Free The Red Phoenix 12: Strength Comes in Numbers by Ken Bush

XV9,” said Scott.
     
    “The freeze gun?” asked Jaymon with a smile.
     
    “You know it,” Scott replied.
     
    “Man, the stuff that guy, Siddoway, can come up with,” said Jaymon, sounding amazed.
     
    “Is it still waiting on approval?” asked Scott.
     
    “The board was going to put their stamp on it tomorrow or the next day but you should be good to go,” Jaymon responded. “Head on in and I’ll buzz the door for you.”
     
    “Thanks brother,” said Scott, fist-bumping Jaymon. “C’mon Chris.”
     
    “Nice to meet you,” said Chris.
     
    “You too,” Jaymon replied, returning to his typing.
     
    In the next room over, Scott led Chris towards a glass case the size that of a two-hundred gallon fish tank in the middle of the room. Chris’ eyes gleamed at an exotic silver weapon that was lying on a stand inside the case.
     
    “So, that’s it, huh?” asked Chris.
     
    “Trust me, you’ll like this,” Scott replied, putting in the code on the side number pad.  “Since you work in the department and Siddoway trusts you, I’ll tell you the code.”
     
    “What is it?” asked Chris.
     
    “Zero-two-two-seven-fifty-seven,” Scott answered. “It’s also Siddoway’s date of birth.”
     
    “Got it,” said Chris.
     
    Scott opened the top and took out the chrome gun. It held in his hand like a short-stocked assault rifle but it had a pistol grip, bulky stock, a second grip under the front near the barrel, and bright blue lights around it.
     
    “I like the color,” said Chris.
     
    “The chrome plating gives it a futuristic look, don’t you think?” Scott replied, aiming the weapon towards the other side of the room.
     
    “What do you intend on shooting?” asked Chris.
     
    “Have any change in your pocket?” asked Scott.
     
    “Yeah, I think so,” Chris answered, taking out a quarter, a few nickels and some pennies.”
     
    “Time for them to meet the Ice Age, Christopher,” said Scott.
     
    “You serious?”
     
    “Count to three and let it rip,” Scott responded, holding the weapon up.
     
    “One … two … three,” said Chris, tossing the coins upwards, underhand.
     
    Scott fired, making a brilliant blue beam with white streaks shoot across the room, soaking the coins in the beam while in mid-air. The coins hit the floor encased in solid ice.
     
    “Wow! That was impressive,” said Chris, astounded, crouching down at the coins, picking one up, gazing at it.
     
    “Not bad, huh?” asked Scott. “Imagine a couple armies fighting with these? The world be thrown back to ten-thousand B.C.”
     
    “I’ve never seen a weapon do anything like this,” said Chris, picking up another iced-coin. “Incredible.”
     
    “So, you probably want your money back, right?” asked Scott, putting the ice gun back in its case.
     
    “You mean do I want to put a bunch of ice cubes in my pocket? Not really,” said Chris.
     
    “Never fear, my friend, for Dr. Siddoway has foreseen your challenges and I intend to free you from your burdens,” said Scott theatrically, opening another glass case and taking out a pair of black metallic gloves with something that looked like a hockey puck built onto the palms.
     
    “What did you have in mind? A space age microwave oven to thaw them out?” asked Chris.
     
    “Not exactly, something a little more appropriate,” Scott responded.
     
    “You’re using the Death Grip gloves to shock-thaw the ice away?” asked Chris.
     
    “The Death Grips are over there in their own case; these are different,” Scott replied.
     
    Chris stood by, watching.
     
    “The best way to get rid of ice is… Fire!” said Scott, raising his palms, making fire blaze out of both of them, which melted the ice down to a small puddle of water on the floor.
     
    Chris stepped back, astonished.
     
    “What do you think?” asked Scott.
     
    “Whoa!” said Chris. “A flame thrower from the palms?”
     
    “The cool thing about these is the palms only have