by David Bruno
“The best way to demonstrate their strength is to overdrive the little guys. The room they’re in is explosion resistant so we’ll be safe here. Sound like fun?” Dr. Sanders smiled and gave a double thumbs-up to her audience. The director grimaced and cleared his throat.
“You mean you’re going to kill Fred and Barney?” asked the third agent. His tone expressed concern for the welfare of the rats.
“Well, yes. Just watch.” On the screens, the team saw the two cages open. The two rats walked out and began to sniff around. It didn’t take long for them to start smacking each other. “You see, one side effect of their enhanced condition is heightened aggression. There’s really no reason for them to fight. We think that a creature with higher-level reasoning—humans, for instance—won’t be quite so aggressive.” The rats began hitting each other harder and harder. Each smack threw the other across the room. About a minute into the experiment the blows to each rat were severe enough to draw blood. Crimson stains covered their fur and became tracked on the floor in tiny rat footprints. Their eyes glowed an eerie white. Moments later, growling with ferocity, both rats exploded. Pieces of rat decorated the walls like sick, macabre paintings.
The agents gasped at the brutality. “This is not what we expected,” said the lead agent. They exchanged glances. “But you’ve certainly achieved the initial objective.”
“Indeed, we have,” replied Director Fischer proudly. “But that’s not all. We have another rat, Velma, who can do something very special.”
“Oh?” inquired the second agent.
“Yes. She can shoot energy beams from her eyes.”
The agent gulped in astonishment. “Are you serious?”
“Quite,” Dr. Sanders cut in enthusiastically. “She’s very dangerous. We have her in another explosion-resistant room. She’s sedated because she has little control of the power. We now know this power is really too dangerous for a rat, and she will be the last of her type. She has no idea what it is and no mental capacity to manage it. Perhaps it was not wise for us to give it to her.”
Director Fischer sneered disapprovingly at Dr. Sanders’s comment.
“The ability is caused by a pair of glands that grow behind the eyes. One behind each eye, in fact. We’ll do a quick demonstration and then mercifully euthanize her,” said Dr. Sanders, undeterred by the director’s admonishment.
Quietly, the third agent asked, “You’re going to kill Velma just like Fred and Barney?”
Dr. Sanders turned on another screen, showing a sleeping rat. “First, I’ll wake her by spraying a chemical into the air. She will then demonstrate her power. When she loses control, I’ll spray poison gas into the room and put her down humanely. Watch closely. This won’t take long.”
As Velma gained full consciousness, she began to slowly walk around the room, sniffing the air. Suddenly, astonishing beams of energy shot from her eyes with each blink of her eyelids. The camera showed the impact of the beams on the steel wall: small spots had clearly been melted, and glowed orange. As this continued, Velma’s agitation grew. Energy beams flashed throughout the room, illuminating the space with a shower of molten steel sparks.
“Now, doctor!” commanded Director Fischer.
Dr. Sanders injected the poison gas into the room and Velma quickly settled down. Seconds later, she was dead and the room was safely ventilated.
“Well, Doctors Fischer and Sanders, we are… impressed. You are indeed making progress.” The lead agent took a deep breath, looking somewhat troubled. “Though I must say, these demonstrations were a bit unsettling—you clearly have a lot of work to do to establish control. We hope that when human trials start, the intellect of a human will be better able to handle these powers.” He gave his head a small shake and his expression cleared. “Still, in light of your progress, our recommendation to the president will be for the U.S. government to continue funding. In fact, we intend to recommend a twenty-five percent funding increase. Sound good?”
“Indeed, it does,” Director Fischer said with a smile. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”
“No, that will be all for today. Good work, both of you,” said the lead agent. The group shook hands and the federal agents departed.
After the agents departed, Director Fischer addressed Dr. Sanders, placing his arm around his subordinate’s shoulder. “Great work. Now, please focus your efforts on keeping the rats from exploding—it’s bad PR.”
“Yes, sir.”
CH 03
THE NEW GUYS
FEBRUARY 26, 1993: LANCASTER, CALIFORNIA, THE AGENCY HEADQUARTERS
Sitting at her desk, focused on a specimen in a microscope, Dr. Sanders looked up after hearing the director enter the lab. A TV was on in the corner displaying the national news. “Have you seen what happened this morning, sir?”
“No. What happened?” asked Director Fischer.
“The World Trade Center in New York was bombed today. It’s all over the news. They’re still speculating who did it. But they suspect terrorists or superpowered anarchists. Such a tragedy.” She shook her head thinking of the lives that were needlessly lost.
“Do I pay you to be entertained by the television?” Director Fischer snapped. “How are you coming along with the energy-retention systems?”
Regaining her composure, Dr. Sanders asked, “You mean the armored skin and shield? Well, we successfully spliced the new genes into various rats. It seems that the rats with the armored skin are better equipped to handle the amplified energy. They no longer explode when oversaturated. The ones with the external energy shield and amplified energy still explode, sir.”
“So is the energy shield useless?” asked the director.
“Not exactly. We found that rats with the energy shield are able to deflect any aggressive assaults from other rats. It’s very interesting—when one of the rats with amplified strength hits one with a shield, the shield repels the full force of the assault, which often throws the assailant backward. If the attacker hits too hard and doesn’t have the armored skin ability, they often blow up due to the exponential amplification of their own energy. It’s quite a sight to see. They just splat. Rat paste everywhere.” Dr. Sanders chuckled. “The rats with the shield can protect themselves even from the exploding rat. It’s kind of fun to watch.”
“You’re sadistic,” Director Fischer muttered to Dr. Sanders as he motioned for two men to enter the lab.
Dr. Sanders’s shoulders loosened in confusion. “Am I? They’re just rats. Isn’t that the purpose of what we’re doing here?”
Director Fischer eyed his employee carefully. “Dr. Sanders, I believe it’s time you know what’s really going on here. But first let me introduce you to your new coworkers. I’ve been encouraged by your progress, and since we’re close to human trials, you’ll need additional help. Let me introduce you to Dr. Jeffrey Doe and Mr. Max Hastings. These gentlemen are highly trained scientists and have been on the payroll for several months now becoming acquainted with your work. This is their first day at the lab. They also share my vision.”
Thirty-nine-year-old Dr. Doe cut a thin, fit figure. He was dressed in an expensive-looking black suit and sported a short flattop haircut and a bent cigarette hanging from his mouth. Max, six years Doe’s junior, also appeared quite serious, yet was not dressed quite as affluently. He was a little shorter than Dr. Doe but nearly as fit. With their arrival, Dr. Sanders realized that change was coming. But what kind of change?
“Oh, nice to meet you, gentlemen,” said Dr. Sanders as she shook the hands of her new teammates and gazed into their cold, dark eyes. What’s wrong with these guys? she thought. Focusing her attention back to Director Fischer, she asked, “What do you mean by your vision? It’s common knowledge that we’re creating superpowered soldiers for the military.”
“I see you put the Mr. Johnson incident behind you. Do you think that my actions would have been condoned by the U.S. government, even if Mr. Johnson had been a spy?” Director Fischer said
with a grin. “Like Mr. Johnson, you do not know the Agency’s true purpose. But unlike you, Dr. Sanders, Mr. Johnson was unsuccessful in his endeavors. I like you, and it’s time for you to join the upper management. Since we’re so close to our goals, I had to tell Dr. Doe and Mr. Hastings our plans when recruiting them. They’re on board. The question now is: Are you?”
Dr. Sanders frowned. “I don’t know what you mean, Director.”
Director Fischer looked around the room and said, “Do you think we could have afforded all of this equipment and financed all of your tests with the money the U.S. government provided?”
“I had assumed we could. But I never gave it much thought.”
“Think about it. We have other supporters for our mission. It’s a dream that began nearly a hundred years ago: a worldwide society of order managed by those most capable of managing it—the right people. No more elections of inadequate and incompetent common men and women. The Agency is but one of many organizations over the decades tasked with re-engineering society to achieve our goals. Progress has been slow but steady. We have learned that most people require and even desire their lives to be managed by their betters, even if only subconsciously. They do not have the ability to make proper decisions for themselves and society. Do you understand, doctor?”
Dr. Sanders’s frown deepened as she scanned the two new additions to the lab. “That sounds like fascism. That’s not America.”
“Oh, how right you are, Dr. Sanders,” Director Fischer said, his eyes bright. “We will not be stopped this time. We’re going global. Global fascism. You have been a part of something much greater than us as individuals, and you should be proud. You have advanced our agenda and helped make possible the implementation of our ideology.” Next to the director, Dr. Doe and Max Hastings stood silently, their faces impassive.
Dr. Sanders felt a chill creep down her spine. What had she done? “Der Führer?” she asked as she stared at her new teammates. “And you guys buy into this?” She started to feel queasy.
“Of course they do, Dr. Sanders. That’s why they’re here. Are you with us?”
Dr. Sanders gulped, the memory of Mr. Johnson still burned into her mind. “I’m an American, Director, and I have a family. A husband and two school-aged kids.” She gathered her courage. “I cannot be part of this.”
“Okay, then, doctor. I respect that,” said Director Fischer.
But just as Dr. Sanders breathed a sigh of relief, Dr. Doe finally spoke.
“I do not,” he said coldly, and he threw his cigarette onto the ground, stomping on it. He then pulled out his sidearm. Before Dr. Sanders could react, Dr. Doe fired. Dr. Sanders fell to the floor, groaning. Her body convulsed as her heart ran out of blood to pump.
Max gaped at the doctor’s body, his pulse racing. He had previously been part of the CIA and seen the dark underbelly of society, and the ever-encroaching march of various forms of totalitarianism in many countries. The pitch from Director Fischer during his recruitment had been somehow different, he thought, and not like what he’d just heard. It had been gentler and more in tune with helping the common man, nothing about fascism. He’d been on board then. How was I fooled so easily? he thought. Max was not a fascist, and Dr. Doe was clearly a monster. But as he stepped back to avoid the blood seeping from Dr. Sanders’s body, Max knew it was too late to back out unless he wanted to share the poor doctor’s fate.
Director Fischer nudged the body on the floor with a boot, grinning ruefully. “Well now. I would have preferred she continue with us. She was very smart. But it was obvious that she was going to become a liability. Can you two continue where she left off? Can we start human trials?”
Dr. Doe, holstering his sidearm, answered. “Yes, sir. We understand the research and can begin human trials immediately. We have already partitioned our ideas into two groups, the first being embryonic enhancement, even though this is expressly forbidden. The other is adult enhancement, where we take fully grown adults and alter their genomes to give them powers. I have to say, sir, I think we will be most successful with embryonic research. But there are obvious benefits to quickly powering adults. That is why we will do both.”
“I like you, Dr. Doe. Like myself, you are a man of both vision and action. You are not limited by antiquated ideas. Mr. Hastings, I am particularly interested in your espionage work with the CIA. We may need you to use those skills someday.” The director rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. “Well, gentlemen, nothing left to do but to clean up this mess you made and get started right away on the human trials. I’m going away for a while on another project. Dr. Doe, I leave you in charge of the program. I will be in regular contact.” He moved to exit the lab but turned back with one final thought. “Oh, and send Dr. Sanders’s husband a card and some flowers with my condolences for her unfortunate lab accident.”
*****
That night, Dr. Doe and Max met for dinner at a local Indian restaurant. As they waited for their entrees, each nursed a beer in the awkward silence. Max broke the ice. “I’ve been wondering, sir, why did you ask me to dinner tonight? We’ve worked together for months and we focused on nothing but work.”
“Well, everyone has to eat, right? Besides, the director asked me to. He wants us to get to know each other so we can work better together. That makes sense, I guess.” He blew his nose into a cloth napkin and handed it to the waitress. “Another napkin, please.” She grabbed it with two fingers and held it away from her body as she walked away.
Something’s really off with Doe. That was just gross. He just doesn’t seem to know how to act around people and in public, Max thought.
“First, why do you call me ‘sir’? Just call me Jeff, okay?”
“I guess that’s okay. In the CIA, we called our superiors ‘sir.’ I’ll try to call you Jeff.” He raised his beer to toast to their new working relationship. Dr. Doe cocked his head to the side before he realized what Max was up to. He then raised his glass as well. “Okay, Jeff, tell me about yourself.”
Dr. Doe shifted in his chair. “Well, my real name isn’t Doe. I took it after my parents were killed. It’s the name given to unknown bodies in a morgue, people with nobody. Just like me.”
Max raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes. “You’re kidding. What happened? I… I mean if you don’t mind me asking.”
“No, it’s okay. They were into state politics. Out on a campaign for some jerk, they were caught in one of those superpower battles. A building fell on them. I was twelve. Doesn’t matter now. They were horrible, and I hate them even more today than I did the day they died.” He sneered at the mere thought of his family, somehow indifferent to their suffering in their last moments.
“It couldn’t have been that bad.” Max took another sip of his beer as his imagination wandered.
“It was. They tortured me, kept me locked in the basement for weeks on end. I was days from Child Protective Services pulling me from them. Would have ended their political life permanently. Anyway, they’re gone and I went into foster care. It wasn’t too bad for me there and they helped me get grants for my education. Eventually I ended up here. What’s your story?”
The waitress placed a plate of tikka masala in front of Max and brought a rare steak and potatoes for Dr. Doe. They politely nodded at the presentation of their meals, and Max thought about how to answer Doe’s question. His young life hadn’t been tragic, but his adult life had been. If he wanted steak, why did we come to an Indian restaurant? And why did they make him one? Aren’t cows sacred to Hindus? Strange.
“You know I was in the CIA, right?”
Dr. Doe nodded.
“Well, I was in Libya in ’86. Things were bad there back then, and we had recently given Khadafi a lesson. My mission was to take out one of his generals. I missed.” Max lightly shrugged.
Dr. Doe leaned back, opening his body to listen attentively. “Then what?”
“I didn’t have a second chance and got caught. The U.S. left me there and disa
vowed me. Long story short, I shot my way out, found some Americans and came home. The CIA threw me out. My fiancée was told some story about me causing dishonor to the country. Whatever.” He looked up at Dr. Doe, who was still listening thoughtfully. “She dumped me. My Southern belle. I sure miss her sweet little voice. We had plans, but I eventually ended up here.” Max paused, thinking about what might have been.
Silence ruled the dinner table as the pair ate their meals.
After Dr. Doe finished, he lifted his head and lit a cigarette as he flashed a childlike smile. “Dessert?”
CH 04
PUPPET MASTER
EARLY 1994: LANCASTER, CALIFORNIA, THE AGENCY HEADQUARTERS
The latest batch of “recruits”—homeless men and women picked up around various urban locations on the west coast—was walked into the lab for clandestine experimentation. They had been lured to the laboratory with the promise of a job and free room and board. There were a dozen in all, eight men and four women. They were shabbily dressed, unbathed, and several were visibly intoxicated. The immaculately dressed, svelte receptionist with a swagger like a runway model escorted them into an auditorium. They began to talk amongst themselves as the minutes went by. Some became agitated almost immediately, fidgeted in their chairs, and chattered since no food was in sight, as had been promised. “Where’s the food?” someone shouted. “We’re starving!”
A short time later, Dr. Doe walked onto the stage to address the group. Max stood off to the side and appeared more as an usher than a serious genetic engineer helping to manage the program. Dr. Doe clearly had the personality and drive to take the program lead.
Dr. Doe, wearing his standard black suit, started, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. I promise this presentation will be brief.”
“It better be, we’re hungry!” exclaimed one of the men in the audience, to raucous cheers by his compatriots.
