatever you need to help clear this malware from the train and the control center," Jeff said. He glanced up at John again. "Get the locals to upload their original programming specs and the infected stuff... but make sure you isolate it! Put it on a separate hard drive if you need to. If Brains needs anything else, he'll tell you."

Scott was already in his alcove, but Brains was rooted to the spot, blinking. "Well?" Jeff said, a touch of amusement in his voice. "This is right up your alley, Brains. Get to it, man!"

That seemed to break the spell. "R-R... F-A-B," he said as he strode across the room, his robe fluttering behind him, to join a grinning Scott.

"Virgil, make sure you have the pod with the extra strength grabs. I'm not sure what else you should take; none of our equipment is built for this kind of specialized work."

"Maybe the collision stoppers?" Gordon suggested.

"Yes, those might work." The devices that Gordon mentioned were flat, rectangular pads that, when activated, filled nearly instantaneously with a rubbery foam, the consistency of a thick, whipped jell-o. They were designed to cushion falling objects and could act as airbags or flotation devices. "Bring as many as you can. You can set up barriers to try and slow the train down if necessary."

Gordon nodded. He and Virgil took their places, and Jeff pressed a button, saying firmly, "Thunderbirds are go."