Donald, Part III

 

How Anderson had managed to keep Donald's defection away from the press, Mark didn't know. Three months since Donald had left, and still, the public had no idea that G-Force was in serious trouble.
Mark angled his plane towards the landing strip, glancing towards Center Neptune off of the coast. Since Donald had gone, Spectra had been strangely quiet. Like the old cliche stated...too quiet.
Mark landed softly and brought the plane to a stop near the small hangar behind his bungalow. He hopped out of the plane with practiced ease and headed for his home. A cool breeze blew in from the direction of the coast, taking the small puffs of dust Mark kicked up as he walked quickly away.
Mark had a feeling that seemed to cling to his skin like small, crawling bugs. He had experienced it a few times before, and he had learned to listen to what the feelings told him. Something bad was coming, and he was going to be in the middle of it.
He entered his home quietly, and rummaged through his fridge. Pulling out a bottle of beer, and some left over chicken, he sat at the kitchen table and wondered when the trouble would come.

Chief Anderson sat alone at the computer console, reading the results of the latest diagnostic on his private project, the Enhanced Human Prototype Alpha. The figures he was seeing were very encouraging. He turned to look at the vat that housed his unborn child now growing at an accelerated rate in a variety of liquids, some of which had been designed by Donald Wade.
The embryo had been stored in cryonic suspension for a number of years, yet had shown no reactions to having it's growth process reactivated. Anderson sighed, closing his eyes. He could hear Patty's voice, even now.

"If it's a girl, we'll call her Nancy, after my mother."
"And if it's a boy?" Anderson had said, holding her close, still basking in the news that they were expecting.
"Scott, I think...after your father." She had looked at him tenderly. Anderson's father had died the year previous, and they hadn't been on the best terms when it happened. Of course, now, he wished otherwise.
Anderson smiled at his wife, and held her tighter.
"I think that would be fine. He would have liked that." He leaned over to kiss her, and they went into the bedroom together.

Anderson opened his eyes, and blinked hard. He cursed silently. He had tried very hard to separate the fetus in the vat from himself, but had found, predictably, that it was easier said than done. Punching buttons on the panel, he brought up a display of the memory and intelligence engrams that were to be installed into the brain of the child. They weren't just dumping in facts and figures, like they would to a computer. This was much harder.
They were attempting to open up the potential of the human brain, making it possible for the child to be able to learn for itself. They psych department's papers on the subject had been fairly clear. Emotionally, the subject would be better adjusted to living in a human environment if it was allowed to learn on it's own, rather that come into existence with a pre-determinded memory and intelligence base. There was one reservation. The subject's G-Force training would be preinstalled, so that he could be integrated into the team almost immediately.
Later that evening, they would implant the next series of engrams, then begin the process of accelerating the fetus's growth. Anderson had hoped to have a fully developed subject within a month. Hopefully, Spectra would remain quiet until then.
Anderson sighed, and downed the last of his lukewarm coffee.
"Let's hope."

Jason's fists were blurs of danger, slamming into the heavy bag suspended from the ceiling of the weight room deep inside Center Neptune. The onslaught was violent, and went far beyond what a training exercise would entail. The thick, flat sounds of his fists hitting the bag echoed throughout the surrounding corridors, warning people away like a rattlesnake's tail.
G-2 had been sitting on his anger for months, ever since Donald Wade defected with Mala Latroz, the Spectran agent. He had been waiting to meet Donald in action, figuring it would be no more than a few days. Those days had dragged into weeks, and he could contain the fury no longer. He was drenched in sweat, drops of it flying from his body with each fist's impact on the bag.
Jason used a variety of martial arts techniques on the bag before, finally, the bag's chain snapped and the it fell to the floor, stuffing oozing from half a dozen holes.
"God-DAMMIT! I wasn't done yet."
Jason slumped to the bag and sat on it, his head hanging between his knees. He closed his eyes, concentrating on regulating his breathing, and tried to clear his mind as he had been instructed by Sensei Yoshido. He wiped his face off with the shirt he had discarded earlier, and headed for the showers. If he couldn't have a crack at Donald, he hoped that Zoltar was at least doing something interesting with him, like dissecting him. He grinned, peeled off his wet training clothes, and stepped into the nearest shower stall.

Donald Wade wanted to see the sun. Any sun. Since he had left Earth, he had been sequestered in various Spectran bases, working on projects and reporting directly to Zoltar. Even now, he knew the Spectran Commander was watching him, via hidden cameras. Don took a deep breath, and hunched over his work table, continuing work on the universal solvent that Zoltar wanted so badly.
He found himself thinking instead, of what he had left behind at Center Neptune. How Chief Anderson worked alongside him, like a colleague...like a father. Tears burned behind his closed eyelids, as he pressed his palms against his face. What had he done? More importantly...what was yet to come?
He knew he wasn't alone any longer.
"Why aren't you working?" Her voice was stern, devoid of any of the seduction she had used to bring him to the service of Spectra.
"I'm tired, Mala. I...I want to fly." He turned to look at her.
"No. If we give you back your transmutor bracelet, you will surely try to leave us. That cannot happen. We have need of you here." Mala grinned wickedly, then, licking her lips again.
Donald blushed, feeling stupid for having been driven to his actions by hormones.
"Why would I leave? Where could I go? I'm probably public enemy number one throughout the Federation by now."
Mala shook her head slowly.
"Not at all. In fact, our intelligence says that people still think G-Force is active."
"Aren't they?" Donald gulped, feeling his heart beat faster.
"No one has actually seen them in action for months. Perhaps they felt they couldn't continue without their friend." Mala swung his chair around and straddled his lap.
"What are you doing?" Donald felt his revulsion rise in his throat, and fought the urge to vomit.
"You are taking a break."
Donald tried to push her off.
"Get off of me, you freak! I don't want this anymore!"
Mala grabbed his face in her hands and squeezed. Donald felt an amazing pressure pushing at his head, threatening to pop his eyes from their sockets. She leaned in close. Her breath was hot, and stank like sickness. Her hands moved, one taking him by the throat, the other resting on his crotch.
"What you want doesn't matter. It hasn't since the beginning.
How fucking stupid are you?" She began to rub his groin through his pants. Donald squirmed, and felt ill. He pushed against her, feebly trying to escape.
Mala laughed.
"That's it...fight me...I love it!" She began to grind her crotch against his and held his arms to his sides.
Donald felt tears slip down his face as two large guards came in and held his arms. Mala began to take off her clothes. When she was done she pulled Donald's pants off, revealing his naked, flaccid flesh. With a derisive smirk, she nodded at one of the guards, who produced a syringe and jabbed it into Donald's left bicep. Within moments, Donald's penis grew to proportions that he could only have dreamed of in the past.
"Please...don't do this...it hurts!" Donald's tears began to flow faster.
"You made your choice, human...now live with it." Mala sat again on Donald's lap...this time there were no clothes in between them.

The tech's name was Garfield. He had been entering data into the memory program for Anderson's latest project, and had been at it all day. He stopped, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. He needed coffee, and badly. He looked at the screen.

NAME ENGRAM0110 <<KEYOPERATOR DESIGNATE>> ADS
:330 EER22 <<KEYOPERATOR DESIGNATE>> 7781ALS:
INSERT DESCRIPTIVE <<?>> IDENT&ACCEPT @ 1441

Garfield had basically been filling in the blanks on this one, blanks designated as anything between the pointed brackets, and labelled "KEYOPERATOR DESIGNATE". A damned boring job, to say the least. He looked over to the coffee machine by the door, and looked back at the screen. He tapped the cursor to the end of the word 'DESIGNATE', and began to backspace. He yawned again, thinking about what he was supposed to put in it's place. His mind blanked, and he stopped tapping the keypad. The cursor blinked mindlessly, at the end of the shortened word 'KEYOP' that had just been left between the brackets.
He stood up and went to the coffee machine, and began shovelling quarters into the slot. He selected a large, black coffee and held his cup under the spout. Nothing came out.
Garfield pounded on the machine, shaking it back and forth. He swore loudly, punching the machine hard enough to leave a dent. He howled in pain as his hand bent awkwardly.
"Goddammit!" He kicked the machine once more, for good measure, and slumped back into his chair. He closed is eyes, and gingerly set his hand on the table in front of him.
His keyboard, where he had left it earlier, beeped as his hand hit the 'enter' button.
Garfield quickly opened his eyes, and looked at the screen. It wasn't where he remembered leaving it. He rubbed his swollen hand, and blinked, trying to remember for sure where he had left off. Had he finished the identity engrams? Was he that tired?
He saved his work, and promised to examine it later. He couldn't work like this any longer. He was bound to make a mistake.
Yawning, he stood up again, and headed for the commissary on level 12.
"I'll look through it later. Maybe get Hendricks to do it."
Garfield left his small workroom, his mistake forgotten as he whistled absently, and thought of hot coffee.

"So, when do we fly?"
Anderson looked up from his workdesk, and saw Mark standing there, one hand on his hip, the other holding the door frame as he leaned against it.
"Come in...close the door." Anderson stood from his chair and stretched, feeling the blood pumping back into his stiffened muscles. Mark stepped inside and activated the door lock, using his G-1 code. The particular beep associated with this action was specific to G-1's code, and at the sound of it, Anderson looked sharply towards Mark.
"What's wrong?"
Mark held his hands up, grinning slightly.
"I just wanna talk...no interruptions."
Anderson exhaled sharply, and visibly relaxed. It was then that Mark realized just how badly the Chief had taken Donald's defection.
"Chief...we want to go back to work." Mark eyes looked deeply into Anderson's, then past him, to the blackness that lay beyond Anderson's work table. He could see vague shapes back there...further back then he ever remembered the back wall being. Anderson noticed his averted gaze, and spoke to bring Mark's attention back to him.
"How? Without D-...without G-4 you cannot utilize the Phoenix to its maximum potential. Besides, we've heard nothing from Spectra almost since he's been gone."
"That's just it, Chief. You think that's a coincidence?"
Anderson suddenly slammed his fist down on the table, scattering papers onto the floor.
"No! That's the worst part of it! Donald knows so much...is capable of so much..." Anderson trailed off, and sank down into his chair. Mark sat on the corner of the desk, and thought.
"We need to go get him. If he's helping Zoltar, he's got to be stopped. And if he's being coerced...Chief, he's one of us! Either way, when Zoltar's done with him, Don's dead."
Anderson's brow furrowed as he considered the situation. Mark's insight was on the money, and he knew it.
"Okay, Mark. Make it an undercover operation for now...intelligence gathering only. The first thing we need to find out is where Don is. Everything else, we'll take as it comes."
Mark nodded, silently, and headed for the door. As he reached for the keypad to unlock it, he stopped, and looked back at Anderson.
"We need to think about bringing in someone else...a new G-4." Mark again glanced into the darkness beyond Anderson's desk for a moment, before his eyes returned to the Chief.
"I...I'm looking into it." Anderson retured to his work, focusing on the computer in front of him. Mark watched him for a moment, punched in his code, and left. From his desk, Anderson locked the door, and spun his chair around to look into the darkness. He reached out, not needing to look, and touched the light switch. As the lights came on, Anderson stood and walked towards the chamber.
The cryonic chamber had been replaced. Where the cryotube had been a cold, lifeless, unmoving thing, the new growth chamber was teeming with activity. Liquid bubbled and moved around the subject, filled with small nanite surgeons designed to stimulate individual cells to grow. The subject itself had also changed. Just days ago, the thing had been a fetus, the size of Anderson's hand. Now, as he looked at it through the thick, transparent steel, he almost couldn't believe it.
The subject was the size of a ten year old boy. The face and head were covered with a neuromatrix crown, a device Anderson had designed to impart mass quantities of information to living individuals. Already, the process had begun, and Anderson knew that even as he stood there watching, the subject was learning the skills neccessary to be a member of the G-Force team. If everything went well at this phase, he would accelerate the growth again in order to bring the subject to a comparable appearance with the other team members. Anderson reached out and touched the tube, and closed his eyes. He had tried to continue to think of the body in the tube as 'the subject', or 'the experiment'. Now, it was impossible.
"Scott...."