Beginnings

by J. S. Frankel

  Paul watched this with the rapt attention of a baby watching fire. He came back to the here and now when Angela snapped her fingers. “When I came out of the chamber, I saw his body dressed in his suit,” she said. “He was already inside the plastic covering, but it was open. I shut it. Now,” she added as she went over to the corpse, “it’s time to bury him.”

  In a tender gesture, she placed her hand on the corpse’s shoulder as perhaps a final farewell then lifted the body effortlessly in her arms. “Go to the far end of the room to the last chamber on the right,” she instructed. “There’s a red button on the wall. Do you see it?”

  He walked over and sure enough, there it was. “Yeah, I see it.”

  “Push it.”

  Doing as she requested, a door slid open to reveal a sarcophagus with its lid open. “I know that I’m supposed to put our maker in there,” Angela said from behind him. “He wanted to be near us. Move, please.”

  He did, and she gently placed the body inside. After doing so, she pushed the red button and the door slid shut with a soft click. Bowing her head, her shoulders began to heave and seconds later she began to sob and tears streamed down her face. “I never knew his name. All I know is he wanted to be buried like this.”

  Out of respect, Paul bowed his head as well. They remained silent for a time, and finally he straightened up and headed over to look at the laptop. Turning it on, the screen remained black. The power worked, but the computer appeared to be broken.

  “It doesn’t work,” Angela said as she joined him and closed the lid. “Ooze is trying to fix it. He’ll come down later to take a look and see what he can do.”

  She turned her attention to the work table and searched around. “There it is,” she said, and pulled out a file from under a pile of wiring and circuit boards. Opening it up and handing it over, she added, “This is what I wanted you to see. When I woke up and got to know the place, I found this file.”

  Reading through it, Paul tried to make sense of things, but all he saw were incredibly long and difficult chemical equations, none of which made any sense. In frustration, he closed the file and placed it on the table next to the laptop.

  Angela wiped her eyes. “If you can make any sense of that, go ahead. I haven’t read over that information yet.”

  Her answer surprised him. “I thought this was part of your download or whatever you call it,” he said. “Why didn’t you?”

  For only the second time since they’d met, Angela’s voice carried a note of uncertainty and she worried her hands together. “Our maker didn’t give me that kind of information. Like I said, I just got the essentials. I know my name, I know when I was created and I have basic knowledge of this place and New York City—of the language and the people.

  “But this is…” her voice shook. “I was scared to,” she finally admitted and wiped her eyes. “I wasn’t sure I should know. But since you’re here, I guess you can read it.”

  She gestured to the cot and Paul sat down after grabbing the file. Reopening it, he skipped past the formulas and found one page he could understand. It had the heading of XSPU…it stood for Extraordinary Soldiers Protection Unit.

  The first paragraph caught his eye immediately.

  Developed for the battlefield or urban combat, the XSPU will ensure safety of mortal soldiers, ensure the acquired targets will be dealt with in an extremely prejudicial manner, and in the long run, will save lives.

  The report went on to list the ways in which the XSPU could be streamlined, enlarged and also enhanced. Full of numerous and detailed technical terms, most of the information went over Paul’s head, but after rereading it, he got the basic idea and the concept made his heart begin to hammer. This…was beyond cutting edge. It was radical…dangerous. He closed the file and placed it on the table.

  “So, what’s it all about?” Angela asked.

  A bead of sweat traced its way down his face and he swiped it away. This kind of information blew anything considered normal off the books forever. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out, he said, “You’re soldiers. It seems this guy created you as weapons.”

  Angela’s mouth dropped open. “That’s…that’s not what I feel,” she stumbled out. “I know I’m supposed to go and help others. I don’t know why, but that’s what I do. That’s why I helped you. There’s got to be a mistake.”

  Paul shook his head. When faced with the truth, you could either deny it or accept it. He’d already accepted the truth of where he was and who he was with. “There’s no mistake. I read over the info and what it says here is that you’re all war machines.”

  Chapter Four

  Pounding the Pavement

  Angela’s face turned even whiter. “This isn’t true,” she whispered. “I’m not a weapon. I’m not.”

  As if in shock, her legs started to shake and with a series of unsteady steps, she tottered over to the chair by the worktable and sat down. With trembling lips, she heaved in a series of deep breaths. Finally, she got herself under control. “This is all wrong.”

  “What do you remember?” Paul asked, fascinated by the idea of someone stepping out of a chamber fully grown—almost—and up to speed on most things. Being born with full adult knowledge took the difficulty of growing up out of the equation. In a way, he could relate. It would have saved him a number of years of agony.

  Angela related her afterbirth in a somber voice. “The first thing I saw was the chambers. I…I knew where everything was, where my room was and where my clothes were. It was as if someone was guiding me.”

  It made sense. She had downloaded knowledge, so it was like operating on auto-pilot. After listening to her explanation, Paul went back to the page he’d been perusing. It listed the specifics of each individual. They were only a few lines, and he read them out.

  “Subject—Angela—abilities include the powers of flight, enhanced strength and regenerative abilities. Objective—Aerial reconnaissance and pacification of violent extremists.

  “Subject—Cannon Fodder—abilities include the powers of super strength and regenerative abilities. Limited intelligence makes subject easy to control. Objective—Ground-based pacification of violent extremists.

  “Subject—Ooze—abilities include the power to control water. High intelligence is essential for this subject. Objective—Reconnaissance via waterways. It may be used as a water-based source to pacify violent extremists.

  “Subject—Sandstorm—abilities include the power to control sand and perhaps larger Earth-based objects. High intelligence is also essential for this subject. Objective—Reconnaissance via the land. It may be used a land-based source to hinder the vision of violent extremists while the other task force members complete their duties.”

  Once he’d finished, Angela’s head whipped around, meekness now gone. Instead, anger mixed with confusion resounded in every word she spoke. “This is all wrong! I’m supposed to protect the city. This is what I do. That’s what I was doing last night.”

  A number of adjectives ran through Paul’s mind about her performance last night and all of them fit. Spectacular, amazing…no, she had been beyond totally awesome. Beautiful when in motion, fast and fluid, hot and terrifying at the same time, she’d taken down the scum as if they were children’s blocks to be kicked around.

  Yet…the file told a different story. According to the information, though, she’d been initially created to do something else.

  Created… How could anyone do that? Paul kept going through the file, but after the initial explanation, all he saw was more formulas detailing various chemical combinations, telomeres and cell division. Talk about cutting edge stuff! He’d training in basic chemistry, but all of this went way over his head.

  It also didn’t answer the question of how the scientist managed to build the chambers without anyone noticing. He didn’t expect Angela to offer an explanation and she didn’t. All she did was wait patiently with her hands folded in her lap, but after twenty minutes she got up and said,
“If you can figure it out, fine. I’m no expert.”

  “I thought you had downloaded information.”

  Angela waved her hand, as if dismissing the question. “Just the basics,” she said. “I know who I am. I’m self-aware like you. Right now, I’m tired. I’m going to pass out upstairs.”

  Paul looked up and rubbed his eyes. Even though it was early in the morning, he still felt dragged out from the events of last night and looking at all the figures had made his head hurt. “How, um, do you sleep?”

  Immediately he felt foolish for asking such a dumb question, but she didn’t seem to mind. “In a bed,” she replied in an even tone. “Just because I’m different doesn’t mean I don’t sleep. My room is next to yours, by the way. I’ll talk to you later on.”

  With a sharp move, she pivoted on her heel and strode out of the room. Paul stared after her retreating back, cursed softly under his breath for acting like a mental midget and went through the file until his head spun. He found no mention of the maker’s name, but found another name scribbled at the bottom of the last page—R-Allan. Maybe that was the old guy’s name.

  Grabbing a pad and pencil from an adjacent table, he noted the name down then stuffed the paper in his pocket. On the subject of creation, the scientist had used stem cells from an unknown donor and somehow had infused them with these abilities. Another notation in the file spoke of multiple failures until he’d hit upon the right combination.

  Someone knocked on the door. Spinning around to see who it was, he saw Ooze leaning against the aperture. “Angela said she was talking to you about our maker,” he said as he moved laboriously over to where Paul sat. “I’m going to take another look at the computer. I think the hard drive is damaged but not gone. I might be able to repair it. If I can fix it, I can pull some information out.”

  “I thought this was part of your download.” There it was again, the catch-all ‘part-of-your-download’ explanation. Paul felt idiotic for asking, but he didn’t know what else to say.

  Ooze chuckled. “When I said before that I got my maker’s knowledge, I didn’t mean I got everything. There’s a lot I still don’t know. I know I’m synthetic. I have information about this area, same as my buddies do. I know something about the science behind all of this, and I can process information faster than most people, but that’s about it. What I don’t know is what she doesn’t know, and that’s our maker’s name. I just woke up a short time ago, remember?” He pointed toward the chambers then inclined his body toward the stool.

  Hint received, Paul got up and as he did so, a yawn escaped his lips. You couldn’t fake tired.

  Whistling a tune, which sounded like someone singing underwater, Ooze parked himself at the computer and waved his hand at the door. “Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty out of it. Better get some rest.”

  It seemed like a plan. “Maybe I’ll crash for a bit,” Paul mumbled.

  Making his way upstairs to the kitchen, a rumble in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours plus. Opening the fridge, he found nothing but a half-eaten jar of blueberry jam. The freezer held a loaf of bread and he put in inside the fridge to thaw out.

  While doing so, he saw a multitude of plastic packets all neatly lined up on the shelves, filling up most of the space. Taking one out, he read the contents and a little bile came up in his mouth. “Synthetic brains…fifty percent sugar…fifty percent protein…and he eats…?”

  Immediately, any thoughts of having food disappeared from his mind. “That’s just…gross,” he said, and shut the door.

  A sudden lassitude filled him, and his injured ribs started to hurt. Later—he’d think about what to do later. Wearily he wended his way up to his room and passed out in bed.

  * * * *

  A sudden cramp in his leg woke him. Sitting up to massage the knot away, he glanced at the clock on the night table. It read six a.m. Had he been out the whole day and night? Apparently so, but his internal body clock said things were moving into a more regular rhythm.

  His breath came out in faintly whitish puffs, and he huddled under the covers. A few seconds later, though, he got out of bed. The floor was icy and he hopped around on it until he got used to the cold. Moving was better than staying in bed, anyway. When he passed by his companion’s rooms, Paul saw that Ooze and Sandstorm were going through their usual acrobatics routines while CF sat on his bed, staring into space. What was he thinking? Did he ever sleep or did he just sit and contemplate his navel?

  The board under his feet made a creaking sound as he took a step, and the zombie turned his head. “Good morning,” he grated. “I’m hungry, but Ooze didn’t get me food.” Something fell from his face and hit the floor with a soft splat. He bent over to pick it up.

  Paul stood dumbstruck for a moment and CF’s lower jaw sagged. After watching CF put it back into place, Paul said, “Hang on. I’ll get you something.”

  Downstairs, he grabbed two packets from the fridge, hesitated, then took another package. Returning to CF’s room, he handed over the food. The giant carefully tore open the packets with his thumb and forefinger and started to munch on the brain-burgers. “These are good,” he grated, while giving a number of satisfied grunts as he worked his way through the edibles.

  For him, saying anything over one syllable for the most part didn’t figure in his mental makeup. “Uh, do you need help or something?” Obvious question, but right now subtlety had gone into left field.

  “I’m fine here,” replied CF, his mouth full. “These help me to think.” Once again, his skin began to knit and a light of understanding shone in his eyes.

  Paul recalled the cell decay from the files and reasoned that maybe the synthetic brains helped replace the cell loss in the big guy’s mind. He also remembered reading in school that the brain ran on sugar, so this had to be the ultimate fix. As he turned to leave, CF asked, “What will you do today?”

  “Oh, uh, I thought I’d look around and check out the area,” replied Paul, thinking fast. It was a bit surprising to hear the question come from the zombie, but maybe he’d just had his first individual thought.

  CF nodded, a slow, heavy movement, and resumed staring out into space. Apparently, conversation wasn’t his forte. Paul did wonder about the question, though, but didn’t think it was a good idea to go out and meet the neighbors, just in case they’d seen his picture on television. The last thing he needed was for the authorities to show up on the doorstep. Still, if he stayed inside too much longer, say hello to cabin fever. At this early hour of the day, he doubted anyone would be out.

  There wasn’t too much in the way of furniture outside of the basics, but he came upon a small chest at the back of the living room. It held some clothes, probably those of the late scientist. They were the same size as the old clothes he had on now, so quickly changing, he balled up the dirty clothes and put them next to the dresser. After rummaging around in the bottom drawer, he found a light jacket and donned that as well.

  Stepping outside, he closed the door and inhaled, but not too deeply, as his ribs still ached. The weather was crisp and clear and a light sifting of snow lay on the ground. A slight breeze lifted his spirits and he went down a neatly laid out front walk to the street.

  Turning around to get a better look at the house, he noted its white color along with the peeling paint, the quaint Georgian-style appearance like something out of the old South, and the somewhat dilapidated garage with a sagging roof. All in all, the place looked old, yet somehow held a certain charm. And it was home, at least for now.

  When he lifted up the door, he saw that a large blue van sat alone and unloved. There was nothing else inside the garage with the exception of a dirty carpet covering most of the floor and a few crates. A coating of dust sat on everything, and Paul shivered in the chilly air.

  Since there was nothing else to see, he left, but as he did, his foot kicked against something on the floor. Lifting the carpet up, he found a door with a lock on it.
A slow smile spread across his face. It was probably another entrance to the secret lab downstairs. He replaced the carpet, walked outside then shut the door.

  Checking his bearings, he noted that the house lay at the end of a quiet street a good distance away from the same style houses. A number of empty lots sat between his new residence—Thirty East Main—and the other houses. If this scientist had wanted privacy, he couldn’t have chosen a better location.

  After filing the address away, Paul began to walk down the road. A few stray stones crunched under his heels and a light sifting of snow covered the ground. Turning a corner onto the main street, he saw a number of restaurants, souvenir stores and antique shops.

  His muscles yelped as he moved, but he ignored the pain and focused on the positives. He had a place to stay, food to eat—not much, but he’d figure something out—and his new acquaintances? Well, they were…different.

  Angela was pretty hot, though, and he wondered if she knew more than she was saying. Downloaded knowledge…super powers…this was like a myth come to life. Better than myth—this was reality! Staying in a house inhabited by fantasy figures got him stoked. No one would believe him, but all the same, this was pretty off the chain.

  Stately trees lined the road and led into a forest area on both sides of the road. He kept walking, and eventually he arrived at a crossroad. A sign told a creek lay to the left. If he walked to his right, he’d eventually end up on the highway.

  “Let’s try the creek,” he said to the air, and walked down the road. No traffic came his way, and he eventually got to the bottom of the path. Another sign on a pole told him this was Angelica Creek, a tributary of the Genesee River.

  The creek wasn’t overly large and was bracketed by a steep river bank with patches of ice on it. Stepping carefully down to the bottom to survey the area, it was quiet here, and the cold nipped at his face and hands. He wondered what kind of place this was, how many people lived here, what they did, if they had families…