by David Bruno
Dr. Fischer nodded. “This is a dream program, sir. Much more than I could have ever hoped for,” he said earnestly.
“Well now. Mr. Secretary, thank you for bringing this fine young gentleman to see me. I have faith in him and his ability to help the United States maintain technological superiority for the foreseeable future and hopefully help bring about an end to this cold war. Please advise Dr. Fischer on when the meteor will be sent to him and work with him to assemble his initial team. We want our new director to get started right away.” He grabbed another handful of jelly beans, leaned back in his chair, and turned on the TV to watch the news as the men left the Oval Office.
*****
In a nondescript house outside Arlington, Virginia, Dr. Fischer discussed his good fortune with his elderly parents, who sat on their set of old recliners as they listened to the good news.
“Mutter and Vater, I don’t have to tell you what this means. We finally have a chance to implement Der Führer’s vision on a global scale. I will now be able to create a team of people that will be loyal to us and help us to achieve our goals. One world government, led by our kind with our vision of peace, control, and equality for all.”
“We’re so proud of you, schätzchen,” said his mother in her thick German accent.
“Yes, you can succeed where we failed!” his father gushed, eyes watering. He motioned for his son to come closer and took his hand. The wrinkles in his face tightened as he spoke. “Just remember the lessons we taught you. Live by those ideals. One government for the world, led by those worthy of leadership. You are the Aryan Übermensch Der Führer wanted. You will now create a whole army of others worthy of our vision. The world is yours, my son. Let nothing stop you.”
“I will make you proud.”
And the world, unaware of the events set in motion, inched closer to the final battle of the Second World War—decades after it was thought to have ended.
*****
TWO WEEKS LATER
At the construction site a couple miles outside of Edwards Air Force Base, crews swiftly erected the laboratory and office buildings. Cinder-block walls supported the perimeter and roof while wood-studded walls served to outline the individual labs. The meteor was stored in an existing building that was being used as a temporary headquarters as the rest of the facility was built. The government had formally divulged its known origins to the Agency. The meteor had presumably been created in a supernova light-years away, but it had first appeared on Earth in 1960 just outside of Vancouver, Canada. Nobody could be certain about the details between. American scientists convinced the Canadians that facilities in America were better equipped to research the material. The Canadian government agreed, and thus, in a unique progression of events, the priceless material journeyed through the cosmos and found its way to a laboratory in the California desert, only to be researched by an organization with Nazi heritage.
Director Fischer had set about hiring some of the brightest minds he could find to conduct his genetic research. The Agency was divided into two teams, per the president’s request: one team tasked with medical advancements, the other with creating genetically superior superpowered humans to implement Dr. Fischer’s vision. Of course, as far as the president was aware, these super beings were to be developed to enhance national defense.
It became quite clear during the interview process that many researchers had no moral objections to genetic manipulation that would have been labeled eugenics just a generation ago. That pleased Director Fischer greatly—how quickly moral outrage disappeared when unsavory practices benefitted the right people. This is not to say, however, that the scientists were Nazis or necessarily shared Director Fischer’s vision for the future. In fact, Director Fischer was careful not to divulge his plans, only the objectives outlined by the president. Most didn’t even know there were, in fact, two divisions within the Agency. They had no need to know. The research was purpose enough for his team, and they were sworn to secrecy—how their new technology would be used was of no concern. Besides, the pay was fantastic. They were satisfied.
It didn’t take long for Director Fischer to realize that the allotted budget was grossly insufficient, especially when split between the two divisions. Fortunately, his family had maintained contact with former Nazis with deep pockets forced to hide in foreign countries after the war. They too had maintained the ideals of the Third Reich and were all too eager to finance the director’s experiments. Before long, millions of dollars poured in from many additional channels, untraceable and hidden from the American president.
The experiments began.
*****
As the weeks went on, the director’s team studied the meteor to determine its true composition. They had been told of the presence of Titanium-44 and Scandium-44g along with other trace elements. The team calculated the half-life of Titanium-44 and found it to be around sixty years, which seemed improbable, given the amount of Titanium-44 and Scandium-44g and the supposed amount of time the meteor had been in space. Assuming the titanium had, in fact, been created in a supernova, it must have been very close to our solar system. Yet no known supernovas had occurred close to Earth in recent times. Clearly the titanium had been sourced from elsewhere.
The team hypothesized origins for the meteor ranging from parallel universes to dark-matter generators and alien fusion reactors. None could be proven. Instead of speculating further on the source, the director ordered his team to focus on applications of the material. There were only about forty kilograms of Titanium-44. So experiments needed focus: in sixty years’ time, there would be only half as much.
CH 02
TRIAL AND ERROR
1992: LANCASTER, CALIFORNIA, THE AGENCY HEADQUARTERS
In his spartan white office, forty-seven-year-old Director Fischer spoke with the president on the phone. It had been five years since the start of the program. “Yes, Mr. President. I’m aware of the lack of progress from the Agency. We’ve not yet had a successful animal trial. I will remind you that we’ve had several disasters involving the animals. There were multiple instances where the powers we gave to rats and mice caused them to… well… explode.” The Director pulled the phone from his ear as his heart pounded. Did I really just talk to the president like that? The guy’s an idiot but I need to maintain protocols.
“I will remind you, sir, that the government is spending tens of millions of dollars on your program each year. We had hoped for soldiers to fight in the Gulf War last year. That did not happen. Listen, we have nothing but respect for your team regarding the contributions you’ve made to medicine. Frankly, those are the only things keeping your program alive. We need to see a successful enhancement of a lesser species by midyear, June 30. You have six weeks, Director Fischer. This is an election year and I need all the help I can get. I want to be the ‘law-enforcement president.’ With all these superpowered people out and about flaunting the Superpower Protection Act, I need to be seen controlling the situation. The team you’re creating will go a long way to help with that. If you can’t demonstrate stable powers in a rat or rabbit, your funding will not be renewed for 1993 after my reelection. The whole program will be canceled.”
“Yes, sir. You’ll have your super rat,” Director Fischer affirmed as he hung up the phone. He put his hand to his chin for a moment, thinking of his grand plan. If he couldn’t deliver on the president’s demands, it wouldn’t necessarily stop his progress toward his superpowered global fascist goals. But it would certainly be much harder to realize his vision. He thought of his worldwide benefactors, who were also becoming increasingly impatient.
*****
TWO WEEKS LATER
“Run!” cried one of the lab technicians. Her eyes popped wide as she jumped to her feet. “It’s going to explode!”
An explosion and a fireball ripped through one of the laboratories, destroying the equipment and more than a dozen rats used for the experiments. The sprinklers contained the fires and saved the rest of the fa
cility. When the devastation subsided, Director Fischer and his team surveyed the damage.
“Was anyone injured?” inquired the director.
“Just one of our specialists, sir,” replied the technician who had warned of the explosion. “Mr. Johnson. He was taken to the infirmary with second-degree burns over much of his body and some hearing loss. We hope it’s temporary.”
“Take me to him,” demanded Director Fischer.
*****
Mr. Johnson slept as a pair of nurses tended to his burns.
“Nurse, what’s his condition?” Director Fischer asked. He picked up Mr. Johnson’s chart to examine it. Lines formed on his forehead and his lips moved as he pored over the details of Mr. Johnson’s condition.
“We gave him a painkiller and something to relax him as we dressed the wounds. His sleep is light and we should be able to wake him if you want to talk.” She gently blotted away the black smoke stains from her patient’s face.
“Good. I’d like some more information on why my laboratory exploded. Many of my specimens and months of data are lost.” He moved next to Mr. Johnson’s bed, bent forward, and gently nudged his shoulder. “Mr. Johnson, it’s Director Fischer. Are you awake? I would like to talk with you about what happened in there.” He smiled softly at the injured man.
Mr. Johnson turned his head and slowly opened his eyes. He was clearly in pain, gritting his teeth as he faced his boss. “Yes, sir. They exploded again, sir. They just fight all the time. It seems like we’ve been able to replicate the condition of amplified strength. But they fight and amplify each other until they just… explode.”
“Hmm. I see,” said Director Fischer coldly. “Have you tried separating them?” It was so simple and you just couldn’t get it right.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him, sir,” responded the lab technician, who had accompanied the doctor to the infirmary.
Director Fischer pursed his lips, annoyed that the technician had replied rather than Mr. Johnson. He turned back to Mr. Johnson on the bed. “Is this true, Mr. Johnson?”
Mr. Johnson grimaced, knowing that the director didn’t tolerate failure. He expected a pink slip. “Well, sir… Yes, it is. But the others and I thought it was best to see how much energy they could generate and how strong they could become.” The man squirmed under the director’s intense gaze, wincing in pain.
Excuses. “But this is not the first time we’ve had mice or rats explode, is it?” asked Director Fischer lightly.
Mr. Johnson, loopy on pain medication, reacted to what he perceived as his boss’s levity with a relieved chuckle. “No, it’s the fourth time.”
“Don’t you think,” Director Fischer said, his tone turning dangerously low, “by the fourth time, you would know better?” He moved closer to the bed to whisper. “Or are you a spy trying to sabotage this program?”
“Never, sir!” said Mr. Johnson, realizing that he had mistaken the director’s manner.
But it was too late. In an instant, Director Fischer’s demeanor changed, transforming from that of a mild-mannered supervisor checking on the welfare of his employee into a full rage. To the horror of the nurses, he ripped the IV bag from Mr. Johnson’s arm and slapped the man on the face repeatedly.
“Stop!” cried the nurse. “He’s badly hurt, sir!”
“Oh, I see that. Let me cure him and demonstrate what we do to spies around here.” In one fluid motion, Director Fischer pulled his sidearm from under his coat and fired two rounds into Mr. Johnson’s head at point-blank range. The room fell silent as the nurses and technician stared at the man’s lifeless body, paralyzed with fear. They dared not say anything, knowing that Director Fischer’s wrath could easily transfer to them. He had raged before, but he had never killed anyone—at least as far as they knew.
The director turned calmly, re-holstered his firearm, and spoke with the other laboratory technician as he used his handkerchief to wipe away a speck of blood that had splashed onto his shirt. “Darn, I think this may stain.” His brow wrinkled in disgust, and then his face cleared. “I assume that you can continue the research?” Sensing the fear from the others in the room, Director Fischer addressed his actions. “Listen up, everyone. Mr. Johnson was a spy. I’ve had reports of his sabotage for some time. He has tried to delay our progress, and thus manipulate and undermine the efforts of the United States government. My authority under the president authorizes me to dispose of such spies. Please carry on with your work, everyone.” Director Fischer put his arm around the technician and walked her out of the room. “What’s your name?” he asked.
With a pronounced stutter, the technician replied, “D—Dr. Cathy Sanders, sir.”
“Dr. Sanders. You have very little time to give me a sample of rats with amplified energy.” He paused, then added, “And Dr. Sanders, please separate the rats.”
Dr. Sanders gulped. “Yes, sir. You will have your rats. I think we can also present a sample that can shoot energy beams from their eyes.”
“Excellent,” Director Fischer replied with obvious pleasure. “Given that you seem to be the only competent member of the team, why is it that you haven’t been in charge of this part of the program?”
“I don’t know, sir. I’ve not been here very long.” A tingle went through her body. She couldn’t help but smile at the positive reaction from her boss. Many had begun to quietly doubt the program, but not Dr. Sanders. She looked beyond this initial task, relishing the thought of human trials.
“Well, the rat program is yours now. Congratulations, Dr. Sanders. It’s May 28. The Feds will be here in four weeks. I’ll need you to demonstrate the rats to me in two weeks so we can prepare an impressive presentation for our benefactors.”
Behind them, the nurses, still trembling, pulled the sheet over Mr. Johnson’s head and began to clean up the blood and brain matter splattered around the room. They looked at each other, and one of them mouthed psychopath and traced a circle on the side of her head, but dared not speak. The other discreetly nodded and glanced at the door in case the director returned.
*****
JUNE 30, 1992
“Gentlemen, welcome to the Agency. I hope you had a good trip. We’re very excited to show you what our team has achieved here,” Director Fischer said to the contingent of three federal agents tasked with inspecting the progress on the superpowered rats. He shook their hands and pleasantly greeted them in the reception area. “Can I get you anything? Perhaps some refreshments?”
“No, thank you. This will be a very short visit unless you can demonstrate progress.” The agent cast a skeptical eye across the facilities. “We have our doubts.”
“Of course. You would not be here if we could not meet our obligations. Straight to business then. Walk this way, gentlemen.” Director Fischer led the Feds into one of the laboratories.
“Gentlemen, this is Dr. Sanders. She’s the brains behind the rat program. She’ll demonstrate our rats to you. Dr. Sanders, please show these men the progress we’ve made.”
Dr. Sanders stood at attention, dressed in a white lab coat and plastic goggles. She replied confidently, “Thank you, Dr. Fischer.” Addressing the Feds, she said, “You’re in for a treat. We have decoded the genetic requirements for amplified strength. Not only that—we’ve developed a process to replicate those genes in rats. I have for you here a pair of specimens. If you slap them, hit them, or poke them, their bodies take that energy and amplify it. The rats can then inflict a blow multiple times more powerful than the blow they received.”
The agents coolly looked at each other and nodded with approval, but the lead agent still looked skeptical. “Dr. Sanders, are there limits to this amplification? What if they generate too much energy?”
“Great question. We have found that if rats are hit too many times or with too much force without the opportunity to release the energy, they can… uh… explode.”
“Explode? Seriously?” replied the second agent.
“Yes. These rats ne
ed a channel to dissipate the energy. If they cannot do so, their bodies can’t cope. That’s why you see they’re in separate steel boxes.” Dr. Sanders pointed to two sheet-metal boxes on the countertop. One was labeled Fred and the other Barney.
“You see, we can’t take any chances. We’ve found that if we house the rats together in the same cage, they fight. When they fight, they get stronger. Eventually, they hit each other so hard and so much energy is absorbed that they explode.”
The agents laughed.
Dr. Sanders frowned. “With respect, gentlemen, the explosions are severe and we’ve had… ” she paused briefly, “… casualties.”
“I see. Please forgive us, Dr. Sanders. Continue,” the agent directed.
Dr. Sanders shot a nervous glance at the director. He had entrusted her with the future of the whole program. “The power is generated by a hormone in a new gland that forms between the pancreas and liver as a result of exposure to the unique radiation signature of the meteoric alloy. We think it helps rev up the metabolism of the rats as well as act like a capacitor to store energy. The rats can then release the amplified energy quickly anytime they want, though it drains them and they need to eat a great deal to recuperate from the experience. But, of course, since they’re just rats, they don’t have the intelligence to manage this power. They give it up all at once, like shooting a rubber band.”
“So you think that humans could handle such a power?” asked the lead agent.
“We think so. But we’re far from human trials, sir,” replied Dr. Sanders.
“Dr. Sanders, show these gentlemen how strong a rat can become,” Director Fischer instructed with a crooked grin.
“Yes, sir.” Dr. Sanders took the two boxes and placed them in an adjacent room. She then trained cameras on the boxes and prepared a device to open them remotely. Her heart pounded in anticipation.
“What are we seeing here?” inquired the agents as Dr. Sanders returned to the room and turned on a pair of televisions connected to cameras in the laboratory.