MJ-12: Inception

9

Life without booze was surprisingly OK.

Frank Lodge hoofed it through the last stretch of his five-mile run at a steady pace, leaving his compatriots in the dust — literally, as the whole Indian Springs complex was covered in a fine film of khaki-colored sand. Well, at least the parts he was allowed to see.

After their initial MAJESTIC-12 briefing, the four “Variants” — what an anemic name that was! — settled into their new digs. Everyone had their own small quarters separate both from each other and from the rest of the base. That large mess hall area was used for meetings and meals, which they shared with about twenty-five other base personnel, including their personal physical trainer, a Marine captain named Anderson with piercing blue eyes, a blond buzz cut that could serve as a carpenter’s level, and a voice that could shake mountains. There was also a cook named Smitty and a sorry-ass Air Force grunt who basically did all the shit jobs and whose name nobody bothered to learn.

The rest were Air Force military police, guarding the little complex as if it were a prison. Hell, maybe it was.

Frank fit in pretty well, of course, given that he was the only Variant with any extensive wartime experience. But that also meant he continued to build his situational awareness each and every day, getting the lay of the land, looking for patterns, and evaluating everyone he came in contact with. And whatever he missed, deceased general Sam Davis’s voice would kick in to add pertinent information.

Their little encampment at Area 51, set at least a couple miles from the landing strip and, presumably, the main base, was comfortable, but there was no mistaking it — it was a prison. There were two guards on a mobile patrol around the small cluster of buildings, which were surrounded by a barbed wire perimeter fence eight feet high. There was a watchtower on top of the guards’ barracks, with solid sightlines over the entire base, always staffed by at least one MP. At night, the fence was pretty well lit with a series of lamps atop high posts. There was a single gate into the complex, with a third guard posted by it 24/7. That meant there were four MPs on duty at any one time, with at least twelve others ready to go at a moment’s notice.

It had only been a few weeks, but at least a quarter of the guards had already rotated out, their replacements ushered in by jeep from elsewhere at Area 51. Every day, a small group of white-coated civilians and mid-level military officers would come to observe or assist in training — both physical and otherwise.

The first order of business was to whip the Variants into shape physically. There was a lot of running, a lot of push-ups and jumping jacks, even some dumbbells (the weights, not the MPs) in a small, makeshift gymnasium. Anderson seemed to go at Ellis the hardest, as he was the youngest and seemingly the least accustomed to physical exertion, protests about his college football days notwithstanding. Anderson didn’t cut Maggie a lot of slack, either, but Frank had to admit, the girl was keeping up well with the boys. As for the old man, Cal, they were taking it pretty easy on him — understandably, since his Enhancement wasn’t too kind to his physical well-being. Yet even though he could have used his long recovery as an excuse to get out of training exercises, Cal still insisted on working as hard as he could. When Frank asked him about it, he just smiled and said, “Twice as good, just as good.”

Aside from the physical exercise, the Variants underwent daily individual testing specifically related to their unique Enhancement, usually with some sort of pencil-necked science guy and an officer. Danny Wallace rotated through regularly, keeping tabs on things — Frank had him pegged as the one who designed the Enhancement testing and training, though he really didn’t know what had qualified him to do that, because who the hell would even have insights into this kind of thing? The more time he spent around him, the more it felt like the Navy guy was really playing it by ear, though it was pretty obvious the kid was smart.

Anderson was not only in charge of the physical training but had promised a thorough course in covert action and spycraft. On their first full day at Area 51, he’d gathered them in the mess hall for an introduction — he was former OSS, had worked with the Reds in Greece and the Balkans during the war — and a warning.

“This isn’t going to be like anything you’ve done before,” he said, staring coldly at each of them in turn. “Not even you, Lodge, with your experience. You‘re going to make split decisions, lie your ass off, and kill people who may not deserve it. You’re going to make tough calls, and worse, you’re going to have to live with them. Now let’s get started.”

And then suddenly, a guy in civvies burst into the room, followed by two MPs. The civilian raised a gun, and Frank immediately hit the deck, grabbing Maggie’s arm and pulling her down with him. The guy traded a few shots with the MPs across the mess hall, then dashed out the back, the soldiers in hot pursuit.

When Frank looked up to see Anderson unsuccessfully trying to stifle a smile, he knew he’d been had.

“Everybody come get a pencil and paper,” Anderson ordered. “You are to write down every detail you can think of about what just happened, from the descriptions of the individuals to their individual actions. You have twenty minutes.”

As it happened, Ellis Longstreet recalled the most, followed by Cal; to Frank’s embarrassment, he’d done the worst, but consoled himself by noting he’d been the only one with the foresight to hit the deck when the bullets flew. Turns out it was an old OSS training exercise used at Camp X, the Canadian outpost used by the Americans, English, and Canadians to train their spies.

With the focus on physical education and Enhancement testing, they hadn’t gotten back to spycraft again, but Frank had to admit that he was looking forward to it — if nothing else, it could help him figure out the rest of Area 51’s secrets.

The Camp X exercise provided a kind of instant bond between the Variants; Frank had seen it during the war, how new soldiers would quickly and suddenly bond after their first firefight. From the first night’s how-do-you-dos over Army-standard grub, it hadn’t taken them more than a week to begin sharing everything else about themselves. They were, after all, Variants — different from everyone else by definition. Two weeks in, they were already talking about their abilities and testing, and to Frank’s surprise, nobody seemed to mind — odd, given the secrecy all around them — though they were always under the watchful eyes of at least two MPs during training and meals. Maybe MAJESTIC-12 saw the four as a team already, and wanted them to get along. Maybe it was an oversight on Danny’s part. But either way, Frank knew it would be valuable, and encouraged the information sharing, especially about their abilities.

Maggie was working to fine-tune her ability; she remained pretty heavy-handed in manipulating emotions. She described one test where she had been charged with making a test subject — the scientist monitoring her, in fact — slightly nervous. She laughed as she described the man pissing himself — so much for subtlety. Frank laughed too — but he noticed the edge in her eyes and wondered if she was enjoying herself a bit too much.

Ellis’s weakness was turning his ability off when he didn’t want to use it. Occasionally, he’d pick something up — a salt shaker on the mess table, or a jump rope in training — and it would turn into water or stone. He was making progress, though, and on a few occasions had actually succeeded in making the end result something he actually wanted, like turning a stone into soft clay. Frank knew that would be a handy thing to have going, if Ellis could get a grip on it. If was the keyword there — there were still too many spontaneous manifestations to really trust him, and Frank wondered how that would go over in the field. What if Ellis’s gun turned to butter in the middle of a firefight?

Cal was a different story. He was on a pretty strict regimen of not healing people, but they were busy drawing up plans for him for when he got stronger. To hear Cal tell it, he needed to figure out how to expend just enough of his own health to heal someone else without suffering too much damage himself. He had to differentiate between healing a cut and a bullet wound. Not that anybody was shooting anyone at Area 51 — the day-one exercise had used blanks. They were also busy codifying Cal’s recovery rate, to determine how long it would take for him to get his strength back, depending on how much he healed.

For his own part, Frank’s mental training was fine — they had him doing memory games and number puzzles to keep him sharp, which was a perfectly decent way to spend the afternoon. Trying to mine his past experiences was something else entirely. They gathered a lot of information on the folks who died around him and tried to test him on it — who was so-and-so’s brother, where did this guy go to school, what color was her favorite dress. Try as he might, he never had answers to those specific questions unless he had specifically focused on it during the… transfer, for want of a better word. Transfer of memories. Of lives.

He’d been able to choose what memories and talents to take the last few times before he came to Area 51. But it seemed that he wasn’t getting any more information than the specific topics he chose. And when he didn’t choose, he just got random stuff. Maybe it was what the deceased wanted to be remembered for, or what was on their mind in their last moments — or even what they wanted to give him. He had no idea, really, how it worked. And he accessed the memories not as his own but as if the deceased who had the memories or talents were there with him, speaking right in his ear, telling him what to do or drawing his attention to a specific matter.

So, when he’d train on his individual talents — engaging in tactical simulations, fixing a car, et cetera — Frank could hear them whispering. The left flank is vulnerable. That crankshaft is bent. Put pressure on the wound before you do anything else.

There were now ten people in his head… and counting. The scientists were monitoring hospitals in Nevada and Arizona for more potential “test subjects,” and they had a small plane standing by to rush him to some poor sap’s bedside if the opportunity arose. He’d been excited at the prospect at first, until Anderson told him he’d be blindfolded and earplugged each time he left the base and until they landed or arrived at their destination. Whatever they had going on at the rest of Area 51, Frank definitely wasn’t cleared for it.

He’d taken to writing down details of the individuals he transferred, keeping them in a little book. Frank had been able to get some biographical details and would occasionally try to engage them in conversation. That didn’t work, though; the voices would only tell him about the skills or memories he’d focused on during the transfer. But Frank thought it was important to try anyway. Just as he once felt responsible for his squad, he now felt a certain duty to the memory of the people he’d sat with as they died.

There were definitely days Frank wished he had a different Enhancement. Most days, in fact. At least the exercise and the memory games helped Frank clear his head and focus on himself rather than the dead.

The others really didn’t see their abilities as burdens, from what Frank could tell. Ellis, in particular, loved the thought of being a superhero, which Frank took as evidence that Ellis needed to stay away from the Sunday funnies for a while. Cal saw his as a blessing from God, and it wasn’t for Frank to say whether he was right or wrong there. Maggie seemed to be resigned to the whole thing, though she admitted that she didn’t see it as a curse the way she used to. She even seemed mildly amused by it occasionally.

Frank had been out of the Army a while, but despite his best, selfish intentions, he caught himself thinking of the others as “his” team. Maybe that was the point, maybe that was exactly what Danny was banking on, but for whatever reason, he had a kind of paternal thing going. It was annoying, frankly, but he figured he’d better at least keep an eye on the others, since he was the only one with any real military experience.

Overall, the Variants were well treated, except if Anderson felt they were slacking in training, of course. Then it was an extra set of push-ups or a lap around the inside perimeter — a mile-long perimeter, conveniently enough. And every now and then, Frank would catch Anderson looking at one of them in a funny way. What did he think of them? What did anyone think of them? Hard to say. He wasn’t even sure these days what to think of himself.

Frank’s thoughts snapped back to the run as he lapped Cal, who was taking it at a walk. Without brennivín, Beaujolais, or beer, the training was the only mood-altering substance he could manage, but he had to admit, it felt good. He stopped at the finish line and turned to find Maggie less than twenty-five yards away. “Not bad,” he said after she finished.

She bent over at the waist and worked to catch her breath. “We better be ready if and when they call us up.”

“My gut says that’ll be happening sooner rather than later,” he said quietly. “My quarters, 1900 hours. Tell Ellis; I’ll tell Cal.”

Maggie gave him a quizzical look and grinned mischievously. “Sounds like you’re plotting an unsanctioned meeting.”

Frank shrugged. “They want us to be spies? Let’s be spies. Don’t everyone show up all at once — stagger it so the guards just think you’re going for a walk.” He jogged off before she could reply, knowing he already had her.

Sure as shit, everyone showed up starting a few minutes before seven. Frank ushered each of them into his small quarters — a twelve-by-twelve with a bunk, a desk, a chair, and a dresser — and offered them seats. Cal was given the chair for his old bones, leaving Maggie and Ellis to perch on the bed while Frank leaned against the back of the door. The room was lit with an overhead bulb and a little lamp on the table, leaving much of the room bathed in the dusky, slightly ominous light of the sunset coming through the window.

It seemed fitting.

“So we’re all briefed up,” Frank began. “They want us to be useful to the military, to this new Central Intelligence Agency. It’s all top secret; that’s what they keep saying. Anybody curious about knowing more?”

Maggie nodded. Ellis looked a little suspicious. But Cal spoke up first. “What’s there to know, Mr. Lodge? They’re training us, helping us with our Enhancements. Miracles, I say. Anyway, they’re training us and taking good care of us. And we get to help our country.”

“I told you, Cal, call me Frank.”

Cal chuckled and put his hands up, as if to say he gave up. “Southern manners. Been with me so long that they’ve turned into a hard habit to break.”

“Well, you’re right; we could be getting treated a lot worse,” Frank continued. “But this is a big valley, and when the air’s clear and the light’s right, I can see a couple other outposts along the lakebed. There’s a big one in the center. Seems like there’s at least one big building there, maybe a hangar or something. What’s in there? What do they have going? And I think there’s another smaller base further north and west, but it’s hard to tell. I’d love to get some binoculars.”

Maggie nodded again. “I can get those,” she said. “Maybe get a guard to lend me his.”

“How you gonna do that, if I may?” Ellis drawled. “You gonna make the poor boy piss himself again?”

She just smirked. “Believe it or not, I don’t need this thing in my head to bat my eyelashes at a guy. I’m probably the only woman in a hundred miles of here.”

“Good. Let’s keep this short before we get a knock on the door here,” Frank said. “Maggie gets some binoculars, hopefully to keep a while. Ellis, I heard you talking about poker with Smitty the other day, yeah?”

“Sure. I’ve played a little,” Ellis said with a shrug. “What of it?”

“Get a game going. I can spot you some money if you need it. I want you to make some friends and see what slips out over cards.”

“All right, then. I suppose I can do that. Can’t hurt to see if these fine young men have any cash to part with.” Ellis grinned.

Frank turned to Cal. “This is voluntary, Cal. I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Cal just smiled. “Well, I admit you got my curiosity up, Mr. Lodge. What you got in mind?”

“Same thing, just with the medics and the folks taking care of you. You’re an old man these days, so use some of that grandpa charm and see what they tell you,” Frank said. “That goes for all of us, but some of us are more charming than others.”

Cal nodded. “I can do that. You know, when they had me in yesterday, Danny told me they got a hospital around here. I figure it’s where you’re talking about — the main base, I guess? He says when I’m strong enough again, they gonna take me up there for a healing so they can watch me close-up. I’ll keep my eyes open when that happens. Let y’all know what I see.”

Frank nodded. “Good man.” He then turned to the rest of them. “Look, they’re paying us well. They’re helping us learn about what we can do. But I know there’s more to this than they’re letting on, and I know you all have had the same thoughts. We still don’t know why we have these abilities or where they come from. That’s the kind of information I’d like to have, wouldn’t you?”

There were general murmurs of agreement, and with that, Frank let them out. Ellis was the last one to leave, and he stopped at the door with an odd look on his face.

“Frank, I gotta say, this is a helluva lot more than I bargained for, all this business. There are days I just want to go home, see my wife and kids, get back to normal, you know?”

Frank nodded, feeling a twinge of sympathy and regret. “I know, Ellis.”

“So, what happens if they find out we’re spying on them? Or worse, what if all this training is for some nasty business we don’t want to get involved in? What happens if we find out exactly what’s going on… and then wish we hadn’t?”

“I don’t know.”

Ellis looked at Frank a moment longer, then shrugged. “All right. I’m with you, but I don’t understand why you’re bringing Cal Hooks into this.”

“Come again?” Frank asked, though he already sort of knew where this would go.

Ellis gave Frank the pained smile of someone who had explained himself many times over. “Look, where you’re from up north, I understand that you may see some things differently than me, and that’s fine. But trust me when I tell you, Frank, that boy can’t handle something complex as all this. My Negroes, when I had ’em working for me down at my garage, they could barely handle simple instruction. They’re children, Frank. Not that bright. Asking him to do this spy stuff, well, it goes against the nature of things.”

“Ellis—” Frank began, but was quickly cut off with a wave from Ellis.

“I know, I know. I ain’t gonna convince you. You just ain’t seen what I have. No experience with it, and that’s fine. I’m just trying to help. Cal is too simple. Either the MAJESTIC folks will figure that out and send him home, or he’ll spill on what you’re trying to do here, figuring out what’s going on. So, I’m just saying, you’d best keep an eye on him, that’s all.”

Frank simply shook his head sadly. He’d been at the Battle of the Bulge in Belgium and the Ardennes during the war, and saw the men of the 333rd Field Artillery Battalion remain in position in the face of withering enemy fire to support the 106th Infantry. The battle had been lost that day, but the sacrifice of the 333rd made it possible to eventually take back that position and advance on Germany.

Weeks later, when that little spit of Belgium was reclaimed, Frank saw the bodies of eleven men of the 333rd outside the village of Wereth. They were tortured and massacred by the Nazis. The Wereth 11, like the rest of their battalion, were black, and they died horribly because they were black. Frank would never again accept “the nature of things” after seeing that.

“Don’t worry, Ellis,” he said simply. “I know who to keep an eye on.”