"You cheat." A thrill ran through Ron's new body as he said it, and he
muttered a small prayer that his guess about Shock's power was correct.
"I _what_?"
"I've been watching you play, and you cheat. You don't even cheat good.
You cheat sloppy."
The tall boy stood up slowly, and the other chairs were scraped back in
anticipation.
"Now that's something," he said. "That's really something! The kid's
here ten minutes, and right away he wants to be buried." His face
became grim. "Boy, we've had 'em wise before, pal. But never like this."
Ron planted himself in front of him.
"So?" he said.
Shock's face clouded. "Say, are you kidding? You really like trouble
that bad?"
His right hand lashed out, while the left headed for his jacket pocket.
But it wasn't the right that Ron avoided. Both of his short arms shot
out towards the tall boy's left, and stopped the descent of the arm.
Shock's right hand thudded against Ron's shoulder, the blow only
stinging him.
"Hey!" Shock cried. "Hey, you--"
It was a triumph for Ron. He had been right about the electrical
circuit woven through Shock's clothing, the circuit he couldn't
complete without his left hand tripping the mechanism in his pocket.
With the power off, Shock's weapon was useless. He was caught by
surprise, and Ron's quick-moving hands tumbled him to the floor.
Before he had a chance to do anything else, Ron was upon him with an
upraised chair. He closed his eyes before he swung. The sound of the
crash might have sickened him in other circumstances; now it sounded
good and satisfying.
Ron looked around the room, panting.
"I'm the leader now," he said. "Understand? I'm the leader!"
The looked at each other uncertainly.
"I'm taking the copter for a while," Ron said, backing towards the
door. "Any arguments?"
Nobody answered.
"Swell. So long, pals."
Outside the door, he ran all the way back to the roof and was off
before the gang could follow.
The trip took almost two hours. Even Ron's experienced guidance of
the controls couldn't push the old copter past its limits, and he was
keeping a worried eye on the fuel gauge. It was with a sigh of relief
that he dropped the vehicle atop a public parking station in the
downtown district, within walking distance of the Government Medical
Center.
The sun was dropping fast, and the Washington streets were still filled
with Sunday sightseers who found nothing odd in the sight of a solitary
twelve-year-old. When he entered the enormous U-shaped edifice that
housed a hundred and one government medical projects, he was thinking
fast about a plausible story for the receptionist. The best he could do
was:
"I'm looking for Dr. Wilfred Minton. He--he's my uncle."
"Dr. Minton?" She was young, and the efficient type. "I'm sorry, but
Dr. Minton's been on special assignment for some time. It's not easy to
locate him."
"Oh, I know about that," Ron said airily. "But I was supposed to see
him today. You see, my mom--his sister that is--she was in a very bad
accident...." He swallowed hard, wondering if he was being believed.
The woman frowned. "Well, if it's an emergency, I suppose I could check
with central control. If it's really important."
"Oh, it's important, all right!" He said this with great conviction.
"Very well, then." She picked up her telephone, and there was much
transferring from party to party. Finally, she lowered the receiver,
saying: "He's in the east wing. It's Security territory, so I'll have
to see about a pass."
It took another ten minutes for her to locate the authority she was
seeking. A young man with crinkly hair and a grim expression came
briskly to the desk, asked him a few questions, and then signed his
name on a document. Ron put the paper into the pocket of his coveralls,
and followed the man to a bank of private elevators.
The man waved him inside one, and he couldn't resist a wide-eyed
question.
"Gosh, mister. Are you from the FBI?"
The man couldn't conceal a small pleased grin. "That's right, son. Only
you keep it a secret."
"Sure," Ron said. When the door closed and the elevator ascended, he
grinned too. Being twelve had its advantages sometimes.
He got off the elevator, and a uniformed guard checked his paper and
led him into an anteroom.
"You wait here, son," he said, and left.
Ron waited five minutes. When nothing happened, he tried an adjoining
door. It was open. He stepped inside the next room, and saw that it was
a bare room with nothing but a row of filing cabinets and an abandoned
swivel chair with a definite list to port.
He went to the files and peered at the designation cards.
They read: