For this mission, the two were programmed to communicate in English telepathically. Their own native tongue consisted of a complex series of phonetics and symbols, understood on a planet light years away.
Lampwick’s breathing became more labored. His pink dry tongue dangled from his mouth like a stretched piece of strawberry taffy.
“I’m already worn out,” Lampwick complained. “The process I went through to transpose my molecular structure into one of these mindless creature that I am – a dog as they call it, nearly killed me…. For fucks sake it’s degrading! ...I don’t care what mission I'm on. I mean... sometimes I just do not understand why “The Above” cares to kill off these humans and take over this atmosphere, this planet Earth. And to think they've been trying for years to conquer this place.
Lampwick continued to ramble.
“Shit, I remember hearing about the team that took out that “Kennedy” fellow back when. I had just started training with “The Above….” Everyone thought that would do it, leading to a domino effect where these humans killed each other off and we could take over. What a failure that was. And here we are-“
Mike interjected- “It's for the better of our future... And you know as well as I that our weaponry is too powerful to take them out in one shot. If we use it to destroy them, this whole planet will be corrupted… We're the best team they've got, and you're not this organism called a dog to be humiliated. It is an integral part of this mission. This human boy, our target, loves big dogs and you will do your part Lampwick… I’m not getting whacked by “The Above” because of your mistake.”
“Fuck off!” Lampwick Interjected. “I know the protocol Mike.”
They had come to a clearing with a shallow embankment. Both sides were thick with tall weeds. The bottom of which had a trickling creek.
“I need H20, wait here,” Lampwick said.
Mike looked up at the scattered cumulus clouds decorating the blue palette of sky. He took in a deep breath as he tried to fathom how his kind would adapt to this atmosphere. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Lampwick trudging up the embankment, crushing a tangle of weeds underfoot. It was time to move again as they were closing in on their target. The dog’s jowls were more relaxed, his chest no longer heaving.
They came to a bend in the pathway. A cluster of oak trees with newborn May leaves surrounded them.
“Right around this bend we’ll find 10 year old Matthew Brackus with his mother, on what is called a playground” Mike said.
The duo took their time strolling along the bend. No longer were any words exchanged. As the bend gave way, there was a clearing in which a small baseball field made itself known. It was empty. They crossed the infield and onto the well-manicured grass in right field. A steady wind slapped at the various cloth banners adorning the chain linked outfield fence. Perfectly placed, hanging on the end of the right field fence, a mandarin orange banner with navy blue lettering danced with the wind. It caught Mike’s attention. It read, “Walt’s Malt Shop supports the 1990 Little League Association.”
Just beyond the outfield fence was a makeshift parking lot the size of a small pond made up of choppy gravel and rock. The outskirts of the rocky parking lot eventually ended and blended into another grassy area- a playground. At the far end was an old swing set. Three separate pairs of rusty chains connected to a fixture of three steel poles, 10 feet high on the top end. Rubber square slabs or seats were attached to the bottom end of the chains. To the left, sunlight glistened off a pristine cube of tangled steel bars. And sitting atop them, swinging his feet without a care in the world was 10-year-old Matthew Brackus.
A few feet away from the boy, a young woman was lying on a blanket. She was propped up by her elbows lost in a thick, hard covered book. Lampwick and Mike, still unnoticed by mother and son, closed in. Though they were closer to the young lady, they veered toward the monkey bars. Noticing them, she called out.
“What kind of dog is he, or is it a she?” She put the book down at her side and sat up Indian style. Mike and Lampwick, a couple feet away, stopped, expecting this conversation. Before Mike exchanged any words, he scanned her-as was protocol. She had honey blond hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Tiny freckles, spread in small clusters, enhanced the landscape of her cheeks and nose. And her pleasant smile was outlined with a thick layer of blood red lipstick. What he noticed most though was the black, oversized, bug-eyed lenses of her sunglasses. They were strikingly similar in shape, color, and size to that of the actual eyes of his race of beings.
“He’s a pure bred German Sheppard, a boy” Mike responded with a smile. “His name is Lampwick.”
Lampwick sat at Mike’s side, calm and collected. He had a dazed stare on the boy who was now wide-eyed, working his way down the bars.
“Why that’s an interesting name,” she remarked. “You must have him trained. Look how well-mannered he is? Is he friendly?”
“Oh, he loves everyone, especially kids!” Mike said.
“My son absolutely loves dogs… Even as a baby he never had any fear… regardless of their size.”
From somewhere behind him Mike could hear a light pitter-patter of steps gaining momentum. Lampwick, seeing the boy run toward him, began to wag his tale and bark with excitement. He knew, somewhere, “The Above” was watching his every move. Willis turned around to scan the boy. Like his mother, he had honey blond hair. Uneven bangs settled down three quarters the length of his forehead. His eyes were dark and very expressive. They grew wider with each step taken toward Lampwick.
The boy then broke into a clumsy slide on his knees. He was now at face level, a few inches from Lampwick’s. Without hesitation, he threw a loose hug around the dog and nestled his head under Lampwick’s chin. Lampwick machine-gunned the boy’s face and head with licks.
“M-A-A-A-A-T-T-T-T-T-H-E-W,” mom screeched. “You don’t just sneak up on a dog and pet him- let alone put your face against his without letting him sniff your hand first…. C’mon, hon, mommy taught you better than that.”
Matthew let go of Lampwick. Still on his knees, he stared up towards his mom with that “am I in trouble” look on his face- the one only 10-year-old boys know how to make.
“Oh he’s fine. Lampwick loves kids,” Mike reassured her.
“I just want him to get in the habit of approaching dogs the right way” mom said. “You hear so many stories about children getting bitten up on their face, disfigured for life.”
Her voice sweetened as she glanced at the dog.
“But I can see he’s a friendly dog… trained so well. Aren’t you buddy?”
She then raised her eyebrows and addressed the boy.
“Matthew, next time remember to ask mommy before you pet a strange dog…. And like I’ve told you before”- she pointed to the back of her hand, “let a dog sniff the back of your hand for a few moments so it can see you’re not a threat.”
She paused; a bright smile lit her pretty face.
“Now go ahead and pet him nicely. Lampwick is his name sweetie.”
And as mom instructed, he pet the dog nice and easy. Still kneeling, he patted Lampwick’s head, running his left hand from the nape of the dog’s neck on down through the patch of brown murky hair just inches above his tail. Matthew repeated the pattern while telling Lampwick what a” good doggy” he was.
Mike decided to proceed with the final act of the said mission. Using the nail of his right index finger, he scrapped something from under the thumbnail of his left hand. Mike then pinched this “something” between his right thumb and index finger, as to thwart any chance of dropping it.
Then it happened.
Mike bent forward and gave a quick succession of scratches under Lampwick’s chin. While doing so, he smiled at the Matthew. And with a gentle touch, he cupped his right hand over the top of the boy’s right shoulder blade.
“Lampwick really likes you,” Mike said to Matthew.
As he said this, Mike released onto the shoulder
whatever was pinched between his thumb and index finger.
It was silver, the size of a pinhead, and the naked eye of a human would need a microscope to see that it was… Alive!
Kind of like an ant, the body was segmented. Unlike an ant, it had three heads; all of which connected to a single stout flat neck. Two lifeless almond shaped eyes, the color of fresh human blood, protruded from the sides of each triangular head.-6 in all. Right below each pair of piercing eyes was a mouth full of needle like teeth. The lower jaws of each mouth jutted out at a grotesque angle. And a dozen or so barbed feet ran the length of each side of the creature’s body. They looked like upside down fish hooks, and likely dug into whatever surface they were attached to.
And then pffft! It was gone.
In less than a second, the creature scampered up Matthew’s neck and into his right ear canal. He didn’t flinch or scream due to whatever havoc the creature was wreaking within the inner workings of his head. In fact, he didn’t react at all.
“What kind of dog is he?” Matthew asked.
Mike straightened up and answered the boy.
“He’s a one-of-a- kind dog who needs to finish his walk, get home, and have his dinner.”
He looked over at mom and gave her a quick good-bye wave then looked back at Matthew.
“I wish we had more time to chat Matthew. Maybe we’ll see you again sometime... And thank you for being so nice to Lampwick.”
Matthew smiled at Mike and Lampwick, waved, and then ran back toward the monkey bars. Mom picked up her book and resumed reading. Lampwick and Mike continued their walk through the playground. They made a left onto Sickle Street and were never seen again.
After the encounter with Lampwick and Mike, the memory of the two evaporated from Matthew Brackus’s mind. The next 4 years ebbed and flowed for Matthew the same way it did for any normal red blooded pre/teen boy. Though he never did get a dog, he played town basketball and baseball (a little better than average) and rode his bike around town with friends-the same activities most red-blooded boys take part in. Something of significance, however, did change within Matthew since the brief moment in life spent with Lampwick and Mike- his level of intelligence.
Matthew had always been a borderline to below average student. By 8th grade, school curriculums were easy and boring. Any content, of any lesson, in any subject taught, with ease, took deep root in his temporal and frontal lobes. By 14, he loved all subjects and always wanted to know more, a true egghead.
Throughout high school, instead of experimenting with sex, drugs, and ways to be cool, he quenched his thirst for knowledge by absorbing intricate theories in science and mathematics. He also read biographies on the likes of Einstein and Stephen Hawking. His real fascination and passion though, was in the field of medicine.
Still, something never felt quite right to Matthew since the encounter in the playground. He didn’t feel quite in control of his thoughts. His newfound cerebral enhancement and interests in human disease seemed to be almost fed to him by something or someone other than his immediate conscience. Almost a compulsion he had no control over. And it was that faint yet indomitable someone or something, living in the bowels of his mind, that set the fuse for his future.
After graduating valedictorian of his high school Matthew accepted a full scholarship to New York University, to study pre- med. After 3 years on an accelerated path, he continued med school at NYU for internal medicine, and would eventually specialize in infectious disease.
It was during the 4th year of med school that his personality began to digress from the norm. Though still an apt student, Matthew began acting pretentious towards his professors and fellow peers, often debating factual information during lectures. He was never violent. He just seemed irritated and looked foolish. His classmates began to distance themselves from him. Professors more or less found it humorous and did not think much of it. They were used to talented students acting out in one way or another. To them he was just another narcissistic, med school punk.
Matthew also became obsessed with historical outbreaks of infectious disease-the AIDS outbreak in California and NYC during 1980, the peak years of the Black Death 1346-1353, and the more recent outbreaks of the Ebola virus within Africa. He was especially maniacal about the pathways of which such pestilences were spread. Such interest in infectious outbreaks may sound normal, even required, for a med student studying infectious disease, but for Matthew Brackus’s it began contaminating his thoughts in a very macabre way.
During the end of his 4th year of med school, Matthew beat out over 200 applicants to attain an internship at the prestigious Laboratory of Virology and Infectious Disease located in Rockefeller University.
Before he could start as an intern an intense series of background checks were conducted and cleared. Matthew had never had so much as a speeding ticket, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Next, professors, family, and fellow students were interviewed. Mostly, they were asked about Matthew’s character traits.
Medical students have an unspoken code of “watch each other’s backs.” Not so much because they got on so well and rooted each other on. In fact, it was the mere opposite. They were jealous and competitive of each other. It was in their nature- me first, me best. They were finally playing a sport they were good at, called medicine.
Most were dweebs, geeks, and nerds as children and teens, picked on and socially awkward around anyone but a computer or a library. Now it was their time to shine full force above all others.
But…
Despite the competitiveness, these medical players needed to show a team like camaraderie as lab partners or while conducting research projects. Character make-up was important. And as the saying goes, “one bad apple spoils the bunch.” When and if they were to get their medical license, and own a private practice, was when they could conduct themselves like the show “ER”- affairs, writing their own Oxycodone prescripts, etc.
But for now, while still in school, if students were to throw one another under the bus, it was a sure way to add an elephant to their backs. Or, they would be so ostracized that he or she would want to quit anyway.
And that is just what the few medical students lucky enough to be questioned about Matthew Brackus, DID NOT Do. Even Frank Trellis, Matthews junior year roommate who loathed Matthew’s arrogance, still praised him as being a mature dedicated student. His professors, in truth, bragged about Matthew’s unrelenting work ethic. They didn’t bother to mention his narcissistic outbursts during lectures. Furthermore, Professors dealt with thousands of students over many years. Many were a bit eccentric to say the least. Most important, they didn’t speak ill of Matthew’s antics because he truly had enormous potential and talent to make a big impact in the world of medicine. Some professors even proclaimed he was the brightest student they had ever taught.
Finally, Matthew would interview with Dr. William Derosa, head of the laboratory of Virology and Infectious Disease over at Rockefeller. When Matthew arrived for the interview, he was told Dr. Derosa would be waiting. Instead, a man in full military fatigue entered the room. He introduced himself to Matthew as U. S. Army Captain Robert A. Franklin, Commander of the North Eastern branch of the Bio-Terrorism “research” team.
Captain Franklin was a short stocky man in his mid 50’s. His face had the sanguine glow of a man who liked his drink. He was brief, but to the point, outlining the viral pathogenesis “research” Matthew would be working on. In fact, that is all Matthew was told by the Captain. That and any questions Matthew should have would be answered by Dr. Derosa.
In reality, it was an active “experiment/project” hidden under the term “research” Matthew would be conducting. Backed by the U.S. military, the goal was to develop extreme viral pathogens capable of unthinkable destruction. Ever Since the 1972 Biological Weapons Conventions, the United States and roughly 178 other countries signed a treaty outlawing mass production and use of biological warfare. Any terms indicating action taken, such as “project” or
“experiment” regarding biological warfare, was prohibited for the obvious reason of raising suspicion. However, like most treaties, this was a farce. .
When the Captain left the room, Dr. Derosa entered. He seemed uneasy as he began to explain the project- and Matthew’s role within. Matthew would be working a 9am-6pm shift six days a week. Dr. Derosa did stress that Matthew was on call 24/7, and handed him a cell phone from inside his desk drawer. He was instructed to use it for work purposes only.
The doctor let loose a stressful sigh. Matthew estimated him to be in his mid 50’s. Tall and wiry with a head too big for his narrow shoulders, he looked a lot like Gilbert Gottfried with a pair of oversized wire framed glasses, popular in the early 1980’s. His voice was fraught with tension as he began to piggyback off the vague description of the “research” given to Matthew by Captain Franklin.
“This is a very covert parthenogenesis research Matthew- complete backstage. You will not discuss any part of it with family, friends, girlfriends, or boyfriends, or the friends in your head, should you have any…. Look, I don’t want to come across as threatening, but do understand that your medical license could be on the line here.”
Then, Dr. Derosa’s words were in fact a threat.
“You can’t afford ANY fuckups! ... This is…” The doctor paused, and then rubbed the bottom of his chin with his left thumb and index finger. He focused his gaze somewhere on the wall behind Matthew, searching for the right words to tell, or not tell him. He then spit out two rapid-fire questions.
“Suppose you could determine the fate of millions? Better yet Matthew, I’ll be straight forward… Can you separate your feelings and continue on a project, though you may not agree with it from an ethical, medical, or environmental stance?”
Matthew felt no emotion. Along with his slow progression of erratic behavior over the past two years, Matthew’s emotions were crumbling. And if all the emotions humans felt looked like a Pollock style painting, a white canvas filled with splatters of various colors, Matthew’s canvas was fading fast -as if it had been left on a windowsill facing the bright summer sun.
9 Tales From Elsewhere 12 Page 15