The Atlantis Girl

by S. A. Beck

  He hurried off through the archway of his office and into the corridor that led to the staircase and entry foyer. Jaxon followed the psychiatrist through the front corridors of the great house. “There are currently nineteen residents, with you included. This is a coed facility, with males dorming on the west side of the house and females on the east, but residents eat together.”

  “Who supervises the dining hall? You said you were short-staffed.” She was anxious about meeting the other residents. She wasn’t in the mood to answer invasive questions or socialize or fend off taunts. The thought of dining with her peers took away her appetite entirely.

  Dr. Hollis had a long-legged stride her shorter legs had trouble matching. She lagged behind as he zoomed ahead. “No, it doesn’t quite work that way here. There is an appointed resident assistant for the boys and one for the girls, and the RA maintains order during dining. The common areas of the facility are under video surveillance at all times. But you’ll find this isn’t an unruly lot. They’re just like you, kids trying to mind their own business and get out of here.” He coasted around a corner and waited for her.

  “Let’s remember I was sent here by the courts,” Jaxon quipped dryly.

  He chuckled. “They’re not bad, Jaxon. I promise you, you’ll get along fine. As for live-in staff, that would include the groundskeeper and the two housekeepers, who have cabins on grounds, as well as myself. The director is in the office every weekday from eight to four. We also have a rotating security staff. Previously, I had two interns working under me, but budget restraints being what they are…”

  Dr. Hollis gestured to the set of white double doors, grasped the brass door handles, and shoved them inward. “Right through here.” Sighing, Jaxon braced herself.

  The dining hall wasn’t exactly what Jaxon had imagined, based on the decor of the rest of the house. She had pictured a long dining table crowded with chairs. Instead, she saw five round mahogany tables with four upholstered chairs at each. The dining hall was on the east side of the house and overlooked a rustic covered patio. Beyond a wall of windows was another seating area outside on the patio, presumably for eating outdoors on a sunny day like today.

  A few other residents were already seated around a table near the middle of the room. They looked up when Jaxon entered, and she wanted to shrink into herself to avoid their interest, but the two teenage girls and boy quickly returned to what they were doing, eating and conversing quietly.

  Jaxon shuffled her feet at the threshold, not particularly ready to enter. Dr. Hollis looked back and caught her wandering eye, beckoning her forward. “You’ll have to sign in first. Swipe your card here under the touchscreen.” He pulled her over to a computer and tapped it out of sleep mode.

  Jaxon dug the card from her pocket and ran it under the flickering blue light beneath the flat screen just beyond the double doors. “Excellent,” said Dr. Hollis. “Over there along the main wall is the longboard table. For each meal, the chef prepares and lays out the buffet. You pick what you like, but we discourage waste around here. Please select only what you know you’ll eat. Seconds are permitted, depending on availability, but you don’t look like you eat more than a bird,” he teased.

  Jaxon blushed and followed him over to the assortment of covered dishes on the longboard. On the wall above the repast was a chalkboard listing the menu options. The day’s dinner fare included pasta with meat sauce, meatballs and spring greens or vegan pasta, and sautéed mushrooms and spring greens. Several dessert choices were listed along with drinks ranging from green tea to soda. Beside the longboard was a crate of dinner plates and silverware.

  “Think you can handle things from here?”

  She smiled bravely and nodded. Jaxon refused to be defeated by a bout of nerves. With a resolute sigh, she grabbed a plate and selected a few items, ambling to an empty table and sitting down to eat. She had her folder to peruse. That would discourage anyone from talking to her. “One day down,” Jax muttered to herself. Two years to go.

  Chapter 3

  MARCH 14, 2016, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

  8:00 PM

  Anthony Hollis lived at Forever Welcome in an apartment annexed to the back third story of the main house. As evening deepened to night on the day new student Jaxon Ares Andersen had arrived at the group home, he shut off the lamp in his office and bundled up the stack of folders he had been working on. Anthony hurried up the two flights of stairs to his room. The doctor had a lot on his mind, or rather one thing in particular on his mind—a particular person—and that was Jaxon.

  He had been blown away by her intelligence quotient, but there was more to the girl than secret genius. He had seen her files, and he knew her history. The pint-sized fighter was a force to be reckoned with. At her last school, in a fit of anger, she had broken the surface off a student’s desk with nearly impossible strength as a result of an adrenaline rush. Anthony hoped he didn’t have to deal with anything like that at his facility.

  Anthony had his share of gifted students come through the doors of Forever Welcome. He had long felt there was a connection among high intellect, lack of intellectual stimulation, and delinquency. Still, he had never encountered quite such a brilliant mind.

  Anthony closed the door to his studio apartment and strolled across the living room area to his wrought-iron bed. He dug around in his pocket for his cell phone, which was nowhere to be found. He rifled through the pile of papers on his nightstand. The phone fell to the floor and skittered under his bed, and he got on his hands and knees to dig it out so he could make a call.

  Anthony needed a second opinion. In fact, he needed a listening ear in general. “Did you get her results, Brady?” He shifted the phone to the other ear and sat on the edge of his bed, kicking off his scuffed leather shoes and putting his feet up to settle in and chat. Brady Welsh was a trusted friend and fellow psychiatrist. If anyone would know what to do with the girl, he would.

  “I watched the video you sent over, yes,” Brady said. “I’d have to agree. She’s definitely sharp. Have you considered putting her in advanced placement and college courses? She might benefit from the challenge. I can’t imagine a girl with her mind suffering through a high school curriculum.”

  “I thought about that. Plus, frankly, I doubt if my teachers are up to her speed.” Anthony chuckled and loosened his tie. He had also taken her through some psychological tests, the results of which bothered him more than he cared to admit. “She also shows signs of having paranoid delusions, worrisome inner dialogue. I thought maybe I should start her on something to stabilize her mood a little and—”

  “Oh, Tony, every teenager I know is a little bit insane. Don’t get bogged down with the technicalities, and stay away from drugs. We tell the buggers just say no, and then we shove the pills down their throats. No, no, that’s not the best course of action. From what you emailed me about her history of multiple foster homes, it’s a wonder she’s as well adapted as you’ve indicated. Now, about the aptitude tests, I’d be happy to re-administer when you’re ready.”

  “Of course that depends on funding, I’m afraid.”

  “Always funding. Well… and your personal hobbies with Emoto’s less than scientific pursuits? How have your experiments been coming along with studying molecular changes to water molecules?” Brady teased.

  Anthony smiled sheepishly. He had a personal preoccupation with the studies of Masaru Emoto, the late, great Japanese researcher and author who had studied the effects of human consciousness on the structure of water molecules. According to Emoto, bombarding water with positive thoughts and words could literally change the quality of the water. Polluted water would be made clean, and the evidence was in the snowflakes. Water molecules exposed to positive pictures, music, and words would result in more symmetric, visually appealing crystals than those exposed to negative thoughts.

  “It might be pseudoscience to you, but I think I’m onto something. I have pans on the window ledge as we speak. Now, it’s nothing t
hat would hold up to peer review, I guess, but you have to admit it’s an interesting hobby. I’ve been reciting a simple poem of praise to the water every morning. This is my third batch.”

  “Eh? Uh-huh, and what happened to the first two batches?”

  “W-w-well—” Anthony sputtered as peals of laughter spilled from the phone. “Ha! Don’t laugh, old buddy. Like I said, it’s an interesting hobby. I’ve been using the water to nurture a few plants in the greenhouse, and I can tell you the control plants aren’t doing nearly as well by comparison. Care to see pictures? I could send them to you.”

  Anthony smiled to himself as the conversation drifted to more personal concerns. He had a very demanding job. Forever Welcome often required his presence twenty-four, seven. He didn’t mind, because the reclusive psychiatrist had an interesting network of coworkers and friends he kept in contact with via telephone and the Internet, but he rarely met with others in person.

  Anthony Hollis, psychiatrist extraordinaire, had nearly crippling social anxiety. He preferred socializing with his pans of water, his plants, and his residents at the comfortable, cozy group home to socializing with others. However, it helped to have friends he could call on when he wanted an outside expert opinion. “All of this is in strictest confidence,” he reminded Brady. Neither one considered that there wasn’t much privacy in a phone call that could be tapped, recorded, and traced, or in an email that could be hacked. Their deepest truths were exposed, and they were none the wiser.

  As they bid their farewells and made plans to chat again after the rest of Jaxon’s testing was complete, Anthony got off the phone feeling he had accomplished something. He pulled out his laptop computer and got to work preparing her class schedule. FW had several private tutors who provided assistance with online classes, but he didn’t think any of them would do. “No, Jaxon, I’m afraid you’re on your own in this.”

  He chewed on the base of his stylus and continued plotting what her days would look like for the rest of the school year at Forever Welcome. She had come in on the tail end of spring semester, but he was confident she wasn’t behind. Anthony followed Brady’s advice and signed her up for online AP courses. When he finished creating the necessary log-ins and activation codes, he put aside his computer and prepared for bed.

  It was demanding work and lonely work, but it was rewarding. He couldn’t wait to see how the wildflower Jaxon Andersen would fare under his tutelage and care. Anthony Hollis was more excited than he had been at any other point in his career, and it had everything to do with his new charge. She was special. And it was up to him to get the world to recognize that.

  Chapter 4

  MARCH 15, 2016, ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO

  7:45 AM

  On a Tuesday morning one month into the project, Akiko Yamazaki was still getting used to the harrowing process of getting on campus at Starke Genetics & Development in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

  Akiko wasn’t a very young woman anymore, but she wasn’t a very old woman, either. She was thirty-nine, and she had a life outside of her time-consuming research and professorial work at the university. Somewhat reclusive, she had an apartment near the university campus and was allowed to return home after her meeting with General Meade to pack her things for the temporary move to New Mexico. Asked if she would be willing to move into the compound to take part in the special operations General Meade wanted to recruit her for, Akiko had declined.

  She was afraid of disappearing in the compound. She much preferred to clock in and out every day like everyone else. It was bad enough she had to relocate.

  At an outer gate, her vehicle was required to display a windshield sticker, and she had to flash her ID badge. At the inner gate, security checked her vehicle, an assessment much like getting frisked by TSA at the airport. Finally, a number of access codes and card swipes later, she was allowed to walk into the building.

  Officially, the name of the place was Starke Genetics & Development. It was an ordinary steel and glass building used for ordinary scientific research. Unofficially, Akiko was working on top-secret government research. She wasn’t allowed to talk about it, write about it, or even think about it off grounds, and it all had to do with her prior projects delving into ancestral DNA analysis.

  “Tell me how it works again?” General Meade had been inquisitive the first day they met.

  Akiko had explained, “In the simplest terms possible, much like scientists can tell a lot about you from your DNA, scientists can also tell a lot about your parents from your DNA. Now divide that by generations and generations, and one can quite accurately pinpoint your ancestral origins. What I do is forward track. I start with the ancestors and decode their DNA to understand more about older civilizations.”

  “Doesn’t seem like there would be much use for that kind of thing in this day and age.” He chuckled. General Meade was a technology man, himself. He liked his futuristic tech and gadgets. What the doctor was talking about was ancient history. “More specifically, tell me about your current project.”

  Akiko blushed, reluctant to lay it all on the line. Her colleagues had already scoffed at her. Very few at the research university where she held tenure understood her work, and those that did felt she might be barking up the wrong tree, but she heaved a sigh and attempted to explain to the general what she wanted to do and why it was important.

  “There is much use for it in this day and age. For starters, analyzing the genetic differences between ancient civilizations and comparing them to changes across the population today yields valuable information about some of our rarest genetic disease, mutations, and marvels. For example, some are genetically predisposed to Alzheimer’s while others are not. Have you ever wondered why? I have, and I know—theoretically—why. It all traces back to our ancient origins.”

  “Your current project, though?” General Meade prompted. He hated doctors. They got so consumed with spouting on about their special interests that it was impossible to keep them on track. But he needed this particular doctor. No one else could do what she was doing. He was well aware of that because he had scoured the country for someone with her expertise, and she stood out like a diamond in the rough.

  “My current project deals not just with ancient but also with extinct civilizations. Now, you might ask how we can even obtain modern DNA samples from civilizations that are extinct. After all, there wouldn’t be any descendants, right However, what we can do is study those from the same general geographical area. In 2001, I worked on a project studying the genetic material of the Nahua people of Middle America in attempts at finding evidence of links to the Aztecs. Essentially, it’s incredibly difficult to wipe out every single person of a population. The Aztec culture was wiped out, but some Nahua ancestors were likely a branch who survived the Spaniard invasion.”

  “I see, I think.”

  “So you see, studying modern populations, accounting for migrational patterns over centuries, allows us a starting point to trace back to ancient, even extinct civilizations. But why the sudden interest, General Meade? I’m not in the habit of playing nice with government agents in black cars—men in black. I’m not sure I can trust you.”

  “What you can trust,” he said casually, “is that no resource will be spared in getting you every single thing you need to successfully research and document the genetic material of the population you’re seeking. You realize that without our help, it might have taken you a lifetime to find a handful of participants to study, right? But with my help, you’ll be riding the crest of success in no time.”

  “I haven’t told you which population I’m seeking, General…”

  “I know these things, Dr. Yamazaki. It’s my job to know.”

  The black sedan had left the university campus and traveled to an airport in Arizona before flying her to a secret government-run facility in Utah. There, she sat in on a meeting with General Meade and several other officials, including the intelligence analyst who had compiled “the list.” The meeting las
ted several hours, little of it concerning her, but at length it was Dr. Yamazaki’s turn to speak. When she stepped to the podium, she felt the urgency of the situation. If she could convincingly outline her project to these important men, it could mean the difference between success and failure.

  Akiko wasn’t idealistic. She understood her research required money, and she understood that, sometimes, getting the money to do her research required holding hands with less than desirable friends, like General Meade. That said, she would be his friend and use his resources to conduct her research. In the back of her mind, she wondered again why the military would be interested in her results.

  “Ancient civilizations… today. The two concepts seem at odds, but they’re not,” said Akiko. “Popular culture still maintains an avid interest in ancient civilizations as evidenced by all the movies, books, and music about such extinct peoples. I am an anthropologic geneticist, not a movie director, however. My own interest is with a very specific ancient civilization, one some say never existed at all. In 360 BC, Plato first referenced a debatable lost city, the domain of Poseidon, an island nation in the Atlantic Ocean populated by a powerful race of advanced people.”

  The gentlemen murmured as they began to discuss the implications of what they thought she was about to say. The terms Plato and lost city were dead giveaways. Akiko braced herself for the backlash.

  “Continue,” said General Meade, shushing his companions.

  Akiko took a deep breath and blurted out, “The Lost City of Atlantis. Plato’s tale has long been believed to refer to the destroyed Minoan civilization, an equally advanced and sophisticated culture. Atlantis might even be fiction and have never existed. Or the real Atlantis might still be visible today as the Azores islands, believed to be the tip of the submerged city. Frankly, I’m not here to theorize the original location of the City of Atlantis. I am here to discuss a particular genetic study which put Atlantis on the map for me.”