“Pretty much the same as the others.”
He wished there had been something different, something good for a change. Instead of chunkies, maybe a bundle of cash in large denominations. He’d fantasized about such things since his teens. If he had to have a psychic power, why couldn’t it have been something useful? The ability to predict the future or do Jedi mind tricks would have been cool. Instead, he’d been given the inglorious and embarrassing ability to create sticky, shit-colored blobs in his sleep.
“I’ll have a full analysis done to be sure it’s the same as previous manifestations.”
The chemical makeup of chunkies was as unusual as their appearances. They were composed of small amounts of various elements and compounds; nearly a third of the periodic table was represented. Among the exclusions were the naturally radioactive and synthetic elements. Although the fundamental building blocks of life were present, chunkies betrayed no evidence of ever having been alive.
“About my fee,” Aiden said. “How about four hundred this time?”
“Three hundred per manifestation has been our agreement.”
“Inflation.” He put on his best pleading face. “I really need it.”
Jarek sighed. “All right. Just this once.”
The Doc had money to burn and had paid generously since their first encounter. Aiden had answered an innocuous website ad, one of U-OPS’ clandestine efforts at trawling for individuals with authentic psychic abilities. The researchers, in addition to studying his chunkies, had subjected Aiden to tests and procedures aimed at having him create manifestations while conscious. That hadn’t happened. The best he’d done was make one in his sleep last year, during an all-nighter in the lab. Despite needing the money, of late he’d grown tired of being a guinea pig and had been avoiding further testing.
“So, Aiden, you claim this is an emergency? Did something else of a psychic nature occur?”
“The thing is, my niece has been having these nightmares. She had one the same night I made this chunkie.”
He had to remind himself that Leah wasn’t really his niece, not by blood anyway. Nor was Darlene his real sister. He still found it difficult to get a handle on that new reality.
“And you think there’s a connection?”
Aiden shrugged, waiting for Jarek to go on.
“I’m afraid I have little familiarity with children’s nightmares. And I’ve never encountered evidence to suggest a genetic basis for psychic powers. There’s simply no data to indicate it runs in families. Therefore, I strongly doubt she inherited your manifestational ability.”
“So you never worked with kids,” Aiden probed, observing Jarek closely.
“No.”
“How about babies? Ever work with them?”
Jarek frowned. “Aiden, I’m afraid you’re losing me. And I fail to see how any of this constitutes an emergency.”
He decided it was time to dispense with the small talk and get to the real reason he was here.
“What about Tau Nine-One? They experimented with babies and psychic powers, didn’t they?”
Jarek raised his eyebrows. “Where did you hear about that place?”
“Came across it somewhere. What do you know about the experiment?”
“Very little. My understanding is that it ended decades ago.”
“Yeah, when the babies were eighteen months old.” Aiden paused. “And it’s no coincidence I happen to be twenty-nine.”
Jarek’s surprise was palpable. “You believe you were one of those babies? A quiver kid?”
“A what?”
Jarek hesitated. “I shouldn’t be talking about this. Technically, I could be in violation of national security documents bearing my signature.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t. C’mon, Doc, what’s a quiver kid?”
“I don’t know.”
Aiden scowled.
“I’m telling the truth. Those babies were referred to as quiver kids but I never knew details of the experiment, nor the rationale for that nomenclature.”
“So tell me what you do know.”
“First answer a question. What makes you think you’re one of them?”
Aiden brought him up to speed on the events of the past few days, including sharing the main points of his father’s letter. When he finished, Jarek wore a deep frown.
“I had no idea. You were the right age, of course. But U-OPS did a thorough background check and there was no indication you were adopted. There was nothing to connect you with that place.”
“My parents kept a lid on it.”
Jarek got up and retrieved a water bottle from a mini-fridge beneath the credenza. “Would you like one?”
“No thanks. What about Tau Nine-One?”
“In its current configuration it’s been around since 1991. That’s how it got its name. Tau is the nineteenth letter of the Greek alphabet. Ergo, Tau Nine-One.
“The site was originally an early-twentieth-century mining camp with a railroad line built to service it. Gold and silver had been discovered, but the veins played out quickly and the mining camp went bust.
“In the early 1950s it was taken over by the government and reconstituted as a support facility for the Pinetree Line, a joint US-Canadian initiative. Pinetree was one of the first early warning systems to guard against an ICBM sneak attack by the Soviets. A series of radar stations were constructed farther north, around the Canadian border.
“The site’s function as part of Pinetree didn’t last long, however. It was shut down by the late Fifties. A few years later, the DOD retasked it into a storage depot for extra ordnance: artillery shells, grenades, what have you. But in the late Eighties, environmental groups learned about the explosives and campaigned to have them removed. The DOD eventually gave in and removed the ordnance. They were in the process of mothballing the facility when something happened.”
Jarek sat down and took a hearty swig of water before continuing.
“Naturally, the site had been classified since the Pinetree years. But in 1991 it acquired its new name and disappeared from regular military and Congressional oversight.” He paused. “It entered the shadow realm.”
“And you have no idea why?”
Jarek shook his head. Aiden believed him.
“What about the other quiver kids? My father’s letter said there were seven of us.”
“All born around the same time, a year or so after Tau Nine-One’s inception. However, yours is the first evidence I’ve heard to suggest that the experiment was related to psychic abilities.”
“Do you know the identities of the others?”
“No.”
“Why did the experiment end?”
“Same reason your father mentioned in his letter. Some higher-ups at the Pentagon or White House got wind of it.” Jarek’s face darkened. “Illicit human experimentation, I’m sorry to say, occurred far too often throughout the Cold War years and even after. I suspect the powers-that-be were mortified by the possibility of a public relations disaster if word leaked out.”
Aiden could envision the headlines: Pentagon Conducting Secret Tests on Helpless Babies. The outrage would have been potent, maybe enough to bring down an administration.
“I found some information online,” Aiden said. “Tau Nine-One is run by DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. A website that tracks secret government programs claims they work on advanced chemical warfare. But another site says its real purpose is to build the next generation of robotic combat systems.”
“It’s possible neither of those is true. A black facility like that might employ an aggressive disinformation campaign, leak false clues to cover up its real function. The tactic is quite common.”
“Another strange thing. There aren’t any roads leading there, and only a few fire trails in the general area. Access is either by helicopter or by a private train that shuttles workers to and from the nearest town.”
“That alone should indicate its level of secr
ecy.”
“So if a former guinea pig shows up on their front stoop, you don’t think they’d welcome him back?”
Jarek’s frown implied that Aiden was insane for even suggesting such an idea.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to storm the ramparts. But one way or another, I’m going to find out what was done to me in that place. Can you help? Make some inquiries?”
Jarek squirmed in his chair. “I’m sorry, Aiden. I can’t. It would only serve to put me under the microscope and invite unwanted scrutiny.”
“Afraid that the guys in the black SUVs will haul you away for a waterboarding vacation?”
“That’s not quite how it works. But if I were to be investigated, U-OPS could suffer political fallout. Tau, Area 51, various cyberwarfare efforts, other highly classified programs – we all compete for funding. There are constant behind-the-scenes power plays to gain larger shares of the black ops budget. U-OPS is a tiny player and we’ve already undergone steep cuts. I can’t risk further economic vulnerability.”
“OK, so how about just pointing me in the right direction? I’ll keep your name out of it. No one would ever know.”
Jarek warmed to the idea and scribbled a name, phone number and Baltimore address on a note and handed it to Aiden.
“A friend and former colleague. I don’t believe he was involved directly in the quiver kids experiment. But he was definitely at Tau Nine-One during that period. He might be willing to talk. Off the record, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“By the way, have you given any more thought to our last discussion? The current research downstairs is quite exciting. I’d love to have you involved again.”
Jarek’s desire to have Aiden back within the U-OPS fold was the reason he’d been given the colleague’s name, as well as the higher fee for the chunkie. The Doc wanted reciprocation.
“Sorry, but I can’t be a lab rat for you right now.”
Jarek looked disappointed. Aiden threw him a bone.
“But after I get this Tau Nine-One business figured out we can talk some more.”
“Fair enough.”
Jarek ushered him to the receptionist’s office. He peeled $400 in twenties from a lockbox in the desk and handed it to Aiden. At the front door, he had a final warning.
“Be careful. What your father said in that letter is correct. Tau Nine-One is dangerous territory.”
“I’ll watch my ass. Oh, and have fun with the new chunkie. Just don’t try making toast.”
TEN
Aiden called the number Jarek had provided when he was back in the car and on his way out of Georgetown. A woman answered. She said her husband was at Towson University in suburban Baltimore and gave him that number. After ping-ponging through an automated phone tree, Aiden reached his quarry.
Dr Edward Marsdale had retired from the university but remained a professor emeritus in the geosciences department, where he specialized in stratigraphy, the study of rock strata. He still maintained an office on campus.
Aiden kept the reason for his call vague, saying only that he was a friend of Abel Jarek and that he’d like to discuss a science project. He thought that was fuzzy enough to get him through the front door.
Marsdale was agreeable. He’d finish his work at the university by four pm and would meet Aiden at a small café near the campus. Aiden arrived at Towson early and killed time in a parking lot doing more online research from his phone. But he found no new information on Tau Nine-One.
At the café, he took an outside table amid a handful of young couples. He spent the next ten minutes nursing an iced coffee and observing pedestrians and bicyclists in the outdoor shopping plaza across the street. They appeared to be mainly college students.
A tall, sprightly man in a light jacket and jeans strode toward the café. Thinning gray hair peeked out from under the edges of a Towson Tigers football cap. He spotted Aiden and broke into a warm smile.
“Mr Manchester?”
Aiden rose and shook the extended hand.
“Ed Marsdale. Sorry I was a bit delayed.”
“No problem.”
Marsdale sat down across from him.
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Aiden said, still trying to come up with an inoffensive way to dispense with the fiction of wanting to meet about some innocent science project.
“My pleasure. Abel’s an old friend. We met as undergrads at Princeton although I was two years ahead. How do you know him?”
“We’ve been associated for the past several years.”
“Associated? That’s rather vague.”
Aiden hesitated, debating whether to mention U-OPS. He had no idea how much, if anything, Marsdale knew about the secret agency.
“The two of us worked together on a project.”
The professor chuckled. “I’m guessing you’re talking about what goes on in that basement lab of his in Georgetown.”
“You know about that?”
“I know nothing. I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of any such laboratory.”
The abrupt shift to a serious tone left Aiden momentarily confused on how to respond.
Marsdale released a hearty laugh. “I’m pulling your chain. Honestly, I don’t know what Abel does, only that much of it’s classified.”
Aiden felt guilty for lying about his reason for being here. Marsdale had a warm and open demeanor. He decided to drop all pretense.
“Listen, Professor, I have to tell you something that–”
“Call me Ed.”
“Ed, there is no science project. I mean, there is in a way, but I kind of got you here under false pretenses.”
Before Marsdale could respond, a waitress appeared. The professor ordered a small salad and bottled water. Aiden, who’d skipped lunch, opted for a chicken sandwich and fries.
“Well, now,” Marsdale said after the waitress left. “So what is this about?”
“The Doc said you might be able to help me with another matter.”
“And that would be?”
“Tau Nine-One.”
Marsdale’s face underwent a subtle change. Candor gave way to guardedness.
“What exactly has Abel been telling you?”
“Not much. Just that you were there.”
“More than twenty years ago. And my work remains classified.”
“Understood. I was just hoping you could give me a little background on the place. Nothing that would violate a security oath.”
“Let me guess. You’re writing a book or an article. Or planning a documentary on America’s secret military installations.”
“I’m a quiver kid.”
Marsdale’s eyes widened.
“I’m trying to find out what was done to me, how and why I was experimented on.”
For a moment, Aiden had the feeling that Marsdale was going to get up and leave. But the retired geoscientist settled back in his seat with a wry nod.
“Over the years, I’ve found myself wondering what happened to the seven of you. For a time, my wife and I had even considered being one of the adoptive parents. But she got pregnant and that put the kibosh on the idea.”
“All of us found homes?”
“As far as I know, although I wasn’t privy to the details of the adoptions. All I know is that the people in charge wanted the babies to be raised in emotionally stable environments by caregivers with high IQs.”
Aiden nodded. That criterion certainly fit Byron and Alice Manchester.
“Do you happen to know your color?” Marsdale asked.
“My color?”
“You weren’t given traditional names. Instead, each of you was designated by a specific hue. I thought then, as I do now, that the idea of color-coding babies was demented. Of course, I suppose the same might be said for the whole experiment.”
“Green,” Aiden whispered slowly. “That was my color.”
Another piece fell into place. He told Marsdale about his recurring dream.
“Sounds like you might be re-experiencing facets of early memories. Feeling that you’re in a prison cell, the bars rising above you, those three giant faces above peering down at you. Maybe you’re an infant in a crib.”
Aiden was astonished. The idea made perfect sense. He was surprised it hadn’t occurred to him earlier and said so.
“You could have been too close to the problem to see the obvious answer,” Marsdale offered.
“Are memories from such an early age even possible?”
“That sort of thing might be more up Abel’s alley. But some theorists believe that with the right stimulus, individuals can recollect primal sensations and images from very far back, even pre-birth.”
“If I’m reliving actual memories, why is everything green?”
“Perhaps because Green was your name, the word that your infant mind heard uttered numerous times. Later in childhood, when you developed sufficient mental acuity and came to understand the more general meaning of the word green, your subconscious made a connection, fused those two things together. When you dream, that fusion becomes prominent. Your early name, Green, becomes synonymous with the color green.” Marsdale allowed a faint smile. “Just a theory, you understand.”
It sounded plausible to Aiden. “The dream always ends with a woman’s voice that says, ‘Singularity beguiles, transcend the illusion.’ Does that phrase mean anything to you?”
Marsdale shook his head.
“Do you remember me as a baby?”
“I do. The seven of you were mostly sequestered in a special area but the researchers apparently wanted at least some degree of normal socialization. The five or six nannies who cared for you around the clock occasionally brought you into the cafeteria or other public areas.” Marsdale smiled with the recollection. “Many of us got a kick out of watching seven curious babies crawling and toddling around.”
“And what was being done to us when we weren’t being socialized?”
If Marsdale sensed the bitterness in Aiden’s words, he didn’t show it.
“I don’t know what the experiment was about, just that it supposedly was considered groundbreaking. But I have no idea of its purpose. We were told repeatedly that you weren’t being harmed, that the research was totally innocuous.”
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