by Darrell Pitt
“Our names,” I interrupt. “What are our names? Our real names.”
The man in the suit gives a sad smile. “Unfortunately, I don’t have that information. Very few people do.”
“And what happened to our memories?” Dan asks. “Why can’t we remember who we are or how we came -.”
Jones holds up a hand. “Wait. Let me explain how you came to be here. That should answer most of your questions.”
We all wait expectantly. “First of all, you are part of a venture known as The Alpha Project. The name of the project has a number of meanings. Alpha is the first of its kind. Alpha is also short for alphabet. Your names – your chosen names – are derived from the alphabet.”
I’m already confused. “What does that mean exactly?”
“Axel, Brodie, Chad, Dan and Ebony.” He paused. “Do you notice anything? Your names are -.”
“The first five letters of the alphabet,” I finish. “A, B, C, D and E.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
“The Alpha Project is one of the many scientific endeavors carried out by The Agency,” Jones explained. “The scientists involved assembled a group of orphaned children to create a new form of modified human.”
Dan starts. “And The Agency is…”
Jones sighs. “There are a few pieces of information I’m about to disseminate that are going to change your whole view of the world.”
We all look at each other.
“Sure,” I say.
He studies our faces one by one. “Okay. Here it is.” For a moment he looks like he would rather not continue. Finally, he says, “Aliens are here on Earth. They’ve been on Earth for thousands of years. They are a race known as the Bakari. The Agency was started by the Bakari to monitor and guide our activities.”
No-one says anything.
Mr Jones continues. “One day we’re joining the galactic club. We’ll be a fully fledged member of everything that’s out there. Until then they’re helping us develop technologies to get ready for that day.”
Still, no-one says anything.
“Mostly they leave us to our own affairs. They don’t want to interfere with our internal politics, but nor do they want us to destroy ourselves,” Mr Jones continues. “That would be a waste. They want us to help ourselves, which is why they started the Alpha Project. All of you were modified to make the world a better place. To help save us from ourselves.”
Mr Jones stops and studies our faces. “That’s about it. Does anyone have any questions?”
“I do,” Chad says. “Is there any pizza left over from last night?”
I ignore him. “How come no-one’s ever heard of The Agency? How could something like this be kept secret?”
“They have their methods,” Mr Jones says. “As I say, they like to observe. They don’t want to interfere.”
“But they were happy to experiment on us,” Chad says.
“For the greater good,” Mr Jones replies.
“And we’re orphans,” Brodie says.
He nods. “You were all chosen because your parents had died or abandoned you. Some of you were in orphanages. Some were in juvenile prisons. We needed children we could use for the Alpha trials -.”
“You mean guinea pigs,” Chad interrupts.
Jones levels a gaze at him. “You all signed paperwork consenting to the procedure. We needed teenagers because your bodies are still in a state of growth. Adult tissue, as the scientists involved in the project found, would not work. The adult test subjects did not survive.”
Brodie laughs hollowly. “We signed paperwork? But we have no memory of consenting to these procedures. How convenient.”
“I assure you we explained the process in full,” he says. “I’m told you were all most enthusiastic. And why not? You were promised powers far beyond those that any human has ever possessed.”
“You made us…superheroes,” Dan says as if he’s trying to assimilate this information one piece at a time. “And there are aliens on Earth. Do they have two heads? Are they grays like in the movies?”
“They look just like you and me,” Mr Jones says. “Identical.”
“And you operated on us…” Ebony says.
Jones nods. “The scientists in charge of the Alpha Project made you superheroes. The combination of drugs and implants were designed to react naturally with your own latent genetic abilities.” He looks at Brodie. “You were naturally fast and lithe, so you became even more so. Axel rated highly in terms of psychic abilities. So did Dan and Chad.”
“But I can make fire and ice,” Chad protests. “And Ebony can transmute substances. What sort of latent genetic abilities are those?”
“Those are abilities that have been long lost and forgotten,” Jones says. “Some of our ancestors had these abilities millennia ago, but these genes were disseminated throughout the gene pool. The Alpha Project reactivated those genetic markers.”
I shake my head. This is all too much. It’s crazy. It means I have no family. It means my name was stolen from me. It means I once agreed to be pumped full of drugs because I wanted to be some kind of…superhero. It means every human being has latent incredible powers. It means -.
It means there are aliens on Earth.
Aliens.
“So how did I end up in a seedy hotel room?” I ask. “What the hell went wrong?”
“Our security went wrong,” Jones says grimly. “An organization known as Typhoid infiltrated The Agency with the intention of killing all of you. You would have been killed, but a group of scientists, led by a man named Doctor Richards, secreted your group out of the facility to save your lives.
“They were uncertain as to whom they could trust, so they planned to reassemble once the crisis had passed at The Agency. Unfortunately, Typhoid was ahead of us and ambushed the scientists at a meeting. Most of them were killed.”
“Was that Doctor Richards in the hotel room?” I ask. “He was injured and died shortly after I awoke.”
Jones nods. “We believe he survived the attack and returned to the hotel.”
“Still,” Chad frowns. “We were abandoned in warehouses and hotels all over the city with no memories and no-one to turn to. That’s not much of a save.”
“For the scientists involved it was that or certain death,” Jones points out. “I’m sure you prefer their poor solution to no solution at all.”
I think back to the man on the floor of the hotel room. It all seems so long ago. Like it all happened to a different person. I almost ask Jones about the meaning of the book and the strange device we found inside it, except I remember Richards’ advice.
Trust no-one.
Some…at The Agency…will help you.
Some at The Agency will help us. That might not necessarily include Mr Jones. Or maybe it does. Regardless, the best way to handle this is quietly. Dan has displayed some psychic abilities. Maybe they will stretch to determining who is on our side and who is a traitor.
“So what happens now?” I ask.
“That’s a good question,” Jones says. “It has taken us some time to track you down. Now you have to come back to the facility to complete your training.”
“Really?” Chad gives him a mocking grin. “I like things exactly as they are.”
Jones does a pretty good job of containing his cool. If Chad has a superpower, it’s pissing people off. I agree with Chad and I still want to punch him in the face.
“You have all signed waivers,” Jones says. “You belong to us whether you like it or not.”
“I belong to me,” Chad says.
“We don’t want to force you back,” Jones says. “Twelve, in particular, wants you back to assist with a mission.”
“Twelve – what?” Brodie asks.
“He’s known as Twelve,” Mr Jones says. “He’s -.”
“Don’t tell me,” Chad says. “He’s an alien.”
“That’s correct.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
&n
bsp; “I hope it will not come to that.” The agent looks like he’s about to try a different tact when there’s a knock at the door. Dan jumps up to answer it.
“That must be the ice cream I ordered,” he says.
“You ordered ice cream for breakfast?” I ask incredulously.
“Absolutely,” he says. “You know, eat, drink and eat ice-cream for tomorrow we die?”
Brodie shakes her head in disbelief. “I don’t think it quite goes like that.”
Dan opens the door. One of the serving carts is sitting outside. The attendant has already gone. As Dan wheels it in I’m thinking how strange it is that room service has abandoned the cartload of food. It seems so unlike -.
Daniel reaches for the serving cover.
No!
The cart explodes.
Chapter Twenty
I have to say it is luck more than ability that enables me to get my shield up in time. It’s simply an instinct that makes me enable it just as Dan lifts the serving cover. Even then it’s not at full strength. In the split second that I see the burst of light emanate from the cart, I strengthen the shield.
Still, we are all thrown in all directions. At some point I am knocked out by the blast. Probably I’m only out for a few seconds. It seems longer. I’m still struggling to get to my feet when I realize Jones is helping me up.
He says something, but I’m still too woozy to make it out.
“Whassat?” I ask.
“You saved us, kid,” he says. “All of us.”
“Don’t call me kid,” I tell him. “My name’s Axel.”
Although it could be Frank or Joe or Bill or anything, really.
Who knows?
“Axel.” He clasps my shoulder. “Thank you.”
I begin to look around and only now appreciate the level of devastation. Whatever was packed into that cart was designed to blow us to kingdom come. Windows. Walls. Carpets. Everything is black and smoking or blasted into nothing.
Chad is helping his sister up. Brodie is walking around looking dazed. Dan – poor Dan – is picking himself up off the floor. He is still holding onto the handle of the food cover. Attached to the handle is about six inches of the cover. Where the food cart was is just a hole in the ground.
If I hadn’t become suspicious at the last moment -.
I shake my head. I don’t want to even think about it.
“Are you responsible for this?” Chad turns on Mr Jones. “Did you try to kill us?”
Jones shakes his head in disbelief. “You just don’t get it, do you kid? I’m here to help you. Save you.” For the first time Jones actually looks angry. “This was Ravana and his group. They’re going to keep on trying to kill you until they succeed. There’s only one way for you to survive this.”
“And how’s that?” Brodie asks.
“You need to come with me,” Jones says. “You need to get trained so you can fight Typhoid.”
“And if we don’t?” Ebony asks.
As far as I can remember, this is the first time she has spoken. She looks shaken from the explosion, but not weakened. I suspect there is quite a strong character residing beneath this quiet exterior.
“Then I can’t guarantee your safety.” Jones spreads his hands. “Look around you. Typhoid almost got you this time. It’s only because of Axel’s powers that we survived. And if you don’t care about your own safety, what about the safety of everyone else?”
I notice the sound of sirens drawing closer. I realize there must be debris from the explosion spread out over a radius of hundreds of feet. Maybe there are already injured or dying people on the street below.
Jones is right about one thing. Being located in the middle of the city is dangerous – for everyone concerned.
Strangely, it is Chad who speaks for all of us.
“Okay,” he says. “We’ll do it your way, but don’t think we intend to be your puppets.”
I give a laugh. “It’s hard to imagine you as a puppet, Chad.”
“Very funny.”
“We need to get out of here,” Jones says. The sirens are drawing closer. The police will be here in seconds asking questions that nobody wants to answer. “There is a van downstairs waiting for us. We’d best take the stairs.”
It turns out the stairs are not only a good option, but they’re the only option. The elevators are not operating since the blast. We encounter people evacuating the building on the way down. It’s eerily reminiscent of our attack on Ravana’s building, but this time we’re the ones getting evacuated.
A few minutes later we’re on the street. There’s a large delivery truck parked at the side of the road. A door is built into the side of it which seems a little strange; most of these vehicles only seem to open from the rear. A truck driver jumps out of the cab, rounds the vehicle and unlocks the door.
Peering at the outside of the vehicle, I turn to Brodie. “Looks like we’re travelling in style.”
“No doubt.”
Strangely, despite my sarcasm, the interior is exactly that. You’ve probably seen those amazing campervans that people have which are like little homes on wheels; they have lounge chairs, marble topped bench kitchens, oak wardrobes, television and DVD players. Everything is a little shrunk as if they expect the occupants to be escapees from The Wizard of Oz, but they’re certainly built for comfort.
This place is like one of those vans. Except it has no windows.
That’s slightly disconcerting, but we file in and attempt to make ourselves comfortable. It seems that Dan has an insatiable appetite. No sooner are we seated in respective corners of the van than he is searching through the fridge for something to eat.
“Really?” I say to him. “You’re hungry?”
He looks at me completely straight faced. “Someone blew up my ice cream.”
Can’t argue with that.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I look for somewhere to sit. There’s a place next to Ebony. I give her a slight smile and she nods slightly. I’m not sure what to say to her. We’ve been through a lot together in a short time, but I barely know her. I consider trying to act cool, but end up with dorky instead.
I hold out a hand. “Hi. I’m Axel.”
She looks at me as if I’m slightly mad. Maybe I am.
“Uh, yeah, I’m Ebony.” She seems stuck for words. “We’ve already met. Did you hit your head or -.”
“No, I’m just kidding around.”
Well, that exchange has worked just fine. Now she thinks I’m a crazy person. Yep, I’m a real ladies man. No doubt about that. I’m beginning to suspect I had as little success in my pre-hero life as I do now.
“How long do you think this is going to take?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I’m glad she’s decided to ignore my gawkiness. “Mr Jones said something about it taking several hours to get to the base.”
Ebony lets out a long sigh. She seems so fragile. It’s hard to believe she is part of this superhero squad. Typhoid seems pretty intent on killing us all. Maybe she would be happier retiring to a little town in the country and becoming a librarian. She seems that type.
“Maybe you won’t have to fight,” I say suddenly. “I mean, if you don’t want to.”
She looks at me, confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m just saying, well, you didn’t choose to be here and you might want out.”
Ebony frowns. “Where would I go?”
That’s a good question. It’s a big, bad wide world out there and particularly tough for someone with no family, no friends and no visible means of support.
Hell, where would any of us go?
Suddenly I notice a mark on the back of Ebony’s hand. It’s a burn.
“What happened to your hand?” I examine it. “Was that from the blast?”
She nods. “It’s okay.”
“You should have gotten it checked out.”
At that moment, Brodie comes over and sees me holding Ebony’s hand.
> “Everything okay?” she asks.
“Sure. I just noticed Ebony’s got a burn on her hand.”
“Really?”
I don’t like the accusatory tone in Brodie’s voice.
Yes. Really, I think. Why else would I be holding hands with her?
“You should get that checked out,” Brodie says.
“I will,” Ebony says. “I’ll get them to look at it when we reach the facility.”
Brodie shoots a look at me. I suspect she wants to hit me or something, but I have no idea why.
The following hours pass slowly. There are a couple of books in the van, but none of them are page turners. The television is still showing all the same old junk. It turns out the truck only has sleeping areas for two, so the rest of us simply crash out in the chairs where we’re seated.
Chad comes over to where I’m slouched.
“Got any ideas about where we’re headed?” he asks.
I shrug. “I’m not sure. Probably some sort of military base.”
“I think we’re going to South Carolina.”
“What’s in South Carolina?” I ask.
“There’s a major military base at Charleston,” he says. “It would be easy for an organization like The Agency to work in conjunction with the American government.”
“You think The Agency is working with the government?”
“Sure it is. Haven’t you seen Men in Black? Haven’t you seen all the conspiracy stuff on the net about secret societies and the New World Order?”
“You think the government is in on this whole thing?”
He shrugs. “Who knows? But I’m not trusting any of them.”
No argument there. “So you think we’re going to South Carolina? It’s hard to tell what’s going on from inside this truck. We could be sitting in a car park with the engine running for all we know.”
“You watch,” he says. “It’s Charleston.”
I nod. After a while I close my eyes and an indeterminable time passes. Finally I’m jolted into wakefulness. At first I wonder what’s brought me back to life from the land of nod, but then I know. The truck has come to a halt. No sooner do we look blearily at each other than the back of the truck starts to disengage. It slowly eases down into a ramp and we find ourselves parked in an underground facility illuminated by stark artificial lights.