The Origin of F.O.R.C.E.

by Sam B Miller II

  General Collier broke into the conversation. "What if the United States Government was to declare a nationwide official policy that fluoridation of water was recommended as a safe and effective standard of good health? I'm willing to bet a vast majority of utility systems would adopt the health policy and begin treating their water supplies!"

  Lt. McPherson's face split in a big grin, and he said conspiratorially, "You are a rogue, General! I think you may have some Scottish blood hidden in your family history."

  Frowning good-naturedly at the backhanded compliment, Collier replied, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but seriously, anything we decide will have to be agreed upon by the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the National Security Council.

  Pausing a moment, Collier declared, "We have been here almost three hours. Based on our discussions, I need to make a few phone calls. If no one has anything else to bring up at this time, I would like to adjourn until tomorrow morning. Meet back here at 0800 hours."

  ***

  Braggu Bandulog, the dark killer Deacon of The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany, felt the prickling heat of the midday sun on his body and considered the need to move into the shade. Lifting his head slowly and looking around, he found himself lying on a sandy beach overlooking a quiet, waveless ocean under a burning sun. It felt like he was getting burned badly by the relentless sun, and he tried to sit up but something unseen was holding him down. Straining as best he could, he lifted his head and gazed down his body to see what was restraining his arms and legs. What he saw forced a primal scream of fear to escape his lips, and he struggled wildly to break free from whatever was holding him down. His arms, chest and legs were covered with red and brown cooked skin. Monstrous white blisters formed a patchwork of cankers all over him, and the smell of burned meat filled his nose.

  Screaming with a mixture of fear and overwhelming pain, Bandulog woke himself up. Moving his eyes wildly around, he realized he was in some kind of brightly lit room. He recognized IV bags hanging on poles near him and guessed he was in a hospital. His head, arms and legs were somehow restrained since his attempts to move were unsuccessful. An unreasoning claustrophobia surged within him, and he fought with all his mental strength to tamp down a rising wave of hysteria. The skin all over his body itched incessantly, but he couldn't move to scratch himself. He recognized the sharp edge of pain throughout his body held back by powerful meds.

  The door of the room opened, and a nightmare walked through it. A giant, green skinned lizard with enormous coal black eyes moved over to stand above him. Behind the monster came a man who looked somehow familiar.

  Major Jim Blunt was determined to wring answers out of the killer he had almost boiled alive. As he walked into the guarded holding cell where the man was being treated for the massive injuries he had suffered from the heat ray, Jim had to admit he was glad the man was so badly hurt. In a deeply buried recess of his mind where he hid his darkest thoughts and desires, Blunt wanted to take a gun and blow the man's brains out.

  Whatsit, who was becoming more skilled at reading and understanding the focused thoughts of his Master, turned his head toward Jim and mentally projected, "Jim Blunt. The bad human can be easily killed. If you tell me to kill him, I will do so instantly."

  Jim realized his mind was leaking dark emotions and immediately tamped down on his musings. Whatsit was always very literal in his interpretations of human thought, and both Jim and Diane Hoffman had learned they had to be starkly clear with their thoughts and emotions when communicating with the alien.

  Turning to his alien friend, Blunt stared him in the eyes and firmly shook his head no.

  Bandulog's eyes widened as the lizard and man stood over him. Struggling to force his drug addled brain to work, he silently thought, “Obviously military. Square jaw. Muscular build. Oh yes, one of the soldiers he was supposed to kill! And the Beast! Now I remember!"

  Moving around the hospital bed, Jim peered down at the dark haired man and crinkled his nose at the putrid odor of burned, wasted flesh. His face like a mask with a wicked smile under narrowing eyes, Blunt said, "You don't look so good." Seeing a worried look ghost across the man's eyes, Blunt added, "And the smell! Ugh! Like a swampy, moldy rot. Glad I don't have to spend a lot of time in here."

  Recognizing the flash of uncertainty in the man's eyes, Blunt continued, "Docs aren't sure you're going to make it. And even if you do, you're going to be sucking food out of a straw and using a bedpan for a long time."

  The man's eyes began to appear panicky again, just as they had when Whatsit first walked into the room, but Blunt could tell that with an extreme effort, the guy quickly gathered control of himself and calmed down. Blunt silently admired the man's strength of will. It wasn't going to be easy to get information out of this one.

  Thinking quickly, Blunt pulled a note pad from his shirt pocket and acted like he was reading from a couple of pages. Shifting his gaze from the note pad to the man in the bed, he said, "Let's start with something easy. Why don't you confirm your name?"

  Silence was the only response.

  Blunt had interrogated Nazi soldiers in the past who were fanatical, cold-blooded killers, so he knew how difficult it was to wring information out of such depraved individuals. He could tell from the look in the prisoner's eyes he wasn't going to easily give up any meaningful intelligence. But Major Jim Blunt had a secret weapon at his disposal, and he was going to use it.

  Turning to Whatsit, Jim prepared some specific thoughts and projected them to the alien. "Listen to this man's thoughts when I question him. I want to know who his Master is. Describe his Master to me. Understand?"

  Whatsit nodded his head in the signal he had learned meant agreement. Slightly narrowing his huge black eyes, he focused his attention on the bedridden man.

  Turning back to the prisoner, Blunt appeared to consult the note pad he was holding. Shifting his gaze away from the pad, he asked, "Why don't you confirm the name of your boss."

  A look of resolve narrowed the man's eyes and, again no sound left his lips. Jim turned his head toward Whatsit and lifted an eyebrow. Whatsit looked back at him and projected a picture into his mind of a fat slug. The slug's body undulated slowly and as it moved, a trail of slime was left glistening on the ground.

  Blunt considered the mental picture he'd just received and remembered how literal the alien was when he interpreted human thought. The only logical conclusion was whoever the boss might be, in the injured man's view, he was repulsive, fat and slimy. "Ok," he thought to himself. "Let's run with that."

  Returning his attention to the man, Blunt purposefully closed the note pad and stuffing it back into his shirt pocket, said, "That's ok. The big, fat, slime ball ratted you out as a rogue fanatic so I guess there's no use wasting time trying to jail him when we've got you." Pausing briefly to let his lie sink in, Blunt gestured for Whatsit, and they both turned to leave the room.

  Just as Blunt's hand closed on the doorknob, he heard a croaking sound from the bed. Turning around, Blunt could tell that his note pad fabrication had some success. There was a look of angry determination in the bedridden man's eyes, and his lips were trying to move.

  "You got something to say?" Blunt asked.

  Returning to the bedside, Blunt leaned over and put his ear near the blistered lips of the prisoner. A hoarse whisper was all the wretch could utter, but it was enough. "Salt..Fell..shp..Ho..Epify"

  Raising his head, Jim Blunt looked down at the man's heavily burned and blistered face. The pain filled eyes regarded him for a second, and then he nodded slightly as if trying to confirm what he had said was the truth.

  Blunt took a moment to return the nod, and then he hustled Whatsit out of the room and closed the door. Smiling at the big lizard, Blunt wrapped his left arm around Whatsit's shoulders and gave him a happy squeeze.

  ***

  General Collier had just finished the telephone call to his aide, Cpl. Richard Adams, when there was a sharp knock on his office door.

&
nbsp; "Enter," he responded as he hung up the receiver.

  Major Jim Blunt walked in immediately, excitement glowing on his face. "General, I have a breakthrough on the ambush. I think I know who sent the killers!"

  Collier showed genuine surprise. So far, the surveillance of Cpl. Adams had no results. In fact, the reason he had just been on the telephone with Adams was to set up the story line they hoped would push the traitorous jerk to get in contact with his cronies. "I hope what you have to tell me doesn't conflict with the tale I just gave Adams. I told him Whatsit and you are dead, and Hoffman is clinging to life in the infirmary here. Best job of worried sick acting I've ever done in my life if I do say so myself,” he grinned.

  "No worry," said Blunt. "A little while ago I had a nice chat with our half-cooked killer. Seems he got the impression, somehow, his boss ratted him out to be the fall guy of the failed operation. I counted on my belief he wasn't the kind of guy who has a forgiving heart."

  "How did you manage to convince the sociopath to spill the beans?"

  Laughing softly, Blunt told the General everything that had happened in the hospital room. "I did some checking on the odd words he managed to whisper. I guessed Adams' work schedule would require his contacts to be relatively close-by, so I limited my name search to the greater Washington area. The phrase the prisoner gave me was Salt Fell shp Ho Epify. Weird, huh?"

  The General nodded for Blunt to continue, "I looked up words beginning with Salt in the phone book but nothing had a second word beginning with Fellow. Then I started thinking maybe Fell shp might be Fellowship. I asked our Intel folks to do a cross check of any Washington phone records with the word Fellowship in the name. There were several but one name stood out. The Exalted Fellowship. Get it? Salt Fell shp for Exalted Fellowship!"

  "There is only one group in Washington with that moniker. The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany and the name matches what our killer tried to tell me."

  "Good work, Major," Collier replied warmly. "I'll get our security people in Washington on this at once. At least there's something concrete to match with Adams' movements."

  ***

  Cpl. Richard Adams hung up the receiver on his office telephone and could barely contain his glee. It took an extreme effort to keep his facial features neutral as he turned back to face his typewriter. Trusting old General Collier had just confirmed to him the deaths of the lizard and Blunt.

  "Praise be to God!" he silently thought.

  Adams was so excited he found it hard to concentrate on the mundane office tasks he performed daily. His mind kept returning to the same line of thought. "My loyalty to the church is now manifest. It is by my efforts the Holy Mission of the church has been moved forward, and I shall reap my just rewards!"

  Tilting back in his chair, Cpl. Adams allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smile as he formed a mental list of holy rewards he would demand from the head of The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany. Number one would be a seat at the Table of Elders with a robe befitting his importance to the church. Perhaps a robe with a gold lame collar only half as wide as the collar of Your Grace. As he continued to muse about his just rewards, the grin on Adams' face kept getting wider.

  Unknown to Cpl. Adams, in a hidden room adjoining his office, a camera and tape recorder were recording every move and sound he made while security personnel assigned to observe him made written notes about his behavior.

  ***

  Everyone seemed to be in better spirits as they filed into the conference room the next morning, a stark contrast to the gloomy mood of the previous day when the death of Tom LeBlanc was fresh in their minds.

  Glancing momentarily at Jim Blunt, Collier turned his gaze back to the main group and said with a sly grin on his face, "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with deep sorrow I must advise you of the deaths of Major Blunt and Whatsit."

  The look of consternation on everyone’s face was priceless. There was Major Jim Blunt in the flesh sitting right next to Dr. Diane Hoffman, an amused look crinkling up the corners of his mouth.

  Dr. John Heinbaum was the first to speak and self-righteous indignation wrinkled his brow. "General, what kind of game is this? I don't know about everyone else, but my time is too valuable for needless comedy!"

  "Calm down. Calm down, Doctor. There is a very good reason for their deaths."

  Seeing he had everyone's undivided attention, Collier explained. "As the result of the ambush in Carlisle, Major Blunt and I arranged additional security around the only person who had access to the travel plans and meeting details. Sadly, this person was my staff aide, Cpl. Richard Adams."

  Surprise on everyone's faces was slowly replaced by subtle anger. Murmured comments grew into voiced questions as Collier's revelation sank in. "How did you catch him?" "What did he do?" were the most common.

  Waiting for everyone to calm down, Collier continued his briefing. "Major Blunt and I decided we needed to push Cpl. Adams into contacting his cohorts without his finding out we knew he was the traitor. The best way to accomplish this was to make Adams think the attack was successful. I told Adams yesterday afternoon over the phone that both Major Blunt and Whatsit were killed in the attack."

  Peering over at Diane Hoffman, Collier feigned sympathy and said, "Oh, by the way, Dr. Hoffman, you were critically injured in the attack as well. You are clinging to life in the infirmary here, and we don't know if you'll survive your injuries."

  Diane just shook her head slightly, a sideways grimace pulling across her right cheek. Jim Blunt reached out and patted her hand and said reassuringly, "You still look very nice for a woman at death's door."

  "Why thank you, sir," she responded coyly, looking him directly in the eyes. "You look pretty good yourself for a dead man." Then with a smirk, she purred, "I didn't believe in zombies until just this moment."

  Clearing his throat loudly to break up the little tete-a-tete, Collier explained, "I have Cpl. Adams under constant surveillance. With the news his treachery was successful, we expect him to attempt contact with his accomplices very soon, and when he does, appropriate action will be taken to neutralize the threats they pose to National Security."

  Looking around the table, Collier said, "There is nothing more to report at this time, so I will move forward to the primary reason for this meeting."

  Without waiting for a comment, he continued, "As a result of the capture of the Chrysallaman spacecraft in July last year and the information Major Blunt was able to glean from his interactions with Whatsit, President Truman and his closest advisors recognized the alien invasion threat as the primary focus for all future military augmentation and technological development. It was decided the best course of action was to create an agency in the Government with the sole purpose of protecting the security of the United States. President Truman called in favors and used his political influence to push through the adoption of the National Security Act. The NSA completely restructured U.S. military and intelligence divisions into one cohesive unit and created the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the National Security Council."

  Lt. Mike Jenson raised his hand for attention and receiving a nod from Collier, said, "I thought this alien invasion stuff was only known to around 10 people outside this room. Are you telling us all the senators and representatives in Congress know about it as well?"

  "No," replied Collier. "The only thing the guys in Congress know is the War exposed the necessity of coordinated military armament and methods for deployment. They have no idea yet about the threat of the aliens."

  Returning to his explanation, General Collier said, "I'm telling you all this for a reason. As a result of the discussions we had yesterday, I realized we had reached a point of action instead of reaction."

  Shifting his gaze to Dr. Heinbaum, Collier continued, "The collaboration of Dr. Heinbaum and Lt. McPherson has yielded significant discoveries and weapons."

  At his words, Heinbaum puffed up like a guinea hen trying to impress a mate. Peering around the table to make sure
everyone had heard the General's words, he replied bombastically, "Why, thank you, General. It is gratifying for my genius to be recognized."

  A sudden, hard thump on his back sent his head toward the tabletop followed by McPherson's voice, "Atta boy, Doc!"

  Heinbaum twisted around slowly and glared at the grinning Scotsman but decided it best not to bluster any further.

  Collier narrowed his eyes and tried his best to glower at the red haired giant, but inside, he was enjoying the discomfiture of the egotistical Heinbaum.

  Turning his attention toward Diane, the General got a serious look on his face and quietly said, "Dr. Hoffman, you have a disadvantage in that your knowledge and expertise are not based on hardware. Your contributions have a time frame of years, even decades, until results are tangible. Not only that, your requirements for successful manipulation of the human genome is scary to some of my superiors in Washington."

  Hoffman started to protest, but Collier held out his hand, palm towards her, and she remained silent.

  Staring pointedly at her, General Collier said, "Before the Chiefs of Staff and the Security Council will entertain your proposals for introducing the dormant virus into the general population and approving an activating agent for the virus, they want to see a live demonstration of your results." Pausing for effect, he continued, "They want to see if you can do it."

  Returning the General's gaze with unblinking eyes, Diane Hoffman replied with a determined smile, "I'll get them what they want, Sir."

  Chapter 12 – Reward

  The chamber of the man known as Your Grace was located on the main floor of the building housing The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany in Washington. D.C. Consisting of a suite with living room, dining room, bath and bedroom, the chamber was just a short walk down a wide hallway from the prayer room where Cpl. Richard Adams had first met the church elders sitting around the wooden table. The gluttonous blob sitting at the dining table had just finished a delicious breakfast repast consisting of 20 pounds of eggs, bacon, ham and honey drenched biscuits covered with an oily, gray colored gravy. Running his chubby finger around the edge of the biscuit plate, he put the finger in his mouth and noisily sucked and licked off the last traces of the gray colored gravy.