Leonard Thorne walked through the corridors of the West Wing, clad in a green military uniform, the silver eagle indicating his rank. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with silver hair cropped close to his head and a thick mustache. He was met by a man named Joseph Ramsey, who stood almost a full foot shorter than him. Ramsey wore a black suit with matching tie and a small pin portraying a waving US Flag affixed to his lapel. Thorne brought his legs together and raised his right hand to his forehead in salute.
“Thank you for coming down here, Colonel,” said the Secretary of Defense. “The President requested you by name to help us deal with this matter.”
“I still don’t quite understand what this matter actually is, Mr. Secretary.”
“You’ll be briefed by the President himself.” Ramsey turned from Thorne and began walking. His stride was quick, but Thorne easily kept pace. “Frankly, this is a highly sensitive topic, and we still have no answers.”
Ramsey led the way into the Oval Office, which was quite busy at the moment. Thorne took a mental stock of the people who were currently in the room. The White House Chief of Staff, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Directors of both the National Security Agency and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Secretaries of State, Homeland Security and, strangely enough, Health and Human Services. These men and women were seated on the couches in front of the desk of the President and standing before all of them was the Commander in Chief, Curtis Hayworth. Thorne noticed one other man, standing in the corner, whom he had never seen before.
“Colonel, thank you for responding,” said Hayworth.
“I serve at the pleasure of the President,” said Thorne. “Although if I may, I’m not exactly sure what this is in regards to.”
The President gestured to the Secretary of Health and Human Services. “Amy, you wanna fill Col. Thorne in?”
Amy Petersen rose, adjusting her thin glasses and flipping through the documents. “Over the past several months, there have been a number of…strange conditions reported.”
“What sort of conditions?” Thorne looked at the military advisors. “Has there been some sort of biological attack?”
“That’s what makes this so strange…the conditions aren’t necessarily harmful,” said Petersen.
Thorne arched his eyebrows. “Pardon me, Madame Secretary, but what sort of conditions are we talking about?”
Petersen sighed. “Well…there’s no clear pattern of symptoms. There are a multitude of different cases. To give you some examples, a man in Hawaii collapsed after being exposed to sensory overload. A man in Ohio walked out of a burning house covered in carbon and every bit of hair burnt off without a single injury. When he spoke to authorities, he said he was angry while watching a sporting event and then, and this is a direct quote, ‘got hot.’ That was when the fire erupted.”
Thorne cocked an eyebrow. “It sounds like you’re suggesting this man’s anger triggered the fire.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Colonel. And there’s more. A woman in Washington fell into a coma, right after witnesses claim she said she could hear everyone’s thoughts. And a girl in Wisconsin…transformed…” Her voice began to trail off.
“What do you mean ‘transformed’?” asked Thorne.
Petersen handed the report to the Colonel. “She…well, changed…into a-a…” Petersen swallowed, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “…A popular singer.”
Thorne looked up at her incredulously. He flipped through the report and read exactly what Petersen had. Then he read it again to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
“And those are only a few of the cases that have been reported. And those are just in this country,” said Janet Skinner, the Secretary of State. “I’ve been speaking to our allies and this seems to be a global phenomenon.”
Thorne handed Petersen the report. “So what exactly are we looking at here?”
“We’ve got a man here who might be able to answer that question, Colonel,” said Hayworth. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Howard McCabe of the National Human Genome Research Institute. Doctor?”
Howard McCabe was the man Thorne hadn’t recognized. He was bald, save for the thin, white beard, and was the only one not dressed in a suit, but rather slacks and a sweater-vest, with rimless glasses. “Thank you, Mr. President. We’ve examined DNA samples taken by several of these reported cases, and there seems to be a distinct change.”
“What sort of change?” asked Thorne.
“There’s been a new element introduced into the human population, something that seems to have altered us on a genetic level.”
Thorne folded his arms across his chest. “How’s that possible? What caused it?”
McCabe chuckled slightly as he shook his head. “I haven’t the first clue.”
“Who cares how it happened?” asked Louis Walsh of the National Security Agency. “What we need to know is how do we reverse it?”
McCabe shuffled his feet a little and stared down at his shoes. “Well…I don’t think that’s possible. You see, at the Institute, we’ve compared DNA samples of these…umm…I hesitate to use the word ‘infected’, but…”
“It’s fine, Doctor. Continue,” said Hayworth.
“Yes, well we’ve compared those samples to…ahem…normal samples and we’ve found remarkable similarities. Or to put it another way, the genetic trigger that’s responsible for these…symptoms…is now present in all of us, at least as far as we can tell. Humanity has undergone a radical change.”
“You’re saying this is going to happen to all of us?” asked Ramsey.
“No, not necessarily,” said McCabe. “What I’m saying is that it’s there. Whether or not it activates or remains dormant is something I can’t say. And I have no idea what could trigger activation.”
Hayworth circled around his desk and slumped into his chair, but Walsh continued speaking. “Mr. President, we have to do something about this. There are people out there who now possess incredibly destructive power. If we don’t act now and—”
Hayworth banged his palm on the surface of his desk. “And what exactly would you have me do? Round up American citizens?”
“Mr. President, they pose a threat to themselves and others,” said Walsh. “What else would you do?”
“A quarantine might actually be an effective way to study them and see if a cure can be discovered,” said Petersen.
“And what happens when they decide they don’t want to be quarantined?” asked Thorne. “How are you going to restrain someone who can melt the handcuffs?”
“Let’s not forget the rest of the world,” said Ramsey. “Like Janet said, this isn’t restricted to the US.”
“We could be looking at a new kind of arms race,” said Skinner. “Whatever response we make, it will have to be one that takes that into account, in addition to the civil rights of American citizens.”
Hayworth rubbed his chin, turning his chair slightly so he could look out through the windows. The entire room of advisors grew silent as they waited for the President’s word on what sort of action was to be taken. Finally he said to all of them, “I’ve got a lot to think about. What we should do for the moment is review the information we have and consult with other world leaders. You’re all dismissed.”
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The room remained silent for another minute, and then the advisors all broke out into a noisy chatter, throwing their opinions all at once. Hayworth sighed and stood, then leaned over his desk and shouted, “Quiet!”
The conversation came to an almost instant halt at the sound of the President’s deep baritone. Both palms supported his weight on the surface of his desk and he tilted his head up to stare at them all with steel-gray eyes. “You’re. All. Dismissed. And that’s final.”
The advisors gathered their materials and papers and began to file out of the office. Thorne moved with them all as well, but Ramsey gripped his shoulder. When Thorne looked at the Secretary, Ramsey silently indicated it was better if the Colonel lingered a little bit longer. The room quickly emptied and Ramsey closed the door behind the last advisor.
As of now, the only people in the Oval Office were Thorne, Ramsey, McCabe and the President. Hayworth sat back down and let out an alleviating sigh. He rubbed his eyes slightly, it was clear to Thorne that the man hadn’t gotten much sleep during all this.
“Colonel, Doctor, I’d like the two of you to sit,” said Hayworth. Both Thorne and McCabe responded, each taking their seat on a separate couch. Ramsey crossed from the door to behind the President’s desk, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“For what it’s worth, Colonel, I agree with you,” said Hayworth. “Internment of American citizens is a troubling prospect for a number of reasons, and history never regards it favorably. Even if I wanted to do it, like you said, you can’t keep people like this imprisoned for long. Plus, it’d be a veritable declaration of war for those nutcases in anti-government militias. And Dr. McCabe said there’s no guarantee of a way to reverse this.
“That being said, it’s clear this development will pose a massive risk to global stability. We need a way to deal with potential super-powered threats, both at home and abroad.”
The picture was beginning to come into focus for Leonard Thorne. All this time, he had trouble discerning exactly why he’d been summoned into this meeting. He held the rank of colonel, but his primary responsibility was the oversight of a classified research program that had been kept quiet for decades.
“Mr. President, if the United States government began utilizing these people for military purposes, other countries will follow,” said Thorne. “And unlike weapons of mass destruction, no funding is necessary to dispatch these people across the world.”
“You’re absolutely right, and that’s why we are going to work with the United Nations to draft a global treaty banning the military application of persons of mass destruction,” said Hayworth. “But to be honest, I don’t trust half the countries in the UN to abide by shit.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” asked Thorne.
“Superhuman threats are inevitable. Not only from other nations, but also from terrorists. What America needs is a response team.” Hayworth gestured in McCabe’s direction with his hand as he spoke. “The Doctor and I have already discussed this and he’s onboard, but what I need is someone heading up this operation.”
Thorne stroked the edges of his mustache. “And you think I’m that person?”
“The Zenith Project,” said Ramsey. “With his help, you should have no trouble locating suitable candidates for this response team.”
“Sir, wouldn’t America establishing its own superhuman response team directly violate a ban on persons of mass destruction?”
“That’s why, like the Zenith Project, this will remain completely off-the-books,” said Hayworth. “The United States government is to have no public association with this organization. For all intents and purposes, you will be viewed as vigilantes.”
“What sort of oversight?” asked Thorne.
“You’ll be in operational command,” said Ramsey. “This is a Special Access Program and in order to maintain the highest level of plausible deniability, you will have no contact with any government personnel other than myself. You will report directly to me, and through specifically-designated secure channels only.”
McCabe raised his hand slightly. “I have a question. Since we’re talking specifics now, what exactly will our jobs be?”
“Given that you’re the closest thing we have to an expert, you’ll be there in an advisory capacity, Doctor. But Colonel Thorne’s calling the shots,” said Hayworth. “So what do you say, Colonel?”
“There’s a few things we’ll need,” said Thorne. “Facilities, equipment, transportation…”
Hayworth rested his chin on his hand as he listened to Thorne run down everything he believed he and McCabe would need in order to make this operation a success. “Yes, yes. Absolutely, you’ll get whatever you need.”
“And there’s one more thing,” said Thorne. “If we’re going to have a team like this, I need permission to assign a human operative as field leader. A soldier of my own choosing.”
“Why’s that?” asked Hayworth.
“I need to know there’s someone on that team I can trust to carry out my orders,” said Thorne. “Are we agreed?”
The President stood and extended his open hand across the desk. Thorne followed his lead and the two men shared a firm handshake. Hayworth smiled before saying, “Welcome to Operation: Vanguard, Colonel.”
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After leaving the White House, Ramsey instructed Thorne to take McCabe to the Zenith Project. Thorne drove the two of them from Washington, DC into the state of Virginia. They had driven into the country, quite far off the beaten path, and Thorne hadn’t said a word since they got into his car.
“Colonel, I have to ask just where we’re going?”
“Here, to the Zenith Project.”
They approached a dilapidated gas station and garage. Thorne brought the car to a slow cruise, checking his mirrors several times for anyone else on the road. Satisfied, he turned into the station and approached the garage door. Thorne pressed a button on the dashboard and the door opened.
He pulled the car inside, onto the vehicle lift. Thorne turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. McCabe moved a bit more slowly as he stepped from the car, furrowing his brow as he peered out the garage at the dry pumps. The garage began to close. McCabe peered through the interior door leading into the attached building. It was a standard gas station convenience store, albeit with the lights shut off, the shelves long emptied and covered with dust. Cobwebs lined their metal surface, and it was clear the place had been unused for some time—or at least it was to appear that way.
McCabe scratched his head. “I’m confused. What exactly is the Zenith Project?”
Thorne gave no response, instead went over to the lift’s control panel. He reached for a button, but pulled rather than pushing. Beneath the red plastic cap was a small lens. Thorne knelt down and put his eye against it. Once the retinal identification was complete, the lift activated, raising the car and startling McCabe. The geneticist huffed his annoyance at his own response.
“The Zenith Project began in the closing days of World War II,” said Thorne, moving into the pit below the car.
“Tell me, Doctor, do you know anything about teleforce?”
“It sounds familiar, but no, not off-hand.”
“In 1935, a physicist claimed to have developed a weapon that could decimate both ground-based infantry troops and aircraft. A charged particle beam projector.”
McCabe had an a-ha moment, realizing why it sounded familiar. “Oh, you mean Tesla’s death ray?”
“Exactly.” In the pit, Thorne felt along the side for a hidden panel and once he found it, pulled it off. Underneath was a handprint scanner. He placed his palm against the pad and it flashed green, a trap-door in the pit sliding open to reveal a hidden staircase. While descending, he continued his story and McCabe followed. “Tesla reportedly worked on the teleforce weapon until his death in 1943. He claimed to have actually built a prototype, and legend has it he offered it to some governments.”
McCabe stopped on his descent down the steps. “Right, but those are just urban legends, right?”
Thorne looked over his shoulder and smirked, then continued down the steps. “We were at war, Doctor. The Manhattan Project and the atomic bomb allowed us to win it and changed the world, for better or worse. But it wasn’t the only thing the government was pursuing at the time. One such endeavor was called the Zenith Project.”
They both arrived on the metal floor and came to a short corridor that led to another room. “Then the legends are true? Tesla did invent a death ray?”
“Doctor, if the United States had a death ray, don’t you think we would have used it by now? Or at the very least threatened to?” asked Thorne. “After Tesla’s death, the FBI confiscated everything he owned. We hoped we would have found the teleforce weapon, but it wasn’t there. What we did find, though, was something much more startling.” Thorne opened the door and motioned for McCabe to enter. “After you.”
McCabe peeked inside the dark room. There was some light from various monitors, but otherwise he didn’t know what was inside. He looked at Thorne, who just gave a reassuring nod. The geneticist entered and Thorne followed.
The room appeared fairly large, but it was also extremely cluttered. An array of LCD monitors lined the walls. They alternated between a variety of television stations, scrolling through broadcasts from CNN, NBC, Al Jazeera, BBC, and numerous other networks from all over the world. Also stock market updates in real-time, many different websites, and even a few TV shows and movies. McCabe saw the outline of someone standing in front of the monitors. This individual slowly turned, and McCabe gasped.
Bright, blue LED lights served as eyes, set within round housings that almost resembled goggles. His—or rather, its—body was completely constructed of reflective metal with other blue LEDs lined throughout. The blue eyes narrowed slightly, then widened once more. The robot spoke, but possessed no mouth.
“Good morning,” he said.
McCabe’s jaw fell open. Thorne stepped beside the shocked scientist and put his arm around him, grinning. “Dr. Howard McCabe, allow me to introduce you to the Zenith Project. Zenith, say hello to Dr. McCabe.”
Servos whirred as Zenith held out his arm, his metal hand opening in a gesture of friendship. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. McCabe. I’ve followed your work for some time. Very impressive, if I may say so.”
McCabe’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and fortunately, Thorne was able to grab him before he hit the ground. The scientist had fainted.
Zenith tilted his head to the side. “Hmm.”