That snapped the Major even straighter in his chair. “Second highest?”
“You seem surprised?”
“Well, sir . . . I am. I’d like to meet the man who scored higher than I did.”
“If you’re selected to go, you will. However, I won’t tell you who that person is, the scores are confidential, but I will tell you this . . .” Dr. Jefferson smiled his old smile. It seemed that he was going to derive great pleasure telling the Major what he was about to tell him. “It wasn’t a man who scored higher than you.”
“A woman scored higher?” Major Graison’s left eye brow raised and he relaxed some in his chair. It was apparent that it bothered him.
“Yes, a woman,” Dr. Jefferson said. “I think I may have discovered something about you that isn’t written here, Major. I hope I’m not insulting you, but you strike me as being . . . a little chauvinistic.”
Cool and calm, Major Graison answered. “Pretty much, sir, yes I am.” Straight forward was something else he was, and he presented that, at least Major Graison thought he did. He didn’t flinch or show dismay, even though, from that moment on in the interview, his mind kept on questioning in shock, ‘a woman?’
^^^^
Cal Reynolds pulled into the long driveway. She shut off the ignition and ejected the music from the player in her car. She stared at the house. She was exhausted and the ten steps up to the house seemed like a mountain to climb. Rubbing her tired eyes she opened her car door and grabbed her purse. Looking at the steps she remembered the house she had lived in before, her house, had no steps. But that house held way too many painful memories for her. She had to let it go when Jessie passed away. She could have taken the money and gone somewhere far away, and, in essence, she had done that. She had moved to New Eagle, a place far enough away from the suburbs of Pittsburgh where she had lived with her daughter.
Cal could have chosen to live alone, but the offer from Joyce--her lifelong friend--to redo the attic so she could stay there with her was probably exactly what Cal needed. The sense of family Joyce and her two sons provided helped Cal, since she had no family of her own left. And Joyce could use the money Cal gave her every month, even though she insisted that she didn’t need it. She was a struggling single mother, however, and that was the justification Cal used for why she hadn’t left Joyce’s home yet.
Walking up the driveway, Cal stopped to pick up Jason’s bike and move it into the yard. Slowly she climbed the steps and then took the walkway that led to the side kitchen door. When she opened the door, she saw Joyce working in the kitchen, obviously still upset with her. “Hi.” Cal slumped her way in.
The knife Joyce was using slammed hard and loud against the cutting board.
“You’re still pissed at me.” Cal said, walking to the fridge to get a soda.
After another slam, Joyce turned around. “Yes, I’m still pissed at you. You went back for the final interview.”
“It’s something I want to do.”
“And it is something, as your friend, I have begged you not to do. Seven months, Cal. Locked away.”
With a slight chuckle of disbelief, Cal shook her head and sat down at the kitchen table.
“No, listen.” Joyce put the knife down and walked over. There was desperation in her voice as she joined Cal at the table. “It’s not right. If you need money, teach again. St. Joan’s will take you back.”
“I don’t need money. I have plenty left from selling the house. And I can’t teach kids again. You know that.”
Joyce leaned in toward to Cal. “Maybe it’s time you should. Moving in with me and my two boys didn’t help. Teaching again might. Give you some life back.”
“You don’t understand,” Cal said softly. “I don’t want my life back. Jessie . . . she was my life. She was thirteen years old. I was a kid when I had her. Do you realize how much of my life she consumed? And she didn’t just leave.” The fingernails on Cal’s hand scraped in defeat against the surface of the table. “She was taken from me.”
Her hand on Cal’s, Joyce tried to be the voice of reason. “Losing Jessie the way you did was beyond tragic. I don’t think you know how proud I am of you. You have come so far since she was killed. Don’t . . . Don’t go backwards. I’m afraid doing this experiment will be just that.
“Or maybe, Joyce,” Cal raised her eyes slightly, “it can be my way of finally going forward. If . . . if....” Her eyes sunk again. “If that is even possible,” she murmured softly.
^^^^
The day of the interviews was a long one and the last thing Dr. Jefferson wanted to do was run down the halls of the institute. Responding to a fanatic summons by one of the technicians in the physical testing division, Dr. Jefferson found himself racing to the lab to address some supposed emergency.
David stood in the hall outside the testing door, one hand on his hip the other plastered to his head; he was the picture of exasperation. The young tech thrust both hands in his lab coat as he saw Dr. Jefferson approaching and greeted him with, “Thank God you’re here.” He looked as frazzled as he sounded.
“What is it?” Dr. Jefferson asked with concern and took a second to catch his breath. ”What’s wrong?”
“I know . . .” David held up his hand. “Please don’t get upset. It happens. We have an imposter. Maybe…”
“What?” Dr. Jefferson blasted.
“I asked politely.” David cringed.
“You know how vital this is.” Dr. Jefferson took a moment to calm himself before asking, “Are you sure?”
“We don’t know. That’s why you’re here. See . . .” David took a breath. “He was convincing. He didn’t have his paperwork, but told us, the ‘babe’ down the hall had it. He impressively handled the weightlessness wheel test. Of course, he crammed every television cartoon theme song from 1970 to present into that four minutes . . .” David shrugged and opened the door. “But this, this is what alerted us. Three hours, sir. We can’t get him off the exercise bike.”
Dr. Jefferson stepped inside and saw the young man David was concerned about. Eighteen years old, thin and small, his shoulder length light brown hair bounced as his head bobbed from side to side while he peddled, seemingly with great delight.
“He keeps doing that stupid . . .” David grabbed his temple, “. . . that stupid peddling theme song from Wizard of Oz and screaming, ‘Auntie Em, Auntie Em,’ over and over.”
“Dude!” The young man called out to Dr. Jefferson. “Hey, check me out. Guy, awesome fuel conscious means of transportation. I’m working the muscles in my massive legs along with my imagination. Forty-six miles, guy.” He gave a ‘thumps up.’ “I’m almost to the beach. Want to come?”
Dr. Jefferson smiled. “No-no, Rickie, you go right ahead.”
“Cool.”
David was surprised. “He’s legit?”
“Oh, yes.” Dr. Jefferson nodded. “Rickie Cettero.”
“He’s . . . he’s an applicant?” David questioned.
“Actually Rickie is the first applicant ever to become a viable participant the first moment I met him.” Ignoring David’s obvious looks of offense, Dr. Jefferson smiled at Rickie who happily peddled along.
^^^^
Major Jake Graison, hair still wet from showering, approached the Officer’s Club. It was still early evening and he was hoping to find Captain Charles Burgett and convince him to leave base to grab a bite to eat with him. The small bagel sandwiches on the short flight home weren’t enough to make even a dent in his appetite.
The club was semi-full, not unusual for a Friday. Jake spotted him. Captain Burgett’s tall, thin body slumped inward toward the bar as he sat on the stool. He rolled a bottle of beer between his hands pulling at the label as he did so.
Smiling as he ran his hands through his wet hair, Jake lifted his head in acknowledgment to the bartender and slapped his friend on the back as he slid on the stool to his right. “What’s going on, Chuck?” He adjusted his stool and indicated to the bartender wit
h a point to Chuck’s beer. “You know what they say about pulling off those labels? Sign of sexual frustration.”
Chuck gave a quick laugh and turned his head smiling. “Man, you should know. How many labels have you pulled off this month?”
“With my luck with women it must be at least a case worth.” He grabbed the ice cold bottle set down in front of him and gave it a long chug.
“So Jake, how’d that interview go today?” Chuck turned his stool to face him.
“About as I expected. Hey, you want to go down into town and grab a steak?” He pointed back to the door with his thumb.
“After my beer, and why did you just switch the subject on me?” Chuck brought his beer to his lips. He pointed his long index finger at Jake. “I know you.” A cocky smile crept upon Chuck’s face. “They don’t think you were good enough, huh?” Shaking his head he laughed. “See . . . you go in there with that Jake Graison holier than thou attitude. You’ve been there, done that—Mr. Mountain Dew Man. And . . .”
“Shut the fuck up or, friend or no friend, you’ll be saluting my ass every time I see you.” Jake took a long drink of his beer and set it down. He laughed at his friends egging on tactics. “OK.” Jake had another drink, this time finishing the beer. He leaned his side on the bar. “You’re sort of right,” he said waving his hand in a side to side gesture. “Get this. How many of these things have I done? Has to be a ton of them right? How many mental tests have I taken? Many, and always exceeded every score they ever expected. I’ve always done what they didn’t . . .”
“No way, you failed a mental test?” Chuck’s loud laughter caught the attention of the room. He quickly shut up as he saw Jake’s glare and took another drink of beer.
“No! I did great—best of all the military that applied. Check this out.” A look of anger and annoyance passed over Jake’s face. “I did only second best out of all the applicants.” He waved the bartender over for another beer.
“You seem pissed.”
“I am pissed. And you want to know why? And I know I’m not living it down once I tell you this, but I have to. Not only did I get beat . . . I got beat by a woman. Can you believe that shit? Beat by a woman?”
“Jake, Jake, Jake. I am . . . uh . . .” Chuck shut up and put his bottle down, giving Jake a serious look.
“A broad beat me! She’s probably some fat chick that weighs like nine hundred pounds and belongs to the Mensa society.” Jake rambled on, totally ignoring the motioning head and bulging eyes that Chuck was giving him. “Now what the hell was she doing beating me? A woman, can you believe? A goddamn woman and there isn’t . . .” He felt a tap to his shoulder and slowly turned his head.
“Major!” A uniformed woman with short blond hair and glasses glared at him. “I believe before you start making such chauvinistic comments, you should check to see if there is anyone around who may take offense to what you are saying. I for one have taken offense.”
Jake hesitated before saying anything to the woman, who unfortunately outranked him. He made a slow blink, kept a stone face and, sounding less than sincere said, “I apologize Colonel Stevens, Ma’am.” He turned from her, rolled his eyes at Chuck and grabbed his beer. “Let’s sit at a table.” He motioned with his head and walked away.
Chuck followed, trying not to laugh and whispered, “Busted.” He pulled out a chair and sat with Jake. “All kidding aside, you think they’re going to pick you even though you scored only second highest?”
“I don’t know. But if they do choose me, you know it’s going to irk me if she is there. She probably will be though, unless she couldn’t pass the physical part.”
“Ah . . . the sweet sounds of competition. Too bad she won’t know what she’s up against.”
“Nah,” Jake said and waved his hand. “What am I going to do? We’re going to be stranded out there together and I can’t compete with her. It wouldn’t be right. Work together not against.”
“True. But if you wanted to, it is an isolation project. Make her think she’s nuts.” Chuck pointed to his temple.
“No. But that could be pretty funny.” Jake hesitated and brought the bottle to his lips. “If I did want to challenge her, I’m sure there are many other ways. I mean we’ll be stranded. I do, however, want to see what this babe has that I don’t. And . . .” Jake pointed his bottle. “I guarantee you one thing. Higher score than me or not, she will break. She’s a woman. Hell, the competition is over the moment she becomes pre-menstrual.”
“Now listen to you. It’s no wonder I’m your only friend.” Chuck put his empty bottle down. “Let’s go get that steak.”
“Yeah, let’s go.” Jake stood up, his huge body moving the chair loudly as he did. “And remember, you’re my only friend by choice. I’m not a people person. Emotional attachments are not good. That’s why I can do what I do.”
“True.” Chuck pushed in his chair and walked with Jake. “But take it from someone who has a woman, the sex is definitely a bonus. Maybe that’s why you’re so mean to everyone but me.”
“I am not mean to everyone.” Jake tilted his head as they walked by the bar and placed the empty containers there. “I’m just quiet to them.”
Chuck shrugged at the honesty in that comment as he walked with him. He knew that Jake only spoke like that when he was around him. And knowing that Jake was a quiet guy by choice, Chuck also knew that Jake wouldn’t select the quiet route over their dinner on this night. There were two things that topped Jake’s list of things he couldn’t take. One was being outdone in something he knew he was a master at and the second was having it done by a woman. Jake was the epitome of the feminist movement’s nightmare.
CHAPTER TWO
I-S.E. Five Preparations - Caldwell Research Institute, Atlanta, GA
February 23, 1952
Dr. Chandler Hertz stood beside the eight millimeter projector. Its loud motor still running, the film had finished, but its tail end continued rapping against the reel with a click. He reached his hand down, turned off the motor. “Lights please,” he said. Rubbing his eyes at the sudden brightness, the forty-something doctor stood at the end of the long rectangular table and faced the eight men, all dressed in expensive suits, who sat before him.
“The film you just saw was the original documentary from the very first Iso-Stasis experiment back in 1941. As you all know, this experiment was begun during wartime to study the psychological effects of isolation on prisoners of war. The first experiment took four men into isolation for one month. They were paid a hundred dollars. The study did not produce the results expected. It was determined that the length of time was too short, so for Project Two, isolation was increased to two months.” Dr. Hertz paced from one end of the room to the other while he talked. “Still, participants weren’t shaken enough. It was a picnic for them and the compensation was an easy earn. For Project Three the experiment took on more men and moved the isolation to four months. They started to see results after the third month . . . please open your folders.”
He waited for the synchronized paper flipping sounds to end before he continued. “Three of those men folded and were removed, but five successfully made it through, with minimal side effects. That was more in the lines of what they wanted or expected to see. Now, Project Four in 1949, the last experiment under the guidance of my predecessor, was the one that clicked on the light, so to speak. It was slated to last for four months also. However, an avalanche occurred somewhere around the fourth month and these men went undiscovered, buried behind a wall of rock, for an additional three months. Only one man survived although they were all alive when the rockslide occurred. That man, Sergeant Brindle, committed suicide three months later. Our scientists and investors looked at Project Four as tragic, yet beneficial because it did provide answers to what the Iso-stasis experiment was meant to determine. Can man actually physically and mentally survive when faced with unprecedented odds?”
Dr. Hertz stopped at the head of the table and rested his hands upon i
t. “That was the question posed to me when I was brought on two years ago to begin the next project and that is why I asked all of you here today. You . . .” his hand motioned toward them, “…as investors in this project have brought a few things to my attention, a few things I have expanded on. These are stated within the sealed black envelopes all of you have before you. I’d like you to open your envelopes now and we will review. I think this is on the lines of what all of you are thinking.” Dr. Hertz picked up his own envelope. “The Iso-Stasis experiment has come a long way since its beginning in 1941. Gentleman, with your approval, I’d like to take the experiment even further.”
CHAPTER THREE
I-S.E. Twelve - July 6, Present Day
Joyce’s slow moving footsteps up the uncarpeted stairs to the attic went unnoticed. As she made the bend in the stairway she could feel the chilly air from Cal’s air conditioner. The mid-afternoon weather was pleasant and Cal really didn’t need to have the unit going full blast. But Joyce supposed the heat would eventually get up here and settle. If the heat got unbearable, then so would Cal.
Joyce didn’t want to make the trip to the attic. She wished the reason for it would never have happened. Seeing the messenger at the door on a Saturday, she had known immediately he was bringing the news she had been dreading. A sense of loss hit Joyce, an overwhelming feeling of sadness, as she carried the large manila envelope up the stairs. “Cal?” She called out softly, her voice cracking.
Cal was surprised at the tone and raised her eyes from the dresser that she was polishing with determination. “You sound weird.” She smiled at Joyce.
Joyce cleared her throat. “A . . . a messenger just showed up.” With a frown she handed the envelope to Cal. “It’s from that research institute.”
Cal was shocked as her hand reached for it. “No shit?” Excitedly she took it and sat on the bed ripping it open and dumping out the contents. She found the cover letter and read it quickly. “They want me.”
The Iso-Stasis Experiment (The Experiments) Page 2
