The Killing Collective

by Gary Starta

  Dr. Katherine Blake, a bright, young biochemist had been warned about the committee’s capricious nature long before she presented her argument to launch a synthetic drug she called Hyzopran.

  “This, gentlemen, is much more than a drug. It is a way to transform soldiers into killing machines one hundred percent of their time in the service, without any second thoughts or after-effects. I know that may sound fantastic on first consideration, but let’s take a look at the facts. We expect each and every enlistee to be a killing machine when emerge from training. They are to receive and carry out orders without hesitation, without fear, and without having to come home feeling like murderers. But that is simply not a realistic expectation. We’ve had to accept that a percentage of our soldiers will wash out from battle fatigue, P.T.S.D., and various other psychological impediments. We’ve had to admit that we are unable to transform soldiers into assassins without paying a life-long price.”

  Dr. Blake began a video presentation depicting one of the many human subjects helping to test the drug. The soldier practically leapt through the air in his relentless pursuit of an Afghani prisoner intentionally allowed to escape a detention center as part of the experiment.

  One board member turned his eyes away from the screen.

  This is not a depiction of war. It’s a slaughter! The soldier is crazed, not in control of himself. Anything could happen with a drug like that in a real conflict. And what about the legal implications? My God, what we spend now on behavioral care is a drop in the bucket compared to what we’d have to pay for psycho-pharmaceutical side effects, permanent damage, or death.

  It wouldn’t matter if we poured years and millions into its development; you never know what’ll happen with a drug. I don’t care if her study purports a 100% efficacy on every subject. There is no such thing. I’m opposing it; I don’t even want to hear any more about it. It’s far too dangerous.

  ***

  Completely unaware that several members bristled or looked away while it played on in a continuous loop, Dr. Blake plunged ahead, going boldly forward with her presentation.

  The victim’s dying breath, his wasted attempts to shield himself from repeated stabbings, and his needlessly gruesome death was captured in high definition by a drone camera. “Notice our test soldier suffers from no distractions. He displays not one ounce of guilt when he slaughters the enemy.”

  Blake purposely pushed her black-framed eyeglasses further back on the bridge of her nose, in a nonchalant act of clinical detachment. Her boss and mentor, Clayton Artemus Montgomery taught her that using this psychological tool would make her appear emotionless and very, very smart while presenting her argument.

  Less than an hour ago, he’d been giving her last minute instructions. “If you should be turned down, let it go, and start working on a new project. Accepting set-backs and going back to the drawing board are the stuff of champions. Every failure is one step closer to success. Remember that, Katherine. These old gents can smell desperation a mile off, so keep your cool. You are a scientist and a seasoned professional. Stick to the facts; they speak for themselves.”

  With a final pat on the back, Monty sent her off to win the JASONS’ approval. He bit his nails and waited in silence outside the boardroom.

  Chairman Karl Watson met Blake’s direct, impersonal, gaze. “We are all very excited about your proposal, Dr. Blake, and enjoyed your presentation immensely. While we believe Hyzopran would be an expedient measure, unfortunately, not all of us agree that its implementation would be wise from a business standpoint, for the following reasons:

  1. We could not approve further research and funding simply on the strength of the data resulting from one small study done over a limited period of time and on so few human subjects.

  2. To prove that this drug is safe and effective over time, widespread clinical studies conducted over several years and vast amounts of data would be required.

  3. We’d need assurance that it is not addictive, won’t cause any side-effects and that no physical or psychological issues would occur after discontinuation of the drug.

  4. The real problem with the use of a drug to control behavior is that no matter how much testing is done there’s always a long list of side effects and disclaimers when one is finally approved.

  5. Where there is no sickness, we cannot condone the use of a pharmacological remedy.

  6. Ordering military personnel to use it would be a monstrous misuse of authority.

  7. This project would cost much more money and take far longer time than we care spend on the issue, and in the end, there would be massive legal snags and ramifications even if it, by some miracle, it was ultimately approved.

  “Dr. Blake, we seek a far more predictable and less expensive solution to this problem without having to worry about lawsuits and settlements. I’m very sorry.” Watson sighed. “We hope to see you at our roundtable again, presenting many more ground-breaking ideas. Because we value your work so highly, Dr. Blake, at this time, our lone dissenter would like to speak briefly about his reasons for not sanctioning this project.”

  Katherine was stunned. Her mind began to move in slow motion.

  What? The project is canned? One dissenter? One?! I’ve got to change his mind. I’ll have one shot at it when he’s done speaking. If I can make him understand the sheer magnitude of lives that can be saved for our military, he’ll change his mind.

  Lost in thought, Blake didn’t notice Bill Pressman rise. He had stunning, ice-blue eyes which made her think of blue glaciers. His hair was a thick, brilliant, shiny silver. He rose from his seat at the head of the table to introduce himself. Unbuttoning his blue-gray jacket in a smooth, swift motion, he took his seat once more.

  “I would like to begin by thanking you, Dr. Blake. I know you’ve put a lot of hard work and more than a few years of your life into developing this drug and conducting the initial study. This committee applauds and appreciates, to an inestimable degree, your motivation for and dedication to its development. I am truly sorry that I do not see a future in which any human being, civilian or military, should be subject to behavior modification by a drug unless they’ve been diagnosed for an illness requiring it. Even then, the patient has a choice. Yes, we’ve sometimes had to resort to its use in extreme situations of interrogation, but certainly not as the norm. We cannot invest time and money on a product which is inevitably unpredictable. The drug is supposed to provide soldiers with limitless amounts of confidence and self-control, but what I see in this video presentation is a soldier consumed by viciousness and aggression and who has absolutely no self-control. That frightens me, Dr. Blake. We like your idea, Dr. Blake. We just feel there are other, less costly and more controllable and predictable ways of achieving the same goal. When we do decide to move forward with this project, we’d be pleased to offer you a place on the R&D team.”

  Kate was astounded.

  Have they already heard another presentation and decided that one was more viable? Wouldn’t Montgomery have known about another team? I don’t understand what’s happening here…

  She raised a hand. “Mr. Pressman, the data bears out the assertion that the benefits of the drug far outweigh any of the risks you mentioned. Hyzopran works. Right now, this is still the best solution for a problem that is growing and will only get worse over the years. Then there’s the cost of a lifetime of aftercare.

  “These religious wars and jihads have been going on for thousands of years, and they’ll go on for a thousand more. Constant exposure to extreme brutality committed in the name of religious fundamentalism is emotional suicide. The things soldiers see, the things they have to do, every experience follows them home.

  “The number of deaths due to hesitation or battle fatigue has the potential to go down by as much as seventy percent and more. Dollars saved on mental and emotional healthcare for veterans will drop to almost nothing. Until you figure out a way to fight wars without using people, the next best thing is to help them do their j
ob more effectively and efficiently and without lasting emotional effects.

  “This drug is ready to go right now. It can be studied while it’s being used. Soldiers can be invited to volunteer for trials, understanding all the benefits and possible risks, and decide for themselves if they want to participate. We’d ask them to sign a legal waiver. This is war, Mr. Chairman, and we can’t continue losing good men and women without trying to help them with everything we’ve got, and what we’ve got is Hyzopran.”

  Pressman shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Blake. It’s out of the question. Technology can take us where drugs can never go. We already have someone in mind, Dr. Blake - Corey Holt. Dr. Holt contributed, in great part, to the precursor of Google Glasses. His eyewear allows soldiers to see many spectrums of color and light, including infrared and U.V. Our soldiers can now see the enemy coming, Dr. Blake, and that makes him a lifesaver. He’s working on something now that will have one hundred percent efficacy, can be externally controlled and terminated at any time with no risk whatsoever. Technology is in, Dr. Blake, and Big Pharma’s out.”

  “Is it a weapon, sir?”

  “It’s an implantable Nano-chip that will have the exact same effects as the ones you described, Dr. Blake, with one exception – we’ll have absolute control of the thoughts and feelings experienced and remembered.”

  Dr. Blake was horrified. “You must see that even if you received permission from volunteers, what you’re proposing is nothing short of hijacking a body and brain. A drug wears off. Nothing is left behind. Doses can be adjusted. But once you can control a brain through technology, free will is essentially gone; even if you don’t abuse the power, the power is there. You decide how it’s programmed, and you choose whether or not to remove the Nano-chip. Once it’s installed, you’d have unlimited access and control of that brain and body. Until its death. It’s not a step forward, Mr. Pressman, it’s insanity.”

  Pressman flushed. “You don’t believe we have a conscience. I assure you, we do. The details have already been worked out and approved. It will work, and it will open the door to a new solidarity among Americans. A new understanding. We plan to move on this as soon as possible. You can join us or watch from the sidelines, Dr. Blake; the choice is yours. Thank you for your time, and good luck to you.”

  ***

  Montgomery raked a hand through his hair. “Have you forgotten everything I ever told you?! Have you completely lost your mind?! Whatever their decision, whatever their plans may be, you had no right to sound off like that. You don’t realize who you’re dealing with, Kate. This is not some small-time, rinky-dink non-profit organization that doesn’t have the power of decision, the brains to make a better mousetrap or the money to fund you. For God’s sake, these are the big boys, and you blew it! In a situation like this you thank them for their time and consideration, keep your mouth shut, and let me take it from there. Jesus Holy Christ, Katherine! You’ve made an accusation they can’t ignore, and that’s dangerous for both of us.”

  Kate raised an eyebrow. “This whole thing came out of left field, Mr. Montgomery. Who is Corey Holt, and why are they convinced his magic dream machine is also a magic bullet? Did you know anything about this before today?”

  Montgomery scrubbed at his chin. “I did not. Holt is a genius, although his motives are often less than humanitarian. Holt likes to live large. I’m pretty certain he cares more about his patents than his inventions. Oh, he likes to create things all right, and he certainly enjoys the power trip, but he likes the money much more. I don’t think he’d lose any sleep over an invention like this one. His main concern will be in retaining the patents on his inventions so the royalties keep rolling in long after his service to the Meese Corporation ends.”

  Blake looked straight down at the ground. “Do you think there’s any chance at all of repairing the damage done today and getting another chance to change their minds?”

  “No, Kate, I don’t think so. You pretty much called Mr. Pressman a Fidel Castro with mind control technology. The project is scrapped. It was funded by Meese, and all your intellectual property belongs to them. If they ever decide to use that idea, they can. And they can have someone else do the research and testing.”

  “Oh no they won’t, Dr. Montgomery. All my notes are at home in my safe. I’ve never used their computers, and I have the only copy of the presentation. I’m going home to burn it all, right now. Let’s see them recreate the drug without the formula.”

  After she cleaned out her desk and left, Dr. Blake’s sole focus was on the destruction of her research. She forgot there was one vial of the prototype still locked away in the Meese lab.

  ***

  At home, Arleen Montgomery stood at the top of the stairs, grinning suggestively at her husband. “Wipe that glum look off your face, sir, or suffer the consequences.”

  “I vote for the consequences, my incorrigible girl! What’s my penalty?”

  After all these years, Arleen could read him like a book. She knew he’d had a rough day as soon as he walked in the door, so she tried her best to divert him. He let her.

  “I suppose the punishment should fit the crime. Perhaps a spanking, for starters…”

  He rubbed his hands together in anticipation and bounded up the stairs two at a time. “Oh, I’ve been baaaad, verrrry, verrrry baaaad. I should be punished!”

  “Come here, my bad, little boy. I’ll show some tricks even your geniuses don’t know.”

  As distraught as he had been earlier, he blossomed in the light of Arleen’s love. Her very presence affected him deeply. She lived in her own universe, floating along in a bubble incapable of being burst. And she carried him along with her. She was the only one he trusted to navigate rough weather and lay him down softly on the ground.

  He pulled her to him, and holding her by the upper arms, planted a long, sensuous kiss on her lips. Finally, he pulled away, looked at her face and choked up. It was a moment he’d never forget.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Present Day…

  Like the fall storm brewing outside his office window, Deputy Director Fischetti’s thoughts were scattered and blew every which way, leading nowhere. Tension strummed the muscles on the back of his neck. Pigeons and seagulls dashed themselves against the huddled together on the window sill.

  You guys have it good. I rather be subject to the whims of nature than the whims of man and government.

  Fischetti liked order. Routine was comforting. Predictable. He looked at his watch.

  Shit.

  It was Friday evening. He should have been on his way home to Long Island by now, relaxing in the Corinthian comfort of a Lincoln Town Car that picked him up and took him home every day. He looked forward to seeing his usual driver, sipping a rare and wonderful scotch whiskey and staring out at the night as Segovia softly serenaded in the background.

  As he waited for U.S. General Breen to arrive, Fischetti thought about the verbal lashing he was about to receive. He just wanted it over with; it had been a rough week. Even sitting on the Long Island Expressway in gridlock was preferable to this, but Fischetti had his orders, so he waited and worried.

  He’d had been instructed to provide almost no details of the Michael Santiago arrest to the media, but that was impossible in a world permanently plugged into the web. Internet videos that captured Agent Deeprose leaping onto the suspect’s getaway car like some kind of giant bat went instantly viral. He had the authority, of course, to pull them down, but it was too late; the damage was done. Fischetti snatched up several sheets of waste paper, crumpled them into a large wad and squeezed.

  The ping of a text informed him that General Breen was on his way up and that he should clear his office of all ears but their own. That part would be easy. Even Liz had already gone home. He tossed the squashed mass of paper he’d been squeezing into a waste basket and braced himself.

  Breen walked in, ignored Fischetti’s proffer
ed hand and took a seat in front of his desk. He cut right to the chase. “I just got in from D.C., Deputy Director. It’s late, I’m tired, and my request is short and sweet. I want the investigation of the museum killings, and any other related murders, kept quiet. My main concern is this vial you confiscated. Once your lab I.D.’s it, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the rest of it.” The general leaned heavily into the backrest of his cushy, leather chair and sighed.

  “On whose authority?” Underneath the large rosewood desk, Fischetti began to flex his right fist. Something was going on, and he wanted to know what it was. “The last time I checked, the D.O.D. was not in the business of conducting murder investigations.”

  The general stared out the wall-sized window behind Fischetti. “I’m not at liberty to provide you with that information.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Look, there’s a hell of a storm brewing out there. My advice is to bend with the prevailing wind, and right now the prevailing wind is coming straight out of Washington D.C., so do what you’re told, son. In any event, the law is clear. The D.O.J. and the D.O.D. play nicely together when they have a shared interest.”

  “I can’t tell my lab team to halt all further analyzation without an explanation of any kind.” Fischetti rose from his seat to pace. “That’s going raise an immediate red flag, sir. If you can allow us some time to find out if this drug is linked with our murder investigations, we can stop any more from happening.”

  “I fully understand your concerns, Deputy Director Fischetti, but your role in this investigation is clear; you will provide the D.O.D with whatever it requires. This is a highly-classified investigation, therefore, you will have your lab, voluntarily, hand over the vial and all existing data regarding it. If it helps you sleep at night, remember, this is in the interest of national security.”

  Fischetti wasn’t giving in that easily. He had his agenda, too. “I need more than that, General. I’ll agree to keep our lab findings under wraps, but unless and until my superiors order me to stand down, this is still a local investigation in my jurisdiction. I have a responsibility to this city and the families of the curator and security guard.”