Apollo Project

by Brittany E Brinegar

  One of Nottingham’s assistants, his son Stephen leaned close to him at the podium. “You have to go with Scarlett,” he whispered. “Don’t do anything crazy, Dad.”

  The other son, Ben, shrugged. “You can’t tell him anything. It’ll make him go the opposite way.” Somehow his children embraced the Arkansas accent Nottingham spent his life minimizing.

  “Where was I? My sons are concerned I’m picking the wrong person to lead. But as you all well know, I’m a man who does what he wants at the end of the day. Mr. Whitehead, please join me on stage and say a few words to your crew. Congratulations.”

  Clear Blue Sky

  Nottingham

  The cool Colorado breeze carried pine needles and the accompanying smell across the grounds of the lab. Folding a napkin into a half and to a quarter, Nottingham dabbed the vest of his three-piece royal air force blue suit. Once he completed the task, he tucked the diagonally striped gold tie inside the vest. With his legs crossed, he reclined on the park bench and studied snow-capped mountains on the horizon. He wadded the brown paper sack of a late lunch as the sun dipped below the mountains. This tranquil time of the day served as an escape from the bustle of the laboratory and his experiment.

  On cue, Ben crashed through the side door into Nottingham’s private atrium. His oversized short-sleeve dress shirt was untucked on his right side and in the back. The polyester tie with a 1990s cartoon of Tabasco hot sauce blew across his shoulder. “I told you not to put him in charge.”

  Without a word of acknowledgment, Nottingham tossed his bag into a garbage can inside the door of the lab. The tall man walked with a slight stoop brought on by years of hunkering over lab equipment and a computer monitor.

  The government spared no expense building the massive superconducting super collider in the late 1980s. Though functional, the building held zero architectural charm. It screamed industrial, government, and boring. The deal to use the space cost very little money as the place was abandoned since 1994. Fluorescent lights flickered as his steps reverberated through the tiled hallway.

  Ben barreled through double doors into the main lab and held the door for his father. “Whitehead messed everything up.” He reached for a wrinkled white lab coat.

  Nottingham’s youngest son, Stephen looped a thumb into his belt. “We don’t know for sure Whitehead did this.”

  Nottingham sighed as he draped his double-breasted jacket on his rolling desk chair and studied the data provided on one of the many screens. “After reviewing the preliminary data, it’s safe to say Gilbert is involved. But I believe there’s a wildcard. Something making the situation escalate. There’s no logical reason for Gilbert to set off this many iterations in such a short period. The weather and animal experiments were scheduled for specific disbursements.”

  “And now the recall countdown is in place and we aren’t ready.” Stephen ran a hand through moussed hair, his expensive haircut paying dividends when compared to his brother’s Express Clips chop job.

  All three men jerked heads to the door, where the youngest of the clan entered in her normal thunderous manner. C.J. threw her long arms and tossed a folder on the table. “Two problems all y’all geniuses overlooked.” With flowing cocoa brown hair halfway down her back, she squared to her bigger brothers, unafraid. “You shouldn’t have kept me out, idiots. I wouldn’t have messed up like this.”

  “What is it?” Nottingham asked.

  “Number one: Professor Campbell isn’t dead. I found a video of him at the ground zero site moments before the event. Number two: Gilbert Whitehead broke into the lab and made off with a good deal of the research. I’m unsure how he hacked it, but with his devious mind, anything is possible. Regardless, he went in with substantial knowledge of what we’re doing here.”

  Scooting his chair to the array of monitors, Nottingham scrutinized the video. “I should’ve known about Campbell. How could I have missed this?” His eyes blinked. “Wait a minute. There appears to be something there. We never imagined the possibility of this happening. I would say this doubles our chance of failure. Years of research for nothing if we can’t salvage this.”

  “That’s right. There’s two Nate Campbells.” Plopping into a chair, C.J. waited for everyone to comprehend the bomb she dropped. She didn’t bother with the dress code detailed in the employee handbook. She preferred the whitewash jeans and tank top. Her long white lab coat was the only concession to the policy.

  “How is it possible?” Ben smacked.

  “Did he survive getting ripped apart?” Stephen said almost at the same time.

  The three children got the Arkansas redneck accent from their mother while Nottingham possessed a refined southern drawl like the narrator on Walton’s Mountain. Per usual, Nottingham waited a few moments before he spoke his mind. “It appears both versions are fine for time being. I suspect it won’t be the case for long. His internal organs were restructured at a molecular level and won’t continue functioning.”

  “In the meantime, he can do a lot of damage. We can’t sit around and wait for him to keel over. For a start, we kill Campbell.” All eyes landed on C.J. once again. “You know I’m right. Look, we’re already playing God here.”

  Nottingham produced his laminated list of the Merry Men and contemplated the appropriate hitman to unleash on Campbell. Sixteen individuals, he knew well. Also, sixteen survivors, none of whom would die easily, especially Gilbert Whitehead. Nottingham’s study predicted Gilbert would survive in almost any situation, like a cockroach. He checked the numbers next to each name. He gulped.

  “But, Daddy, how do we interact with the fracture?” Ben rocked on his heels and eyed his siblings. “You told us over and over we couldn’t intervene.”

  C.J. huffed at him and rolled her eyes. “And you believed him, moron? I saw through that one about a week into this project. He has a way to make contact.”

  Nottingham hesitated several beats. “Indeed, I do. We have to signal one of them and I have to be prepared to offer them a very large sum of money to carry out an assassination.”

  “The flaw in your plan, Father, is Whitehead is the one most likely to kill the others without hesitation.” C.J. stayed a step ahead of Stephen and light years ahead of Ben. “But since he’s causing the havoc, you have to move to someone else.”

  Little Sister

  C.J.

  C.J. stormed through the double glass doors. Her hair, bound in a ponytail, bounced across her shoulders as stilettos tapped the cold cement floor in a rhythmic beat.

  Ben’s blue eyes bugged and he dabbed the sweat forming on his glistening forehead. “What now? Can’t you see we’re busy?”

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  “You already told us about Gilbert,” Stephen said. In contrast to his sloppy brother, Stephen managed to appear dressy yet relaxed in his stone-gray Dockers, striped dress shirt with cuffed sleeves and a solid, skinny tie. He looked like a high school history teacher, a job he held at one point in his life.

  C.J. shoved a hand in the pocket of her lab coat. “Why am I even wasting my time talking to you two dumbbells?” She marched the metal staircase to speak with their father. Stephen and Ben followed like a couple of lost puppies.

  “What now?” Nottingham sighed.

  “We have a situation, Father.” C.J. motioned to Stephen. “And I'm not talking about the homicidal maniac who started the countdown far too soon.”

  “What are you talking about, Daughter?” Nottingham spoke in a slow, deliberate manner. Each word dragged from his vocal cords.

  “Our carefully constructed, eloquently planned, controlled experiment has been further compromised,” C.J. said.

  Nottingham hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets. “And what has led you to this abrupt conclusion?”

  C.J. matched her father’s posture. “There is nothing abrupt about it. We hand-picked each person on the boat and in the woods. Nothing was supposed to be left to chance.”

  “Stop being dramatic,” Ben
said reaching for a jelly doughnut. “No experiment is perfect. We note the discrepancies and try to fix them next time.”

  “This isn’t a simple focus group, Ben. We didn’t gather these people to try out and rate our new vacuum cleaner.” C.J. squared to Nottingham. “There was an error in the separation.”

  “Who didn’t make it?” Nottingham asked.

  “The fat coach’s wife was caught in a magnetic prism. She was pulled from each side and shredded.”

  “Mandy,” Stephen offered.

  “Whatever.” C.J. dismissed the notion of naming the mice. “She’s fazing in and out like a ghost. Oddly only visible to some. The fat coach ditched the boat crew and went wacko. He ran around the swamps with a gun. Leaving the freakishly tall kid of theirs on his own and in a catatonic state.”

  “That does pose a problem,” Nottingham said.

  Ben’s thin, almost invisible, brows knit together. “Come on, we knew there’d be causalities when we started this experiment. Big deal if the Robertelli family was a bust. They weren’t our focus anyways.”

  “The fatso family was only the first case on my list.” C.J. shot both brothers a warning. “The Commander’s ex-wife didn’t join her daughters on their camping trip.”

  “Virginia Parish. Why did we want her again?” Stephen asked.

  “To hopefully add tension for Tom,” Nottingham said. “But I agree with Ben, neither of those was a huge loss. The ex-wife was a longshot for the trip.”

  C.J. slapped a manila folder on the desk. “In addition to the people who missed the trip, there are several individuals who are in the middle of our experiment by mistake.”

  “Now I agree this is a fascinating development.” Nottingham drifted forward in his chair. “Tell me more about these stowaways.”

  “First there’s this backwoods Louisiana hick,” C.J. said. “He’s a bit of a loose cannon and he lost his family during our experiment. He’s a conspiracy nut, but not much of a threat to us.”

  Nottingham browsed the file. “Has he joined forces with Tom yet?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know all this?” Ben asked.

  Stephen stroked a hand through his sleek hair. “Did we find a way to contact our people?”

  “Unlike you two knuckleheads, I care about the success of this project. While you were in here chatting about the Cub’s pitching rotation, I was finding a way to contact our people.” C.J. flipped to the next page of the folder. “These two concern me more than the conspiracy nut.”

  Nottingham studied the picture. “Who are they?”

  “They’re brothers from Texas. The quickdraw champion landed in the swamps while little brother found himself in the mountains.” C.J. finally had their attention.

  Stephen examined the pictures. “Where were they when the experiment began?”

  “They were camping in the mountains,” C.J. said. “A mile east of the folks from Caribou, Maine.”

  “Were those brothers supposed to be part of the experiment?” Ben asked.

  “Yes,” C.J. snapped. “The interlopers were meant to land on opposite sides of the country.”

  “I didn’t remember seeing them on the roster,” Stephen said.

  “Because they weren’t supposed to be there you blockhead. Thanks to their presence and the growing number of Campbells, the entire experiment could be compromised.” She tapped her father’s shoulder. “What are you thinking, Father?”

  “Interesting. Very interesting. I do love a good wildcard.”

  “Well, I don’t.” C.J. rubbed her stiff neck. “The big ape…”

  “Marion. The group calls him Duke,” Stephen said.

  “Whatever. The lumbering idiot didn’t follow through in eliminating Campbell. Let’s devise another plan for eradicating all of these anomalies. If we don’t do something soon, there will be nothing to salvage from the experiment.”

  Phase Two

  C.J.

  Entering the training facility, C.J. intercepted her husband, Ace Atkins, the leader of their in-house SWAT team. “Is your team ready?”

  “For what exactly?” Despite a decade in the states, his Australian accent remained strong.

  C.J.’s heels clicked as she paced the hall. She shoved a hand through her long cocoa hair, disrupting the middle part. “This experiment is turning from bad to worse. Your team may have to act fast.”

  “Of course, my team’s ready.” Standing six-feet-four-inches and weighing 240, he carried himself like a baseball pitcher. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You aren’t suggesting we murder the whole lot?” He stroked his long beard, brown with streaks of gray peeking through.

  “It may come to that.” C.J.’s lips set into a thin line. “I gotta speak to my father.”

  Ace’s forehead creased. “What caused the shift? Wasn’t testing progressing well? You’ve made adjustments and handled the fast-tracked iterations.”

  “Gilbert’s dead and it’s the tip of the iceberg. We have a complete mess.”

  “I don’t envy you, breaking the news to your old man,” Ace chuckled. “He just entered a meeting with his investors.”

  “What?” C.J. said. “Why wasn’t I notified?”

  “You aren’t thinking about barging in, are you?”

  “It’s exactly what I plan to do. I’ll see you at home.”

  C.J. made her way upstairs and retrieved the documents she compiled. Their list of mistakes grew by the hour. Her lab coat flapped in the breeze as she hustled upstairs. When she jerked the door, the air sucked from the conference room. Wide eyes ping-ponged from her to Nottingham.

  Nottingham, from his seat at the head of the table, motioned to the door. “This is a closed meeting.”

  Swiveling on her heel, C.J. backtracked to the door and shut it. “Continue,” she said taking a seat.

  “You’re not going to let her stay?” one of the investors croaked. C.J. never bothered to remember the name of the Native American woman with long raven hair.

  “I’m sure my daughter has a reason for inviting herself to our assembly.” He held out a hand. “Why don’t you proceed with your findings? They must be rather important.”

  “I understand this meeting is about salvaging the Apollo Zone, but I adamantly disagree. It’s time we move to Phase Two.”

  A suit groaned. “Archibald, you promised results with the Apollo Zone. You can’t entertain this nonsense.”

  “Continue Daughter, I’d like to hear your rationale.”

  C.J. slapped a folder on the table. “Gilbert’s dead. He was killed by the Navy Commander and his people.”

  Surprise briefly clouded Nottingham’s face. “Leaving Scarlett in command of the Merry Men.”

  “They’re disjointed from what we can tell. Each one of your helpers is moving forward with their personal agenda. They aren’t working for us anymore. The Missouri female cop is working for the Commander, following orders like a mindless robot. It’s pure chaos in there. No one is following our orders. The anomalies are wreaking havoc and we missed the mark with the FBI profiler.”

  Concern filled the room as the investors panicked. “Settle,” Nottingham ordered. “This is merely the first wave. These kinks can be worked out in time.”

  “During the next experiment,” C.J. said. “You have to scrap this whole thing, Father. The stakes are too high. If we let them go back to their lives, they’ll talk about our project.”

  “They don’t know the specifics.”

  “Your friend Campbell may be missing a few marbles, but at some point, he’ll start running his mouth.”

  Nottingham leaned in his chair. “And your recommendation?”

  “We eliminate this group and begin work on Phase Two.”

  “You’ve spent years watching Cassidy and Oliphant,” an investor said. “All of our resources are devoted. Your mercenaries trained for months.”

  “Phase Two builds off this one,” C.J. said. “And I have the perfect mice to run your new maze,
Father.” She dropped another file to the stack. “Welcome to the Mercury Project, y’all.”

  Recall Procedure

  Nottingham

  Seizing the clicker, Nottingham addressed the PowerPoint one of his lackeys assembled. He didn’t much care for the politics associated with a group of investors, but he didn’t trust anyone else to hold their frightened little hands through the project. “I would like to take this moment to welcome everyone to the Mercury Project.” A round of applause from the investors filled the conference room. “I know you are all curious to see how this project will be different from the Apollo Zone, so allow me to dive into the specifics.”

  Brady, a long-time investor raised his hand. “Don’t we still have people inside the Apollo Zone? What’s your extraction or elimination plan?”

  “A good question Mr. Brady, but I will be addressing the demolition of the Apollo Zone at the end of my presentation. My daughter C.J. and the other techies are working through the logistics as we speak.”

  Before Nottingham could return to the presentation, he dealt with another interruption. An alarm sounded and the fluorescent lights blinked red.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Is there a problem with the supercollider?”

  Nottingham snapped his suit jacket and settled the crowd. “Stay put, please. The alarm is simply a warning in the lab.”

  Nottingham met C.J. and Stephen in the hall. Stephen rolled his sleeves and ruffled his hair. “We have a problem.”

  “Someone triggered the recall,” C.J. said.

  They rode the elevator to the sublevel laboratory. “We canceled the recall after Gilbert’s false start. Can we use the same override?” Nottingham asked.

  Stephen studied an iPad. “Doesn’t look like it. Someone has retrofitted the beacon to trigger the recall.”

  “I’ve already sent for Ace and his SWAT team,” C.J. said. “They’re meeting us in the lab.”