Episode LIV

“Sir, the telephone is ringing.”

“Answer it you idiot!”

“Hello? Yes Frank, he is here. Okay.” Distracted by too many neurons firing at once the henchman hung up the cell phone and turned to his master. “Frank says the police are close to finding you.”

“I was afraid of this,” Acidity muttered just loud enough for the henchman to overhear. Then he realized how melodramatic he sounded and ordered the henchman to forget what he had just heard. Unfortunately this henchman was George, one of his original two followers. Acidity had utilized George more than any of his other “employees” and had thus had to inject him more than anyone else. The command was interpreted a bit too literally and George stood in front of Acidity with a blank look smeared across his face. Cursing the stupidity of his followers under his breath Acidity started over.

“If we are going to move we will need money. Go back to the Bates Hotel and retrieve all of their files. I especially want all of the credit card information they have.”

“Yes, sir, Lord Acidity” George haltingly responded, trying to remember his mission perfectly.

“Now make sure nobody sees you, nobody alive that is. The police have captured you before and I can’t take the chance they want you again.”

“With a final nod and “yes, sir” for his master George left the makeshift compound and headed towards the north side of Daze Springs.

* * *

With a groan Frodo awoke. He stretched and immediately wished that he hadn’t. His arms encountered slimy garbage—the remains of too much spaghetti he suspected. At once he was outraged. Who would dare to do this to Frodo Baggins?!? He would make them pay! But then he remembered. He was no longer Frodo Baggins, he was simply Jeff Smark.

After a momentary letdown Jeff decided not to let anything keep him down. He had risen through the structure of Elfaeran’s massive hierarchy until he had budgetary control of Q Lab. Perhaps his fellow (well former fellow) Q Labbers had betrayed him, but Jeff knew he could get back at them. The first thing he needed to do was contact his financial advisor. A quick call and—his hand slapped against an empty belt. Of course, he berated himself, they had taken all of his equipment, no matter how mundane. Even his wallet was gone, though they had left his glasses. Perhaps out of pity he though. But his glasses were not as ordinary as they appeared, though they would even fool Xanga’s vaunted sensors. None of their features would do him any good here though.

When an attempt to clean his glasses only smeared the filth around Jeff sighed and sat up. Thankfully the dumpster was mostly full and he could see out from this position. The dumpster was in a dingy alley behind what appeared to be a rather rundown restaurant, Tony’s Bistro. After probing his memory for a few moments Jeff remembered the establishment. He and Prince John—no, he reminded himself, no more pseudonyms if he could help it. He and Dick Löwe had used the place once during Q Lab’s early years as a place to meet a Canadian agent. Since that time the neighborhood had decayed and had been absorbed by the north side slums.

“Of course they’d dump me in a place like this,” he muttered. “They just—” But then he froze, for he heard footsteps coming down the alley towards his dumpster. Jeff debated hiding below the rim of the trash container, but on a whim he decided to ask the approaching individual for help. He determined that the stranger was a tall man in his mid twenties with long red hair. Jeff called out. “Hello, my good man, can give you give a brother a hand?”

“Master said I mustn’t be seen,” the man muttered in a dull voice. “Have to kill this one.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Jeff replied. “No need to kill anybody. I’m worth more to you alive than dead.”

“No, you can’t live.” With that dire pronouncement the man picked up a nail encrusted plank and advanced upon the dumpster.

“Wait, you can’t be serious,” Jeff protested. “I-I have money! I’ll pay you not to kill me!”

The man paused and appeared to be considering the offer. “Money? You can give money to the master?”

“Um, yeah, sure. I can give money to your boss no problem. Now where should I send this money?”

“No sending. You will come with me to hotel and then we see the master.”

With a shrug Jeff levered himself out of the dumpster and walked towards the man. At this point anything was better than the dumpster. Then he paused as something about the man struck him as familiar. Wait, hadn’t Q Lab just started investigating reports of slavish goons in Daze Springs? This man could be a follower of the creature calling himself Acidity. Jeff grinned, if this was true then his day was definitely looking up. He might be completely on his own, but this Acidity character certainly had an organization already in place. He resumed his walk towards the man and grinned. “What’s your name buddy? I’m Jeff.”

“George. Don’t talk any more. Follow me.”

* * *

Acidity was contemplating the merits of sending more minions after George and had decided to have someone call Frank for him when the entrance to his makeshift throne room burst open. George pushed past the two minions standing guard, trailing another man behind him. The middle-aged stranger was of average height with greasy blond hair and thoroughly unremarkable features. Acidity was sure he had never seen him before, but he still seemed familiar.

Abruptly Acidity sat upright as he realized what was familiar about the stranger. He walked and moved just like the scientists at the Daze Springs Scientific Studies Lab, with all the arrogance that modern society’s addiction to science could give him.

“George!” the acid lord began. “What is the meaning of this?”

As he listened to his own voice Acidity truly began to warm to his new persona. This is who he was meant to be. No more for him the days as mild mannered James Faulkner, successful businessman and world traveler. Instead of traveling the globe Acidity meant to rule it! But first, of course, must come his control of Daze Springs, and he could never accomplish this with only idiots like George. Perhaps if he had a few more underlings like Frank Evans…

Suddenly Acidity realized that George was answering his question.

“—has money Lord Acidity.”

“Is this true?” The acid lord quickly cut George off and turned his full attention to the stranger.

“Of course Mr. Acidity, I have plenty of money. But perhaps if you tell me a bit more about your present difficulties I can determine how to best help you. You see I know all about you. Some former associates of mine were quite fascinated by your emergence. If you gain much more power they may start seeing you as a threat.”

“Wait,” Acidity growled. “Who are you that I should listen to you?”

Ignoring the question the stranger posed one of his own.

“Where is your minion Ed?”

“You know too much.”

“No, wait. Ed disappeared after an incident in Westwood, right? But he eventually came back. Why?”

Slightly intrigued by this brash man Acidity decided not to throw the stranger out and tried to humour him instead. “Of course he returned. Everybody returned, they cannot resist me. I am more addictive than the Borg!”

“That’s what we wanted you to think. Sci-fi clichés aside, your acid treatments are extraordinarily addictive. But…”

“But?” Acidity prompted in his deep voice.

“But we managed to beat it. I’m not sure how, that was Batman’s department. Look, we can talk all day, but I can produce proof for you. My former associates know everything that Ed knows. Not knew, everything that he knows and learns. By this time they’ve probably already gone to the police.”

“I’ve heard the police are close to me, but not why.” Acidity paused in his pronouncement. “I must investigate this. You will stay here tonight under guard.”

“May I at least have a shower and some clean clothes?”

“Yes. Fenton and George will take you to a room. You will remain there and not attempt to escape.”

“Yessir bossman. I’ll stay put. By the way, my name is Jeff.”

* * *

The room Jeff was lead to was far from comfortable, but at least it was clean and dry. After a long cold shower he stretched out on the room’s cot. Apparently the compound had water and sewer connections, but no electricity or amenities like water heaters. Or, he mused, perhaps that was just for the “guest quarters.”

As the former Q Labber wasn’t at all tired he tried to plan out his future. He’d known he wanted revenge against the rest of Q Lab, or at least the mutiny’s leaders, but he’d never imagined he would have the good fortune to run into someone as capable as Acidity. Tomorrow, once he had convinced the acid lord he would have to contact his financial advisor.

For the past twenty years Dr. Gordon, in addition to his own eccentric activities had managed Jeff’s investment portfolio. Initially Zagreb Investments had been rather small, but once Jeff entered Q Lab he had found many opportunities to divert funds. He always told himself that he wasn’t stealing, just taking what was rightfully his from the patent money Q Lab controlled. After all he had helped to develop several of the gadgets and drugs and even helped to concoct the cover stories.

Jeff wasn’t sure exactly what the doctor was up to these days. It had been nearly five years since they had met face-to-face, though seven years previously they had begun secretly communicating over Xanga’s satellite. Jeff still remembered his astonishment when he discovered that they were routed through Telstar 42. He hadn’t known there were more than thirty of the communications satellites, including classified models. Obviously he couldn’t connect to the satellite away from Q Lab, or Gordon’s facility (wherever it was), but with broadband access to the internet he should be able to send a secure message to the doctor. Then, once he had access to his finances he could bankroll Acidity and perhaps even direct the monster’s energies against Q Lab.

Unfortunately Jeff realized that gaining access to his money might not answer all of his problems. He couldn’t let himself believe that Nightrider would really ignore him—even after this she would surely monitor his actions. In fact, he sat upright as the thought struck him, she might have left a GPS chip in him. He had no way to check his suspicions without resorting to a lab, and he didn’t dare risk the chance of leading Nightrider somewhere he might use as a base of operations. Cursing Nightrider and her ilk Jeff ruffled through several drawers until he found a pencil and pad of paper. Hours and seemingly reams later he finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Acidity was definitely not a morning person, though as James Faulkner he had needed to rise early most mornings. Now that he had set himself up as a self-styled acid lord he set his own schedule as much as possible and expected the world to conform. This morning he had tried to sleep in, comfortable under the surface of his acid spa. His rest was disturbed however as George tossed a small rock into the bubbling acid.

“Frank called, master.”

“Well? What did he say?”

“The police are coming here.”

“WHAT?!? When? How many? Why didn’t he find out sooner?”

Overwhelmed George failed to answer any of his master’s questions. Frustrated, Acidity finally managed to restrain and calm himself. “How long do we have George?”

“He said it would be a few hours yet. The psychic’s drawings weren’t too clear.”

“Psychic? What the—” He broke off as the stranger strode in through the open door. No, wait, his name was Jeff

“I finally convinced George here that I needed to talk to you again. What’s wrong?”

“Apparently the police have a psychic helping them to find this base. I might be able to fight them off, but I can’t chance loosing my minions—you on the other hand…”

“Wait just a minute buddy,” Jeff interjected. “I told you about the police, remember? Look, this psychic is just a front. I’m sure he is the one my former associates have used before. This time they probably fed him information from Ed. The police will eventually come right here and know exactly what to do.”

“I agree. What can you do to help me?”

“George took credit card information from that hotel, right? If you give me some of that data and at least one actual card then I’ll be able to contact my financial advisor. I can get the funds from him to lease a building in town—probably something next to the slums. With your construction minions and other discrete people that we can hire we’ll be able to retrofit the building to accommodate your unique needs.”

“Hmm…a most ambitious plan. But I approve. Take George and make your plans. Once you have access to the building go there and call me.”

“That sounds good sir, except that I don’t think I should go near the building any time soon. You can take care of Ed by firing him, or whatever you do to former minions—but I suspect my former associates might be able to track me. Now don’t panic, I have my towel and I’m sure they can’t hear or see what I do, but they might have implanted a GPS locater chip. Until I get access to better equipment I won’t be able to know for sure.”

“I will certainly deal with Ed. Your former associates will not get any more information from him after tonight. But I find this most suspicious. What guarantee do I have that you will honour this bargain?”

“Well you don’t,” Jeff quickly replied. But I can make assurances. I’ll have George with me, or any of your other minions if you prefer. I’ll also give you further details about my former operations. I have to ask that you don’t act on this information unless something happens to me though.”

“Hmmm,” Acidity rumbled. “Very well, I shall consider your terms. Now what is this information?”

“I was employed at a large government facility underneath the Mammoth Mountains. I am not sure where the main entrances are anymore, but it is within mere minutes of Daze Springs. The area I worked in is known as Q Lab—if anything happens to me or you are attacked then know that the one known as Nightrider is responsible.

“Also,” the former Q Labber continued. “My financial advisor is located somewhere in the area—his name is Dr. Gordon. Tell him that Captain Kirk sent you to look for more tribbles and he should be able to help you.”

“How can I find this Dr. Gordon?”

“That I don’t know, not exactly. But you can’t mistake this one for anyone else. He is quite secretive, but flamboyant. He is running his own lab somewhere in the valley or nearby. He’ll probably be hiding in some grand dramatic place where nobody would look for him unless they knew him very well. Oh, and when you tell him about Kirk don’t say ‘live long and prosper’ whatever you do.”

“You seem to have a fascination with Star Trek,” the acid lord remarked dryly.

“Occupational hazard in a job that seems like science fiction.” Jeff shrugged. “I’ve never liked the show myself though, I just enjoy using it.”

“Very well, you and George will leave in twenty minutes. Take the black Land Rover in the corner of the compound. The rest of us will move out into the countryside and wait for your signal.”

“Take care pardner.” With a jaunty wave Jeff left the hall. Acidity hoped that he had made the right choice. If not he was determined to hunt Jeff down and turn him into the most mindless minion imaginable.

* * *

“Turn in here George.”

“Why?” The minion was surly. Even before his baptism by acid he had never enjoyed driving. Now he had to devote more resources than ever to the task.

“Because I’m hungry and they accept credit cards, that’s why!” Jeff retorted.

“Okay. Master put the card in there.” He pointed to the glove box.

“Really?” I wouldn’t think he could get in a car without ruining it.”

“Special suit.” George grunted as he pulled to a stop.

“May…take…der?”

Jeff spoke loudly from the passenger seat. “Two double Dharma burgers, one extra large fries, and a peanut butter shake. Oh, and two fortune cookies.”

“Tha…e…eight fifteen.”

Unlike some of his fellows Jeff hadn’t left Elfaeran Base in several years, and he had sorely missed Island Burger’s fast food. Once he paid and took the food from George he tossed the driver one of the fortune cookies.

“What does it say big man?”

“Can’t read while driving. Here.” With that George dumped the cookie into his mouth and chomped down. He pulled the fortune from between his teeth and gave the paper to Jeff. “You read it.”

“Um, okay…” Jeff’s voice trailed off as he desperately searched for a napkin. Finding none he gritted his teeth and unfolded the paper. “ ‘No man’s knowledge can go beyond his experience.’ Hmm, I wonder if that is still true in the information age. Eh, whatever. Now, what dose mine say? Oh, ‘Good laws lead to the making of better ones; bad ones bring about worse.’ Now wasn’t that enlightening old buddy?”

George grunted and didn’t speak until they reached the public library. Once inside Jeff made a beeline for the nearest computer. After creating a new Hotmail account he sent a message to another long dormant account and downloaded the file attached to the automatic reply. If Q Lab tracked him to this computer he was sure Mouse Tail would be able to recognize his own handiwork even as he was unable to pull any data from the computer. Once past the library firewalls and filters Jeff was able to access one of his many secret e-mail accounts. It only took him a few minutes to compose a message to Gorgon and send it on its untraceable way.

As the two men walked out to the Land Rover George asked what they would do next.

“Wait. Well, buy a cell phone with the number I gave to Gordon. But then we wait.”

* * *

“Dr. Gordon?”

“Yes Miss Christianson?”

“You have a message from a Jeff Smark, sir.”

“Thank you. Please forward that to my internal e-mail and then delete your copies.”

“Yes, sir.” Once this simple task was done Susan turned her attention back to her blog. She was sorely tempted to drop Lakota’s blog from her blogroll. He hadn’t posted anything about his new job in nearly two weeks! For a brief moment she thought about changing jobs herself, but she couldn’t really. Even if Dr. Gordon had lost his medical license years ago the board hadn’t been fair about it. He was a nice old man and deserved better. Of course from Susan’s perspective forty was old and sixty was positively ancient.

* * *

As he walked into his new headquarters building under the cover of darkness Acidity craned his neck up. The building had a good look to it, even if it was run down. He even appreciated the large neon sign, currently powered down to mask his entrance. Yes, the old Star Tribune would provide the perfect cover for his operations. If he could start running the paper again he might even be able to use it against that cursed Marla woman!

Episode XXXVIII

Damien wasn't sure what he thought about Q Lab, but they weren't quite what Dr. Dinglethorpe had led him to expect. The scientist had often opined about the "secretive freaks in Q," though his language was normally less restrained. Privately Damien felt that Dr. pHinn was actually jealous of their abilities and funding. Pushing the thought aside Damien returned to speculating about his package.

“Remember,” Rubber Snake had quietly cautioned him. “Don’t open it until you’re outside the base. They told you about some of the security in the building, but that doesn’t even scrape the iceberg. We know about tuna and anchovies and all about Susan.”

Unbeknownst to Damien, Frodo Baggins had forbidden Nightrider from either meeting Damien or exposing him to knowledge of the Queen device. With the inscrutable wisdom of supervisors everywhere he assured her that he knew best and promptly sent her away. With the truth unavailable the Q Lab conspirators had resorted to inflating the reputation of the base’s actually ailing security system. It was the only way they could think of to explain everything they knew about him.

As his thoughts drifted towards Susan, Damien finally reached his apartment on the outskirts of Sector #XY1492. Once inside he sat down at his computer and opened up a new tab in the already open browser window. A quick search via Google (he refused to think of it as “googling” something) brought him to Susan’s blog. He chided himself for yet again forgetting the URL. After catching himself up on her accounts of books, school and boyfriends he checked his e-mail and was disappointed to see no replies from her. Once again bored Damien clicked on a link to a blog belonging to one of her friends, someone named Lakota. At first he was interested, but then he noticed that the guy hadn’t updated his blog in over two months.

“Pathetic,” Damien sighed before switching to searching for web comics. One comic strip in particular caught his interest, La Ardilla Loca, apparently written by a Mammoth U student as a cross-cultural project. If there was one thing Damien remembered from high school it was Spanish, he had suffered through four years with Señora Jackson. Engrossed, Damien followed the web comic until the end where he was disappointed to find a conclusion lacking. Instead he discovered that the artist, Carry Hobson, had dedicated the exploits of Enrique, the secret agent squirrel, to her boyfriend and promised to one day complete the saga.

Damien was ready to leave the site when he noticed the name of the boyfriend and webmaster, Dennis Brown. He remembered that his friend Hegel Jeremiah knew a kid named Dennis Brown that he said had been a computer wiz. Deciding that it couldn’t hurt to enquire Damien sent off a quick e-mail to Brown’s listed account, brownde@mammothu.edu. As he signed out of his e-mail and prepared for bed Damien recalled Blackbird’s apology.

“I’m sorry kid, I didn’t really mean to lead you on at all. It’s just that, well… The boss, see, he…” The scientist gradually trailed off. “Look, let me know if I can help you in the future, okay kid? R. S. here will show you out.”

Rubber Snake had indeed shown Damien out, but that hadn’t been all he’d done. He’d quietly slipped a small package of something into the assistant’s backpack along with some advice. Damien had refrained from opening the package, but a small handwritten note on the outside warned Damien that he would probably need the assistance of another geek when he finally opened the package. Damien figured that either Hegel Jeremiah or this Dennis Brown character would have to do, and it would probably have to be Dennis as Hegel Jeremiah was off on a backpacking trip in Yellowstone. He yawned and stretched. There would be time enough for this tomorrow. Right now he needed to take a quick flight in an area that Blackbird had indicated was free of surveillance before he’d become so unhelpful.

Episode XXV

Q Lab Internal Communication

Date: April 1, 2005
Sender Code Name: Rubber Snake
Receiver Code Name: Blackbird
Subject: New Project Proposal
Message: The Queen Device is operational. We are ready to test it for long-term durability and practicality. Recommend we select a local candidate.


Q Lab Internal Communication

Date: April 1, 2005
Sender Code Name: Blackbird
Receiver Code Name: Rubber Snake
Subject: re: New Project Proposal
Message: I thought the Queen Device was still in the theoretical stage. If this is an April Fool's joke I will personally recommend you as a test subject for the Winston project.


Q Lab Internal Communication

Date: April 1, 2005
Sender Code Name: Rubber Snake
Receiver Code Name: Blackbird
Subject: re: New Project Proposal
Message: No joke, Blackbird. We thought it best to keep the excitement level at a minimum until we were sure it could be built. Still waiting for your opinion on a test run. Please advise.


Q Lab Internal Communication

Date: April 2, 2005
Sender Code Name: Blackbird
Receiver Code Name: Rubber Snake
Subject: Queen Project
Message: The test run is a go. We will begin candidate selection. We want someone who is active but relatively unimportant.


Q Lab Internal Communication

Date: April 12, 2005
Sender Code Name: Blackbird
Receiver Code Name: Rubber Snake
Subject: re: Queen Project
Message: We've narrowed the list of candidates down to six. Review the attached profiles and see what you think. I am partial to #2 and #3.


Q Lab Internal Communication

Date: April 14, 2005
Sender Code Name: Rubber Snake
Receiver Code Name: Blackbird
Subject: re: Queen Project
Message: I would recommend #2, except we've caused enough trouble with that department already. If news of this were to escape Q Lab it could be problematic. However, it appears that #3 is almost perfect. Dinglethorpe is barely aware that we even exist, and his assistant is a highly paid errand boy who also runs chemistry experiments -- generally without knowing what they are about.


Q Lab Internal Communication

Date: April 17, 2005
Sender Code Name: Blackbird
Receiver Code Name: Rubber Snake
Subject: re: Queen Project
Message: My colleagues agree. Damien Valiant has been approved. I'm afraid we need to drag you out of your dungeon for a face-to-face meeting about this. I know you don't have plans, so we'll be expecting you at 23:00 tonight.

* * *

Half of the security measures taken in Q Lab were entirely unnecessary. In fact, the practice of assigning code names to everyone could not properly be considered a security measure. Who did these names protect? They weren't used outside of Q Lab, and real names were accessible to anyone who really wanted them. Newcomers often questioned the practice, and were told by their elders that they would understand in time. They never did, but they went ahead and passed this myth on to those who came after them.

Not that there were many newcomers. The entire department employed less than two dozen people, and most of them would have been world leaders in their esoteric fields if they were permitted to interact with the world. They weren't, of course. The lab itself was known throughout Elfaeran Base as the research center for advanced gadgetry, and rumored to be a contact point for extraterrestrials. Most Q Lab employees couldn't tell you whether the alien rumors were true, but they could tell you that Q Lab was home to much more advanced technology than anyone outside was aware. They could tell you, that is, if you didn't mind them killing you afterwards.

On April 17 at 23:00, six Q Lab employees were in attendance at a secret meeting about the Queen project. Prince John arrived with Rubber Snake, while Nightrider and Frodo Baggins were two of the colleagues Blackbird mentioned. The meeting didn't last long; it was mostly a formality to make sure everyone was on track and no details were being forgotten.

"Gentlemen, Nightrider, welcome," said Blackbird, calling the meeting to order. "We are here to discuss the Queen Device. After several months of hard work, it has been constructed. It is operational. And we are ready to test it. Any questions?"

"Yes," said Nightrider. All eyes turned to her. "Could we please have a non-cryptic, detailed description of what this device does? We all think we know, but I for one would like to have it all out in plain English."

"Certainly," Blackbird agreed. "I believe the one best qualified to answer that question is Rubber Snake, the man who designed the device. Rubber?"

The young man stood up. "The Queen Device, as you all know, is the ultimate advance in spy technology. It is, essentially, a bioelectrical parasite. It 'lives' inside the body of the subject, renewing its power supply via chemical reactions fueled by small amounts of the subject's own blood. Its needs are small enough to go unnoticed, and it uses stealth technology to avoid detection by standard medical scans. It taps into the subject's nervous system, and gains complete access to the subject's sensory input. This information is then broadcast to a receiver unit. The receiver unit is attached to a virtual reality device. A person on our end can plug into this device while the Queen is broadcasting, and experience all the same sensory input as the subject."

Frodo Baggins spoke up. "Question: By sensory input, do you mean..."

"Everything. Sight, sound, smell, heat, cold, pain, vertigo, everything. However, it is possible to filter it down to just sight and sound if all of that is overwhelming or extraneous."

"And you say the device is operational?" This was from Darkrider.

"Yes it is."

"Then has it been tested?"

"Briefly."

"So, who..."

Prince John shifted uncomfortably.

"There were some....glitches to iron out. We'd rather not discuss it."

"Fair enough," said Blackbird. "Are there any other questions?"

"Yes," said Nightrider. "Are we certain all the glitches are fixed in preparation for a more extensive test?"

"Yes," Rubber Snake answered. "We don't anticipate any serious problems. The main thing we're worried about is whether the device will be able to sustain itself properly over a long period of time and keep the signal strong."

"What we've decided to do," Blackbird continued, "is to implant the device in a low-ranking employee from another department, specifically Damien Valiant from Sector #XY1492. Rubber Snake will then make regular observations via the virtual reality receiver over the course of eight weeks. This will serve a dual purpose of making sure the device is working properly, and testing how effective it is for actual spy work. I needn't point out that we have absolutely no authorization to conduct this test. Does anyone have a problem with that?" No one did. Q Lab had played by their own rules for a very long time. "Are there any further questions?"

"Just one," said Nightrider. "How are we going to get the parasite into the target?

"It is capable of getting in on its own. All we have to do is plant it in his quarters. It acts when he is asleep."

"But how does it get in?"

"It injects the subject with a strong general anesthetic to keep him sleeping. He'll think he's had a good night's rest and he might notice what looks like an insect bite."

"But how does it get in?"

"If there are no further questions, this meeting is adjourned."

* * *

Queen Project Report
by Rubber Snake

(selected entries)

April 18, 2005

Remote contact with Queen has been established. It is functioning normally and is adjusting to the local immune system.

April 19, 2005

Queen is now fully integrated and self-sustaining. It is preparing to tap into the nervous system. Sensory transmissions should begin within 50 hours.

April 22, 2005

I jacked in for about five minutes in the middle of the night. The experience is still unsettling; not sure if I'll ever get used to it. He was asleep, so there was no visual, but I could hear him breathing and feel him lying in bed. I understand the necessity of dimming my own sensory input so I can concentrate on his, but boy, that's weird. I can still feel myself in the virtual reality unit, but it's like a dream or a memory. Of course some sensation on my end is necessary so that my brain doesn't become disoriented and so that I can feel what I'm doing to disconnect, but the whole experience is just the most bizarre thing since sliced bread. You said you wanted me to speak freely in these logs; don't blame me if you get delusional rambling.

April 23, 2005

I tried it again for about ten minutes. Wasn't quite so bad this time. Tomorrow I think I'll try it when he's awake. Queen reports all systems functioning normally for both the parasite and the host. Hmm, I wonder if this could have medical applications?

April 27, 2005

I stayed jacked in for a whole hour this morning while he was getting ready for work. The hardest thing to get used to is not being in control. Because it feels like I'm the one taking a shower or brushing my teeth. He's younger than I am; that's also weird. Let me state in advance that I am not volunteering if you decide to test this on a female.

April 28, 2005

Stayed with him off and on pretty much all day. I never thought I'd say it, but I'm actually getting the hang of this. I'm starting to pick up the flow of how he moves around and stuff. His job is excruciatingly boring. Maybe it would be interesting if I knew more chemistry. Oh, and Dr. Dinglethorpe should be institutionalized -- wait, he already has been. The thing that's taken the most getting used to is when Damien talks. I hear and feel myself speaking, but I don't know what I'm going to say until I say it.

April 29, 2005

Oh, wow, I am liking this guy more and more the longer I spend with him. It's going to be really weird if I ever meet him in person. Dinglethorpe's got these insane security rules -- not as insane as ours, but still -- Damien has to work late sometimes, and if he stays out past 22:00 he has to go check in with a security guard. Sector #XY1492 is like 50 times the size of Q Lab, and it takes forever to go find one. Anyway, he's got an awesome hacker program -- not as awesome as what we've got but still -- he snuck into Dinglethorpe's office and used it to send a fake email so he didn't have to check in. I'm getting so in tune with him I really felt nervous when we were sneaking through the hallway. When he was in the office he had a sneezing fit, and I was afraid someone was going to hear him and we'd get caught.

April 30, 2005

Queen is reporting difficulties. Damien's immune system may have discovered it. It is recommending that we cease transmissions while it reintegrates itself.

May 5, 2005

Queen is reporting everything normal again, but I'm not buying it. Damien doesn't seem to notice anything wrong, but I can tell that something is different from last time. He's sick or something. The change was probably gradual, so he didn't pick up on it, but I noticed right away after being gone for a few days. I hope this isn't being caused by Queen. I'm going to talk to Blackbird about it.

May 6, 2005

Okay, I do not know what just happened, but that was INSANE. Dinglethorpe sent Damien down to the commissary to pick up some supplies after lunch. He wanted Mountain Dew, Cocoa Puffs, saltine crackers, and batteries for his mp3 player and Game Boy. Damien ate some spaghetti -- luckily they were out of tuna and anchovies, or I would have had to disconnect until he finished -- and then went down and picked up all the stuff. He brought it back, and was talking to the professor about where the name "Elfaeren" came from (I can't believe he's been here this long and didn't know). He was putting the batteries into the Game Boy, when, I think, the Game Boy started shocking him. The pain level was intense enough to overload the receptors on this end, and my link got severed.

May 13, 2005

Queen reports that the subject is sick (duh!) but that its own systems are fine. However, while Damien is unconcious there's pretty much nothing to transmit. I keep jacking in periodically, just in case. It's doubtful that Queen had anything to do with whatever happened to him, but we need to find a way to be certain.

May 18, 2005

Bad new, good news, and bad news. The bad news is, the XY1492 doctors can't figure out what's wrong with him. The good news is they called us up, giving us an excuse to take a closer look. Even more good news is that Queen is just fine and in no danger of being discovered, and is definitely not responsible for what's going on. The bad news is that our own scans were only able to confirm what they already know: He's losing weight and bone mass. I keep jacking in every day, but I only get occasional glimmers of sensation.

May 21, 2005

He's woken up! He's eating Ramen and watching M*A*S*H. And apparantly he's lost his memory, based on what the people around him are saying. He feels fine, though. Different, but healthy.

May 22, 2005

He continues to move about in a sort of daze. He doesn't seem to recognize Dinglethorpe. In fact, he doesn't give any indication of knowing who he is or where he is. I can't tell what's going on inside his head, but there's nothing coming out of his mouth. Queen says it's fine and so is he.

May 28, 2005

Damien just had a dream, and I had it with him. Only that's impossible. I can't experience his dreams. So maybe just I was dreaming. But I was jacked into the VR unit. I couldn't sleep and decided to hook up for a few minutes just on a whim. It was refreshing to feel him in normal sleep rather than a coma. Then, without any kind of warning, he just got up and wandered into the hallway. You'd think a patient like this would be monitored, but no one stopped him from randomly walking through corridors. He might have been sleep walking; I'm not sure. For all I know he's been sleepwalking for the past week.

This is where it gets weird. He somehow managed to avoid security and make it out onto a balcony. Then he just kind of stood there staring down into the valley. He had a headache, and was slightly dizzy. He started leaning over the railing, and I had just decided to disconnect and call for help, when he fell. I was sure he was going to fall to his death, and I would be the first man ever to know what it feels like to die without actually dying. But instead of dying, he started flying. Yes, that sounds stupid and corny, not to mention impossible. But I'm telling you, he just floated up into the air, did a few swoops, circled around and landed on the balcony again. The headache and dizziness were gone, and he was walking with confidence. He wandered back to his hospital room and told the nurse he had no idea what had happened, but he was feeling much better. I don't believe that for a minute. He's feeling better, sure, but I think he knows exactly what happened.

You're going to say I fell asleep on the machine and dreamed it all, or prolonged exposure to the VR unit stimulates hallucinations, or something. That may be the case. But let's be sure, okay? Elfaeran base is home to weirder things than a flying man and we all know it.

May 29, 2005

It's confirmed...if I dreamed last night's events, then I fell asleep sometime after Damien wandered out of his room, because that definitely happened. And I woke up before he wandered back, because that happened as well. And he appears to be fully recovered, aside from being thin as a rail with unusually low bone mass. Please don't call me crazy for pointing out that low bone mass is a characteristic of birds. He continues to maintain that he remembers nothing, and I continue to maintain that he's lying through his teeth. I think he's afraid of his new flying talent being discovered. I would feel the same way.

June 2, 2005

This is going to be the final entry. We were scheduled to go for another couple of weeks, but unusual developments are going to force us to cut the experiment short. Queen has shown remarkable resilience and adaptivity, and I seriously doubt there would have been any technical problems anyway.

Figuring that if he was really able to fly, he would try it again, I jacked in last night...only I had Doctor Smith on hand to verify that I was awake and that the interface was functioning normally. I also recorded the transmission so that someone else can play it back and verify what happened. I've made selected recordings before of course, but the amount of memory they take up is obsene.

Long story short: He snuck outside and flew for most of the night. Once he gets going he can swoop up and gain altitude, but he has to jump off a high spot, because it takes a few seconds of falling before the flying mechanism kicks in. Theory: It may have something to do with getting accelerated to a high enough speed, in which case he might be able to take off from the ground if he jumped off a fast moving vehicle or something. Testing that theory wouldn't be much fun if it turned out to be false.

Look, as I've said before, I can't read his mind. But I've practically lived his life for the past month and a half, and I've heard the things he mutters to himself. The man has a hero complex. He thinks that with this flying ability he can be Superman or something. And I don't think it's occured to him yet that he's not bulletproof. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if he were to fly down to Mammoth City some weekend and get himself killed trying to stop gang activity.

* * *

After flying most of the night away, Damien ate a hearty meal and went to sleep. He was glad that he had time off and didn't have to be anywhere the next day. Anyway, the prospect of work had lost some appeal. Of course he still wanted his job, would need it in fact, not just for money but to maintain his secret identity. What better place for a secret identity than a secret government base? But just now he was happy to have some time to revel in his new power.

When he woke up early that afternoon, his computer screen was flashing. Why is it doing that? He wondered. As soon as he moved the mouse, a message popped up:

The following message will be deleted after one minute. Do not click "ok" until you are ready to give it your undivided attention.

Puzzled, Damien clicked the "ok" button. A full-screen window popped up:

Greetings, from Q Lab! We have eyes and ears everywhere. We know all about your illness, your recovery, and your new nighttime hobby. We know, but no one else is likely to find out unless we tell them. You work in a genetic engineering lab. If you want to avoid becoming Dr. Dinglethorpe's new project, we suggest that you cooperate with us. Please call ext. 8472.

Damien read this twice and was just starting to realize what it meant, when the screen vanished. He thought things over for a few minutes, then picked up his telephone and dialed 8472.

"Mr. Valiant, thank you for calling."

"Who are you?"

"You can call me Blackbird."

"Blackbird?"

"Please, we don't have much time. This line is secure, but only for a few minutes. Since you called this number, I assume you read my message. It hinted at blackmail. For this I apologize. I want us to be friends, Mr. Valiant. I want us to trust each other. A scientific study of your new ability will be beneficial to both of us. But I am willing to conduct it on your terms. Are you willing to meet with me?"

"How do I know that you won't--"

"Kidnap you? I assure you, Mr. Valiant, if I wanted to do that, I would not need your cooperation."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because then you would disappear. When someone diappears, there is an investigation. Investigations are inconvenient and tedious. A waste of resources. Besides, we see no reason to pull you away from your regular job and life. Now, will you meet me tonight?"

"Yes."

"Good. You've already shown an aptitude for sneaking through corridors, but getting to Q Lab undetected will be a bit harder than getting outside. Now listen carefully..." As Damien listened, the man outlined an exact sequence of movements through the base which would dodge security guards and bring him undetected to a rendezvous point where he would meet a contact named "Nightrider". She would then escort him into Q Lab. It all sounded like something out of a James Bond movie, but he didn't doubt that it was all real. He only hoped that he was not getting in over his head.