The Americans stand around the laser tower.
Perplexed, Matt looks over the transformer. "Run that past me again, kid."
"Like I said, Q-Switches are restricted. The President just issues an executive order," Jedi explains. "Then things can just, like, disappear from public records."
"Secret squirrel shit—right?"
"Sure. This kind of hardware falls under technology that potentially affects national security—so yeah, secret squirrel shit."
"You seem pretty well-informed, Jedi," Sophia says.
"Yeah, kid, like, what's the go?" Lloyd asks.
"I dig around the Net, and . . ." Jedi pauses, unsure. "
And what?" Lloyd asks.
"And I got a cousin who works for one of the leading weapons manufacturers and you've gotta believe me when I say something like this. . ." Jedi points at the Q-Switch. ". . .is just the tip of the iceberg."
"Wait a second—let me have a look inside this fucking box." Lloyd pushes past Matt and Jedi and walks up to the transformer. He reads the small metal plate tucked below the electronics. "Siron Systems Patent Number FT Five, Five, Three, Four. Made in the United States of America."
"Same Company that made the collars—just a different patent number," Sophia says.
"Made in America—what a bunch of shit—aren't we supposed to be the good guys?" Cutter complains.
"Sure seems strange alright," Jim says.
The Americans contemplate.
"Kid?" Lloyd asks.
"Yeah?"
"Your cousin?"
"Yeah?"
"Does he, by any chance, work for this Siron System crowd?" Lloyd asks.
"He's a she."
"Don't fuck with me, kid—just answer the question."
"Hey, Lloyd, what you doing, questioning the witness? Let it go," Sophia says.
"I'm exploring a line of inquiry. The kid seems to be ahead of the game all the time—you ever thought he could be planted here?"
"He's ahead of the game because he thinks before he speaks!" Sophia shakes her head at Lloyd.
"Well I'm thinking now, and this cousin of his might be working for the same corporation that made this fucking death ray machine," Lloyd says.
"Coincidence if she does, Lloyd," Jedi says.
"Kid, I'm too old to believe in coincidences."
"You're reading way too much into this." Jedi shrugs.
"Maybe—maybe not."
"Not!"
Silence.
Jim asks, "Talking of the good guys—just why would the United States Government let all this restricted equipment end up here?"
"Maybe they're not the good guys!" Matt says.
"Hey, watch your mouth." Lloyd points a finger at Matt. "You're disrespecting our country—I'll remind you we're the defenders of the free world."
"Aren't you being a tad naïve?"
"It's called loyalty—you should try it sometimes. Besides, it's all pretty obvious to me."
"Go ahead, Loyalty Lloyd, inspire us!" Matt says.
"This Q box thing is just a commodity and any commodity gets sold to the man with the biggest checkbook."
"I'm confused—you mean the bad guys?"
"Sure. It's called free enterprise, that's how the world works so get used to it, Mister Potato Head."
"Well that kind of sucks," Matt says.
"If you don't like it, there's plenty of other countries you can run away to."
"I meant you calling me Mister Potato Head! So, let me get this straight. Our Government, the good guys, sells this restricted stuff to the bad guys, who then use it to try and kill us—the good guys," Matt says.
"And you're calling me naïve! Where've you been living the last century—Little House on the Prairie?"
"Better than 742 Evergreen Terrace!"
"Where the fuck's that?" Lloyd asks.
Jedi laughs, "Homer Simpson's address in Springfield."
Lloyd strides over to Matt, "Why you son of bitch."
Books grabs Lloyd and holds him back from Matt. "And where I come from talk is cheap, so let's drop it. See this timer. . ." Books points at Lloyd's collar as it counts down: 05.52.25, :05.52.24, :05.52.23 ". . .we got under six hours left, so time to move out." He turns toward Jedi. "Kid?"
"Yeah Books?"
"Is there any way you can deactivate that transformer?"
Jedi shakes his head. "Too risky."
"Why?"
"Because, if I'd built it, I'd have made sure it would trigger the collars if anyone tried to tamper with the electronics."
"And the guys who built it would be as smart as you, right Jedi?" Sophia asks.
"Smarter."
"Great. What now?" Matt asks.
Jim says, "I reckon we either head back on that compass heading toward where that smoke was coming from, or, like Books said, we follow that bike and see where that takes us."
Lloyd says, "Or like I keep saying, we follow the laser fence until we find a gap in it, then we get the hell out of here."
Sophia says, "You're dreaming if you think we're going to get through that laser field. You heard what Jedi said. These guys are the smartest guys on the block, and I bet my last dollar they won't have left some gaping hole for us to escape through."
"Do not pass go—do not collect $200 until . . . " Matt says.
"Until what?" Cutter asks.
"Until we're either all dead or we're the last team standing. I hate hearing myself say this but I'm thinking we've no choice but to keep going until it ends."
"Ends!" Lloyd says. "That sounds pretty fucking final!"
More contemplation.
"We're going," Books says. He walks over to the Humvee.
"Which way, Books?" Jedi asks.
"We follow the bike's tracks. We'll meet that pink team sooner or later, so it might as well be sooner."
"I don't like this. I don't like this at all—it's all fucking wrong," Lloyd says.
The Americans ignore Lloyd. Cutter loads the yellow case into the rear of the Humvee.
Lloyd hangs back. "Is anyone listening to me?"
Jedi starts up the Humvee.
"Hey, Lawyer, move your ass, else you'll miss all the fun," Cutter says.
"Fun!"
"Yeah, we're chasing pink."
"I hate pink," Lloyd says.
"Why?"
"Because my ex-wife likes flamingos and flamingos are pink, and I fucking hate flamingos."
"Motherfucker—Lloyd, is there anything you don't hate?"
"No."
