Delta Green: Strange Authorities

by John Scott Tynes

  James sat quietly for a few heartbeats, then sighed.

  “There’s only one reason why Delta Green would have popped me free. This has something to do with aquatic humanoids, doesn’t it?”

  Stephanie stared at the road. “Yes. I’ve got evidence of probable hybridization among a squatter camp living at a toxic waste site up north.”

  “Then I’m in. Might as well get a few more notches on my belt before they lock me up.”

  Stephanie shook her head slowly. She’d been hoping against hope that he’d be antagonistic and would just tell her to take him back to the jail or drop him off at a hotel out of spite. Instead, she was stuck with him.

  “All right. The file is on the back seat. We’ll be on a plane in forty-five minutes and you can’t look at those documents while others are around. Read fast.”

  By the time the plane lifted off, James was sound asleep. He went under, just like that. He’d long since grown accustomed to grabbing sack time at a moment’s notice, in anticipation of hard work and long hours waiting up ahead.

  Restless, Stephanie kept glancing at him until she was sure he was asleep. Then she allowed herself a long, lingering gaze. He was handsome, even bruised as he was, but that wasn’t the only reason that she allowed herself the indulgence of sustained inspection. He fascinated her. She’d read some of his Delta Green reports before, been impressed by his acuity and competence—and, in the moments where it was least expected, his guarded sensitivity. She found it hard to reconcile the mental picture she’d built up months ago, poring over those files, with the man capable of the savage act he had committed the night before. Who was he, to possess such insight and yet such brutality?

  Stephanie forced herself to take her eyes off of him. She adjusted her seat back and looked at the ceiling of the plane. It was loneliness, she told herself; she’d been lonely for some time, her every attention focused on her new career. Last night the man sitting next to her had gotten drunk and horribly beaten a woman almost her age that he’d picked up at a bar. He was a monster, the kind of psychopathic freak that the armed forces seemed to draw out of the woodwork from time to time. That was all. She understood him, and could dismiss him.

  Yet still she turned her head, studied his face, until she caught herself doing it and closed her eyes.

  The EPA land rover bucked across the unsteady landscape, wedging its way through the grassy plains. The squatter camp by the FOST site lay somewhere ahead. Captain James flipped through the document folder in silence.

  “All right,” James said. “I’ve got the background. I’ve looked through this six ways from Sunday. There’s nothing here for Delta Green; what’s the score? Where’s your report?”

  Stephanie sighed and clutched the wheel. “There’s no report. Not yet. I just found the evidence this morning, and it’s not guaranteed authentic. I dropped email to Alphonse, and the next thing I knew I was on a plane to pick you up. I guess he was convinced by what little I had to say.”

  “So what were you doing on the plane down here? Why weren’t you writing up a report? For all you know we’re gonna get waxed in an ambush at the next turn, and whatever you’ve seen will die with you. That’s not the way we work. Not anymore.”

  “I’m sorry. I was disoriented. I’m not used to this stuff. I only got Delta Green clearance a few months ago.”

  James looked at her and whistled slowly. “Okay. I get it. You’re not a Delta Green agent, are you?” There was no such thing as “Delta Green clearance.” Not since the organization was disbanded in 1970. This lady was a friendly, not an agent, and didn’t know the score.

  Stephanie glared at him as best she could while she drove. “No, I work for the EPA. I told you that already. I’m not employed by Delta Green.”

  James was quiet. He’d have to be careful. This woman hadn’t yet earned agent status, which meant that he couldn’t assume much about her knowledge base or her willingness to comply with Delta Green procedures—which, by most standards, were pretty unorthodox. He’d have to play this assignment carefully. Normally, Alphonse would have briefed him going in, but his being in jail made that difficult.

  “Okay. No sweat. Just back up and tell me what made you contact Alphonse.”

  Stephanie exhaled a weary breath, glad to get onto comfortable ground. “These squatters are pretty well inundated with toxins, and they’ve been here long enough that they’ve got kids, families. It’s a way of life for them.

  “This morning, a child was born, a boy. They’ve got midwives, more or less. The child had gills, and was actively breathing through them—they weren’t just for show. His eyes and other characteristics match that of the hybrids.”

  “Okay. So what do you know about that? Why did you assume it was anything other than a birth defect brought on by the environment?”

  “Well, I didn’t. Not completely. We can’t rule that out as a possibility.”

  “But . . . ”

  “But, I got my Delta Green clearance because of a similar case earlier this year. I was investigating reports of toxin contamination in rural Massachusetts, and when I filed my report on genetic defects among the immediate population I was contacted by some Delta Green agents sent by Alphonse. They got me some lab tests I couldn’t have gotten normally in that time frame, and a lot of anomalies showed up in the subjects’ physiologies that I wouldn’t have known to look for. I was with the agents when they went into some of the sea-caves where the subjects were living. They were disenfranchised squatters, much like our current crew—post-hippy, semi-commune, poor as dirt. While we were in the caves, we encountered some of the amphibian humanoids that you seem to know so much about.”

  James was shaking his head. “Fuck, yeah, okay, I heard about this. I was out of the country when that went down. Otherwise, I would’ve been there, and you would have been on the first plane back to Washington so we could take care of it properly.”

  Stephanie felt her hackles rise. “Well, you weren’t there now, were you? Two of the three agents died. I got out, along with Agent Garrow. I saw those things. Alphonse showed me some of the files on them; your name was there.” She wasn’t keen to make compliments, but for some reason she couldn’t help herself. She managed to lower her voice into a faint emotionless whisper that gave away more than it concealed. “I’ve read your work. It’s amazing stuff.”

  “Yeah. Fat lot of good it does anyone. So the infant from this morning looked suspicious?”

  Stephanie exhaled. “Yes. I mean, I haven’t run any genetic tests yet, but I believe it’s the same phenomenon.”

  “Hah! Yeah, it’s a ‘phenomenon’ all right. Let’s see you call it that when it’s looking to slip you the big one. It’s like the old horror movies: Mars needs women, only it’s not Mars. It’s the fucking ocean.”

  Stephanie grew irritable again and drove faster. “Thanks for the insight.”

  “You’re welcome. So what’re the chances that what you saw this morning is just a birth defect?”

  “Pretty slim. Cases of gill-like slits are recorded, but functional gills that can breathe our atmosphere as well as underwater are pretty much unsubstantiated. I think it’s hybridization.”

  “I think you’re right. Good thing you were here. This shit doesn’t pop up every other Tuesday. Next question: these hybrids usually don’t manifest gills and so on until they reach adulthood. Why was this kid different?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible that the mother is a hybrid also, making the deviant genes more dominant. It’s also possible that the toxicity of the site affected the foetus, damaging the human cells and leaving the stronger hybrid cells to develop more rapidly. At this point, there’s no telling.”

  “Okay. Last question: how far now?”

  “Not far. Not far at all. But I’ve got a question.”

  “Hit me.”

  “Why the secrecy? I mean, I’ve seen these things. If half of what I’ve read in the files is true, there’s an entire civilization out there, l
iving in the sea. Why don’t we know more about them? What have they been doing all this time? Why are they a secret?”

  Why indeed, thought James. He could only reply with the unvarnished truth: “You aren’t cleared for that information.”

  Stephanie bristled.

  They made the rest of the drive in stony silence. James thought to himself: I didn’t mean that you weren’t cleared for that information in terms of status or rank. I meant that you weren’t cleared for that information psychologically. No one is. When the time comes, you don’t get briefed. You just get fucked. I can no sooner prepare you for that information than I can ask you if you’re self-conscious about that mole on your cheek.

  He checked himself.

  Now what the fuck made me think about that?

  They arrived at the squatter site scant minutes later. The site consisted of a population of about forty. Maybe half of those were transient; some might stay, some might leave. The other half were hard-core, had been there for a few years or longer, were eking out a subsistence living as best they could. They lived in tents, in shanty shacks, in groves of trees with sheets of rusted tin roofing hung from the branches overhead. It wasn’t exactly a utopian community; James thought briefly that it was more like a dystopian community. It looked like at any moment Mad Max might drive up in a souped-up post-apocalypse dune buggy and start bitching about getting some clean H2O.

  Stephanie took a chug from a bottle of Evian spring water. James chuckled.

  They parked by the EPA area. Stephanie and her two colleagues had set up on-site, since there was no motel in useful proximity. It was a little unorthodox, she had to concede to herself, but needs must.

  Their first stop after checking in was the site of the birth this morning. The mother, one Andrea NMI Cooper, was nursing her newborn boy. The child was pale, green veins showing through fragile flesh. He suckled hungrily. As he drank from her breast, his gills fluttered; he could breathe and swallow at the same time.

  “Well,” James said. “Would you look at that.”

  Stephanie crouched down by the mother. “How is he doing?”

  The woman smiled. “He’s fine. He’s beautiful.”

  “What’s his name?” Stephanie asked.

  “Jamile,” the mother replied. “After his father.”

  James perked up. “His father? Is he here?”

  Andrea Cooper shook her head. “He’s not from around here,” she said dreamily.

  “Where is he?” Stephanie asked.

  “He comes sometimes. With the tide. I met him on the beach.”

  James snorted. “I’ll bet.”

  Stephanie ignored him. “Tell me about him. About the father.”

  Andrea got a far-away look in her otherwise dull eyes. “He’s beautiful. He comes from the sea. He’s the son of nature.”

  “He’s not human,” Stephanie asked, “is he?”

  “That’s not important—not nearly as important as his loving soul.”

  James looked long and hard at the scene, then turned and stalked off towards the EPA tent. Stephanie lingered a few moments longer, then hurried to catch up. She found James at the tent going through a rucksack.

  He pulled out a large handgun, a Desert Eagle, and put a magazine into the handle. The gun was one of several things left by the courier that morning.

  “What are you doing?” she asked warily.

  James worked the action, checked the barrel, nodded with satisfaction. “.44 caliber abortion.”

  “What!” Stephanie exclaimed. “What the hell do you mean?”

  James looked into her eyes with what he hoped was a grim expression. His shell of cold, stern strength was, at times, taxing to maintain. “You made the right call. That kid is a hybrid. We’ve got to deal with him. Containment. Sanction.”

  Stephanie shook her head slowly, unbelieving. “That’s crazy! You’re going to just blow his head off? He’s just a baby!”

  James closed his eyes for a long moment, taking his time, lowering the sidearm to his waist. “You don’t understand.”

  “The hell I don’t! You’re going over there to put a bullet in his brain!”

  James nodded. “That’s right.”

  “That’s ridiculous! He’s a living being! He hasn’t even had a chance yet!”

  Feeling more confident, James looked at her coolly. “He’ll grow up like other kids. He’ll play Nintendo and throw a baseball. Twenty years from now, he’ll feel the call of the sea, the call of his father. He’ll change. He’ll transform. He’ll adapt to a life of water. He’ll regard humans as prey, or as a repository for his seed. Next time you see him, he’ll be chowing down on a runaway kid from Portland and waving his arms in the air, calling his crazed gods from the sea. They all turn out the same.” He started to walk off, towards the young mother and her son.

  “No!” Stephanie barked. “You could be wrong! I’ve seen the files. Maybe he’s got the blood in him, and maybe he doesn’t. Maybe his father is human, or mostly human. It could just be a genetic situation with no behavioral abnormalities.”

  “And maybe you feel like sticking with him for the next two decades, making sure that he doesn’t grow up to be a murderous bastard, making sure that he isn’t raping women like her to make more of his kind? Do you want that responsibility?”

  Stephanie was silent for a moment. “It’s premature. We need to do tests. This is my investigation, not yours.”

  James sighed. “All right. Fine. We’ll do your tests. Then, when they show what we both know they’re gonna show, I’ll kill him. I’ll make it quick. He won’t know what’s happening. But when we confirm he is what he obviously is, there’s no way I’m letting him live.”

  James put the safety on and returned the gun to the rucksack. Then he shook his head and spoke again. For some reason, it was important to him that she understand.

  “You think I like this? You think I like killing children? I’ve seen what he’ll become. I’ve seen what he’ll do. So have you. Things like him killed those agents you were with in Massachusetts. A cute face and a baby’s cry don’t make him human.” James stalked off into the trees.

  Stephanie breathed out slowly, sank to her knees. She was wracked with guilt: this morning when she’d first seen the boy, she’d felt the same way that James felt now. But now was different. Now, as soon as she saw James heading towards the EPA tent and knew what he was thinking, her first reaction was to protect the child. She knew better. But she couldn’t turn off her emotions like that. She just couldn’t.

  She wasn’t cleared for this.

  The waves rolled onto the shore. The coast here was cliffs and rocks, with occasional short strips of beach in between. To sea, the water stretched lonely to the horizon, bisected the golden disc of the setting sun. A cool, salty sea-breeze whistled through the rocks, made the grass at the edge of the sand rustle.

  Stephanie, James, and Andrea Cooper made their way through the grass, down the gentle slope, and towards the sand. Andrea held newborn Jamile in her arms, propped awkwardly against one shoulder. The boy had been crying during the slow walk from the squatter site, but when he got in reach of the sea-breeze, he suddenly grew quiet and content. James noticed. Stephanie didn’t.

  “Here,” Andrea said. “This is where he comes. My man. We’re in love.”

  James rolled his eyes in practiced fashion. Stephanie noticed, as she was intended to. She shot him a sharp look, and followed Andrea down to the small, sandy stretch of beach.

  Andrea took a seat on a rock, and began nursing Jamile.

  Stephanie paused, looked away to give them a moment of privacy, looked back, and then sat down on the sand beside them. James stood a few feet behind.

  “Andrea, how did you meet him? Jamile, I mean. How does he come?”

  The girl smiled vacantly. “He comes when the moon is high. I met him late last year. I called him.”

  “You called him?”

  James perked up at this and took the final few steps d
own to the sand.

  “Yes. I called him. I sang his song. Our song. Our song of love.”

  James knelt down beside Andrea, a look of wariness on his face. “This song. How did you learn it?”

  “From Henry, at the camp. He’s a wise man. He did my star chart, told me I was special, that I had a soul-mate who lived in the sea. A true son of nature. We belong together.”

  James’ brow furrowed. “Andrea, could you sing us the song?”

  “It’s too early. He won’t be ready to come until a little later.”

  “I know. But could you just sing it for us? So we can hear it?” His face was, Stephanie thought, surprisingly earnest.

  “Okay.”

  Andrea gathered her thoughts for a moment, then opened her mouth and began to sing.

  The sound was a caress, wordless, an ululating invocation that bespoke all the rich mystery of the sea. It sounded of whale song, of lullaby. It was the most beautiful sound Stephanie and James had ever heard.

  James fumbled inside his jacket and turned on his tape recorder.

  The song lasted perhaps five minutes. Stephanie and James scanned the surface of the ocean, watched for any sign of an audience. There was none. Finally, Andrea reached the end, the last notes cascading upwards into a plea.

  “That’s beautiful,” Stephanie said. “That’s—”

  Another voice rose and began to sing, the same song that Andrea had just sung. Only this voice was higher in pitch, a little ragged in tone, and possessed a curious, unsettling quality: it never paused. The voice never took a moment’s respite to catch its breath. It just sang and sang without the slightest halt. The effect was beautiful, but subtly eerie—humans are used to hearing pauses in a song.

  The singer was the infant boy, Jamile. Less than a day old, and he already knew the song of his father by heart. The effect of the newborn singing was surreal, almost shocking. There was a violence to its strangeness; a lie to its beauty.

  James tensed. Perhaps the boy’s song would draw the father from the sea early? But no—nothing occurred for the entirety of the song.