A Twist of Destiny Bk. 01

General Hannis stood up, returned the salute and indicated the chair beside the woman. "Good morning, sergeant. This is Doctor Amanda Lamb, the civilian lead on Project Odyssey. She wanted to meet with you."

I approached the general's desk and thrust out my hand to the woman, who was already getting on her feet. She took my hand in a surprisingly firm grip. "Ma'am," I said neutrally.

Hannis smiled in an almost fatherly way at me. "At ease, sergeant. She won't bite. Anyway, that's my privilege while we're in this office."

I relaxed a little and gave him a curt nod of understanding. Dr. Lamb reclaimed her seat, the general followed suit and I finally took mine. "I noted a lack of the usual instructions this morning, sir," I said. Perhaps it was a small breach in protocol to start the conversation in a general's office, but I was feeling jumpy right then. I had a feeling that I was about to be shouted at for my heroics in London.

The general's smile didn't vanish, however, and he nodded. "This week the game changes for you, David. Over the weekend the doctor here did a thorough examination of your body chemistry, using the scans taken from you on Friday as reference. It seems like you're the closest thing to a perfect match for our program that we've ever seen. She's eager to push you to the head of the class, as it were."

"I must admit, Sergeant Shayles," Dr. Lamb said coolly with a slight German accent, "that yours was the most amazing specimen I've ever looked at. The general understated things: you are a perfect match for our program, genetically speaking. I daresay that if I'd combed the world three times over I wouldn't have found a more suitable candidate. It's extraordinary, really."

I smiled faintly and said, "Well, mom always did say that I was pretty good at adapting. Maybe it's a genetic talent or something."

Dr. Lamb scoffed at that. "Hardly, sergeant. No, genetics doesn't dictate that kind of ability in any microscopic sense. I looked over the results all day yesterday more times than I can count and even had some other geneticists on the project check my work. Quite simply put, your genetic code is in perfect harmony with what we need. If I was an artist and had asked for a very specific, rare kind of paint brush that only existed on the remotest mountaintop, it's like you were that brush and you'd practically floated into my hands of your own volition. I've looked over your dossier and think that you'll do very nicely on our team. I'm really very excited to get started with you."

"Today, you mean," I said, again neutrally. She gave me a slow, meaningful nod in reply. I looked at the general who seemed to be beaming with glee, as though he had personally been responsible for discovering me. I guess, in a sense, he had been. But he was far from responsible for making me such a perfect candidate: that honor went to me, or at least the future version of me. But I wasn't about to disabuse him of the notion and played along. I then looked back at the doctor, obviously a very specialized geneticist. "May I ask a few questions first, before we get started?"

The general started to interrupt, but Dr. Lamb silenced him with a raised hand, which surprised the hell out of me. Generals are never so curtly silenced, least of all in their own office! "I think," Dr. Lamb said slowly, "that we would owe you that much. So, yes, ask any questions you want and I'll answer them to the best of my ability."

I took a moment to absorb that and glanced over at the general, who didn't look too happy but was willing to tolerate it for the German doctor's benefit. I began to wonder just who was really in charge here, anyway. I quickly collected my thoughts and asked the first question that had been bothering me ever since I met NightShade. "What, exactly, will you be doing to me? I heard mention of some sort of procedure and it's made me more than a little curious. My mother once told me that I should never take medicine if I don't know what it is that I'm pouring down my throat. So what's this procedure?"

Dr. Lamb nodded sagaciously and glanced at the general, whose face was a blank and totally inscrutable. Then she fixed me with a half-smile. "When General Hannis first interviewed you, he asked about your impression on aliens, did he not?"

I nodded. "After a fashion, yes, doctor. He asked if I believe in them."

She gave a satisfied nod. "What if I were to tell you that aliens, extraterrestrials, are in fact very real? We've had contact with them and have been studying their physiology for a few decades now. Would that surprise you?"

I looked thoughtful for a moment and then shook my head. "No, ma'am, that wouldn't shock me. It'd actually explain a lot of things. But I'm not especially surprised."

"Very good, sergeant. Being open-minded is one of the things we're particularly looking for in our candidates. You are nothing, if not open-minded, as we've learned. You are also very intelligent, which is another plus. So I'll explain it simply and you can complicate it in your own mind if you want to. Essentially, we'll strap you down to a table and inject you with a very special blend of alien DNA and your own human blood. The unique blend will effectively turn you into... well, something else. With every subject the results are different, but we've figured out that the subject's frame of mind, his or her personality, is a major factor in the outcome."

"And why would you do this?" I asked pointedly.

"I think you know the answer to that, son," General Hannis put in.

I looked at him, breaking yet another point of protocol by looking him squarely in the eye. "Super-soldiers," I said flatly.

Dr. Lamb reached out and touched my arm and I looked at her. "Did you ever read comic books when you were a boy?" she asked me.

My eyebrows knitted together. "Of course. Most red-blooded American boys do."

"Are you familiar with the story of Captain America?" she asked.

I paused at that and then said, "So I'm a modern-day Steve Rogers?"

"Essentially, yes. If it doesn't kill you first, but I'm 98% confident that it won't. After looking at your genetic structure I'd say that you and the alien DNA were pretty much made for each other, like two pieces of a puzzle which fit perfectly. The Procedure will undoubtedly be the most painful thing you've ever endured, but if my suspicions are correct, you'll recover from it and begin manifesting changes in record time, possibly within an hour."

"And how long have your other subjects taken to manifest?" I asked.

Dr. Lamb shrugged indifferently. "Most? Days, if they survived at all. Some didn't. Of the ones who did survive- only a handful- barely did so and they are still adjusting to their changes. You'll be our last subject."

I nodded coolly, having read between the lines. Not only will I be their last subject, I'll be their last shot at justifying the entire project to begin with, their golden goose. Or, perhaps, their Golden Fleece. "And what kind of changes can I expect from this... infusion of alien DNA? I know you said that each subject reacts differently, but surely you've got a baseline or some basic idea of what will probably happen."

Dr. Lamb breathed deeply through her nose as she considered the question. I could tell that she was trying to decide if she should tell me the good things or the bad things or everything. I glanced at the general while I waited for an answer and I could see the impatience on his face.

After a moment, Dr. Lamb said, "We've seen various types of super-human abilities manifest in our test subjects. More common among them are enhanced healing, enhanced strength, independent flight and various forms of kinesis ranging from telekinesis to atomic-kinesis and everything in between. Increased metabolic rates are frequent almost across the board which, not coincidentally, is what caused a lot of unexpected deaths in the subjects who didn't survive The Procedure."

"So there you go, sergeant," the general cut in. "I think that should do it for your part of the interview, yes?"

I gave the general a slow nod. "Thank you, sir, for the indulgence. I didn't mean to wear on your patience, sir. I have a family and if something goes wrong..."

"I think the general understands," Dr. Lamb said calmly. "I have three grandchildren myself. If I were in your shoes I'd want some answers, too, for their sakes."

"In the unlikely event that you shouldn't survive The Procedure, sergeant," the general said soothingly, "your family will be well compensated, even if it comes out of my own pocket. That said, I'm fully confident in the doctor's analysis and certainty that you will, after all, come through this just fine. When you do come through it, you will be the same person and you will be free to live as you have while you're off-duty. All we ask is that you train every day in using your new... talents and endeavor to represent your country well in their execution on the battlefield. And, before you ask, we project a training schedule that will last months before we feel you're ready for real action."

"I have a small request. And I guess, sir, that it would be pointed at you, with respect." He gave a slow nod of assent. "Eventually these... abilities will be hard to ignore or hide, sir. Will I be able to either give my daughter advanced warning to expect these changes or advise her of them afterwards? Right now she's under the impression that I'm doing my normal duties but she's a smart girl, sir, and I won't be able to keep her in the dark for long."

Hannis seemed thoughtful for a moment but gave another slow nod. "Under the circumstances, sergeant, I'll agree to you telling her after the fact, but only because the girl lives with you. Understand that we'll be monitoring her phone conversations very carefully to ensure that she doesn't... burn you. And if she slips up, even a little bit, the consequences could be very dire for all parties involved. Telling your wife, however, will be out of the question unless it's a face-to-face conversation and that's merely for operational security reasons."

"I understand completely, sir. And I know my daughter: she fully understands the fundamentals of operational security. She'll keep it secret."

"See that she does," he said sternly. "I'd hate to have to explain how one of our most clandestine projects got blown to smithereens by a teenage girl." The general leveled a smoldering gaze at me, one that came across like a shot: he meant business. I silently replied with a slow, careful nod of understanding. "Good... now... on to other, easier matters. Each subject is codenamed. The name chosen is completely arbitrary and, since it involves the subject directly-"

A third breach in protocol: "NightShade, sir," I said quickly.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Well! That was fast! And, if memory serves, not very different from your online handle. Almost too close for comfort, really."

I shrugged with a casual ease. "I've been on the 'net for almost two decades now, sir. Believe me when I say that I am not the only person out there who uses the name."

"General," the doctor said quietly, "don't forget: he will be wearing a suit that is specially designed to hide his identity. No one will ever know who he really is."

The general looked from me to Dr. Lamb with a bit of skepticism on his face, but he finally gave a small grunt of approval. "NightShade it is, then. And so I turn you over to Doctor Lamb's capable hands, sergeant. I hope that, the next time I see you, you'll prove to be the success that we all believe you'll be. You're a good man, Shayles, and a good soldier. I apologize in advance for the pain you're about to go through, but I believe that you'll be thanking me later."

"I understand, sir. One thing, though." He looked at me expectantly, a little bit of surprise showing. "Sir, I appreciate what you're about to help me to become, but I should tell you, sir: if I am ordered to attack innocents or targets that pose no threat, in any way or for any unjustifiable reason, I will refuse those orders. If that's going to be a deal-breaker, sir, then we had better stop here and now."

"Oh! He'll do splendidly!" Dr. Lamb exclaimed effusively. Before the general could respond to my declaration, she stood up and said, "I know that I shouldn't be so enthusiastic, considering the pain that I'm about to cause Sergeant Shayles, but I'm extremely anxious to get underway, general. If you've nothing more to hold us back, I'd like to take him downstairs and get started immediately."

General Hannis looked at me coldly for a moment, but his mood suddenly changed as he realized that I was, indeed, going to work out to Dr. Lamb's satisfaction. That was when I knew, then and there, who was truly running the show: it was Dr. Lamb, every step of the way. General Hannis, it seemed, was acting as little more than a producer but Dr. Lamb was definitely directing the show. He stood and held out his hand for me to shake.

"This will be the last time you shake my hand as a full-blooded human being, Staff Sergeant. The next time I see you, you'll be very different indeed. Better, to be sure, but not the same. I hope that she doesn't beat you up too badly."

"Thank you, sir," I said calmly as I took his hand in a firm grip and shook it a few times. We unclasped and I threw out a salute. "By your leave, General, sir!"

"Dismissed," he said as he snapped the salute back.

-------------------------

I was laid back on the long, steel table a short while later, naked as the day I was born. An I.V. tube ran into each well-strapped arm, one tube for blood to flow out and one for blood to flow in. Dr. Lamb had explained to me that The Procedure would be done in a method that was similar to dialysis. Blood would be drained out of me in small increments and it would flow into a machine where the alien DNA would be introduced to it and mixed thoroughly. When the blood had been completely infused with the new DNA it would then be pumped into me. The whole process would last, I was told, about an hour until every unit of my plasma was teeming with the alien DNA. Every limb, at three points, and even my head had been strapped down tightly with restraints to keep me immobile during The Procedure. It was expected that, by the time my body had reclaimed two quarts of the altered blood, I would pass out. Dr. Lamb went on to say that most surviving subjects eventually came around and exhibited either lucidity or dementia and, in either case, whichever state it was seemed to stick from that point on.

She gave me a warm, matronly pat on my shoulder and said congenially, "See you on the other side... NightShade."

I smiled wanly and said through the bite-guard that had been placed between my teeth, "Game on, Doc."

She turned away from me and gave a sharp nod to the technician who controlled the inter-mix machine. He tapped a few keys on a keyboard and the device came to life, its internal workings starting to hum rhythmically. Out of the corner of my periphery I could see the tube that ran from my left arm quickly turn dark red with the hue of my blood. I followed the leading edge of that bloodline as it flowed languidly through the tube until it entered the intake port on the machine. A new sound came from the device and I knew, then, that the mix had started. I shifted my eyes so that I could see the output port which led to my right arm for several minutes until it started to fill with my "new" blood. The liquid that started to move towards my vein wasn't red anymore. It was now a dark, coppery amber and, when the light struck it, it appeared almost golden in hue. Helpless to do anything to stop it even if I'd wanted to, I watched the mixture approach the flash-needle that was taped against the crook of my elbow and immediately felt a familiar and not unexpected tingle run up my arm, over the bicep and through my shoulder. I gritted my teeth against the block in my teeth in anticipation of what would come next while Dr. Lamb studied my every response with rapt, clinical interest. In retrospect perhaps I shouldn't have allowed my anticipation be so obvious.

It took all of twenty seconds before the pain hit me full-force. If it had hurt before, when NightShade had given me just a little bit of his alien-tinted blood, what I now felt made that seem like a cat-scratch. It felt like the entire planet had been shoved into my skull via my veins and I reflexively railed against it, my body screaming with every fiber of its being at the sudden onslaught of what the alien DNA was doing to it. I howled through the barrier of the chock-block and felt every muscle in my body tense as though I'd been hit with an electrical transformer meant to power a city the size of New York. My eyes bulged, my head throbbed and my heart rate seemed to drum in my ears like mad, hammering out a tempo that would've made river-dancers flush with envy. My whole existence became that fiery pain and there was nothing which would be able to distract me from it. Dr. Lamb, who I could still sense was standing beside me, said something but I couldn't imagine what it might have been. Probably something soothing or encouraging, but I couldn't spare a millisecond of attention to it. The agony was all-consuming and I felt myself slowly slipping away into it, becoming a part of it. Darkness tinged my peripheral vision even as another blocked scream of horrific proportions tried to uselessly escape my throat. I strained against the bonds that held me down and felt like, if I put just a tiny bit more effort into it, they would give way to my demands for freedom, but they held firm just the same.

As consciousness started to slowly creep away from me, as the fury of change consumed my entire being, my last lucid thought was of Holly and how, when I got through this, I would go back in time and somehow find a way to make sure that she really was my flesh-and-blood daughter. I would go back and impregnate my wife nineteen years earlier from then and Holly really would be mine, in every sense of the word. It was warped and selfish of me, I know, but the darkest part of my soul knew: I'd already done it. All I needed to do was commit to it, make it happen. And, with that thought, the world, the agony, the future... it all slipped away.

Chapter Eight : Awakening

I awoke some unknown time later, feeling like I'd just run a marathon in space, with just my feet to propel me, out past Jupiter and back, with Luna strapped to my shoulders. I was beyond exhausted, but I sensed breath going in and out of my lungs and I felt pretty lucid. I tried to move my arms, found that I could, and tried to sit up and immediately reconsidered it as a throbbing headache overwhelmed me. Within seconds Dr. Lamb was at my side, looking down at me with a massive smile on her wizened, age-wrinkled face.

"Relax," she told me in a soothing German tone. "You're still in recovery."

I croaked out a groan. "Did it.."

She nodded at me softly. "You did just fine. The transfusion went better than we expected and you're recovering much more quickly than any of our other subjects. It's only been thirty minutes. Soon we'll move you into an observation room where you'll be able to recoup in peace. Tomorrow morning you should be fully rested and we can begin tests to see what's new about you." She gently patted my shoulder. "For now: you rest. Okay?"

I nodded and slumped back against the padding of the gurney they'd placed me in. Being afforded the chance to relax after that unforgettable ordeal made me feel very grateful indeed. If a soldier had been in charge of the project I have no doubt that I'd be ordered to get up and start training immediately. Thank God for civilians! I thought to myself and went promptly back to sleep.