The Quixotic Faction: (Above Top Secret Edition)

by T. D. Kohler

  “I apologize. Young Kristen here told me I can trust you.”

  The clothed man offers his hand, and the director instinctively reaches out and grasps it with a firm grip. The man raises his head, revealing his metallic facial features.

  “Professor Eprem Mildiani.”

  Feeling the strength behind the grip, the director searches his memory, while never taking his gaze away from the metallic man. “I know the name; however, I cannot recall it at the moment.”

  “Professor for mineralogy and atomic structure from Georgia. I was speaking at Tulane in 2012, when I was asked...”

  The director’s eyes light up with instant realization. “We thought you were lost to the sinkhole. I must admit you look quite a bit different than what I remember.”

  Releasing his grip, the professor puts his hands in his pockets. “Yes, I imagine I do.”

  Snapping the director out of a daze, Kristen steps in front of the professor. “Sir, now you know why I can’t leave just yet.”

  Without taking his eyes off of the professor, the director agrees, “Yes, I understand. What can I call you? Professor Mildiani was pronounced dead two years ago,” the director responds.

  “Ms. Abergathy and Clarisse were working on that.”

  “Your sister, Clarisse, is here as well? I need to sit down.”

  “No, sir.” Catching herself, she looks at the professor. “That is the name of his computer,” she interrupts. “Wait, you know who he is? You two already know each other?”

  The director lets out a good-hearted chuckle. “Eprem and Clarisse were students of mine, when I taught at Cal-Poly.”

  Walking around the room, smiling, and shaking his head, the director absently thinks out loud, “It is true to say this is a small world, and it keeps getting smaller. So, Eprem, how is your sister doing? She was one of my brightest students I ever had.”

  “She passed away a couple of years ago.”

  Director Harris’s shoulders drop. “My condolences. I apologize…So I presume you dove into and buried yourself with your work. I would say doing that could hurt your complexion; however, I remember your complexion being a lot less metallic…” He affords a momentary smile before he runs a hand through his hair, “What is this element that can cause this… evolution.”

  The familiar giddiness returns to Kristen’s voice. “Sir, would you believe ununpentium.”

  The director snaps in her direction then looks back at the Professor. “Element 115? I find this…It can’t…I’ll be damned.”

  “That’s it!” Kristen jumps up and down. “We can call you Praegressus.”

  Both men look at her, puzzled. The director scratches his chin in thought, and says, “Latin for evolution.” He looks back at the professor. “Not bad.” After a moment to organize thoughts, Director Harris brushes some of the outside dirt off of his slacks. “Well Praegressus, what do you think? And, please, I need to hear how you came to evolve in this manner.”

  Remaining motionless, the professor tilts his head. “Ms. Abergathy was telling me you are a person that can keep this place secret.”

  Running both of his hands through his hair, the director takes a deep breath. “You see, there, we are in a bit of a pickle. You killed Agent Roynika Carol, an operative of ours.”

  Kristen interjects, “Sir, what happened was not completely his fault…”

  Raising his hand, he stops her in mid-sentence. “I do not want to hear the details of what happened that day; at least, not right now,” Director Harris admonishes. Seeing the confusion on the young agent’s face, he says, “Relax, what I am going to do is to suggest that you lay low.”

  Reaching into his jacket he takes out a small flip phone and hands it to her. “I will be in contact, but until then neither of you should go or be seen anywhere. I need to make calls.”

  Stepping towards the door he smiles and looks back at the professor. “Praegressus, I will be back to learn everything.”

  The director turns and exits the farmhouse. Just as he makes it near his car, a murder of crows caw and soar past him, causing him to duck and shield himself. After he recovers he opens the car door. “And do something about the crows!”

  Concrete Bunker,

  Dry Creek, LA

  July 22, 1243 hours

  Agent Abergathy stares in awe at the ship—the diuranium octoxide and thorium nitrate pulsating in and around the metallic element ununpentium. Crossing her arms, she rubs them to fend off the cooler temperatures.

  The large hanger room is extremely quiet with only a hush humming from the ship. She reaches up to touch the ship’s hull when she snaps her hand back. Looking around, she spots the professor working in front of a computer center.

  “Praegressus, I was just wondering. If your skin has the same makeup as the hull of Clarisse . . .”

  “You are going to ask if I am capable of doing the same things she can do. The answer would be that I do not know. I think for now I will stick to levitation.”

  Recalling the other day when he lifted up and floated above the cornfield towards the barn, “Yeah, that was pretty cool. But have you ever wanted to see if Tesla was correct, I mean really correct, about being able to see, even go, into the future?”

  “That is not something I’m interested in, and I am not sure even Clarisse can do that. Nikolas Tesla was years ahead of even us today, with his understanding of electricity and plasma. What you are thinking is something I cannot fathom being responsible for knowing.” The professor turns back to the console.

  “Okay, okay, but you have thought about it. How about being able to travel in the same manner as Clarisse, here?”

  Before the professor can begin to type something in, he looks over his shoulder towards the ship. “I’ve thought about that as well. Although there has not been any place I absolutely had to be.”

  “Fair enough, I can understand that.” Abergathy turns back to the ship and continues to rub the chill from her arms. “Do either of you have any idea where Lincoln, Admiral, and Dr. Garrett are?”

  The female voice of the ship appears to surround her. “Agent, I have picked up a conversation from the director that was here earlier. It would appear something is going on in Texas that required a sense of urgency. The gentlemen he was talking to mentioned they were getting assistance from a Dr. Garrett. I can replay the conversation.”

  Abergathy turns and watches the subtle movements of the ship. “Clarisse, your design and overall concept that was Clarisse Mildiani’s brilliance, am I right?”

  Behind her the professor turns and looks at the agent then up at the ship. “It was her that remembered the American Bob Lazar and what the element was associated with, it was she who wanted to build a ship for the stars.”

  Walking over to the ship the professor puts a hand on the hull. “After she passed away, Clarisse was only the name fitted for her.”

  Kristen turns away from the intimate moment and makes her way over to the computer center. “Clarisse, are you able to bring the conversation up here on the monitor, please?” The screen begins to scrolls to a transcript of the phone conversation.

  Agent St. Clair, how is Texas doing?

  Director, just finished checking out the address you gave us in Jasper. No one was home and no sign of the car.

  What did you find?

  A wig and a beard that match what I saw in Oakdale. Director, if this woman can shut a town down, like she did, we gonna need some help.

  Well what about Agents Selenia and Grunt?

  We had a falling out and left them in Louisiana.

  Well I am not in a position to call for more help.

  Well we ran into some people that might just be the backup we need.

  Are you referring to Admiral Kay, Dr. Garrett, and Dr. Stevens? Do you trust them?

  The admiral is an honorable man, and if he trusts the other two then we are good on our end.

  Then I will trust you. You have been doing this for a long time. Your instincts sho
uld never be questioned.

  Thank you, sir, I will keep you updated.

  Call disconnected

  She pushes away from the console as if the console suddenly burned her hands. “Clarisse, what happened in Oakdale?”

  Clarisse’s voice fills the room again. “At thirteen-ten on the twenty-first of July, a dense electronic field covered the city for forty-five minutes, killing thirteen people and injuring two hundred sixty-five, the source of the field in unknown.”

  “They must think it is a person who is responsible for these electronic fields.” frantically pacing, “And they are just going to get Lincoln involved in this.”

  Turning back to the professor, she pleads, “I need to warn him. I need to get to Texas! Professor, please, I need your help.”

  Elijah’s Café,

  Jasper, TX

  July 22, 1346 hours

  Closing his phone, Agent St. Clair shields his eyes and squints as he looks around the parking lot. The sun appears to be reflecting off of every surface. In addition, the heat waves are making visibility painful. Looking in the new Ford F250, he watches Nomi have her legs pulled up under her, tapping away on her phone. Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath. The heat sears his lungs, causing him to flicker and phase out for a split second.

  Gaining control of his coils, he opens the driver-side door and gets in. Agent Nomi’s attention never leaves her phone. Closing the door, he shakes his head. “Flea, what’s your story?”

  Nomi looks over at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve seen the way you can move, and you got strength someone your size shouldn’t have.” He grips the steering wheel. “I thought I knew Chatter.”

  The inner voice inside of Nomi interrupts her before she can say anything. “You should have killed her when you had the chance.”

  She disregards the voice. “I still can’t believe that she was able to keep that hidden from you. How long were you two f…?”

  “Not long,” St. Clair cuts her off. “She was always private; I just figured she would tell me when she was ready. Then it got to a point where I didn’t even wanna know.”

  After a few minutes of quiet, Nomi shifts in her seat to face St. Clair. “Do you believe in aliens?”

  “Are you talking about that man at the farmhouse?” St. Clair asks.

  “No, I mean actual beings from another planet, aliens?”

  “I believe the possibility is there, you are talking about aliens like in Roswell?”

  “Now who is getting ahead of the story?” she watches his smile and his features soften, when her nerves pinch throughout her body.

  “What are you doing,” her inner voice snaps her from her thoughts again.

  St. Clair becomes concerned as he notices her flinch again. “Are you okay? You seem extra edgy. What happens when that happens to you? I’ve seen you cinch up a few times since we’ve teamed up.”

  Nomi flexes her hand in attempt to ease her nerves. “Chottomatte, I’ll get to that.” She pokes him as she feels her nerves start to relax.

  “Let me tell you about 1974. There was a crash in Mexico that redefined what is believable. It was outside the small town of Coyame, Chihuahua, Mexico. The crash was recovered and relocated, and its passengers were quarantined at Groom Lake . . .” Noticing that her partner is trying to hold back a slight grin, she shifts her position to face him. “Look, you remember when I was talking about the botched mission outside of Kandahar?”

  “I do,” St. Clair notes. “You said you and Nika barely got out of there alive.”

  “Yeah, if it weren’t for her mother and the relationship I had with her daughter, I would be paralyzed from the waist down. The main blast blew my lower spine to pieces . . . I got your attention now.”

  “You got it, girl.”

  “Out of the bodies of the passengers of the crash in 1974 was a parasite. Took them thirty years to figure out that it lived off of electrical impulses and that it was a symbiont and not a parasite.”

  Agent St. Clair’s eyes open wide. “The ASYMB project, that’s what Chatter was trying to find out about.”

  “ASYMB, or Alien Symbiont, not very creative, not like Project Rainbow, anyways, as a desperate move and without even asking me, they implanted the last living one at the base of my spine.”

  “Puppa Jesus. That is in you?”

  “What they did not know was that it was the symbiont that was in control of the hosts and not the other way around.”

  St. Clair tilts his head. “So, am I talking to you or the symbiont?”

  The symbiont chimes in. “He is a bumbling idiot. Why are you even bothering to tell him?”

  Smiling and shaking her head, she continues, “It allows me to use my legs; it also increases my nerve sensitivity, giving me added reflexes, balance, and heightens my strength. What I give it is life and an annoying voice.”

  “You have managed to keep that secret from Charlie, Director Carol, and the other organization heads?” He tries to hide his surprise.

  “Over the last forty years, this is the only surviving symbiont. So, they will never learn what they had this whole time.” Crossing her arms, she shifts and leans back against her door. “So, now you know.”

  St. Clair grips the wheel, trying to comprehend. He lets out a quiet whistle.

  The symbiont nudges Nomi’s nerves. “Yeah, but can we trust him?”

  “You are the only other person to know this about me, and I would like to keep it way,” Nomi confides.

  “No problem, mon.”

  Smiling, Nomi looks back out the window. “We are going to need help, you know.”

  Looking over to her, he fights back a smile. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I am talking about,” she chides. “I can tell you are worried about this. This man, or woman, or whatever it is, is able to incapacitate a crowded bank and even an entire town. We’re going to need help. You don’t even know what we are dealing with.”

  “And you do? Or better yet, the admiral and his team know what we are dealing with, and we know who.”

  “Harvey says Lincoln explained that it could be Orgone energy, whatever that is. I haven’t a clue.”

  St. Clair chuckles and shakes his head, already knowing whom she has in mind. He opens the door and steps out of the truck. Looking around the parking lot, the humidity soaking his clothes to him, he turns back into the truck and smiles at his partner. “I presume they’re close by, since you have been texting the good doctor since we left the bed and breakfast. Let them know where we are at.”

  “You had already planned to team up with the admiral and told Director Harris that we were meeting them.” Nomi playfully smirks.

  St. Clair shakes his head. “Just let them know where we at. We’re gonna need their help.”

  “Yes, sir,” she says as she mocks a salute.

  “Funny woman.” Stepping back and closing the door, he looks around while wiping his arm across his forehead.

  An older voice catches him off guard, causing him to whip around. “Storm’s comin’, and gonna be a big one too.”

  Looking down at the man, St. Clair offers him a smile and slight shake of his head. “Sir, there’s scarcely a cloud in the sky.”

  “My bones are telling me different. Trust me, sonny.”

  “Yes sir, I’ll write that down,” he shrugs. “Thank you for the heads up.”

  He watches the man make his way past him and into the Elijah Café. Getting back in the truck, he startles his partner, who was tapping away on her phone. “We need to get moving. This is not a big town, and that Cadillac has to be here somewhere.”

  “Well, let’s get moving. This truck is blowing hot now,” Nomi says. “We should have kept my car.”

  “You damn well know that car ain’t meant for a big man like me.” St. Clair puts the truck in gear. “Oh, by the way, an old man said its gonna storm.” Nomi looks at him in disbelief as he steps on the gas. “Yup, ’gonna be
a big one.” They start laughing as they drive out of the parking lot.

  * * *

  Driving up from Kirbyville, just outside of Jasper on Interstate 96, the admiral and Dr. Stevens notice a few abandoned cars that have died due to the heat or gas limitations. Lincoln appears to be agitated, shifting in his seat every time they pass an abandoned vehicle. Harvey is busy in the back of the van making adjustments and repairs on his suit, while texting away on his phone. The silence in the van is as heavy as the humidity outside.

  The constant shifting of the tall doctor causes the admiral to take a deep breath and grip the wheel. “Lincoln, we’ll find her. We know, or at least we believe, that she is with the good professor.”

  “I know she is. I’m just concerned.”

  “Tell me again about the energy we are looking for,” the admiral says, changing the subject.

  “If it is what I think it is, Dr. Wilhelm Reich, in the 1920s, theorized about this energy and the conditions of expansion and contraction on people. He noted how it would affect people all the way down to the autonomic nervous system, even to the cellular and chemical levels. Most of his research was deemed fantasy and he was discredited. Even though modern chemotherapy can trace its roots to this energy. Some say Orgone energy was named after the orgasm which is why parasympathic conditions seems improbable.”

  Tilting his head towards his lanky friend, the admiral looks confused. “Parasympathic?”

  “Yes, it is the creating of a sense of well-being and sexual excitement.”

  The admiral grips the wheel and exhales to the point of whistling. “Well, all right then.”

  Harvey chimes in, “That sounds a whole lot more appealing than the violent, negative side.”

  “We have no idea what side of the spectrum this team is going to use next?” The admiral cracks his neck as he continues to focus on the road.

  “If we can stop this woman, we can clear our names and maybe Beringei and Starfish will become household names.” Harvey nonchalantly mentions as he continues working on the suit.