Project- Heritage

by Rob Horner

  “I know the way,” Travers growled.

  “Respectfully, sir,” Habet said, and his voice sounded sincere. He thought he was being respectful. “The only way you go to the basement is with me.”

  Buck again reminded himself of the half-dozen other armed men in the room with him.

  “Things have changed since you were last here, sir. New procedures we have to follow.”

  “Like calling someone first?” Travers asked.

  “Yes, sir. Just like that.”

  Buck forced down the surge of blinding rage building in his chest. If he had to follow the fat man, so be it. So long as it got him what he wanted.

  2

  “It’s shock,” Debbie said, rushing to Travis’s side as he sank to the ground.

  “Shock? What do you mean, shock?” Brian shouted to no one in particular.

  “He’ll be okay,” Billy assured the older man, slowly trying to draw him away.

  “But what do you mean?” Brian demanded, grabbing Billy’s arm, unintentionally squeezing hard enough to make the programmer wince with pain.

  “Remember, his memory was tampered with, just like Sherry’s. Who knows what he’s been told? Probably thought you were dead, too—”

  “No, that’s not it,” Sherry interrupted, looking up from her position on the ground.

  “Then what is it?” Brian demanded.

  “Go easy,” Vicki admonished him.

  “No, I…it’s okay, mom. I just don’t know how to tell him what—” She stopped, then seized on another idea. “You called him Jimmy, didn’t you?”

  “That’s his name,” Brian said.

  “No, he answers to Travis,” Sherry said, seeing her mother nodding in support.

  “Well, that’s because—” Brian started, only to be interrupted by Billy and Debbie, both of whom had moved forward to pick Travis up.

  “Save it,” Debbie said, trying to take control. “We’ve got to get him out of here before we’re noticed.”

  “But I want some answers,” Brian said.

  “We all do,” Vicki replied, placing a hand on Brian’s arm. Sherry’s eyes widened as she watched this strange man, who bore such a strong resemblance to Travis, suddenly turn and put his arms around her mother. Her surprise only doubled as her mother’s arms went around the man’s waist, just as comfortable with the embrace as he was.

  There were a lot of things that needed explaining. Looking at the married couple who seemed intent upon lifting Travis by themselves, she realized they were probably the ones with most of the answers. Resolutely she followed them back to the van. Another tall man stood outside the vehicle, haircut and stance proclaiming him current or former military more quickly than a uniform, handsome but also stern. She trusted these people not to hurt Travis, and she knew, beyond merely the resemblance, that the rugged guy was Travis’s father. So, who were these others, this Debbie and Billy and the taller guy?

  Reaching out to lay her hand lightly on Travis’s leg as Debbie and Billy tried to maneuver him into the van, she let her mind roam free, ignoring the blue and green lines. The new guy, Lieutenant Robert Barnes, opened the back door, where there was enough space behind the rear-most seat to lay Travis on the floor. She felt a momentary spike of fear at realizing Lieutenant Barnes was from Oceana, that he’d watched Travis and her from the monitoring room, Travis for almost three years. And then she allowed herself to feel his concern for them, his empathy. His actions early Saturday morning had probably saved Travis’s life, preventing the agents from getting to Angela Bassett’s apartment until after Travis left.

  Debbie and Billy also felt right. Debbie harbored a lot of guilt over her part in starting the…project, was it? But she tried to make it right. Billy was a good man and deeply in love with Debbie. They both wanted to help anyone caught up in this mess.

  And then the connection was gone; Travis was pushed into the van and she lost her grip on his leg.

  Debbie and Billy seemed content to leave him alone, moving to the front of the van and occupying the driver’s and passenger’s seats. Travis’s father perched on the back-most bench, as close to Travis as he could get, preventing Sherry from sitting there.

  “Let her sit with him,” Victoria said to the man, patting the seat next to her on the middle row.

  “But he’s my son,” the man protested.

  “I know, Brian, but he loves her, and she loves him. Can’t you tell that?”

  “I guess I…I don’t know.”

  “It’s true…um…Brian,” Sherry said, looking up into the older man’s gray eyes. “We’re…connected…in more ways than you can imagine.”

  “Now that sounds like a story!” Billy remarked from the front of the van.

  “All in due time,” Debbie commented.

  “Well?” Vicki asked.

  “All right,” Brian answered, moving aside so Sherry could perch on the edge of the back seat, her hands stroking Travis’s face.

  “Now, isn’t that better?” Vicki asked, allowing Brian to put his arm around her, leaning against him.

  “It’s all so—”

  “Shh, Brian. We know.”

  3

  The drive from RTC Great Lakes to the Dougherty’s suburban home took less than five minutes; apparently, as Sherry learned from Debbie’s casual conversation with the lieutenant, the dwelling was chosen with its convenient access to the base in mind.

  The home had a look that screamed prefabrication. Its twins sat on either side, almost close enough to reach out a side window and touch, one of those communities built with speed, rather than grace and elegance, in mind. Sherry didn’t doubt each house in the four-block area had the same floor plan. Still, for all its lack of individuality, it had an immaculate exterior—a well-tended postage stamp lawn with small flower gardens bordered in brick surrounded the front steps. The porch was screened in and large enough to support a small lawn table and chair set at one end, and a modest wooden swing at the other. The two-story dwelling was sided in a soft yellow, easy on the eyes, with a green trim that complimented it perfectly. The front door was wood, polished to a shining finish. Before setting foot inside the home, Sherry knew it would have hardwood floors with only the bedrooms boasting any carpeting. She had nothing against wooden floors, having found them infinitely easier to keep clean. Carpets wore down over time. They developed stains that never came out. Almost nothing could destroy a good wood finish.

  Shaking her head to clear it of her strange thoughts, she realized she’d been staring at the back of Brian’s head as he leaned in to talk to her mother. Was she analogizing him to a good wooden floor? Or Travis?

  Brian and Vicki talked in low voices for the duration of the ride, and this calmed the older man. He was less anxious and worried as he helped William—who said he wanted to be called Billy—and the quiet lieutenant carry Travis into the house. Sherry followed close behind, unwilling to let Travis out of her sight.

  The walls were a muted white that wouldn’t produce a glare even when the bright overhead lights came on. The furniture looked comfortable but not cluttering. Sherry didn’t know whether Debbie or Billy did the decorating—her money was on Billy—but it was good. The floors were indeed wood and recently polished; they glowed deeply, absorbing the light, making the room appear more comfortable, even homey. When Brian and Billy set Travis on the couch, Sherry assumed a post on the floor with her back to the open dining room so that, if he should wake, hers would be the first face he saw.

  Sherry was happy to see her mother, of course, but her worry for Travis outweighed her joy.

  Brian let himself be led into the kitchen, where Debbie busied herself making coffee for her guests. No one mentioned anything about sleeping arrangements. Sherry preferred those discussions, as well as any explanations, should wait until Travis was recovered.

  Of course, she could help him with that.

  As soon as the thought came to her, she decided to act on it. Looking over her shoulder, Sherry assured
herself no one was paying any attention to her. Sighing, she placed her hands over Travis’s, absently noticing the appearance of the blue and green lines. The thoughts of her housemates buzzed loudly at the back of her mind, but she ignored them. She noted the thoughts of others were growing louder; maybe her powers were getting stronger.

  Whatever it was didn’t matter. Sherry let herself sink into Travis’s thoughts, seeking to help him through his troubles.

  4

  The barren landscape.

  The empty sky.

  The brief flashes of parents dark and fair, loving and attentive.

  Then another flash of parents, but with looks drastically changed. No longer the sense of belonging, yet with the same feeling of love.

  What the hell is wrong with this?

  Stop. Freeze frame. Now…rewind.

  In his mind’s eye, Travis saw his parents, a father with a pot belly and mustache, and a mother who was short and rotund. Neither of the pair had particularly gentle features, yet they were his parents, and he loved them.

  Watch, a voice said, intruding into Travis’s dream. This hadn’t happened before; no one talked to him while he dreamed.

  Yet he did as he was bid, paying attention to every detail of his parents’ features, which abruptly changed as though someone was fiddling with the buttons on a slide projector.

  The line of demarcation was distinct, as well-defined as a scalpel cut across soft skin. One moment Travis saw his parents in their South Carolina home. It gave a sense of safety and security but was lacking in tasteful decoration.

  In the next instant, not only the faces and forms of his parents changed, but also the house in which he saw them. The image took on a feeling of such rightness, such perfection, that Sherry knew she’d found his real memories.

  His father stood a little taller than Travis, with dark hair and gray eyes. His mother was a little shorter, with beautiful blond hair cascading down her back. Piercing blue eyes, intelligent eyes, looked out of an aristocratic face, gazing at him with obvious love and devotion. The house around them brought back so many flashes of memory that Sherry knew Travis had been raised with comfort, security, and love.

  Look at the man, Travis, she said into his mind. That’s the same man you saw at the visitor’s center. He’s your father.

  He is?

  Travis could see the resemblance between his memory and the man who’d confronted him.

  But he called my Jimmy.

  That’s your real name. Travis is what the government called you. But I’m sure he’ll get used to whichever you want to be called.

  But how? Why?

  You were brainwashed, just like I was. The mental block probably started degrading a long time ago, which is why you dreamed of both sets of parents. But you can see which is the real one, can’t you? Break free of the block they put on your mind. It’s hard, I know. But I did it, when I got my fake husband out of my head. You can do it, too. Sherry realized something else. It was the degradation of our false memories that caused us to see those messages. You saw yours on a logbook, and mine looked like lipstick scrawled on a mirror, but that must be where they came from.

  With an effort of will, Travis pushed aside the false images threatening to replace the memories he carried of his real parents. Concentrating on the picture of them together, in the house he had grown up in, Travis forced everything else away.

  Opening his eyes, he looked up and into Sherry’s. “Thanks,” he whispered.

  5

  Travis’s rise from the couch caused a mini celebration. Coffee mugs clinked as Billy and Robert Barnes introduced themselves.

  Be nice to him, Sherry thought as Lieutenant Barnes shook Travis’s hand. He helped us get free.

  Brian was nervous about approaching his son after what happened the last time, but the older man’s reservations fled when Travis turned to him. The two men held each other for several long minutes.

  “I thought—”

  “Tried to find—”

  “Never knew—”

  “Wasn’t my—”

  Billy and Debbie listened attentively, waiting for Travis to ask the one question Brian would find the hardest to answer. Debbie was prepared to intervene, as was Victoria, who understood that Travis’s return was making Brian live through the past five years of grief all over again. He’d be burning inside, hating himself for doubting, for giving up hope, and hating himself more because he would have to tell Travis that his mother was dead.

  Three minutes passed, as Brian exclaimed over Travis, remarking on everything from how good he looked, how well he had taken care of himself, to his eyes, which were so like his mother’s.

  Brian realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.

  Debbie and Billy were quick to their feet, noisily unfolding extra chairs and fitting them around the large dining room table.

  “Coffee anyone?” Debbie offered, raising her voice in an attempt to distract Travis before he could ask the difficult question.

  She wasn’t successful.

  “Where is Mom, anyway?” Travis asked, looking innocently around the room, as if Diane were about to pop out of the kitchen, one final surprise for his benefit.

  Brian looked away. Debbie repeated her offer of coffee. Billy began walking towards the living room. Lieutenant Barnes looked about as innocent as Travis did, not understanding any of the reactions going on around him. Sherry perked up, suddenly aware of the tension filling the room.

  What is it? she asked Travis.

  I asked about my mother, he replied. And everyone got quiet.

  “Well?” he asked, looking again to his father.

  Brian didn’t want to tell Travis. He still felt guilty about that night, like it was his fault she’d died. It was his pain, horded and nurtured over five years, and he’d grown accustomed to it. If this was suddenly handed to Travis, there was no telling what might happen.

  “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just get it out of your thoughts,” Travis said, drawing a shocked gasp from Sherry.

  Why did you—

  They have to know anyway.

  Yes. Maybe. Eventually, but—

  They don’t want to tell me where she is, Travis said, sounding petulant.

  Lieutenant Barnes perked up, even as Debbie said, “I heard that, young man. What did you mean, you’ll read it from our thoughts? Have you learned to do that?”

  “Tell me where she is,” Travis insisted.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Billy said, walking back to the table and taking a seat. “We’ll tell you everything we know about you and about what was done to you. We’ll also fill you in on what happened to your family, as it applies to the story. After that, we want you to tell us everything that you’ve experienced.”

  “Is it a deal?”

  What do you think? Travis thought to Sherry.

  It’s what we wanted. Answers.

  Yeah. But should we tell them everything?

  A moment ago, you were ready to, Sherry said accusingly.

  I’m sorry about that; I’m a little upset, not thinking straight.

  Sherry’s mental voice softened. I know, baby. And believe me, I understand. All right. Let’s hear them out.

  “We agree,” Travis said.

  “We?” Debbie asked, surprised again.

  “Yes, Travis and I agree,” Sherry said, answering the woman’s question. It brought a smile to Travis’s face, and that was worth it.

  “Will you come in here and have some coffee, at least?” Billy asked softly.

  “Yeah,” Travis said.

  “It’s going to be a rather long story,” Billy added.

  Somehow, Travis said to Sherry, I don’t doubt that.

  Sherry indicated a chair on her right side, which Travis accepted. Nervously, they held hands across the small gap between their seats.

  Clearing his throat, Billy began the story, while Debbie brought fresh cups of coffee to Sherry and Travis.

  6
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  “For hundreds of thousands of years, meteorites have struck the surfaces of the Earth and the moon, impacting with varying degrees of severity. Some of these chunks of rock carry elements not normally found on Earth, which have helped us determine the composition of asteroids and comets, even other planets. Sometimes we’d discover wholly new compounds instead of elements, molecules that help frame our understanding of the universe.

  “And once, just once, we found something like seed pods sitting in a crater. These pods contained what appeared to be biological matter. This was back in ‘72, during the final Apollo mission to the moon.

  “Those astronauts carried several hundred of these little pods back to Earth. I know what you’re thinking, no one has ever heard of biological material being found on the moon. That’s because NASA didn’t want anyone to know. They had the full backing of the federal government on this issue. They feared the reaction from an uninformed public. Also, they weren’t sure what the stuff was. Until they could figure it out, they weren’t about to let any of it go.”

  “What about the Russians?” Brian asked. “Weren’t they working with us on the space program?”

  “That collusion didn’t start until the late-seventies,” Billy replied, “though it was a good question. No, at the time this stuff was found, we were still racing against the Soviet Union. So, we kept it to ourselves. For all the scientists at NASA knew, this material might turn out to be the key to a new super-weapon, or virus, or whatever. Think in terms of cold-war stockpiling, and you get the idea.

  “It wasn’t until the mid-nineties that one of our own scientists, Ralf Fritz, thought to look at the substance with an eye toward comparing it to humankind. His findings rocked NASA’s brain trust.

  “You see, the stuff contained double-helix chains of proteins very similar to DNA. This discovery caused NASA to call in all kinds of specialists--scientists, evolutionary biologists, astronomers, even psychologists--because suddenly we were looking at this stuff from the human perspective. The hormones, proteins, acids—all of it—pointed toward the human brain. What would happen, they asked, if this stuff could somehow be incorporated into the human genetic structure? Could this be the key to pushing evolution forward?”