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

by Sam B Miller II

  "Are you feeling okay?" she asked.

  Turning away from the stove, Jim looked at her and smiled thinly, "Boy, last night was rough, but I feel fine now. Thanks for taking such good care of me."

  Curiously, she moved across the room and sat in one of the high legged chairs fronting the counter. She watched him move easily around the kitchen, working industriously, seemingly none the worse for wear. Looking at her over his shoulder, he said, "I'll get you some coffee."

  Diane had to admit a strong cup of coffee would taste good. Maybe some light cream and sugar. A few moments later, Jim turned around and handed her a steaming cup of coffee with just the amount of cream she liked. She could tell by the caramel color of the coffee. Raising the cup to her lips, she sipped and had to admit he had sweetened the drink just right. "Delicious," she thought to herself.

  The breakfast was eggs, bacon and toast. Diane noted nothing seemed different from any other morning they had spent together in the last year since they had decided to move in with each other. Conversation was light as they ate, and each of them read their favorite sections of the newspaper. In fact, everything was so normal and routine Diane was somewhat disappointed. She wasn't sure what reaction she had expected the dose of the active virus to have on him. Certainly she didn't want Jim to sprout horns or suddenly grow scaly skin, but she had to admit to herself something a little more dramatic than reading the newspaper would have been intriguing.

  Jim noticed she was distracted and guessed what she was worried about. Peering over the top of the sports section he had been perusing, he said, "Sorry I got sick yesterday and ruined the day, but I feel fine now." Pausing a moment, he asked, "You think I had an allergic reaction to the dose you gave me?"

  Diane put down the pencil she was using on the crossword puzzle and answered, "Doesn't seem likely, but I'm into new territory with superimposing genetic material on a live recipient."

  Staring thoughtfully off into space for a moment, she said, "I need to re-run the baseline physical tests I did on you yesterday before the treatment. See if anything has changed."

  "Sure, no problem. But frankly, I don't feel any different right now than I did when I got out of bed yesterday morning," he responded, clearly disappointed.

  About an hour later, they passed through the normal security protocols and entered her sublevel 4 lab. Diane immediately measured Blunt's height, weight and blood pressure, noting no change at all from the previous day except a couple of points dip in his blood pressure. She retrieved fresh vials of blood to compare to the samples taken the day before. The EKG and EEG results appeared to be identical to the previous day's scans. Diane even laid the scans on top of each other so any change in a reading would jump out at her, but every line from the latest report was virtually a carbon copy of the previous report.

  Disappointed by the absence of any measurable change in the test results so far, Diane decided she would assay any possible skeletal changes in his body that might be evident. Just as she was getting up from her desk to prepare the X-ray machine for its scans, her telephone rang. Blunt was sitting on a lab stool over ten feet away, and when the phone began ringing, she watched him quickly put his hands over his ears and wince as if he was in pain. Turning his head quickly, he looked at the phone and then raised his eyes to her with an amazed expression on his face.

  Stunned for a moment by his reaction, Diane hastily picked up the receiver to stop the jangling noise. General Collier was on the other end of the line.

  "Dr. Hoffman, just thought I would see how things are progressing."

  Arching her right eyebrow at Blunt in a classic 'what is going on with you' look, Diane answered, "General, I'm glad you called. Everything's fine here."

  "So why don't you bring me up to date. I was thinking of coming to visit in a few days, but if there is nothing new, I don't want to waste your valuable time."

  Picking her words carefully, she replied, "I have decided it's time to test my live virus on a human volunteer, and I'm right in the middle of recording my observations."

  There was a long pause as if General Collier was carefully framing his next question. Finally, he declared more than asked, "How's Major Blunt doing since you dosed him?"

  Now it was Hoffman's turn to pause and consider her response. After a few moments, her face took on a determined look and she replied, "Since yesterday when I administered the virus, I haven't been able to detect any appreciable change in him. He had a very restless afternoon and evening with flu-like symptoms, but today he seems perfectly normal."

  Collier's voice took on a tone of concern. "Dr. Hoffman, I consider Jim Blunt to be more than just a cog in the vast military machine. He is my friend! I'll be there tomorrow." Pausing another moment, he continued, "Take good care of him, Doc. He's one of a kind in my book!"

  Smiling at the concerned tone in his voice, she gazed over at Blunt with a gentle look and said, "No worries, General, he's definitely one of a kind in my book as well. See you tomorrow."

  Hanging up the phone, she turned her full attention to Blunt and noted he was looking around the room. Every once in a while, his eyes would seem to lock on something momentarily, his brow furrowing in thought. After a few seconds, his eyes began roving once more.

  "General Collier is coming to see us tomorrow," she said.

  "I heard," Jim replied absently. "I'm glad he thinks I'm not just another cog."

  Diane was just about to say the General considered Blunt to be a friend when she paused. "Cog?"

  "Yeah," Blunt said matter-of-factly, turning his face to hers. "You know, a cog in the vast military machine. I'm really happy he considers me his friend."

  "How do you know he said that?" Diane asked curiously, excitement beginning to glow on her face.

  Jim looked at her like she was daft. He replied, "Darling, I heard him tell you when you were talking to him. Surely you remember what he said."

  "Jim, I'm at least 15 feet away from you and had the receiver against my ear. You couldn't possibly have heard what the General said!"

  "I did too! Heard every wor.." His voice suddenly trailed off as he realized the truth. She was over there. He shouldn't have been able to hear a word the General said to her, and yet he heard every word. Very clearly!

  Now that he was aware of what had occurred, Jim focused his concentration on listening to the sounds impinging on his ears. With a shock, he realized he could hear Diane's heart beating quickly. He heard every breath as she inhaled and exhaled. The ticking of the clock on her desk was very loud and clear. Closing his eyes to further concentrate on his hearing, Jim gasped. The lab and everything in it took on the appearance of a black and white movie.

  Opening his eyes instantly, he saw all color returned to the scene and everything appeared perfectly normal. "What the hell?" he wondered.

  Diane watched as Blunt blinked his eyes and peered wonderingly about him. She realized he was experiencing something incredible and knew whatever was happening had to be allowed to run its course. Slowly and deliberately, she picked up her note pad and began writing down her observations of his reactions.

  Closing his eyes once again, Jim saw everything return to the whites, blacks and grays of a typical black and white movie. Details of everything were clear. Keeping his eyes closed tightly, Jim got up from his stool and walked around the lab. It took him a moment to realize what he was 'seeing' was really a sonic picture of the room and its contents. His ears were picking up the sounds in the room as they bounced and echoed off objects. He was able to interpret those sound echoes into the black and white scene laid out before him. Everything creating a sound enabled him to hear and interpret his surroundings. The ticking clock, Diane's breathing, her heartbeat, her pencil scribbling on her note pad; even his own breathing, heartbeat and footsteps as he shuffled around the lab provided sound echoes enhancing what he perceived.

  Hearing a distinct, metallic clink from where Diane was seated, Jim turned his head quickly toward the sound and saw a sewi
ng needle bouncing on the floor tiles near her feet. Keeping his eyes tightly shut, Jim walked casually over to her, bent down, picked up the needle and placed it in her outstretched palm.

  Opening his eyes in triumph, vivid color returning with his regular vision, he looked at Diane with unabashed astonishment. Whispering in wonderment, he said, "I can see everything clearly with my eyes closed! I literally heard the pin drop on the floor and knew exactly where it was!"

  Smiling at him, Diane said, "I want to try an experiment to see if your eyesight has improved. I want you to leave the lab for five minutes. I'm going to put this needle somewhere in the room. It will be visible. I want you to try finding it by standing in the middle of the lab and using your eyes only. Okay?"

  Jim grinned back at her and replied, "Finding the old needle in a haystack trick, huh?"

  Making sure Blunt completely closed the heavy steel lab door on his way out, Diane looked around for a good place to put the needle. She finally decided on sticking it in the ceiling a half inch from the corner where two walls met. The needle as so small when she backed five feet away from the ceiling corner, Diane was unable to detect it even though she was the one who had stuck it there. Returning to her desk chair, she waited on Blunt to return.

  Shortly, the big steel door opened and Blunt walked in, gazing nonchalantly around the room. From her desk, Diane said, "The needle is somewhere in this room, unhidden. If you like, I'll give you hints about its location if you can't find it quickly."

  "No need," Blunt replied. Walking across the room directly to the ceiling corner where Diane had stuck it, Jim reached up, plucked the needle down and carried it back to Diane. "You could have tried to hide it a little better," he said mildly.

  Diane was completely astonished. Rising from her seat, she grabbed Jim by the arm and led him to stand at the mark in the floor that was 20 feet away from the eye chart she had used the day before to test his vision. The eye chart was a standard chart with large letters decreasing in size by line until near the bottom of the chart, most people needed to be about three feet away and squint to make out the small print. Walking over to stand beside the chart, Diane stared at Blunt and said, "Read to me the lowest line you can see on the chart."

  Blunt smiled wryly and replied, "It might be more meaningful if I backed away from the chart until I can't read the bottom line anymore."

  With that said, Blunt began backing away from the 20 foot line. He kept backing until he bumped into the opposite wall of the lab, a full forty feet distant from the wall holding the eye chart. Realizing he couldn't back any farther, Blunt read the smallest line on the chart as easily as if he was reading the morning newspaper.

  All Diane could say was, "Unbelievable."

  Sauntering back to her, Blunt said, "I'm starving. How about you? Let's go to lunch."

  ***

  The Soup and Crackers Cafe was a trendy neighborhood restaurant located on the corner of East Monument and Broadway. It was well known for a variety of delicious homemade soups and sandwiches and featured cozy booths as well as a long lunch counter lined with typical swiveling stools bolted to the floor. Its customer base was made up principally of students and faculty from Johns Hopkins University. A large jukebox with brightly flashing neon lights sat near the front entrance and was almost constantly playing the latest Top Forty tunes. Jim and Diane had enjoyed lunches there many times in the past.

  Some street improvement construction was going on in the intersection, and a couple of jackhammers operated by burly construction workers clanked and hammered away at the concrete of the roadway. As Jim and Diane strolled down the sidewalk toward the entrance of Soup and Crackers, the clanking stopped momentarily, and they heard a wolf whistle. It was easy to pinpoint the source of the whistle, and Diane glared at the ill-mannered louts. Jim held the door of the cafe open for her, and as he followed her inside, he looked back at the workers and shook his head in disapproval.

  All the booths were full when they walked in so they took seats at the end of the counter farthest from the jukebox. Blunt was very sensitive to high noise levels at the moment, and he wanted to sit as far away from the noise box as possible. Diane was very happy with the quick results she was seeing in Jim as the result of the active virus. Twirling around in her seat like a giddy teenager, she laughed delightedly.

  They had just settled down to eating their lunch when a rather sizeable, thick chested man with very hairy arms sat down next to Diane. It was one of the jackhammer operators. Jim noticed that the guy's partner, also a heavy-set man, took the seat next in line. Both the men were covered with concrete dust and smelled of a combination of sweat and diesel fumes.

  The big man nearest Diane purposefully leaned toward her and brushed his hairy arm against her. With a disgusted look, she moved away from the arm, but the man persisted and rubbed against her again.

  Hoffman balled her fist and thumped it against the man's arm as hard as she could, saying angrily, "Stop touching me!"

  Acting completely surprised, the goon leered at her, spat some chewing tobacco juice out of his mouth into his empty water glass and said in a surly voice, "What's wrong, pretty lady? Don't you know a real man when you see one?"

  "Leave her alone, buddy," Jim Blunt said menacingly.

  Completely ignoring Blunt, the goon casually reached over and grasped Diane's right upper arm in his giant paw and said levelly, "You don't need a puny little worm like that," jutting his unshaven chin at Blunt. "Why don't you let me buy you a drink?"

  As the hairy man jutted his chin at Blunt, the second thuggish worker got up from his stool by the counter and moved around to stand next to his friend, his arms crossed and fists balled. Together, the two burly street workers looked like a veritable mountain of bone and muscle, itching for a fight.

  Blunt rose from his seat and stepped up to the men. The first man with the hairy arms was close to 6 feet, 6 inches tall, and his buddy was only 2 inches shorter. Blunt, at 6 feet, had to crane his neck upwards to look them in their eyes. Years of hard labor manhandling the heavy, concrete smashing jackhammers had bulged the arm, shoulder and chest muscles of the workers to large, rock-hard slabs. To an outside observer, Jim Blunt's chance of winning a fist fight with either one of the big thugs, let alone two of them, was virtually zero.

  Hairy arms poked his thick index finger into Blunt's chest and with a deadly look on his face, warned, "If you know what's best for you, buddy, you'll mind your own business."

  As he made his threat, the fellow standing next to him uncrossed his arms and smacked his right fist into his left palm with a loud whack. Restaurant patrons sitting in nearby booths began quickly leaving when they realized a fight was eminent. No one offered any assistance to Blunt.

  Diane Hoffman couldn't believe what she was witnessing. She had always lived in a sheltered environment where violence simply didn't exist. Her thoughts flew back to the pool ambush and the numbing fear she had felt as she watched death take her friend, Tom LeBlanc. Now her love, Jim Blunt, was being threatened, and again all she could do was watch helplessly and hope for the best.

  Blunt didn't like the jerk's finger being poked into his chest, and he could feel his adrenalin kick in as his anger grew. Hoping his military, close-combat training would be enough to defend him in the fight he realized he couldn't avoid, he narrowed his eyes slightly and said in a low voice, "You guys need to turn around and leave this place before I have to hurt you."

  A wicked grin split the face of the big thug as he replied, "I was hoping you'd say that!"

  Instantly, the thug reached out to grab the front of Blunt's shirt. Seeing the move, Jim whipped up his left hand and grabbed the hairy wrist as it came toward him, trying his best to fend off the attack. The guy's wrist was so thick Jim's hand looked like it was grabbing a 4 inch diameter wooden pole. Astoundingly, the moment Jim grabbed the massive arm, it stopped moving toward him. As Jim held the guy's immense arm, stopping it in midair, his fingers kept closing their grip, and in the b
link of an eye, Jim felt his index finger touch his thumb.

  The big man began screaming loudly, and he swallowed the lump of chewing tobacco in his mouth with a choking cough. At that moment, Blunt felt a gravely crunch and looking down, discovered his left hand had completely closed into a tight fist. Hastily releasing his grip, Blunt stared as the man's blood red hand fell toward the floor, hanging from his forearm by a kite string of bloody flesh. Falling to his knees, the big man reached down with his left hand and picked up his limp right hand from the floor, cradling it to his chest as he screamed in pain and horror.

  In that instant, the other big man swung his fist at Blunt's head, but defending by reflex, Jim easily blocked the blow with his left arm while he reached for the man's chest with his right hand. As if he was grabbing the handle on a coffee pot, Blunt's fingers closed on the rib cage of the fellow, fingers wrapping through the ribs and his thumb clutching under the sternum. With a high pitched, gasping wail, the second man froze as Blunt held his rib cage in an iron grip so painful, tears began streaming from the man's eyes. But Blunt was still angry and flushed with adrenalin. Raising his right arm with no apparent effort, he lifted the beefy thug bodily off the floor. The man had to weigh at least 275 pounds, but Blunt raised him in the air one-handed as if he was lifting a box of tissue paper. Drawing the quivering man close to his face, Jim said very quietly, "Pick up your buddy, there, and get out of here while you still have the ability to walk!"

  Releasing his grip with a shove, Jim watched as the burly hulk fell backwards and slide several feet across the floor on his butt. Rising slowly with a completely cowed and terrified look in his eyes, the scared man pulled the mewling, hairy armed jerk to his feet. Stumbling through the walkway between the booths and the swivel stools at the counter, both men backed out of the entry door onto the sidewalk and ran from the building.