Sundial

by C. F. Fruzzetti

  I nodded and leaned against him. There was nothing to say. Precognitives lived with guilt that they could not always alter the path of the future, but this went beyond that common feeling of angst. This was a worst-case scenario that our precognition did not assist us to solve a problem and let us unknowingly manufacture one. It was a betrayal. He counted on precognition to warn him and it let him down. I understood.

  “So, psychic mental capacity runs on pure energy because it already exists in their body. But to get the pure energy from the psychic, you must kill the psychic person,” Reid clarified in brutally brief terms.

  I saw Dr. West cringe slightly at his wording but he affirmed Reid’s statement with a nod of his head. I felt Dr. West’s guilt and pain. He would never have meant to put anyone with psychic abilities at risk.

  I had new appreciation for why he took such care with the medical records. He wasn’t only protecting us from working in a government lab. He was protecting us from being murdered.

  “Incredibly, Stuart Forbes brought Whitney to us the day after the lab accident with the psychic. She was in terrible shape. Hadn’t slept in weeks…” Dr. Cohen picked up the stagnated conversation. He smiled weakly at me. “Reg fixed her right up.”

  I remembered. Dr. West had helped me and the nightmare that would not let me sleep had stopped. The nightmare was a prison with barbed wire around it. Inside were innocent people and no one would help them. I could smell fear in the air. I knew the people inside the prison. They were the ones I loved the most. The image flashed back into mind. It was as clear as day.

  “Reg saw Whitney’s psychometric scanner was off the charts. Another lab worker casually joked she could probably fuel America for at least a year and that’s when it all clicked. Reg realized she would be hunted—not just for her gift but also for her high amount of pure energy. We realized we had to destroy the files and find a safe haven for the pure energy vial we had in the lab. That’s when we moved it to the nuclear reactor,” Dr. Cohen continued. He was talking rapidly as if to fast forward through a bad memory on videotape. “Unfortunately, Carson had found out about it because Reg was so upset about you, Whitney. You were Stuart’s daughter and he brought you to Reg because he trusted him…”

  “Right. I didn’t know you were friends with my dad until I saw a memory in Mr. Park’s mind,” I said with a small smile on my face as I remembered. It dawned on me that my dad had brought me to Dr. West because he trusted him, not because he was in the CIA.

  “Yes, Whitney. We have known each other a long time. We met in Vietnam when Yoshi, Stuart, and I were working to dismantle a project that had gone rogue, The Thunderbird Program. It was designed to stop the Viet Cong, but under the leadership of Vlad Dune anyone of suspicion was simply killed. It became an assassination campaign and Vlad’s dirty policies overshadowed the good work that was done when Vlad let it wreak havoc,” Dr. West answered. “Vlad is a psychological train wreck. He was originally from Tanzania but was adopted by a Russian who wanted to use him for entertainment at parties. Evidently, people with albinism are good luck in some countries. In any event, I’m sure he is aligned with Carson because she has promised him Stuart’s job once she is director. For him, taking over Clarion is personal. It’s revenge. Clarion was mine just like the Thunderbird Program was his.”

  Dr. West started to tap his spoon again. I wondered what was coming; the tapping seemed to indicate bad news. I was tempted to remove his silverware.

  “That’s why we were safe until now. Stuart was the director of Clarion and Director Penshaw agreed that harnessing pure energy through the death of psychic individuals was a reprehensible form of ethnic cleansing. That’s why, until four days ago, the vial resided in a nuclear reactor,” Dr. West finished. He took a drink of his ice water.

  I wanted to know why there was not a more permanent solution to relocating the vial. It seemed risky that there was proof. Not to mention, why did it sound like other options had been discussed with Director Penshaw? Before I could ask, Reid intervened.

  “I don’t like where this is going. Were other people actually considering extracting the pure energy? Entertaining the possibility of killing people for the fuel?” Reid asked in disbelief. He was not touching me, but it was as if he read my mind.

  The waitress came and put our food down. I wasn’t sure if I was hungry any more but Dr. West threatened not to go on if I couldn’t control my fight or flight response better. I begrudgingly took a bite of my crab cake. The minute the food hit my stomach, I was glad I did.

  “Not only was it discussed, a facility was already picked out to refine the experiments. Tule Lake. A former maximum security Japanese internment camp in California. The high barbed wire fence, eight watchtowers, barracks, and buildings are still there. It would require little taxpayer funding to make it fully operational.

  “The Clarion psychics are a valuable commodity. Alive, they could be used to monitor foreign military bases and sites as well as undergo testing to learn how to replicate their gifts. Those that are deemed expendable would be forced to use their psychic abilities while attached to the pure energy extractor so more of the substance could be produced—their deaths being an unfortunate side effect,” Dr. West said with bitter sarcasm. I sensed he was repeating some of the “pros” that were touted for its use. It was horrific. “Fortunately, Director Penshaw and other compassionate people did not see this as a viable solution to our national security and debt. The location is familiar, right, Whitney?”

  “Yes, I know it well. That is the prison description in the terrible nightmare that wouldn’t let me sleep. Who was behind this operation, Carson Noir?” I asked. I could feel myself trembling. I took another bite of my crab cake before more bad news could make my appetite disappear completely.

  “The one and only. The quest for pure energy is very real and it is very powerful. However, this is the land of the free and the home of the brave and even charismatic Carson Noir would have trouble convincing the public of something so barbaric for an energy source. Besides, all relevant evidence from the Clarion database has been destroyed. Only one copy exists and it is in good hands, I trust?” Dr. West arched his eyebrow as he looked at me. I nodded. I thought of Patrick and Blair. I couldn’t think of two more trustworthy people.

  The images of my reoccurring nightmare of Tule Lake kept flashing into my mind even though I wanted not to think about it. It was so real. I knew that its fruition must have been almost a reality. All of this happened right after the energy crisis of the 1970s. This argument must have sounded tempting to a few people. Thank goodness it did not to Director Penshaw.

  “I wish I could say that was everything, but that leads me to my real concern…” Dr. West said. I couldn’t believe there was more. This seemed like more than enough.

  “There’s more?” I choked out. Reid met my eyes across the table. He looked incredulous at the news and shook his head.

  “Yes. While I have faith in the goodness of Americans, the human race has had an awful track record with fear and economics. If Carson can create a climate of fear that targets psychics and she uses a financial gain for others—there is a historical track record of success.” Dr. West sighed heavily.

  “You mean like the holocaust in Europe?” Reid asked.

  “Exactly. How could something that atrocious happen? Money! The Nazis won their support from the lower middle class and peasants. Hitler allowed the Jews to be the scapegoat for all of Germany’s troubles since they remained the most economically successful. Don’t underestimate how inflation, unemployment, and a downward spiral of economic upheaval can turn a population. People ignore their conscience if they are afraid for their own lives. It was a climate of fear teetering in an unstable economic environment. A megalomaniac’s dream situation…” Dr. West’s voice quietly trailed into silence.

  “But could that happen here? In America?” I questioned aloud as if shattering an evil spell. That couldn’t happen in my beloved country of freedom f
ighters and heroic men and women.

  “Could Americans allow themselves to not look at humans as humans when their economic well-being is at stake? Well, slavery in the South comes to mind. Or how about when actual American citizens were imprisoned in the Japanese-American internment camps? Tule Lake exists because of fear-driven decisions. That is why we teach history. It is an effort to never forget what it is to be human and make mistakes,” Dr. West said numbly. His spoon thudded against the table again. It had become an ominous warning signal. “While I was at Clarion, I began noticing a pattern that those with psychic abilities also had slight variances in their hematology lab work. One dominant theme was that they all had a high instance of severe food allergy, primarily to nuts, especially peanuts.”

  The news was not as bad as the spoon-drumming warning signal. I didn’t even have a food allergy and Reid was not psychic. I felt like I had dodged a bullet.

  “I know, it seems fairly benign. I didn’t think much about it myself until the pattern became so obvious I couldn’t ignore it.”

  “Yeah, well I know I have a severe peanut allergy, but I also know my blood type. It’s normal,” Reid said.

  “I don’t even have a food allergy,” I chimed in, shrugging my shoulders. I was neither prepared nor expecting Dr. West’s response.

  “Yes, you do. After your recent visit, I thought I had better send your blood work out for a more complete radioallergosorbent test. I’m sorry to say you are like the rest of the Clarion psychics. You are severely allergic to macadamia nuts. Which reminds me, make sure you always have one of these with you,” Dr. West said, passing me an EpiPen he had in his pocket.

  “Please take it seriously. Allergic reactions can be deadly. Obviously, you must not have been exposed to them before or we would have known about it. Don’t look so crestfallen; at least people in your generation have heard of it. Try being the only kid not able to eat a peanut butter sandwich in the nineteen fifties like I was—it was not fun, believe me.

  “Anyway, there seems to be a link between food allergy and the ability to use our minds in a higher capacity. This sensitivity to food proteins is an external indicator of our sensitivity to all things—mental, emotional, and physical. I won’t bore you with details, but a person who has an allergy usually has elevated blood levels of IgE. The IgE isotope structure is significant because it is atypical of all others in the body. It is one area of the body that has already begun to evolve.”

  “Wait a second. Are you saying that our food allergy is part of an evolutionary process? That it is a strength, not a weakness? ’Cause my whole life I have felt like it has been nothing but a huge haze,” Reid interrupted. I had noticed how Reid didn’t eat out much. He was always flipping over bags of chips and reading the ingredient list before he ate anything.

  “Very good, Mr. Wallace! Now let me explain. I’ve conducted thousands of tests on the IgE isotope and found it is a tremendous protector. For example, it is impervious to radiation. So this genetic enhancement would allow those with high IgE in their blood a much greater chance of surviving a nuclear holocaust,” Dr. West explained. I could hear the spoon drumming again on the table. Here it comes, I thought.

  “What exactly are you saying?” I heard myself say aloud. Dr. West could get carried away with his theories. He got so excited about the process he forgot we were waiting for the explanation.

  “I’m saying that this blood response, coupled with those who have access to pure energy—psychics—seems to be presenting an evolutionary difference of preparedness and efficiency. Take Whitney’s enhanced fight or flight response or Reid’s resting heart rate and lung capacity as examples…” Dr. West’s voice rumbled on even though I wanted it to stop. What he was saying was too incredible to be true. I knew where he was going with this theory and it was more dangerous than I could have imagined.

  A waitress came back over and took away our plates. The restaurant had quieted down now that the lunch rush had ended. I could hear the clank of dishes more distinctly. It put me on edge. My flight response was revving up.

  “He’s saying that they could identify us, not simply as people with additional mental gifts, but as a race that could usurp everyone else. Is that what you meant by ethnic cleansing? That we would be classified as a superior race and a threat? That those with psychic capabilities could incite a nuclear war to wipe the world clean and start over…with just ourselves?” Reid murmured in a hushed answer. He confirmed what I was afraid I had heard. My eyes met his across the table. I saw the distress that I felt mirrored on his face.

  I had always known I was different from everyone else but it was quite another thing to classify yourself in a race of super survivors. I felt like I was in a free fall. If we could survive a nuclear holocaust, then that would be the fear Carson Noir would use as the reason to lock us up. She could create a nuclear war hysteria and short-circuit morality. We were already in a fuel crisis and economists had been calling for an end to the robust bubble of spending that defined the rampant greed of the 1980s. It was frightening how many pieces of the puzzle were coming into place.

  “Correct, Reid. I’m afraid Carson would exploit this evolutionary information to terrorize the American population. It would create a dragnet of psychic individuals and suspected psychic individuals to Tule Lake. This genetic insight regarding psychics would be her means to an end—unchecked genocide. I can only hope that Carson did not extrapolate that from the few notes of mine she found before I could destroy everything.

  “You see, I was conducting the blood work experiments on myself. She knew I had a peanut allergy but nothing about my precognitive abilities. Thank God I never told her that. She may have only seen this particular round of experiments as something that pertained to my personal health and not seen a connection.

  “The point is, I don’t know. What I do know is that Carson will stop at nothing to acquire pure energy and this information would make it much easier for her. This is why we needed all my former patients to see Whitney today at the funeral. They needed to see the face of the leader of Sunrise and know you were not a myth.”

  That seemed ludicrous to me. I rolled my eyes at Reid.

  “She doesn’t know what you are talking about. The myth stuff. I don’t think Mr. Parks told her. He just told her to learn it,” Reid said. He cringed, knowing I would be annoyed about being left out of another piece of information again. I narrowed my eyes and glared at him.

  “Whitney, when you were hooked up to the machines at Clarion, your psychic response was off the charts. It took me a while to understand that it was because there was no way to measure your limit. Most people are lucky to have one specific type of psychic ability. You are able to learn others’ gifts and synthesize them into your mind. That is why Yoshi could train you so easily in kung fu and why Reid could show you how to open and close your mind in a matter of days. Reid, how long did it take for you to learn how to close the third eye?”

  “About eight months with constant practice. I didn’t think you could do it or, if you did manage to do it, that it would kill you. That is why things on the boat were so intense. Mr. Parks said you could achieve it in time and he finally had to explain to me why. Otherwise, I was going to refuse to go on,” Reid admitted. “And that’s also why I wasn’t totally shocked you ended up learning my gift in the process.”

  The flush of Reid’s face surprised me a little. At least he had a decent reason for keeping it from me. I knew I had scared him a couple of times with the depth of my meditation and I couldn’t understand the reason he thought it was frightening.

  “The Clarion psychics have all heard there is one with gifts above all others. Some say it is true, some say it is a myth. Regardless, this person is known as the ‘Sundial,’ a timing instrument that must be set to true north and uses the light cast from a shadow. That is why you are the Sundial, Whitney. You synthesize the information and all psychic gifts to produce the best possible outcome. It will require perfect timing for y
ou to escape the shadow of Carson Noir. The entire future depends on it,” Dr. West said quietly. He couldn’t look at me. His eyes were blinking back tears. It was as if he had just told me I only had months to live. Stay calm, I told myself. I had five more years before I was required to report to the CIA.

  “I know it is a heavy responsibility. I wish I could carry it for you. There are many of us who wish we could trade places with you, Whitney, but we don’t have the abilities you do. That is why you and Reid have been chosen to dispose of the vial of pure energy. The Ukraine will be your destination. We just don’t know when…” Dr. West continued.

  “Wait a second. Are you talking about before the agreement is up? Is this sometime soon?” I asked in a shaky voice. Was my agreement only binding under Director Penshaw?

  “The agreement is now null and void. Carson is going to change the terms for the age limit. It will drop from twenty-one to sixteen. I have already seen it in motion. It will be one of the first things she does this week. What I haven’t seen is when she will discover the vial is missing. With me and Penshaw dead, she will have a false sense of security that it is safe. Very few even knew it existed, and even less where it was stored. I’m sorry. I bought you as much time as I could. You will have to be ready at any moment going forward.” Dr. West gave me a sideways hug that revealed how worried he was. My safety was in jeopardy and this mission was not a sure thing. I could smell his Aqua Velva aftershave. “Believe me, I wish this was not the case but the vial will have to go to Chernobyl.”

  Chernobyl? The word rattled about like a pinball in my mind. WHAT? The most toxic place on the planet? All the protests in my mind clogged in my throat. I was too stunned to speak.

  “It is not as dire as it sounds. As we know, Reid has a peanut allergy and therefore has high levels of IgE in his blood. As further proof that those of us with pure energy also seem to show radiation immunity, Reid’s blood also contains potassium iodide. I had the lab work done twice. I have never seen this in any human blood before. It is significant because potassium iodide further neutralizes radioactivity. Not to say you won’t have maximum protective gear, but Reid’s blood abnormalities make him the safest candidate to do the job…aside from a robot.”