by S. A. Beck
Yuhle whistled. “How the hell does he do this stuff?”
“Ancient Atlantean mythos supplies vibrational energy as the source of their unique power. In theory, I’m guessing they possibly have the ability to affect the electromagnetic spectrum.” She shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t have a clue. But what if we could get a better understanding of the genes that make this possible? Do you know what that would mean for us? We could modify faulty genetic material with improved Atlantean genes. We could effectively cure cystic fibrosis and Down syndrome.”
Dr. Yuhle shook his head. He was frustrated with that gleam in Akiko’s eyes. It was a hungry gleam. She was so stuck in her vision that she couldn’t see how others might use the knowledge. “Think about it, Dr. Yamazaki. The US military is supplying us with a list of names of people like Zion Wilson, people who can read minds and throw cars. You might not think there’s something strange about that, but I do. They want these people for a reason…and I’m betting it isn’t to cure disease.”
* * *
APRIL 11, 2016, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
1:45 PM
Jaxon stood in the middle of the greenhouse, knowing she wasn’t supposed to be there, but she was unafraid. She needed an escape, and it was the only place on the expansive property where she knew no one would find her. They would most definitely be looking for her everywhere else.
She had been at Forever Welcome just under a month, and she was growing more familiar with her foes. Seventeen-year-old Lizzie Baptiste, the leader of the pack, was the worst of them. Then there were Lizzie’s emulators, adoring fifteen-year-old fans Beth Sharpton and Delilah Griffith. In the four weeks since Jaxon had arrived, the three girls had taken every opportunity to stir up trouble and push her around, from sly taunts to meetings in the public restroom.
The craziest part of the scenario was Lizzie’s reason for bothering her. Jaxon had discovered—after overhearing a dining hall conversation between Lizzie and crew—that the eldest of the group was infatuated with Dr. Hollis, of all people. Apparently, Lizzie had decided the psychiatrist’s interest in Jaxon’s assimilation into the school was too close a doctor–patient relationship for comfort. Dr. Hollis was sweet, and while Jaxon hadn’t had much respect for psychiatrists in the past as she had for him, she certainly wasn’t interested in him like that. She was in the awkward position of feeling she couldn’t go to the one person who would likely squash all the nonsense.
Jax had refrained from solving the disputes physically, but she was running out of self-restraint. She wanted to punch something. As her sprinting heart rate slowed to a normal rhythm and her breathing grew calmer, she let the vital energy of the growing things surround her and soothe her frazzled nerves.
“They’re idiots,” she muttered to herself. She wanted to use foul language and more apropos descriptions of the Cretans at the main house that were driving her insane with their immaturity, but she had gradually stopped using profanity after being at Forever Welcome for several weeks. Idiots was an apt enough term. Dim-witted, ignorant, slow to learn. She was sick of them, but she had two years to deal with them or people like them.
The rest of the residents barely paid her any attention. There were nine of the twelve- to fifteen-year-olds and ten within her own age bracket. The younger kids had far fewer freedoms than the older ones, and she rarely saw them other than during class and in passing during morning group therapy. The age brackets ate at separate times and had separate downtimes. Of the ten sixteen- to eighteen-year-olds, Jaxon had only one other nuisance besides Lizzie.
Delaney Houston, the pimply faced sixteen-year-old, had a crush on her, displayed with characteristic elementary school aplomb. If she was eating alone, he made himself a pest. If she was walking alone, he made himself a pest. He called her names and said she smelled funny and generally made himself a pest, but Jax could deal with him. A healthy dose of ignoring him was enough, after the first few weeks, to cut his ego down to size. He pretty much left her alone.
Lizzie and her ilk were the ones who seemed to have nothing better to do than torment her. Just as Jax had suspected, the minute word got out that she was taking advanced placement classes—as she knew it inevitably would—Jaxon was deemed the geek, the nerd, the weirdo. She was picked on for her size and her figure. She was too skinny. She was too stuck-up. She was the shrink’s pet.
“Ugh!” she growled. She hated it.
Jaxon sank to the mulch-covered floor and inhaled slowly and deeply. The greenhouse was inordinately warm, the heat of the afternoon sun intensified by the clear paneling of the glass framework. Perspiration beaded along her forehead and rolled down her dusty face. She licked it from the top of her lips. She smiled to herself, feeling more at peace and at ease in the lonely shed than she had since arriving—or since having her arrival fantasies dashed by the reality of Forever Welcome. The name was a misnomer. Those people didn’t want her there.
The greenhouse was about the size of her bedroom, and the walls were lined with two shelves, one high and one low, each holding potted plants. A large table dominated the middle of the small space with just enough of a pathway to circle the room, and a wire trellis extended from the tabletop to the framework of the roof. She followed the narrow mesh wall of trellis up and up to where buckets hung overhead, suspended from a sprinkler system.
Plants were on every available surface, and clay pots were home to aloe, pothos, and ferns. Planters were filled with pink and yellow flowering plants, and scarlet orchids climbed stabilizing sticks. An odd assortment of citronella pots was isolated from the rest of the plants along the wall farthest from the door. Their black plastic containers were labeled, and one group of plants labeled “Control” wasn’t as robust as the other.
Jaxon touched the chartreuse fronds. Like partial snowflakes, they branched off in rounded spikes, and the foliage gave off a lemony scent. The plants labeled “Praise” overflowed their plastic containers. The control plants had fewer leaves. She was curious to know what type of experiment was going on.
Jaxon dug a finger into the moist, loamy dirt. “What are you guys doing?” she murmured to the citronella. As she touched the earth, she again experienced the strange tingle she had felt the first day she stepped into the backyard. She felt it in her toes. Her skin seemed to spark with static, and she felt a rush of adrenaline. Then, right before her eyes, the plant began a rapid growth that stole her breath.
Jaxon stumbled back, alarmed. Mulch kicked up under her shifting feet as she hit the ground, landing on her rump. She looked up at the plant on the shelf and watched as it visibly stretched an inch taller, its leaves shaking subtly. “Okay, that wasn’t supposed to happen.” Her voice was breathless with amazement and fear.
There was no way to get around it with the evidence right before her eyes. Something Jaxon had known all along was becoming impossible to ignore—she was different. It was the reason the kids back at the residence, kids everywhere, gave her a hard time. She wasn’t like other people. She was smarter, stronger, and… more powerful?
Her eyebrows lowered over her heavy-lidded eyes as she shook her head. “This is just what I need,” she muttered to herself. “More reason to be the butt of everyone’s joke.” No one could find out. Like the fingerprints left in the table at the courtroom, like the fights she had won through sheer impossible strength, it had to be kept a secret, but another worrisome thought was beginning to take shape. Why? Why was she so different from everyone else? What was wrong with her?
Dr. Hollis ambled into the greenhouse intending to check on his plants, but when he saw Jaxon sprawled on the ground, he called out in alarm, “Jax! Are you all right? What on earth are you doing in here?” The psychiatrist bustled forward and helped her to her feet.
“I’m fine,” she replied too hastily. “I was just out for a walk, and I found this place.”
Anthony eyed her suspiciously and glanced at his watch. “No, Jaxon, you’re supposed to be in your bedroom. I got word from Ms. Bhati yo
u reported a headache, and she released you from class early. Hey, I’m no rocket scientist, but I don’t think the walk up the stairs to your room led you out here. So… why don’t you tell me what’s going on, and let me see if I can help?”
She bit her lips and looked around, racking her brain for an excuse, but none was forthcoming. Jaxon sighed and threw her arms up in surrender. “Things are getting out of hand up at the house, and I just don’t know where to go to get some peace,” she wailed, suddenly tearing up. Jax dashed the hot tears from her face and covered her eyes, taking deep breaths. She shook her head, pissed off for breaking down. “Look, I’m trying to do everything right, but it’s just not working. I’m scared I’m going to hurt somebody!”
“Whoa, whoa. Calm down. Nobody’s going to hurt anybody, and nobody’s going to get hurt. Take some deep breaths for me, and let’s get that anger under control.” Her vehemence threw him into protective mode. Anthony guided her to a clear edge of the lower shelf and let her rest her backside against the ledge. He studied her face intently, realizing Jaxon wasn’t the type to blow up over trivia. Something serious had to be taking place, and whatever it was, neither his teachers nor he were being let in on the secret. “What exactly is going on?”
“I’m no snitch,” she said fiercely.
Anthony fought the urge to roll his eyes. He sighed and perched beside her. He let the silence clear the air between them. When she was ready to talk about it, she’d talk. “This is where I go when I need quiet time and space, too, so I don’t blame you,” he said.
Jaxon peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Is all this yours?”
“No, I wish I could claim credit for it all, but it isn’t. Most of the flowers belong to Ms. Faye, the housekeeper. She likes gardening. The rest are waiting for the groundskeeper to plant them. That little grouping of citronella over there is mine, though.” Anthony’s roving eyes moved over his plants, and he sat up with interest. He pushed away from the shelf and strolled over to get a closer look. “Wow, look at that. This one has made a big leap since the last time I checked these little guys.”
“R-really?” Jaxon said in a shaky voice. “How do you know? I bet it’s just your imagination. Um, I mean, it looks the same to me.”
“How would you know?” He grinned at the plant, eyeing the fronds, fingering the pot, and turning it around for a different perspective. It had definitely grown. Anthony dug a tailor’s tape measure from the pocket of his wool slacks and held it against the plant. “Wow,” he said. “A whole inch?” He peered at the label again. It was one of the controls. Anthony dropped his head in disappointment. His experiment had failed, and the controls were catching up to the Praise plants. “Oh, well. I guess that’s that.”
Jaxon cautiously tiptoed closer. “What’s what?”
“Hmm? Oh, I was testing a hypothesis of mine, but it appears I was wrong and… science might be right. I, uh, I follow the works of a researcher named Emoto who posited that exposure to positive images could change the molecular structure of water. What I did was treat the water for the Praise plants with positive reinforcements, a daily prayer of thanksgiving for its benefits. I know. Sounds crazy.” He grinned sheepishly.
“Not really.” She shrugged. She could understand the psychiatrist subscribing to such a thought process, although it didn’t sound all that scientific to her.
“Anyway, at first my Praise plants were outpacing the controls, but now it looks like they’re catching up, more than likely negating any difference between the Praise and controls. At some point I’m going to have to stop chasing dreams. I mean, I don’t have any hopes this stuff will make it into a journal or anything, but I was just curious, I guess.”
Jaxon twisted her lips. “Maybe not. Maybe you need to keep going. That one could be a fluke.” She reached for one of the citronella pots, careful not to touch the plant itself.
“You might be right, but I don’t want to get my hopes up. Hey, what do you know about gardening?” Dr. Hollis asked. Gardening might be a great way to get her out of the house and away from whatever was bothering her.
“I’ve never done it before. I might have a green thumb.” She tucked her hands in her pockets. She might have more than a green thumb. She might have some weird, freakish powers that caused plants to grow an inch at the touch of her hand. Jax rethought her first response. “Or not,” she replied hurriedly. Knowing Dr. Hollis, he would try to assign her to the greenhouse permanently. “You know what? I’d probably kill everything. You’d better not let me near them.”
Anthony burst out laughing and shook his head. “What if I told you that you could spend some time in here every evening? I’ll get Mercado, the groundskeeper, to pull together some resources for you. You can have your own pots, soil, seeds. Of course, you’ll have to use some of your own funds to keep it up, but we’ll start you off. Does that sound cool?”
She had to admit, it did. If she got out to the greenhouse every evening, she wouldn’t have to put up with Lizzie’s meanness after class. Between five in the evening and nine at night when it was time for lights out, Jaxon had been confining herself to her room to avoid conflicts. Even if she didn’t touch a single seed or flowerpot, she could go out there and play on her phone or listen to her music.
A slow smile split across her face. “That would be fantastic,” she said. “When can I start?”
Chapter 7
APRIL 11, 2016, ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO
2:00 PM
Akiko used the access codes Yuhle had given her. He had to heavily flirt with a superior in order to get them. The sealed doors hissed open like the maw of a monster. Her assistant had confiscated the passwords to the only door in the basement where Akiko and her crew didn’t have permission to go. She crept through the opening. Her shallow breaths sounded loud to her ears, but she tried to move without making a sound. It was so cold in the room that each exhalation puffed before her face. She squeezed her arms around her slender torso and fought the chill, wondering why the basement freezer needed to be used in the research portion of the Poseidon Project.
Two security cameras were in upper corners of the room, but she knew to remain in the blind spot, and Akiko was sure she was beyond their range. The bulbs recessed in the ceiling dropped intense white light upon the slick, reflective linoleum and bounced off walls lined with chrome drawers. She had seen drawers like that before—they were freezers to hold the deceased.
“Why would they be holding on to the dead?” she said to herself. Akiko studied the printed labels on the drawer closest to her. Wilson, Zion—she recognized the name. “Oh no,” she whispered in shock. He was one of the patients who had tested positive for the Atlantis gene. When she had last seen the thirty-two-year-old man with the glacial-blue eyes and sable-brown skin, he was alive and well. “What have they done to you?”
Akiko had spent the better part of two months working with Yuhle and the team provided by General Meade, going through the thousands of names on the ever-growing list, and in all that time, she had found only six matches. She counted the labeled drawers—counted all six. Her heart hammered into her throat.
She eased open Zion’s drawer a fraction. The soft squeal of metal against metal made her stop. She could see the body within, but it wasn’t as she had feared. He didn’t appear to be dead. Akiko stood on her tiptoes and stared down at Zion, wondering about the attachments, the wires and electrodes tacked to his temples, scalp, and chest. She noticed the slow rise and fall as he breathed. No, he wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t just sleeping. He appeared comatose. She swallowed thickly and shut the drawer.
Her lips firmed in a straight, hard line. She could no longer ignore the obvious. Yuhle was right. General Meade was up to something terrible, and he was making her an accomplice in his dark deeds. Something had to be done, but what? Tears welled up in her heavy-lidded eyes, and she sniffed, trying to suppress the sound. The place was so silent, the quietest intake of air had hurricane force. Akiko shook her head veh
emently. Her time with the facility was up. She had to get away from the place.
She crept a little deeper into the room, hoping to see as much as she could from her vantage point without being caught on camera. The rest of the empty freezer drawers stretched along the wall before giving way to an open area where six sealed vats stood, gauzy creatures floating within, all in various stages of development. Akiko covered her mouth in horror. What were those creatures, and what were they doing there?
She braved the cameras. Akiko tiptoed forward. The vats were transparent cylinders the height of a man, and the creatures were enmeshed in a gossamer, membranous substance submerged in clear fluid. Akiko squinted her eyes. She saw legs, hands, and misshapen skulls. Some were embryos of some sort, but they weren’t entirely human—they were a hybrid species. Their skin was translucent, and their veins were throbbing beneath. Their hair was pale white or silver. Their limbs were longer and skinnier than those of humans. They were smaller. The largest of the creatures looked like an undersized adult and stretched its placenta in a languid sweep of arms and legs as it turned to face Akiko, almost as if it sensed her presence.
Akiko’s heart throbbed. The rumors were true. There was something sinister going on at the research and development center, and she was disappointed to realize she was a part of it, but she determined to find out everything necessary to shut the place down. The adult creature opened its eyes and “saw” her.
Akiko stumbled back, shaken to her core. She had to get out, but she had legal obligations there. She couldn’t just walk out of the building and run to the nearest reporter and spill her guts. She had to act wisely. The more she knew and the more she learned about the Poseidon Project’s true purpose, the more leverage she would have. Akiko reached into the side of her pants where she had duct taped the small, thin cell phone she snuck past Starke’s security team earlier in the day.