Unidentified Phenomenon

by Damien Benoit-Ledoux

  “Cool or not, what you’re about to see is top secret, Blake. You cannot tell anyone except Quinn what you will see and learn here today.”

  “I can tell Quinn?”

  “Yes, but only Quinn. I have hopes that he will change his mind about the work we do here. You have an important role in helping him understand why he needs to align his ambitions with ours. There’s too much at stake for him not to. I trust you will learn why today.”

  The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. Victor led him into a brightly lit, white-walled lobby with a reception desk at its center. The young Hispanic woman seated at the desk, wearing a black dress blazer over a white blouse with a silver necklace and matching earrings, smiled and nodded at him. She was pretty, and Blake couldn’t help smiling back at her.

  “Mother Superior will be arriving shortly, Abbot.”

  Abbot?

  “Ah, thank you,” Victor responded. “The young man and I will be in my office.” Blake couldn’t tell if Victor wanted to hear that news or not.

  “Very well.”

  They walked around the desk to a door with a red-ringed control disk. When Victor waved his hand in front of it, the red ring turned green and the door slid open. Victor led Blake through the door into a long, white hallway with a number of doors dotting its length on both sides. At the other end, beyond a set of open doors, Blake recognized the antiquated metal gates of an elevator.

  That must be the old elevator that goes down to the control room Quinn and I discovered…

  As with the first security door, Victor unlocked his office door with his hand and they stepped inside. It was a modern, minimalist, and windowless office.

  Blake gave the spacious, rectangular room a quick glance and chuckled. “Of course,” he muttered, smirking.

  “Something amusing?” Victor asked, gesturing to one of the couches. He chose to sit in a black leather armchair.

  “Oh, sorry. It’s just…everything in here is black and white. Your suit…I’ve never seen you in anything other than black and white.”

  “Ah, yes, it’s a choice; a stark reminder of the organization’s principles. There is evil and there is good; black and white. There is no room for gray. It also makes getting dressed in the morning easier because it removes a set of unnecessary decisions from my life.”

  “Uh-huh, and who’s Abbot?”

  It was Victor’s turn to chuckle. “We’re less of an agency or organization than an order, so to speak. Abbot is my title. Think of it like military rank such as commander or captain. I would be the captain if this were Star Trek.”

  “Okay, but isn’t abbot like, a religious thing?”

  “Well, yes, and you’ll hear similar terms used to describe our organizational hierarchy. I am the abbot of this facility, which means I’m the one tasked with its operation and maintenance.”

  “Does this order have a Vatican?” Blake asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Yes, it does actually, but we refer to it as the Citadel. As the bond of trust grows between us, my superiors may allow you to visit the Citadel. Its location is highly classified. Even I’m not quite sure where it is.”

  “Uh-huh. So, you’re a global para-military organization disguised as a religious order? What about the woman at the desk, does she have a religious title?”

  “You mean Valentina? She’s the receptionist, Blake.”

  Blake shook his head. “I’m confused.”

  “I’m just teasing. She is the Librarian for this facility. She may look like an ordinary receptionist to you, but she handles vast amounts of research data for The Order. I believe she’s up for promotion, however.”

  “Why all of this weird, archaic stuff for an underground energy thing?”

  “Would anyone believe you if you told them you worked for a para-military religious order of mysterious monks and nuns concerned with global security?”

  Blake laughed. “Of course not.”

  Victor smiled. “Now you know why we’re structured the way we are.”

  Well, that makes a lot of sense, actually…

  “Okay, so this Mother Superior person is not a nun, then?”

  “Most definitely not,” Victor answered, shaking his head. “Her real title is the Hegumenia. She is the regional leader of The Order for the Northeast. We simply call her Mother Superior. I’m not really sure why, to be honest.”

  “All right, so I’m here. I came. Explain to me what all of this does and how I fit in.”

  “Very well. You’re currently on the Control Sub Level, or Sub Level 1. Beneath us is the Reactor Sub Level, or Sub Level 2. I believe you already know what’s down there.”

  “Yeah, I do,” he responded.

  “This is the prime facility which means it was the first of its kind, built after the death of Wilhelm Reich and the transformation of his home to a museum. The house above us is called Orgonon, and the name stuck. The facility adopted that name to honor him, but it was not built with his knowledge. I’ve told you this part, so I’ll skip to what we do. This facility uses the original technology enhanced with slight modifications to harness orgone energy from the atmosphere and organic matter, such as trees, animals, even humans. We can collect the energy, convert it to a tangible form, and store it. We can even focus the stored energy and saturate objects with it.”

  “That’s what you do in the reactor…you saturate objects with orgone energy?”

  “Well, as I told you and Quinn, we used to. Today we’re more focused on translating that energy back into the environment in a controlled manner using the above ground equipment such as the CloudBusters you found.”

  A knock at the door distracted them. “Ah,” Victor said. “That will be Mother Superior now.” He stood and went to the door, ready to greet her.

  Blake sighed, his brow furled. This gets weirder by the minute.

  11 | Superior Complex

  Quinn

  QUINN PEDALED UP SOUTH STREET to the police station where Chief Applegate was supposed to make an announcement in conjunction with the five o’clock news. Track had run over that afternoon and he hoped he hadn’t missed anything. A large crowd had gathered and overrun the parking area while various news crews and their vans inconveniently parked along Junkins Avenue and the lot across the street near Leary Field. Chief Applegate, several Portsmouth officers, two state troopers, and a number of people in business suits walked out of police headquarters and made their way to the press stand. Good, I’m just in time.

  He noticed a number of black SUVs that looked like movie-style unmarked cars of the FBI or CIA. Quinn pedaled into the police station’s driveway and cycled around until he found a spot that allowed him a decent view of the podium. Among the gathered reporters, he spotted Camilla Brenhurst, the reporter covering the Blue Spekter story. I wonder if she would be an ally or if she would cut and run with whatever story she could get from me?

  Chief Applegate tapped one of the microphones and the small speaker system they had set up produced a thump-thump sound. Satisfied it was working, she addressed the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us this afternoon. Today, I’m here to update you on the vigilante or unidentified phenomenon situation that has arisen in Portsmouth and if I can, answer questions you may have. Joining me on the stand today is representation from the Portsmouth Police Department, the State Police from the Epping Troop A Barracks, and agents from the United States Department of Homeland Security, or DHS for brevity, with representation from the National Protection and Programs Directorate and the Office of Intelligence and Analysis.”

  Good lord, did they need to bring in all these reinforcements? I’m surprised the military isn’t here yet. It’s not going to be easy to be a superhero around here anymore. I need to sit with Mr. St. Germain and get my powers worked out soon.

  “First and foremost, we ask the media and any official news reporting organization to refrain from propagating the unofficial popular name Blue Spekter and refer to the person
in question as an unidentified phenomenon until such time as his or her intentions can be verified.”

  Quinn saw several reporters roll their eyes, but they patiently waited for the chief to finish her briefing.

  “Secondly, to any law-abiding citizen considering vigilantism, we urge you to refrain from such behavior because hero worship only serves to undermine police operations. Acting as a vigilante and pretending you are above the law or impervious to physical harm can and will have dangerous consequences. You will also inadvertently put yourself and other people in danger.”

  Quinn sighed and shifted his weight, folding his arms across his chest.

  “And thirdly, to the person, man or woman, young or old, who interfered with the emergency situation on the Memorial Bridge and the potential suicide bomber in Market Square, please stop. As I already said, though we believe at this point in our investigations that your intentions were aligned with our police and emergency responses, you are not trained to respond in crisis situations. I will now take your questions.”

  The reporters shouted a cacophony of questions at the police chief, who sighed and pointed at the reporter directly in front of her. They shushed themselves, so they could listen to the first question.

  “Thank you, Chief Applegate. While it is important to address the safety of concerned citizens, how do you account for the confirmed, visual fact that Blue—sorry, the phenomenon—flew through the air, twice.”

  “I do not have an answer for that.” She pointed to the next reporter.

  “Chief, what does the presence of DHS in Portsmouth signify?”

  “Portsmouth is a strategic harbor both economically and with regard to the U.S. Navy and the Coast Guard. Nuclear submarines are in port, and Seabrook Nuclear Station is not far away. It behooves us to coordinate our efforts and form contingency plans with those agencies and DHS.”

  “Contingency plans for what?” another reporter shouted.

  “Plans that detail how we might defeat and detain the unidentified phenomenon should he become hostile.”

  Wow, Mr. St. Germain was right. These people are terrified of me. What the heck can I do to win them over?

  Camilla Brenhurst spoke up next. “Chief Applegate, why don’t you ask to speak with him to find out what he stands for?”

  Huh, now there’s an idea…not that I’d do it with all those officers around.

  “And how do you propose we do that?” the chief asked, shifting her weight to her left leg.

  “Ask him on television, right now. I think it’s safe to assume he’ll get the message. Or maybe he’s standing among us listening to this press briefing. Regardless, I would interview him if you won’t.”

  Wow, she’s got some guts.

  Someone on the DHS team stepped forward as Chief Applegate’s eyes widened with surprise and realization. She pointed at the reporters and frowned at them. “That's a negative to private interviews with the phenomenon, is that clear?”

  Quinn eavesdropped when the agent whispered into the chief’s ear. “Cut the briefing. They’re reaching out to him via the broadcast.”

  “That’s all for now, thank you,” the chief said. Then, she and the other officers and agents made their way back to police headquarters. The reporters shouted more questions in frustration, but the chief didn’t turn around.

  Slowly, they disbursed as camera crews reset for their post-briefing reports that would broadcast live via the parked satellite-ready news vans.

  Quinn watched Camilla walk away from the gaggle of reporters to a spot not far from where he stood. Her cameraman approached and secured his camera on the tripod he had set up before the briefing. Quinn decided to eavesdrop with his super hearing.

  “What was that all about?” he asked.

  “I want this story, Phil. I need Blue Spekter to know he can speak with someone if he wants to help get his story out. There’s also the added career bonus of being the first reporter to interview a potential superhero. That has to come with an award somewhere.”

  Is she sincere or selfish?

  “I hope you didn’t make yourself a target.” That crazy bomb guy yesterday might have inspired other lunatics…let’s hope no one thinks coming after you will draw him out.

  “Are you kidding? DHS is going to have me followed from here on out. If he comes to me, they’re gonna know about it. They’re probably tapping my cellphone right now.”

  “Station says you’ve got five minutes,” Phil said, pointing to his headphones.

  “All right. Just enough time to clear my thoughts and put a report together.”

  Quinn looked away, focusing on some bystanders leaving the police parking lot. I have no idea if I’ll ever talk to you, but it’s nice to know someone reached out, even if they’re thinking about their own gain.

  ❖

  Blake

  A middle-aged woman stepped into the office and stopped when her eyes set upon Blake.

  “Mother Superior, welcome,” Victor said, bowing slightly at the neck.

  “Abbot,” the woman answered firmly, her hands clasped in front of her. She wore a black dress with black pearls and simple, matching earrings. She had short, shiny, and spiky jet-black hair and she wore dark red lipstick. She carried no purse, and her medium-length high heels click-clacked on the strange, metal-laminate floor. She carried an air of intensity about her that intimidated Blake.

  Blake felt underdressed, noting his red Converse sneakers, blue jeans, Green Lantern T-shirt, and unzipped maroon Clippers hoodie brought way too much color to The Order.

  “Hi,” he said, waving, remaining seated.

  She looked at Victor and took a deep breath, then exhaled it slowly. Blake looked at Victor, who shrugged and ignored her strange glance.

  Mother Superior walked to the chair Victor had been sitting in and sat down, her feet together in front of her, hands flat on her lap. Blake got the sense she was all about decorum and formal process. Victor walked to the other side of the couch Blake was on and sat down.

  “So, young man, you wish to join The Order?”

  “Ah, no?” Blake looked at Victor and then back at Mother Superior. He decided to play hard ball. “Lady, I only found out about you today, let alone this whole Order thing you belong to.”

  Mother Superior’s face exploded with silent insult. “Why has he not been primed prior to our meeting?”

  “Mother Superior, with respect, you’re several weeks early. Blake only recently decided to consider a relationship with us.”

  “My schedule is not your concern, Abbot. The Archimandrate is very interested in the accident your sloppiness encouraged.”

  “What the hell is an Archimandrate?” Blake asked. Also, she’s really mean.

  Mother Superior stared at him with disbelief. Victor cleared his throat and winked at Blake with the eye Mother Superior couldn’t see. “That’s her superior, Blake. A small number of people at that level make up our the Archimandrion or governing council. They’re, um, like generals.”

  “So, that council doesn’t have a weird title?” Blake asked sarcastically.

  “Abbot, where is the other boy, Quinn McAlester?” Mother Superior asked, ignoring Blake’s question.

  “He has decided not to join us at this time.”

  “Why is that?”

  Victor took several moments to explain the observed differences between Quinn and Blake’s psychological profiles. Blake felt put off that Victor had amassed so much information about them, down to their families, work peers, and friend circles at school. I see why Quinn is creeped out by you.

  Mother Superior turned to Blake but spoke to Victor. “I am interested in hearing how this conversation unfolds, Abbot. Please continue.”

  Victor took a deep breath and nodded. “Remember how we talked about providing swift justice to those who always manage to escape it?”

  Blake nodded. “Yeah, exactly what I want to be…the guy who can get to the untouchables.”

  Mother Superior so
ftly groaned at his statement.

  “Good,” Victor said, ignoring her. “The Order, which by the way, is an acronym…it stands for Orgone Regenerative and Directed Energy Response.”

  “Uh-huh,” Blake said, repeating the words in his mind.

  Victor smirked and continued. “Allow me to break that down for you. Orgone is the world’s only known self-regenerating energy. The orgone reactors we have today self-regenerate orgone at a one-to-four ratio.”

  “Which means?”

  “Think of it this way, it takes one unit of orgone energy to make four units. However, it’s a moot point if we don’t have enough orgone energy to start the process. When you and Quinn accidentally activated the focusing array, you drained the Rangeley facility and temporality halted production here.”

  “Right, I got that part. Sorry.”

  Victor waved his hand dismissively. “Among other things, orgone powers the CloudBuster tech you saw on the surface. The Cloudbusters release orgone into the atmosphere while the antennas collect orgone passively and channel it into the chamber to stimulate regeneration. The storm that tore through the woods near the campground the night before you wandered over here demonstrated the CloudBusters discharging energy directly into the atmosphere; in turn, the storm provided more orgone that topped-off the energy storage cells to capacity. It took well over a year to collect that much orgone from the atmosphere and there’s a lot of it in New England. We think it has something to do with the large amount of granite in the bedrock. Our goal is to keep the orgone stockpile consistently available.”

  You’re not telling me a damn thing I don’t already know, Victor…and this is getting old, fast. If she hadn’t shown up…I’d have my answers.

  “Is that why the reactor seemed inactive when we came back?” Blake asked, playing the fool.

  “You let them come back to the facility?” Mother Superior asked with astonishment.

  Oops.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Victor said with respectful annoyance. “I let them come back and discover nothing because I didn’t want to involve them if nothing actually happened to them. If there was nothing to find, the problem would resolve itself.”