The Other Eight (2 page)

Dr. Aiken nodded. As mysterious as the
appearance of meta-humans had been, more mysterious was the bizarre
assortment of powers they had been “blessed” with. The classics,
things like super strength, super speed, heat vision, and the like,
were nowhere to be found. In their place were things like the
ability to see through yarn, or the ability to cause spontaneous
dandruff. The most notable power currently belonged to a
meteorologist from Massachusetts with the ability to flawlessly
predict the weather for any town in the United States… as long as
the town’s name started with the letter
G
. Perhaps more
confounding than the dearth of worthwhile powers was the fact that
most of those who displayed those powers seemed blind to the fact
that they were little more than human curiosities. With few
exceptions, these people felt a compulsive need to use their powers
on as grand a stage as possible. Many were able to keep these
impulses under control, settling for being
things
—like
relocating to become the most successful weatherman in the history
of Gary, Indiana. The rest were more or less doomed to eventually
show up on the news after getting shot trying to foil a bank
robbery using their incredible ability to levitate raisins, making
it fortunate, then, that superpowers were relatively rare.

“Regardless,” Siegel continued, “those of us
in the military cannot ignore the facts. Eventually one of these
genetic misfits is going to show up with a worthwhile ability, and
when that happens, we want to know about it. Not only that, but in
their infinite wisdom, the strategists at the top of the food chain
decided that any soldier that can do something that another soldier
can’t has a strategic advantage. Each branch of the military has
been once again asked to identify and recruit a team of the most
stable and effective ‘enhanced individuals’ that we can find. The
marines have already started putting their team together. I’ve been
put in charge of the army’s equivalent team. Your job would be to
filter out the yahoos until we end up with a squad of eight
functional individuals. You think you can do that?”

“Uh… well, hopefully you’ll give me something
more official sounding than ‘yahoo filter’ to put on my CV,” Adam
said with another nervous laugh. It was met with the same
rock-solid gaze. “Yes, I can do that, sir.”

“Good.” The general leaned forward and tapped
the intercom. “Sergeant Roberts, get Dr. Aiken set up with a desk
downstairs and get him started. And get Private Summers down there
to assist him.”

“Wait, that’s it? I’ve got the job? I thought
the process would be, I don’t know, a little more stringent.”

“Like I said, Dr. Aiken, all branches of the
armed services are working on this. There are hundreds of eggheads
dedicated to trying to figure out how these ‘superheroes’ work, but
when it comes to how they think, the pickings are pretty slim. Now
get started. If there’s a super-soldier out there, I’ll be damned
if I let those leathernecks snap him up.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Adam said, standing
and turning to leave. “
Gah
!”

Sergeant Roberts stood in the doorway, a
laptop under one arm and an identification badge in the other hand.
There had been no whisper of a footstep to suggest he had
moved.

“Here is your secure laptop and your RFID
badge. Please follow me, sir.” Roberts turned and walked briskly
down the hallway, Aiken hastily in tow. As he walked, the sergeant
ran through a sequence of instructions. “You will be working in
Conference Room L until we can get you an office. When you boot the
laptop it will request that you select a password. Minimum sixteen
characters, at least one each of lowercase, uppercase, numeric, and
special characters. User name is last name, first initial. On the
laptop you will find a link to a server directory containing the
profiles of the individuals we are most interested in
interviewing.”

Aiken tried to keep track of the litany of
instructions while juggling his bag, a ruggedized aluminum laptop
that looked like it could stop a bullet, and a badge with his photo
on it.

“Hey, where did you get this picture of me?”
Dr. Aiken asked.

By now they had taken a turn into the
stairwell, and the act of speaking while navigating steps and
trying to wrangle his other equipment finally overtaxed Aiken’s
already lackluster coordination. He stumbled on the final step,
launching the laptop. Roberts stopped, turned, and neatly caught
the device with one hand while holding the door at the landing open
with the other.

“The photo was taken at the door while you
were waiting to be allowed inside. It is a part of our automated
visitor identification system.” He handed the laptop back. “Please
be careful with government property, sir.”

“Uh, thanks. Yes, I’ll do that. Sorry.
Listen, I might need you to repeat some of that stuff. What was the
deal with the password?”

Roberts pulled a small white card from his
pocket. “All relevant information can be found on this card. If you
require any additional assistance, I can be reached at extension
23838. That is also indicated on the card. Conference Room L is the
first door on the right. Restrooms are at the end of the hall. All
rooms are card locked. Attempted entry to unauthorized areas will
be logged and investigated. Take a seat in any available chair in
the conference room. We would like an initial assessment of the
priority applicants by 1600. The young woman approaching from your
right is Private First Class Jordan Summers. She will be assisting
you.”

With that Sergeant Roberts stepped back into
the stairwell. Dr. Aiken was left in a sterile white hallway, arms
heavy and head spinning. The woman Roberts had indicated—a
plain-faced young woman with a sharp uniform, short dark hair, and
a sunny smile—stepped up to him. Under one arm she carried a
clipboard, and in each hand, a steaming paper cup.

“Dr. Aiken?” she asked.

“Uh, yes.”

“I’m Private Summers. I’ll be assisting
you.”

“Yeah, the sergeant mentioned that. Um, nice
to meet you. I apologize, things are going awfully quickly. What
exactly is going on here?”

Her expression turned a bit sympathetic. “You
just got recruited into the Guardian Project. And until you get up
to speed, ‘What is going on here?’ is probably going to be a pretty
popular question. Here. Coffee helps. Follow me and we’ll get you
started.”

After a few
minutes, Adam’s old friend caffeine had finished wrapping his brain
in its jittery embrace. Thus energized, he and his new assistant
managed to fight their way through the security red tape and began
to sift through the data. In that time he discovered to his delight
that Private Summers was the first person he had encountered since
his arrival at DARPA headquarters who behaved like an everyday
human being. She was bright and friendly, though perhaps a touch
overeager.

“Jeez… I didn’t realize how long the military
has been keeping an eye on the meta-human condition,” Aiken said.
“You have files going back to 1965.”

“Didn’t you read the briefing once you got
codeword clearance for the Guardian Project?” she asked.

“I’m not even sure what codeword clearance
is. I only got here this afternoon. I thought I was interviewing
for a job to babysit some drug trials or something.”

“Wow. They really
did
fast-track you.
Well, here are the key points then. First, codeword clearance means
that you are cleared to know any classified data relevant to this
specific project. You have it, or else I would have my gun drawn
demanding that you lay down on the ground with your hands behind
your head until you are removed from this secure location.”

“I see,” he said, glancing down to notice for
the first time that she had a sidearm clipped to her belt.

“But since you’ve got codeword clearance, you
can open up that little file there labeled ‘The Guardian Project’
and read the briefing.”

He did as instructed and was treated to a
document approximately eighty pages long, with cross-referenced
footnotes at the bottom of every page.

“Wow. I expected a briefing to be…”

“Brief? Not hardly. It is just one of many
situations where the military has taken some liberties with the
language. Don’t get me started on ‘friendly fire,’ ‘civil war,’ and
‘sunshine units.’”

“What are sunshine units?”

“That’s what they used to use to measure the
deadliness of nuclear fallout. Anyway, would you like me to
summarize the briefing?”

“Please. As it is, I’ve got less than two
hours to get an assessment done.”

“My pleasure. The Department of Defense has
been studying meta-humans since their discovery in order to
determine what, if any, value they might have on the battlefield.
The general consensus for most of that time was that there had yet
to be, and was unlikely to ever be, a meta-human with both
abilities directly applicable to combat operations and the mental
stability to function properly in a military environment. Then, in
the early 1980s, military intelligence determined that the Soviets
had been doing extensive testing of their own and had begun to
assemble a squadron of their most promising prospects. Not to be
outdone, we followed suit. There have been three attempts since
then, each with varying levels of success, to form a functional and
effective meta-human task force. The most recent attempt was just
two years ago, but the funding for the project was cut. That’s when
it got moved over to the DARPA umbrella. Analysis of the previous
failures has determined that the most militarily useful meta-human
abilities seem to have a strong link to mental instability. Your
job is to screen our potential recruits for the perfect balance of
sanity and utility. And
my
job is to assist you. How am I
doing so far?”

“Very, very well.”

“Great! Well, let’s keep the ball rolling.”
She rubbed her hands together. “I haven’t been given any literature
on you or your research. What do I need to know to help you sift
through these records?”

Adam thought for a moment. After spending the
last few years trying to figure out how to pad out his findings and
beliefs into something that had enough pages to pass muster with
his professors, the concept of paring it down to the essentials was
a bit foreign. “Well, I suppose the first thing you need to
understand is that technically there is no such thing as a sane
meta-human.”

“That would certainly explain the low success
rate of this project so far.”

“It all comes down to brain structure. The
meta-human condition, from a psychological perspective, is a
collection of functional mental disorders. Varying degrees of
delusion and obsession, mostly. About twenty years ago researchers
discovered that all true meta-humans share a gene, and—”

“Actually, if you read the briefing, you’ll
learn that the gene was discovered almost thirty years ago. The
information was suppressed until an independent civilian
investigation rediscovered it in 1992 as part of the Human Genome
Project.”

“Really?”

“Yep. If you hang out at DARPA long enough,
you’ll start to learn just how many times the wheel has had to be
reinvented for the sake of national security. I’ve only been on two
projects so far, and it is already mind-blowing. Go on though.”

“Well,” he said, glancing uncertainly at the
briefing for a moment, “most meta-humans that I’ve worked with
share a few things. The first is the gene. The second is an unusual
amount of brain activity in the”—his expression
soured—“
Liefeld
lobe of the brain. The third is an inciting
factor, a so-called ‘origin.’ The standing theory is that people
who have this gene are susceptible to various environmental
stimuli, and once exposed to the stimuli, develop abilities that
are regulated and controlled by the Liefeld lobe. Conversely, I
believe that these people are
born
with a sort of…
superpower wild card, and the origin is just the psychological kick
that makes the decision of what the powers will be. It is like a
phobia. Babies aren’t born afraid of water, but if a traumatic
enough experience occurs, they can develop hydrophobia as adults.
So… what is it now?”

Summers was nodding with a smirk on her face.
“A Chinese scientist theorized that back in 1995. Intelligence
managed to ‘secure’ enough of his research to confirm it shortly
after. Meta-human powers are all of a psychic nature, and the
origin is just the mental excuse to start using them.”

“Yes! I knew it!” he declared, pumping his
fists. “It makes so much sense that it would be psychological! I
mean, why else would the power and the personality match so closely
most of the time? Why else do the powers have such a strong
tendency to play off of the person’s name?! Hahaha! I… wait. Did
Dr. Liefeld know about that?”

“Of course he did; he’s been a part of all
three prior attempts at the Guardian Project.”

“So that asshole has been rejecting my thesis
even though he knows it’s accurate?!”

“If it makes you feel any better, he was
probably under government pressure to do it.”

“Yeah, but he probably enjoyed it anyway.”
Aiken looked at the clock. “No time to mope about it, I guess.
Okay, we’ll split these profiles up. Here’s what we’re looking for.
The meta-human condition has a way of amplifying personality
traits. Almost all of these people are going to have delusions of
grandeur, generally that they have a higher purpose or great
responsibility. We want to find people who feel that their high
purpose is justice or protection. Firemen, police officers,
enlisted soldiers, anyone with a dangerous but useful job like that
is a good sign. Charity work, signs of self-sacrifice, and having
younger siblings are usually a good sign that they’ve developed an
instinct to protect and aid. We want to see confidence, too. That
usually goes hand in hand with the more useful, or at least, more
impressive, powers. Red-flag anyone who seems to have a
preoccupation with control. Politicians, management types. Ambition
is good, but the wrong sort of ambition mixed with superpowers
equals super villain. Make sense?”