Forging the Nightmare: A Jarrod Hawkins Technothriller
Page 6
Jarrod's appearance changed drastically from one day to the next. Emily repeatedly appealed to Wagner to stop the treatment, giving any excuse she could think of, but Wagner’s response was unwavering. “Let us worry about his body,” he would say, “then we'll let you take care of his mind.”
Jarrod's muscle mass returned within the first week, and he continued to grow at an astonishing rate. Experimental compounds increased his mitochondrial density and cellular efficiency tenfold. Viral carriers modified his genetic code. He was given serums of nano and micro machines, which permeated his tissues, performing hundreds of pre-programmed tasks. The nanobots modified the structure of his brain, destroying synapses in some regions and building them in others. Organic “factories” that resembled bacteria provided him with the ability to manufacture more of the tiny robots on his own.
They injected carbon polymers and his altered genetic code directed his cells to “harden” themselves with the foreign material. An artificial nervous system increased the speed of hind-brain responses to threats and improved the acuity of his senses. Day after day, surgeons tore Jarrod apart and put him back together. The tiny machines became one with his body, speeding his recovery and allowing even more brutal, procedures that would kill him otherwise.
Every step in the process was recorded with three-dimensional cameras. Every surgeon in the room recorded exhaustive audio notes that would be analyzed for years to come. They applied every conceivable performance enhancement to Jarrod's body and took tremendous care to ensure synergy between them.
Though each procedure and injection was given with specific intentions, the true physiological results could not be predicted with certainty. Surgeons performed biopsies daily, and within three weeks, gathered more samples than they could study in three years.
Emily was more concerned with the psychological consequences of the experiments. She would be responsible for describing and, hopefully, treating them. After being sidelined for weeks, she insisted on being present in the room when he was revived. Dr. Wagner cautioned her that there was no way they could know how Jarrod would react to the treatment, or how he may respond to anyone in the room. Emily ignored the warning and pushed the issue until Wagner relented.
The day arrived, and a nurse wheeled Jarrod’s gurney to an empty operating room. Then the nurse removed every tube, wire and electrode from Jarrod’s body but the IV for the sedative drip.
Engineers, surgeons, chemists, and neurologists crowded the observation room, clamoring for a spot near the window. The atmosphere was electric in the small room, but everyone fell silent when Emily walked into the Operating Room, a dose of epinephrine in her hand.
The stimulant was unnecessary. When Emily rolled the plastic clamp on the sedative drip shut, Jarrod came to before she could even uncap the adrenaline. He turned his head to look at her, then sucked in air through his mouth and nose. Within milliseconds, his brain processed the olfactory data and made a decision. Returning his gaze toward the ceiling, he lay motionless.
“Jarrod?” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”
His gaze flicked in her direction, then he stared back at the ceiling.
Despair washed over Emily. “Jarrod? Are you in there?” She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his breathing. His respiration rate was slow, perhaps two or three breaths a minute. She examined his motionless form. Small, black terminals dotted his entire body, allowing the tiny machines within him to access the external environment. His body was completely hairless, and his skin had taken on a grayish tinge. His muscles were massive and grotesquely lean. His eyes were cloudy, and Emily wondered if he could still see.
Looking up at the observation window, she felt her despair give way to anger. As her blood started to boil, there was a flash of motion in front of her. Jarrod was gone. She turned to find him standing five feet behind her. He stood naked and expressionless, but visibly alert. Her anger drained away, and fear took its place. Jarrod's shoulders relaxed with every change in her emotion. Slowly, carefully, she reached a hand out toward him.
“Jarrod, it's me. Do you remember me? My name is Emily, we’ve met before.”
He watched her lips with dull curiosity and gave no response.
“I'd like to take you somewhere so you can get dressed and get something to eat. Do you understand?”
He didn’t speak, but he also didn’t resist when she led him to the door. Looking at the observation room, she said. “I need you to open the doors leading to his quarters and lock all the others. Do not let any security personnel into the hallways.”
“Of course, Dr. Roberts,” came Wagner's elated voice through the overhead speakers. “And from all of us in here, congratulations.”
Emily ignored him and led Jarrod into the hallway. They made it to the elevator and, as they passed though the sliding doors, Emily considered asking the computer to take them to the main floor. She decided against it, knowing it would be a useless effort. They would almost certainly have the lift restricted to the floor she was supposed to be going. Her suspicions were confirmed when the elevator began to move on its own. “Proceeding to Sub-Level Two.”
She made a mental note that Jarrod didn't panic when the elevator started to ascend. The sudden motion would have been unsettling to a creature acting purely on instinct.
When the sliding doors opened, she led him out and to the left. His room in the secure quarters was the only one with an open door. She walked in and let go of his hand. He didn’t turn around, choosing instead to stare blankly at the room’s blank rear wall.
She frowned. “I really hope you're still in there, Jarrod.” Brushing past him, she reached into a drawer under his bed and pulled out some clothes. She helped him put an arm into a sleeve, and he finished putting the shirt on by himself. He took the pants from her without prompting and pulled them on.
“I'm going to get you some food,” she said, “You haven't eaten anything solid in a few weeks, so I imagine you'll like it. If the door closes behind me, don’t take it personally. They’re just overcautious around here.”
When she left the room, Jarrod followed her to the door. She thought he was going to follow her into the hallway, but he stopped short. A steel panel with a small window in the center slid between them. Emily stepped up to look through the thick glass. Jarrod’s face betrayed no emotion, no anger at his captivity. For some reason, she had the impression that he didn't want her to go, and he would miss her while she was away. She dismissed it as an extension of her own pity, and set out for the cafeteria.
Jarrod stood motionless in his spartan quarters. His body was different, and he knew it. He was completely conscious of everything around him, more so than ever before. When Emily had spoken to him, he understood every word. He even remembered her name and every second they spent together before his transition began. Still, nothing she said carried any significance to him. He saw the world as things that could kill him and things that could not. Nothing else seemed to matter. He surveyed the room in a second, and decided it was safe. His position near the door gave him a good view of the hallway, so there was no reason to move or engage in higher thought. The activity in his brain dropped off like a computer going into standby mode. He stood unmoving, only breaking the utter silence with an occasional breath.
12
The next morning, Emily entered the secure elevator with a box in her arms. Before she could say a word, the computer directed her toward Sub-Level One. As the lift slowed to a stop, the lilting tones of the computer's voice told her to proceed to room A-1-1, Wagner's office.
Reluctantly, Emily followed the computer’s command. She reached the office a minute later and found Wagner filling out forms behind a large, black walnut desk. She stood with her arms crossed for a long moment, eventually coughing to get his attention.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, finally looking up. “I wanted to go over today's training plan for Four-Seven-Charlie.” He tilted his head. “What's in the box?”
“And what are you planning to do with these…items.”
“I was planning on using them to identify how the different parts of Jarrod's brain have been affected by Phase One. I can assess his IQ, measure his creativity, see how he responds to—”
Wagner cut her off. “None of that will be necessary. We will test his aptitude only as it applies to tactical skills. We are not here to measure his artistic abilities, only his combat effectiveness.”
Emily tossed a shoe back into the box. “The way his brain is functioning is of absolute importance when it comes to his combat effectiveness. How can we know how he’ll react in different situations if we can't even describe his mental state? His reliability will be completely suspect until we can establish a baseline. Plus, there’s the risk to staff members if he has the potential for violent outbursts.”
“That won't be a problem,” Wagner replied with a wave of his hand. “The mental conditioning will help ensure his cooperation, and we've had him fitted with headband that will shock him unconscious if he steps out of line. I want you down in Sub-Level Three getting the software ready for a session this afternoon. The combat instructor is already in the training room in Sub-Level Four to establish a baseline for the subject’s physical capabilities.”
Wagner intertwined his fingers and set his forearms on his desk. “Four-Seven-Charlie starts combat readiness training today. You can leave your box of goodies here.”
“Fine.” Emily snapped. “But I want a copy of Jarrod's evening medical report.”
Wagner leaned over and plucked a paper off his desk. “Here, have mine. Now, if there isn’t anything else...”
Emily snatched the paper from his hand and walked away. She read over the document as she made her way down to Sub-Level Three. According to the report, Jarrod remained unresponsive to questions, but compliant during the examination. His blood work was completely outside of normal ranges for every test, but it was noted that this wasn’t surprising, considering the differences in his genetic code. His urine solute concentration was extremely high, though the reason for it was unknown. He also showed no preference for any specific food, so he was fed nutrient blocks—unpalatable but highly nutritious and calorie-dense packaged meals. The report noted that Jarrod needed unlimited access to drinking water, stating that he consumed one gallon of water every six hours if given the option.
Emily turned the report over and shock spread across her face. The morning update said Jarrod did not sleep during the night, choosing instead to remain standing in front of his door. She knew the transition process had drastically altered his genetic makeup, but she struggled with the idea that he had departed so far from humanity that he no longer required sleep.
Jarrod stood in the middle of an open gymnasium. Punching bags, free weights, and other equipment lined the walls, but the center empty and covered with in an enormous mat. A lean, man with dark hair stood in front of him. The man was wearing padded gloves, a padded helmet, shin-guards, and a padded chest-plate. Jarrod also noticed a man in a white lab coat and two armed guards at the periphery of the gym, but paid them little attention. No one in the room posed any real threat to him.
“Jarrod, my name is Eugene Carver,” the dark-haired man said. “I'll be teaching you everything from martial arts to breaking-and-entering over the next several weeks.”
The man patted Jarrod on the shoulder. “I've heard you don't talk much, but maybe we can work on that too. Do you understand?”
Jarrod looked at Eugene's face, but gave no reply.
“Okay Jarrod, we've got to communicate if we are going to train together. How about this...nod if you understand what I told you.”
Jarrod gave a single nod.
“Excellent!” Eugene said, smiling. “Now we can really get started. Nod if you know what Pencak Silat is...”
For the first hour of instruction, Eugene only worked on communication with Jarrod. He described the theory behind different forms of martial arts and military combatives, then brought out training knives and fake weapons and described how they would be used for training.
Afterward, he led Jarrod to a water cooler. Eugene topped off his water bottle and had a few sips. Jarrod took one of the plastic cups from the dispenser, filled it water, drank it, and refilled it. He continued this process for three minutes before Eugene stopped him. “Alright, buddy, we'll come back for more later. Right now we’re going to go over some blocking techniques.”
He led Jarrod out to the center of the mat and showed him high, low, and center blocks. Jarrod responded well, though his movements were rigid. He could block any strike that Eugene threw, as long it could be blocked in the exact manner Eugene showed him. Strikes that came in from a different angle or at a different height would slip past Jarrod's defense, but Eugene would always pull back before making contact—he didn’t want to take risk angering the muscle-bound science experiment with a stray punch.
Training continued this way for two more hours. Eventually, Eugene decided to change his strategy and move directly into offensive training. He brought Jarrod over to a full-length punching bag and showed him elbow, knee, and palm strikes. Jarrod mimicked Eugene's movements precisely, but only struck the bag with the exact amount of force that his instructor had applied in demonstration.
“Hold on a second,” Eugene said. Jarrod stopped his elbow strikes and turned around.
“You're not doing anything wrong,” Eugene continued, “but tell me, are you holding back?”
Jarrod gave no response. Eugene walked up and put his hand on Jarrod's back, turning him to face the bag. “This time, I want you to hit the bag harder. No, scratch that. This time, I want you to hit that bag so hard you damage it. Got it?”
Eugene stood back a little bit, and Jarrod set his feet. His elbow swung out quickly, though he didn’t seem to generate much force from his hips. To Eugene’s surprise, Jarrod’s elbow passed straight through the edge of the bag, blasting the cloth innards out onto the floor. The bag hung wide open at the point of impact, clumps of ragged cloth dropping out as the bag swung back and forth.
Concern spread across Eugene’s face. “That’s great, Jarrod. You did…exactly what I told you to. Let’s take a break and get some chow. Then after you eat, I think we should go talk to Dr. Roberts.”
Jarrod devoured his nutrition blocks and washed them down with two quarts of water. Eugene munched on a sandwich, eyeing his newest student from across the table.
When Jarrod set down his bottle of water, Eugene piped up, “Finished? Great, I'll take you downstairs to see Dr. Roberts.” He dropped the remainder of his sandwich on his plate and led Jarrod to the elevator. They arrived at the Mental Conditioning Room a few minutes later.
The room was surprisingly small. There was a computer on a small desk against the wall and what looked like a barber's chair next to it. Emily rose as they entered. She gave Jarrod a little hug, which he didn’t return. She stepped back, and Eugene offered her his hand.
“Eugene Carver. I'm Jarrod's combat instructor.”
She shook his hand. “Emily. And thank you for not calling him Four-Seven-Charlie.”
Carver shrugged. “He's just another student to me. And every student comes with their own set of challenges.”
Emily smiled. “I appreciate your attitude. I wish everyone thought of him that way.” She returned to the computer and sat down. “Jarrod, can you sit down for me, please?”
Jarrod didn’t move. Seeing the hesitation, Eugene quickly stepped up and put his hand on Jarrod's back. “Sit down on that red chair, buddy.”
Jarrod walked over and gently took a seat.
Eugene looked over at Emily, a half-smile on his face. “Sorry. I've found that he responds best to direct communication.”
“No, no; it's fine.” Emily responded. “I'm just happy to
see that he can understand us.”
“Oh, sure. He doesn't talk much, but as far as I can tell, he's understood everything I've said to him.”
Emily nodded. “Good to know.” She pulled a little box out of a drawer and stood up. In the box were little silver disks, which she began placing on Jarrod's skull. As she did, gray tendrils spread outward from the pores on Jarrod’s skin and connected with the disks.
Eugene took a step forward. “What are those, if you don't mind my asking?”
Emily finished and sat down. “They're an electrical interface, meant to communicate with the microscopic machinery in Jarrod's brain. Theoretically, I'll be able to use them to put virtual simulations directly into his mind.”
“Okay, yeah. Wagner told me about that, but he didn't really explain it in a way I could understand.”
Emily tapped the screen a few times, and then swiveled in her chair to face Jarrod. “When we learn things, connections are made between our brain cells. These connections allow us to access and process information more quickly. With Mental Conditioning, we will direct the nano-machinery in Jarrod's brain to create new connections, or synapses. Essentially, he can learn new things without leaving his chair.”
Eugene scratched the side of his head. “That's incredible.”
Emily shrugged. “Not really. Scientists have known for a while that it’s possible. Synaptic reinforcement happens while we sleep. Studies indicate that we actually get better at motor skills we learned during the day while we dream. This interface just allows us to do it to Jarrod in a targeted fashion.”
Eugene shook his head. “If you say so.” He took a step back and said, “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”
“Before you go,” Emily said, pulling a pencil and paper from her desk, “did you have any problems with his training this morning that you'd like me to address?”
Eugene thought for a moment. “He followed instructions really well, but he was kind of literal. If an attack wasn't exactly the way I showed him, he wouldn't block it right. He needs to be more fluid if he's going to do well in hand-to-hand combat.”