The major made notes. “So your invaders would need to bring a humanitarian force to minimize casualties among the innocent.”
“I suppose,” the colonel said impatiently. “But don’t you see? This is a weapon the likes of which the world has never known! Whole cities could fall without a shot ever being fired!”
The major nodded. “Do I get to meet this Jackson Opus? I think the general would like to hear about the wonder boy who can make all this happen.”
“Jax is a sensitive kid,” Pedroia began carefully. “He was on site at Delta Prime, and it really upset him to see people suffering because of something he did.”
“He’ll get over it,” Brassmeyer scoffed.
“I’m not so sure,” Pedroia countered. “But one way or the other, it’s not a good idea to have him revisit it so soon after the event. I recommend letting him cool off a little bit longer.”
The colonel glared at him. “She’s here representing a four-star general. She can see whoever she pleases.”
“The general can wait,” Bigelow assured him. “I’m a parent myself, and I know how twelve-year-olds can be. We have to be careful with this kid. After all, he’s the only one capable of this kind of large-scale hypnotism.”
There was a sudden awkward silence. The HoWaRD officers exchanged uncertain glances.
The major picked up on it immediately. “What am I missing here?”
Brassmeyer cleared his throat carefully. “Um — exactly how high is your security clearance?”
After Operation Aurora, Jax was given three days off before returning to the Hypnotic Warfare Research Department. This was on Captain Pedroia’s recommendation. If it had been up to the colonel, the mind-benders would all have been digging trenches alongside the troops every minute that they weren’t refining their mental powers.
Ray Finklemeyer and Jerry Katsakis were off working on a special project to determine whether a mesmeric command could improve soldiers’ marksmanship. The others were at computers, studying the hypnotic database — all except Eunice, who didn’t “do” technology, and was wading through a mountain of printed pages.
“Welcome back, dear,” she called to Jax. “We heard you performed wonderfully well.”
Jax was amazed. “The colonel said that?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied. “The colonel never says anything nice about anybody. But I saw him smile three times yesterday. That doesn’t happen for nothing.”
The mind-benders interrupted their research to greet Jax.
Wilson scowled at him. “You been away?”
Jax couldn’t help noticing that Wilson’s computer screen was not on the hypnotic database. He was on the FreeForAll website, playing a game called Gale Warning, where participants worked to create storms at sea and sink ships.
Jax looked around. “Where’s Stanley?”
“What’s the matter, Dopus?” sneered Wilson. “Eight-year-old got you spooked?”
“The colonel took him somewhere right after his trip with you,” Evelyn Lolis supplied.
“But I just saw Brassmeyer by the PX,” Jax persisted. “If he’s here, where’s Stanley?”
“It’s no big deal,” Wilson insisted. “The squirt’s probably got himself another cold for a change.”
But later, in the break room, Evelyn sidled up to Jax. “About Stanley — there’s something fishy going on. I don’t think he’s coming back.”
Jax was startled. “Why do you say that?”
“Ask any of them — the officers or the soldiers. You can’t get an answer. It’s like they don’t know, but they do.” She leaned down from her great height, which was at least six feet, and added in a whisper, “They’re hiding something.”
By the end of the week, Stanley still hadn’t returned to Fort Calhoun. Brassmeyer was there — his foghorn voice could be heard echoing down every hallway and stairwell in the Hypnotic Warfare Research Department building. But the eight-year-old was nowhere to be found.
Speculation ran high. It wasn’t unusual for one of the HoWaRDs to disappear for a day or two on special assignment, accompanied by a staff member. This time, though, the only one missing was the eight-year-old. And the army — from Brassmeyer down to the lowliest private — refused to say anything about it. Stanley’s whereabouts were strictly on a need-to-know basis. None of the HoWaRDs needed to know.
Eunice was concerned that “the poor little soul” had suffered a mental collapse brought on by the pressure of his powers, and was recovering in a hospital somewhere. Jerry and Ray suspected that Stanley was off with a new guardian assigned by the army. Brassmeyer was too high up to spend his time nurse-maiding an eight-year-old, they argued. Dirk and Evelyn were convinced that the major who came around sometimes had taken Stanley to Washington to meet the top generals.
Wilson liked this idea best. “How come nobody ever took you to Washington, Dopus? Oh, yeah — because you stink at hypnotism and everybody knows it.”
Even Anatoly seemed to have an opinion, although nobody understood it, since he expressed it in Romanian.
Captain Pedroia was becoming weary of the constant questioning. “When it’s time for you to be told, you’ll be told. That’s how it works.”
“But when?” Jax persisted during one of their private sessions.
“Probably never,” the psychiatrist replied. “Am I ever going to know why my request for size eleven boots was denied? No, I’m going to cut my toenails very short and limp around in my ten-and-a-halfs. Welcome to the army. Why do you need to know?”
“Don’t you get it?” Jax demanded. “Anything that happens to Stanley — it could just as easily happen to me! If he disappears one day, I could be next!”
“Why would you even think such a thing?” asked Pedroia in shock. “This is America! We don’t do things like that!”
“Don’t give me that,” Jax shot back. “You’ve got nine of us here, supposedly of our own free will. We can leave anytime we want to — until we want to.”
“Why would you want to?” asked Pedroia. “The security we offer you from Mako —”
“See, that’s how you do it!” Jax cut him off. “It’s not even whether or not I’m allowed to go. You never let the discussion get to that point. And that’s you — a good guy. Think how the colonel would react.”
The psychiatrist was quiet a moment. “Would it help if I assure you that Stanley is fine? Better than fine.”
“I’d need to know whether it’s fine fine or size-ten-and-a-half-boots fine.”
The captain gave him a long look. Jax was taken aback. The HoWaRD staff had been trained to avoid direct eye contact with mind-benders, knowing how easy it would be for any of the nine to hypnotize them. Yet here was Pedroia practically inviting Jax to put him under and take the information he wanted.
Jax glanced away before the picture-in-picture image could fully form.
The psychiatrist sighed. “You have to do everything the hard way, don’t you? Maybe you belong in the military.” He took a deep breath. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t go past the walls of this office. Understood?”
“I won’t tell anybody,” Jax promised.
“The army hasn’t done anything to Stanley. Some of the research that went into the hypnotic database dug up a distant relative.”
“An Arcanov?” Jax asked.
Pedroia shook his head. “Just a regular guy. I think his name is Ferguson. I didn’t meet him. Anyway, this guy was thrilled to find he has an eight-year-old cousin and he filed for adoption.”
Jax was astounded. “And Brassmeyer agreed?”
“The colonel’s not a monster. Who wouldn’t want to see an orphan find a family who’s going to raise him and care for him?”
“But Stanley’s an asset!” Jax protested. “The army doesn’t give those up. I’m living proof of that.”
“You may not love Fort Calhoun, but you’ve got a family, and they’re living right here with you. That poor little kid has never had a
nybody. What do you know — the army has a heart. Maybe not for a guy with sore feet, but they made the right call for Stanley when it really mattered.” He leaned back in his chair, an expression of perplexity on his face. “Tell me something. Did I just give you all that because I decided to, or because you got into my head and made me do it?”
“That was all you,” Jax promised.
The psychiatrist frowned. “How can I be sure of that?”
“Because if I’d bent you, I’d have made sure you forgot the whole conversation.”
Since the Hypnotic Warfare Research Department was classified, few of the soldiers at Fort Calhoun had any idea what was going on in the wide, low building near the northwest corner of the post. So when Jax stepped into the quartermaster’s stores that afternoon, the top sergeant at the desk saw only a very young civilian with a baseball cap pulled low over his face
“What can I do for you, kid?” The man yawned without much enthusiasm.
Jax surveyed the warehouse. The two of them were alone.
He flipped up the cap to reveal blazing deep blue eyes, darkening into purple. Almost immediately, the sergeant was in his power.
“You will bring me a pair of the best boots the army has — size eleven. And when the door closes behind me, you will come back to yourself and forget that I was ever here.”
Jax left the stores and returned to HoWaRD. He entered Pedroia’s office without knocking and plunked the boots down on the desk. “My mother says it’s not good to cut your toenails too short.”
The psychiatrist looked up in wonder. “How did you get these?”
“That information,” Jax informed him, “is on a need-to-know basis.”
He spun on his heel and walked out. Axel Braintree wouldn’t have been proud of him. But he was pretty proud of himself.
When Private First Class Kevin McGuinty was summoned by his lieutenant, the young soldier’s first thought was that someone had noticed the air holes in his footlocker and had discovered Augustus, the kitten he’d been keeping in the barracks.
But no, Augustus was safe for now. Instead, McGuinty was placed in front of a computer screen and told to expect a video call from “someone special.”
“My mother?” McGuinty asked anxiously.
But when the caller appeared on the screen, it was the face of a preteen boy with fair hair and remarkable eyes that were … What color was that? A moment ago, he could have sworn they were almost as yellow as Augustus’s. Yet now they were changing! Was that turquoise?
“You are very calm … very comfortable …” the caller told him.
At that moment, McGuinty knew with absolute certainty that it didn’t matter what color the boy’s eyes were. Everything was far too perfect to sweat small details like that.
Less than a mile away, in the northwest corner of the post, Jax sat at his own computer. He was already deep inside the young soldier’s mind. The PIP image was clear and true — his own face filling the screen of McGuinty’s MacBook.
“Great,” Jax approved. “Stay relaxed. When I snap my fingers, close your computer and forget everything about me and what we talked about. You’ll step outside, pick a handful of clover grass, stick it in one of your socks, and put it in your footlocker.”
This was the colonel’s latest exercise to sharpen Jax’s skills. A few times each day, he was required to bend some poor soldier via Skype and have him do something odd, so there would be proof that the suggestion had worked. Later on, a HoWaRD officer would check for the clover-filled sock in McGuinty’s footlocker, or the soy sauce packet in Corporal Vanover’s dress uniform pocket, or the bullet casing in the plastic bag under Sergeant Keegstra’s pillow.
He was about to snap his fingers when he picked up a random impression through the mesmeric link — a tiny kitten fast asleep inside a footlocker. “Change of plan,” he announced. “Instead of the footlocker, place the sock underneath your bunk.” If this young soldier got some comfort out of keeping a cat hidden among his belongings, Jax didn’t want to be the person who spoiled it for him.
Jax exited the video-chat program to reveal his homepage, the main screen of FreeForAll, showing all his active contacts. With a lump in his throat, he noted that Ashton Opus was still playing Lawn Master. It was almost four hours now!
In Lawn Master, you could plant, water, fertilize, weed, cut, top-dress, spray, and aerate your virtual lawn. Dad had just spent the last four hours literally watching grass grow. It wasn’t even real grass!
“There’s a lot more to it than that,” his father had explained. “You have to watch out for grubs. You want to get rid of them. But not the worms! You need the worms — they’re natural aerators….”
This from the man who used to live on the seventh floor of a luxury Manhattan high-rise. If there ever was a sign of how far the Opus family had fallen, it was Lawn Master.
Still at the computer, Jax sat back, frowning. Something felt wrong. Something … hypnotic?
Impossible. He was alone in the room. The other HoWaRDs were all busy with their own meaningless tasks. Yet there it was — the stirring in his brain, faint but unmistakable. What was going on?
The feeling vanished. Once it was gone, it was almost impossible to believe it had ever been there in the first place. Had he imagined it?
I don’t think so.
Maybe he was picking up some kind of brain echo from all the other mind-benders’ mesmeric activity. It had never happened before, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t start as his abilities continued to develop. Axel Braintree had always said there was no limit to how powerful Jax might become.
There had to be an explanation. After all, it wasn’t as if a website could be hypnotic.
Could it?
Jax clicked on the white dwarf star and dragged it to the center of the blob where the nucleus would be. He regarded it with satisfaction. There. That should do it.
In the box provided to name your new constellation, he typed Amy the Amoeba, and gave its location in the night sky, between the Little Dipper and Draco. This was his best one yet, less ambitious than Larry the Lamborghini, but more complex than plain old Iggy the iPad, which was basically a rectangle.
Jax had discovered Constellation Factory while exploring the FreeForAll site. He was determined to identify the strange mesmeric feeling that seemed to emanate from the computer every time he logged on.
It was like trying to trap a moonbeam.
None of the other mind-benders had experienced anything like what he was describing.
“Of course, that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening,” Dirk had reminded him. “None of us are as sensitive as you are.”
“Why don’t you ask Wilson?” Evelyn had suggested. “He spends more time on FreeForAll than anybody. Half the time he’s ‘researching,’ he’s playing games.”
“Wilson hates it when I go on FreeForAll,” Jax had replied. “It’s like he has this favorite toy he refuses to share with anybody else — which is pretty stupid for a social network with two billion users.”
With a sigh, Jax refocused his attention on the screen, searching for a supply of fresh stars for his next constellation.
Without warning, he was spun around in his swivel chair, winding up face-to-angry-face with Wilson.
“What are you doing, Dopus? You’re supposed to be working!”
Jax bristled. “I am working! There’s something weird coming off that site. If you’d stop picking fights with me, maybe you’d notice it, too!”
In response, Wilson gave him a mammoth shove, sending Jax rolling and whirling across the room. The chair tipped, dumping him out on the hard tile floor.
Jax scrambled up and made a beeline for his desk. Wilson stopped him halfway, lifting him up by the front of his shirt. Jax felt his feet leave the floor. He’d forgotten how strong Wilson was, and how big.
“Let go!” Jax demanded.
“Make me.”
Jax boxed Wilson’s ears.
“Ow!” The big boy
dropped to his knees, momentarily releasing Jax.
Jax started away, but a flailing hand knocked his ankle out from under him. As he fell to the floor, he heard the voice.
Stanley’s voice.
Wilson moved to stand menacingly over Jax. “I’ve been waiting for this a long time.”
“Wilson, listen — Stanley’s back!”
“What are you talking about, Dopus? Stanley’s gone.”
“No!” Jax insisted. “He’s here! I just heard him!”
Wilson balled a fist. “You can’t save yourself this time — not even by hearing voices that aren’t there.”
“Hey!” All at once, Captain Pedroia was on the scene, pushing them apart. “Break it up before I call the MPs!” He ducked between them, shoving Wilson away.
Wilson was outraged. “How come you’re taking his side?”
“I’m not taking anybody’s side! I’m stopping a fight between two idiots who should know better!”
Jax’s mind was riveted on the voice he’d heard. “Captain — is Stanley here?”
“You know he’s not,” the psychiatrist snapped. “Now get up and go home. Your day is over.”
“How come he gets the day off?” Wilson complained.
“Mind your own business!” Pedroia ordered. “What do you think the colonel would say about this?”
That was the magic word for Wilson. He idolized Brassmeyer, who had his dream job — yelling all day and pushing people around. The burly teen shuffled away, muttering under his breath.
The psychiatrist turned to Jax. “Why would you let that kid goad you into a fight? He could fracture your skull with his little finger.”
“Captain, I heard Stanley. I know I did.”
Pedroia regarded him critically. “You of all people know why Stanley isn’t here.”
Jax was adamant. “That doesn’t change what I heard.”
The psychiatrist frowned. “You think maybe the voice was — in your head?”
The Dragonfly Effect Page 7
