by Cole Anders
THE GORGON EFFECT
Jonathan Cole Anders
1. Last look outside
After two months of back breaking physical and psychological evaluation, Simon could tell he was finally starting to make real progress. It wasn’t the endless miles of running or the hour’s muscle conditioning, or even that the relentlessly difficult examinations were getting any easier. But after a while his body and mind just kind of started getting accustomed to it. And now, with his third month starting tomorrow morning, Simon could look back and really appreciate everything he’d been through.
The training was designed to put strain on even the most capable individuals. And for two months, Simon had worked his way through the rigorous training alongside a collection of other cadets including several Navy Seals, Army Rangers, an astronaut, as well as several police officers and a Canadian logger. And while it bore many of the hallmarks of any of a wide selection of the elite regiments found throughout the military, it was also unlike any kind of program Simon had ever heard of. For one, he wasn’t exactly part of a class or cycle in the traditional sense, as he had arrived alone and gone through the brief induction with only two other candidates, both of which had already received their final day orders and moved on to their next phases at a different facility. They’d both been prior military like himself, but one was an Army Ranger, and the other was some kind of Marines Special Forces but Simon never found out exactly what. They’d both excelled at their individual schedules, it wasn’t that Simon was slow or soft, but after being out of the service for nearly three years, Simon came into the academy on the doughy side, so it took a little while for him to get acclimated again. And fortunately, the course didn’t seem to be designed to keep everyone in competition with each other. Which was just as well for Simon since trying to run as far or as fast as a Navy Seal would have been an exercise in futility from the start.
The basic routine was simple, packed into each day was a schedule custom tailored and specific to each individual cadet, with tasks ranging from running marathon distances too grueling hours in the weight room, combined with challenging examinations that were sometimes like IQ testing and other times more like personality tests. That, combined with seemingly random medical checkups. Everything from x-rays, dental exams, blood work, and sleep studies. But it was always different every day. Each morning, Simon received his personalized list of tasks, and most day’s there was barely enough time to finish.
It a strange way, Simon thought the psychological tests, personality tests, IQ tests, learning quotient tests, an endless stream of words and numbers were worse than the physical demands. Simon often looked forward to the evenings when he could just shut his brain off and run until he veins pumped acid and his lungs burned. Because after-wards, limping back into his bunk at night was always the best part of the day. Fortunately, albeit strangely, there was very little stress conditioning, so there were no surprise wake ups, not formations or disciplinary sessions with the instructors. The rules were very simple. Everyone received their personalized set of daily tasks that they were required to complete each day, failure to complete any one task resulted in immediate and unceremonious expulsion from the program. But despite the zero tolerance for failure, few people washed out despite the sometimes-overwhelming volume of daily requirements. Simon’s general routine was simple, he’d would work exams for hours, break for lunch and then jog around the running course near the facility deep into the night or work his way through the weight routines every evening. No matter how strenuous the day turned out to be, he’d always manage to finish up before midnight. And seemingly by design, overwhelming days where never strung together, so Simon came to count on easier days following difficult one. Sleep and food were also scheduled into each day, but Simon had never seen a schedule that deprived either one. Each of the cadets could eat and sleep whenever they felt they needed too, the daily schedules where meant to leave ample time to rest and eat. Simon’s own routine was to wake-up around 7 each morning, retrieve his tasks for the day from his room’s mail slot, then eat, spend several hours on the first part on his daily physical requirements, have a small lunch of mostly water and fruit, then spend most of the remaining daylight working through his load of exams and paperwork as well as any other tasks like medical exams or meetings with the instructors. And then in the evening finish up whatever physical requirements where needed, eat a large supper and finally go to sleep around ten or eleven at night. Some of the others slept all afternoon and woke up at midnight to try and push through everything as fast as possible as soon as they got it, but to Simon, that seemed pointless. It was clear from the differences on the lists each day that each person was given just about exactly what they could finish with careful time management in a single twenty-four-hour period. Some cadets had mandatory resting hours most days, but Simon rarely did. Those mostly showed up for people who tried to skip on sleep to cram everything in at once. Occasionally Simon’s daily list would only have exercise routines or only exams. And twice his daily list was blank. At first Simon was thought it was test, like reverse psychology. But his instructor’s only advice was to, “Do whatever you think your instructions say.” So, while Simon thought that it might be test to see what kind of work Simon would do on his own, he decided to just take it at face value, no work meant no work. The last time it happened Simon just went back to bed for a few hours, then relaxed in the small activities field with his lunch, and then supper. Most of the other candidates just did their workout and exam routine anyway, assuming it was test to see if they’d work when no one told them too.
So, when Simon woke up and checked his daily routine list for the first day of his third month, he was surprised to find it only had a single item listed.
Report for final medical examination.
Simon had already been through a battery of medical testing, everything for blood work too x-rays looking for microscopic stress fractures in his legs and hips.
“Must be a final once over.” Simon whispered to himself as he reflectively flipped the paper over to check for any additional instructions. That single line was the only printed text on his sheet.
Simon grabbed the pale gray jump suit that they provided everyone with and stepped in front of his mirror for what would be the last time.
Simon was an unassuming man. He kept his light brown hair short and infrequently would buzzed it off completely, and he kept his face covered in a few days of stubble at any given time. The last several weeks of intense physical conditioning had been kind enough to his body cutting the extra pounds he’d managed to collect since he’d left the service, but now Simon felt he was in the best shape of his life. He squeezed his hands into slowly closing fists, a habit he used to pop his knuckles each morning and then ran his hands over his short-buzzed hair. There had never been any directive to keep his hair like that, but longer hair always bothered him at night when he was trying to sleep anyway so he kept it off. Simon checked his teeth and face, picked his nose and hacked up the congestion that had built up in his sinuses overnight. He thought for a few minutes considering his clothes for the day, but decided to shower early and head to the medical examination room right away instead of going straight for breakfast like he did most days.
“A little shakeup in routine is just what the doctor ordered.” He told himself in the mirror before stepping into the shower.
Simon stepped out of his room just in time to intercept his next-door neighbor, a quiet, mountain of a man named Buford. He’d become nicely acquainted with Buford during his time there and he appreciated having someone to talk too. Buford had just gotten out of the Navy as a SEAL and was in inhumanly good shape. Buford always fini
shed his physical tasks ahead of schedule and would sometimes keep pace with Simon for the company in the evenings. Simon could tell Buford was trying to fall into a kind of mentor or leadership role, which didn’t even bother Simon in the slightest. He was a great guy, easy to listen too, and had a natural air of authority about him. And although he seemed to try and conceal it, Buford would often fall into the habit of pushing Simon on his runs to be a little faster, go a little farther.
“Hey man, you get a final medical exam today too?” Buford asked, showing Simon his sheet.
“Same as you looks like, I’m headed there now so I can get it out of the way.” Replied Simon.
“Me too, hope it doesn’t take long, this is the first clear day I’ve had in a while.” Said Buford.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re already headed for your final day Buford. You’re a beast, I don’t think a human being could even design a physical routine that could test your limits.” Exclaimed Simon as they walked down to the medical room together.
“Na, it was tough, tougher than my SEAL training. The worst though was that endless classroom stuff, I thought I was gonna go crazy most of the time.” Replied Buford.
“But you made it. And just in time to see me off, I wonder what’s going to happen next. Hey how did you even fall into this place anyway?” Asked Simon.
“It just kind of fell into my lap I think. I was just finishing my paperwork to leave the Navy when Instructor Melbrook came to see me several months ago. He told me he represented an elite and secretive governmental organization that he was interested in recruiting me for. Said I had the right stuff they were looking for and that I would be welcome to show up at their cadet facility whenever I wanted within the next six months. So, I finished up with the Navy and drove out here. Didn’t have anything to hold me anywhere else anyway.” Explained Buford.
“They must have lost the paperwork for all my metals because Instructor Melbrook never came talk to me when I was getting out.” Simon side with a smirk, elbowing Buford.
“I was just an out of work guy who responded to a work placement ad, prior military a plus, I’d found online. And since I don’t have any family and my lease was up in a week, it seemed like as good a fit as any.” Continued Simon.
“That’s ok bud, I’ll look after you, I’ve seen a lotta shit in my time, but given the choice, I’d see some more with you alongside me.” Exclaimed Buford, returning an elbow that entirely knocked Simon flat on his face.
“Ooh, easy, you don’t want to carry me the rest of the way, do you?” Said Simon.
“I guess I’d drag you by the leg if you asked.” Said Buford, grinning.
The two turned the corner and came up to the outer door of the medical examination room. Two other cadets where already standing there at attention. As Simon and Buford approached, they gestured for the both to stop and asked them wait to be called in. After about ten minutes a voice called out from inside the room.
“Buford, you first.”
2. Exposure
Buford stood at attention, his instructors for the last two months were there in the examination room with him, but there didn’t seem to be any medical equipment out. They asked him to stand against the far wall and look into the end of the small flashlight that was mounted at the far side of the room.
“Buford my boy, we’d like you to look here and stand as still as you can, you’re going to see a bright green flash and you might feel some nausea or tingling in your skin but it won’t last long.” Instructed Melbrook.
“How could something the size of a flashlight mounted in a hole on the wall induce a physical reaction from someone?” thought Buford.
But that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was ready. He’d spend his whole life training for his shot. From a disciplinarian father, to the Navy that taught him how to be a SEAL. This has been no different. But that didn’t stop him from freely admitting to himself that this was by far the most grueling program he'd ever been through, little more than voluntary torture. Endless miles of running, psychological testing, memorization drills, or the mind-numbing class work that required razor-sharp focus. Each hour of each day filled with taxing work both physical and mental. But he knew the hardship was worth it, training like that was necessary so that a man could rise above it and distinguish himself. The SEALs taught you how to be a team, but the training here was focused on culling the most superior individuals from what was already the best of the best. And Cadet Smith knew he was the absolute best.
“Ok Buford, just hold still for a moment while we finish our setup.” Said Melbrook. He glanced down one last time at his data pad before triggering the flash.
Chief petty officer Buford Lamar Smith, African American male age 29. Recent US Navy SEAL, graduated with distinction from training three years ago, has participated in twelve covert combat missions, nine of which were amphibious. Cadet Smith distinguished himself with valor on six of those missions. Cadet Smith was raised by a single father, now deceased, no living relatives. Cadet Smith is unaware of a pending military investigation for killing unarmed civilians during a mission. My independent investigation has shown these claims are false, a fabrication by his superior officer as retaliation for a verbal altercation in which cadet Smith called that officers judgment into question and was supported by the rest of the chain of command. Extreme level of physical fitness combined with “a succeed or die” attitude. Smith has also received extreme weather survival conditioning and can control his own metabolism to a small degree. Meta-analysis indicates that Smith is very unlikely to quit regardless of personal danger, likelihood of success, or orders from superiors once set onto a task. Analysis further indicates cadet will be able to rapidly master any additional training provided.
Buford stood there in front of the lens wall for a few minutes, wondering if maybe this exposure test was meant to test his patience with a seemingly nonsense task. Buford knew he could stand there for days if need be, and began to settle into a long term standing posture. A few moments later, the lens in the wall let out a short green flash, no more than a flicker. To the naked eye, just a quick pulse of green light, hardly even noticeable. At first Buford thought he’d imagined it, or possibly that he’d had no reaction to whatever it was supposed to do at all. Then, a small tingling sensation began in his chest, almost like the feeling of hair rapidly growing. Soon the itching spread to the inside his chest. A moment after that it spread out across the front of his body like a creeping mold. The itching gave way to burning, now spreading into his hands and feet, it felt like being submerged in acid. Smith tried to rub his arms but his hands wouldn’t move, he tried to scream but he couldn’t draw a breath. It was as if all the air in the room been sucked out. The burning then gave way to the sensation of a tremendous crushing weight washing over him like a constant tidal wave of overwhelming pressure. He was unable to move, unable to draw a single breath. In an instant months of grueling training and a lifetime of discipline flew out of Smith’s mind like so many leaves in a storm. That’s when the panic came, but it was more than just panic, it was despair. Soul rattling hopelessness, the realization that nothing had ever mattered and in that instant, Smith knew he was nothing except a useless waste of molecules on a cold worthless rock in an infinite black void. The only thing to do was to lie down and close his eyes, Smith knew he didn’t deserve to see anyway, that was for better men, anyone but him.
Even through the thick specially tinted goggles they had one, instructor Calvin Rickenbaugh and instructor David Melbrook could see that Cadet Smith had fallen too floor in a twitching pile of arms and legs. They both knew what that meant, failure.
The cadets didn't know it when they reported to evaluation exposure, but the test was a strict one shot pass/fail. The training leading up to first exposure was designed as a placebo effect. The training really was just voluntary torture, one last barrier between those who try hard, and those with resistance to the gorgon. And if they couldn’t keep their
composure while under the influence of a gorgon lamp for even half a second then no level of training would protect them in the field when subjected to one for real. What the first exposure test was looking for was those individuals with the inherent ability to resist the cognitive programming effect created by the lamp. It was no use building a fortress in the mind of someone who only had sand for a foundation.
“I’ve seen enough, it’s over, he’s done.” Rickenbaugh Said.
The cadet, in a crumpled heap on the lab floor began to weep like new born baby, soiling himself.
“P…please let me just die.” The cadet just managed to finish his sentence before he vomited.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and back to your quarters, it’s going to be a few hours before you can stand on your own.”
Rickenbaugh called out into the hallway for the two the cadets to come into the room and help him up. No point in telling him he’s leaving tonight just yet, he won’t be able to understand anything said to him for quite a while anyway. In a few hours Rickenbaugh or Melbrook would come by his room and tell him to pack up, but for now he could sleep. The two cadets hoisted Buford up between them and unceremoniously dragged him out of the room for the last time.
“He had done well enough for a no pass.” Rickenbaugh thought.
He turned to David Melbrook and shrugged, “At first, he seemed like he was going to hold it together, but once the legs buckle, it’s over. Total loss of body control always follows. That makes close to fifty cadets now that have failed exposure. But we’ve got to keep looking, statistically only one in a thousand people should be able to make it past the lamp, so we could be washing out cadets for years still. I think we’re wasting our time with this training, we should just go out an expose any agent prospects Nerva finds and just get it over with.”
David returned the Shrug Calvin Rickenbaugh gave him, “I think the training still serves a purpose. We’re able to compile a tremendous amount of information about them while they are here, and besides, Nerva’s never totally sure about them until sometime after they’ve been here with us, it’s be more of a waste to find a resistant candidate only to have them fail in some other way.”
