ERO

by F. P. Dorchak

  As Cherko performed his lessons he noticed an odd side affect. It seemed he knew what was coming before his disembodied voice directed him. As he continued with his lesson, he thought What do you look like?

  Not as you expect.

  Cherko pushed away from the console.

  Are you really replying to me, or am I making this up?

  Your answer is self-evident. Please refocus.

  Cherko flattened all three lines.

  Your mastery is exceptional.

  I really like your voice. Could you continue using it?

  “We shall now accelerate,” the soft voice said out loud. “Attempt seven.”

  Seven sine waves highlighted. As Cherko attempted this, his mind felt as if it was being put through a rigorous, though exhilarating, workout. He felt as if new... channels... were being opened—created—inside him. Or, perhaps not so much created, as...

  Reawakened?

  Suddenly Cherko, on impulse, forced all ten sine waves on his screen to simultaneously flatten.

  Then he caused two, four, seven, and nine to move to different frequencies. Played with the degree of flattening with all ten waves. Manipulated their phases.

  This was child’s play.

  He stared at the screen in utter disbelief; reached out to the screen and touched it.

  He had to be dreaming.

  “That will be all for this session,” the voice said abruptly.

  Cherko’s screen went dark, and the chamber’s lighting immediately dimmed.

  Cherko shot to his feet.

  “What? I do something wrong?” he asked, chuckling, laughing, looking about the room. “Hey, c’mon! I’m sorry! It just... it just happened....”

  Silence.

  Cherko felt around inside himself. There was something different in there, something... powerful. And it scared him... but at the same time, made him feel...

  Special.

  He was the first, She/It had told him so. The first.

  He had unique abilities. Others would follow.

  For what?

  In a pensive haze, Cherko retrieved his jacket from the seatback of his chair, turned, and shrugged. Entered the elevator.

  Powerful and special.

  Could be a great shot of confidence—just when he really needed some—or a deadly combination he would be unable to handle and surely regret.

  What really was happening to him? What was he being trained for... and, perhaps more importantly—

  What was he becoming?

  3

  ERO Operations Center

  12 December 1985

  1930 Hours Mountain Time

  “Okay, good run,” Captain Ronnie Morrow, Cherko’s trainer, said, as he exited the break room. “Now we’re gonna show you some really cool stuff.”

  Cherko perked up. He also noticed a “guest” stood behind an operator at the far end of the room. He hadn’t been there just moments ago when they’d entered the break room.

  “Gonna show me what’s behind those black hoods?” Cherko asked.

  Morrow nodded. He also noticed the guest. “This is the highest classification of our job. Most of those outside this floor have no idea about this stuff. This is what gives our classification its codeword designation and to which you will now be in-briefed. The only personnel cleared for this part of our mission are the operators, the Director of Operations, the trainers and evaluators. And, now... you.”

  Morrow brought out a folder with a TOP SECRET/CODEWORD cover sheet on top. “You are not allowed to speak the codeword unless absolutely necessary, and only in properly cleared company and environments, of which this ops floor and its Situation Room are the only cleared areas. I have been told there is one other cleared area back east, but I wasn’t authorized to know where. Read this briefing and notify me when you’re done.”

  Morrow directed Cherko to an empty console. As Cherko sat, he noticed the on-duty operators glance toward him. He opened the folder.

  Images of a desert filled his head.

  Sun, heat, and glare...

  Something red.

  A ship’s prow... in the desert...

  A crash.

  No other images followed, so he dug into his briefing.

  A ship out in the middle of a desert? Where did he come up with this shit?

  After reading the briefing, Cherko replaced the cover sheet and approached Morrow.

  “Done?”

  “Yup,” Cherko said. “Pretty heavy warnings.”

  “Sign this. It’s the form that puts your signature to what you just read. It says if you ever breathe a word of what you’re about to see—even if somebody writes a book about it—before you die, you’re going away for a long, long time. If you’re so lucky.”

  Yeah, the threats on this form couldn’t hold a candle to what he’d signed earlier.

  Cherko signed the form.

  “Okay. Ready to see the coolest part of the job?”

  Cherko smiled. “I just hope it’s more than missile warning.”

  Morrow led him over to their training area. “Have a seat.”

  Cherko again sat at his console. Morrow removed the black covering. Cherko stared into a black screen.

  “I don’t see anything,” he said.

  “Hold your horses,” Morrow said, and hit another set of selections on a different part of the console on which Cherko had not yet been trained. Cherko watched as the display apparently swung over to an image of the Earth.

  A picture of it.

  Not a graphic representation of the Earth, not an artificial representation, but an actual telemetered, video-fed, real-time black-and-white on-orbit image.

  “You’re kidding,” Cherko said. “This real time?”

  Morrow nodded. “This is an actual real-time feed from about two-hundred miles up.”

  “No kidding,” Cherko said, pulling himself in closer to the console. He stared wide-eyed into the display. “A real-time on-orbit view of Earth.”

  “And that’s not all,” Morrow added. He hit another red-glowing selection switch, which changed the display to show a distant object glinting on the screen.

  Cherko stared, speechless.

  “Watch this.”

  Morrow now used the trackball and keyboard. Cherko watched as the display slowly filled in with the image of a satellite, in crisp, mightily zoomed-in fashion.

  “This is actually one of our own that we’re looking at,” Morrow said, casually checking out the satellite, zooming around, up and down, in and out.

  “So,” Cherko said, still staring at the screen in amazement, “we’re spying on our own satellites?”

  Morrow chuckled. “It’s a little more than that, and you’ll be briefed as we train, but, right now... yeah.”

  “Holy shit.”

  Cherko looked to the other operators who had now removed all their black cowlings from their displays, and nodded to him. One gave a Thumbs-up. The one with the spook never even looked over, and had already had his cowling removed.

  “And with this, you are now officially in the Secret Handshake of Handshakes Club,” Morrow said, backing away from the console. “So, now you know our deepest darkest, so let’s train you on how it all works, and what it’s all about.”

  Before Morrow could say another word, an alarm sounded, which was quickly stabbed off by the operator with the spook. Morrow quickly focused all his attention on the far console. Though the alarm was silenced, several red lights continued to blink on that operator’s workstation. Cherko looked to the clock, which read 0310 Zulu, or 2010 Mountain. Then he looked to the nearest console display, but didn’t see anything. As if in a daze, he got up and headed toward the console with the flashing lights. As he got closer, he saw all kinds of motion on various displays. The other operators were adjusting and using their trackballs at their workstations, and Morrow was caught up in their activities. He did not see Cherko, but the operator whom Cherko approached did.

  “Captain—we need him ou
t of here!”

  Cherko stopped as if slapped awake. He looked to Morrow, just short of terrified. When Cherko looked back to the operator before him, he saw he’d swiveled his line-of-sight real-time video feed away from its target and glared at him.

  “Jimmy, you need to come with me—now,” Morrow said.

  Cherko had never heard that tone in his voice before.

  “Now, Lieutenant.”

  Cherko backed away from the consoles, looked to the spook who was now looking directly at him. He managed to get one more sidelong glance at another console as he left. He saw something move swiftly across a corner of the screen.

  “And do not look at any more displays!” Morrow shouted, hurrying Cherko into the adjacent Break Room by getting between him and the console-of-interest. Morrow quickly closed the door.

  “Jimmy,” Morrow said, his tone still thick with intensity, “don’t ever do that again. Until you are properly briefed and given access to this information, there are still some things you are not yet cleared to see. When I—or anyone else—asks you to leave, you need to do so promptly and smartly—and without sneaking peeks to displays—do you understand me?”

  Cherko nodded, nervously, confused. “I’m—I—”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it in this world, Jimmy, I can’t emphasize that enough.” Morrow lowered his voice and came in closer. “I know people who have literally disappeared seeing things they weren’t meant to see.”

  Cherko now saw how truly nervous Morrow was.

  Could that have been his predecessor’s unexpected and abrupt “PCS”? The sudden need to fill the now-vacated billet?

  Cherko wiped his forehead. Looked to the closed door behind him.

  “Geez, I wish you hadn’t done that.” Morrow looked back to him. “I’m gonna need you to go into the Situation Room and wait, okay?”

  “Am I in big trouble?”

  “Enough, but not unsalvageable.” He sighed, “You are in training for these operations, but you weren’t briefed or trained for what happened in there. I’ll get stomped on, since I should’ve been paying attention to you, but I’ll survive. I just need you to make sure you follow direction when told to clear a room. Got it?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “I know, I know—it’ll be all right. Just be honest about what you saw, and why you looked, okay? You’ll be polyed again, but just be honest about everything.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let me check to see if things’ve died down, so we can make our way to the Situation Room.”

  Morrow quickly exited the Break Room for the Ops floor, then just as quickly, ducked his head back in.

  “Let’s go. Stay between me and the wall, and do not—I repeat, not—attempt to look anywhere else besides your feet beating it out of the Ops floor. Do I make myself clear? Keep your eyes planted to your feet and the floor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Morrow backed up and announced “Trainee on the Floor!,” keeping a close eye on Cherko, who did as he was instructed as they headed out. The spook again unflinchingly eyed Cherko the entire time he exited. Once out in the hallway, Morrow directed Cherko to the Situation Room.

  “Now, head in there, and I’ll be in in a minute.”

  Morrow disappeared back into the Ops floor.

  4

  Cherko had been nervously pacing the floor of the Situation Room when a master sergeant and another captain entered the room. No Morrow.

  “Have a seat, Lieutenant,” the captain said.

  Cherko sat.

  “We understand you might have seen some things you weren’t meant to see,” the captain, whose name plate read “Burton,” said.

  “Apparently.”

  “Okay, say nothing else until we tell you, okay?”

  Cherko nodded.

  The sergeant, whose name he couldn’t see from where he sat, quietly set a briefcase on the table before him. Opened it. He removed electrodes attached to wires, what looked like a blood pressure cuff, and some long tube-looking thing; flicked some switches.

  “All right, Lieutenant, what we need to do is find out exactly what it was you think you saw, why you looked, and as we do this we’re going to hook you up to a poly to make sure you’re not lying, okay?”

  Cherko cleared his throat. “Okay.”

  “Now, no need to be nervous, you’ve already been polyed and know the drill. We know this is a stressful situation, so we’re gonna make sure we calibrate extra careful.”

  Burton got up and put the chest tube, fingertip electrodes, and blood pressure cuff on Cherko. As Cherko was outfitted for the poly, he eyed the sergeant making adjustments to the equipment. After a once-over, the captain returned to his side of the table.

  “I’m gonna ask you a series of questions, to which you are going to reply a simple ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ There are no multiple choice answers. Understand?”

  Cherko nodded.

  “Let’s begin. Your name is James Francis Cherko?”

  “Yes.”

  Cherko noticed the sergeant jotting something down at the machine as he answered.

  “You’re a first lieutenant in the United States Air Force?”

  “Yes.”

  Again the sergeant jotted something down. It looked like he was marking the tape as he answered questions.

  “You’re a woman?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve been in the military twenty years?”

  “No.”

  “You work at FAFS?”

  “Yes.”

  “You work for ERO?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are currently in training?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have an elevated security clearance and access?”

  “Yes.”

  “You saw something tonight?”

  “No—I mean... yes.”

  This time the sergeant took a little longer marking the poly tape that was now growing and overflowing the suitcase and over the edge of the conference table.

  “You like little girls?”

  “What?”

  “Yes or no, Lieutenant.”

  “No! What does that—”

  “You’ve given secrets to the Soviets?”

  “No!”

  “You looked at the display in question tonight to give those secrets to the Soviets?”

  “No—”

  Cherko shot to his feet. “What the hell’s going on here? These questions have no bearing on what happened!”

  “Sit down, please, Lieutenant,” the captain said calmly, “and just answer the questions.”

  Cherko looked to his interrogators, who merely looked back as calmly as if they’d asked for a glass of water.

  “Sit down, Lieutenant,” the captain again requested.

  Cherko sat; felt his temperature rise and his palms and underarms sweat. Wiped the growing moisture from his forehead with the back of the hand that had all the electrodes attached to the fingers.

  “Please don’t do that,” the captain said.

  The pair attended to their machine, the captain taking a quick glance to the poly, then the connections on the hand just used, before continuing.

  “You currently reside at Templeton Park Apartments, #222, Colorado Springs, Colorado?”

  “I do—yes.”

  “You saw nothing tonight?”

  Cherko had to think. “No.”

  “You saw something?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re having sex with Erica Taylor?”

  Cherko gave the captain a hard look, which was equally and calmly matched by the captain.

  “No.”

  “You want to have sex with Ms. Taylor?”

  “Yes.”

  “You looked when asked to look away because you’re a Soviet spy?”

  “No.” Cherko bored into the captain, who now just casually looked to his list of questions.

  “You are a Soviet spy?”
/>
  “No.”

  “You want to be a Soviet spy?”

  “No.”

  “Do you like your current profession?”

  “No.”

  “You know what it was you saw tonight?”

  “No.”

  “You’re lying to us tonight?”

  “No.”

  “You know what it was you saw tonight?”

  “No.”

  “You pick up prostitutes and have anal sex with men and women?”

  “No.”

  “You like sex?”

  “Yes.”

  “You do not intend to sell the secrets that you’ve been trained in to the Soviets, and you do not know what you saw tonight?”

  Cherko scrunched his face as he paused and ran the question over in his head.

  “Correct.”

  The captain shot him a look.

  “When you last had sex with an animal, did you like it?”

  Again Cherko paused, again glaring at the captain. “No.”

  The captain and the sergeant fiddled a little more with the poly. The captain jotted more notes, then passed a sheet of paper over to the sergeant. He then looked to his watch and the clock, jotted the time, and closed the file folder before him.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant, we’ll get back to you.”

  The captain immediately began disconnecting Cherko from the poly leads, while the sergeant carefully collected all the loose spool-paper and tucked it into the case. The sergeant then switched off the equipment, closed up his machine, and without looking to the captain, got to his feet. Both the captain and the sergeant exited the Situation Room. Cherko remained seated and rubbed his hands together before him. Sweat ran down his armpits and into the sides of his trousers like Niagara Falls. He wiped away rivulets of sweat that continued to sheet off his face, looked to the moisture on his hands, and wiped them on his pants legs.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  * * *

  Morrow met Captain Burton on the Ops floor. The spook stood directly behind him.

  “He knows nothing,” Burton said. “Send him home. He’s had enough for tonight.”

  * * *

  Cherko repeatedly hit the steering wheel of his car as he paused at the intersection of Enoch and 94.

  Bastards.