It is long understood that Spectrum thwarted the Mysteron plan to destroy
Futura City by sheer coincidence.
That same coincidence divulged the proverbial “chink in the armor” by way
of the perceived inability of the Mysterons to distinguish between their
re-created agent and the revived original.
Spectrum inferred that this inability was limited to the re-creation of
organic matter in view of the efforts of Doctors Mitchell and Baxter in reviving
the original at Slaton Hospital.
Biomechanical engineers as well as medical doctors, they had perfected a
compact (and, since then, more portable) recovery unit with procedures for
reviving victims of trauma that they referred to in total as “the Resuscitator”.
To the doctors’ credit they were quick to call their first test human
subject a very lucky man.
Also to their credit was their full cooperation with Spectrum in not
disclosing the results after Spectrum informed them of the pertinent
ramifications.
Still, the results led some in Spectrum to openly ask whether, for
purposes of confronting the Mysterons, the results could be duplicated and
applied under conditions controlled by Spectrum to the extent practicable.
Logically, Spectrum’s ideal candidate for this controlled experiment
would have been Captain Scarlet.
Personal note: I am certain he would have been eminently
willing if not outright eager. But Colonel White understandably prevailed.
Instead, Spectrum proceeded with another volunteer…
I awoke on a side of a hill. I felt grass beneath my hands and the back of my
neck.
It was quite dark,
a moonless night and pleasantly cool after an “Indian summer” day.
I heard crickets
and wondered what on earth had possessed me to get out of my car and lay down on
the side of the road.
I sat up and
realized the moisture from the early dew frost had saturated the back of my
coat, shirt and trousers.
No sign of my car.
No one else coming or going on the road.
No sign of my
tablet, key fob, or anything else that I had carried on my person.
When?
I remembered those,
just as I had remembered my car. I similarly validated my attire.
For what?
A meeting—a
briefing?
Why?
It had ended late,
principally due to our having dined at the commissary, I suppose as an incentive
to complete our business before adjourning and going our separate ways.
To do what?
I needed to prepare
for travel.
When?
Tomorrow.
Where to?
The driver who
later picked me up from the side of the road left me in front of the housing
complex.
What did he say?
My handprint also
let me into my residence. All within was as I had left it.
When?
And there were my
tablet, key fob and other items, neatly arranged upon the bed stand.
I changed my
clothes and packed for a same-day business trip.
Where to?
Both the airline
ticket and boarding pass on the bed stand identified “PIT” as my one-way
destination.
For what?
The next driver met
me at the airline executive lounge after my flight.
“Mister Harbinger?”
“That’s me.”
“Identification,
please.”
That’s
not
me.
“Thank you.”
Outside the airport
perimeter, Interstate and Route signs led to Monroeville and a large office
building among many others.
“Did you have a
good flight?”
“It was certainly a
short one. That, or I slept through most of it.”
I entered the
building’s front lobby and headed towards the security processing center.
“May I see your
tablet?”
I handed it to the
security agent who took it with her into a booth. She returned it to me within a
minute.
“Thank you, Agent
Harbinger. Please proceed to the second floor, Room 22. Your handprint should
let you in. Your voice print will be required after admittance.”
“Harbinger, Michael
Vincent, Supervising Agent for North America, Spectrum Intelligence.”
“Voice print
identification confirmed.”
The man and woman
on the opposite side of the table nodded in unison at the speakerphone that
cleared me.
“Again, thank you
for coming here at such short notice,” the man said. “We still have an hour. Can
we do anything for you before your presentation?”
For what?
I reached for my
tablet and keyed in its pass code. “I suppose I could use the time to review it,
unless you’d like me to rehearse in front of both of you.”
They smiled. “And
spoil the surprise?” the woman said. “We already have your viewgraphs with all
supplemental materials ready for distribution. But I think you’ll need to field
more questions than you’ve allotted time for.”
The man continued,
“I can feel for you. I’ve conducted more than my share of training sessions.
Blame that on longevity. How does half an hour sound?”
“Time enough and
more,” I answered.
He pointed towards
the tabletop. “Coffee and water are right in front of you. See you at ten-to.”
“Thank you.”
They stood and
exited, closing the door behind them.
The presentation
was formatted in true pecha kucha
fashion with 20 images and 20 seconds (give or take) allotted for each image. It
was organized among ten topics.
I could not figure
if I had already memorized the presentation or came up with what I was supposed
to say for each image then and there.
Topic Nine: This is Captain Black—
I heard this as
clearly as if the speaker sat next to me.
—relaying instructions from the Mysterons.
I stopped, did not
move, and heard nothing further until the man and woman returned for me.
I stood at the
podium, my tablet set upon the dais top with an audience of similarly dressed
and seated men and women before me. More were at either side of the stage,
though none close, and at least one person stood at each entrance to the
auditorium.
No personal
introductions appeared necessary as I began the presentation.
“Good morning, everyone. I’m here on behalf of
Spectrum Intelligence to help coordinate the investigative, capture and
rendition activities among the participating United States federal agencies and
instrumentalities. The purpose is not limited to the ongoing Mysteron threat,
about which your agency was recently briefed at the highest level by Spectrum as
part of a global effort. But this threat is at the forefront.”
My speech cued the
projection of the viewgraph for Topic One onto the wall screen behind me:
“Spectrum hopes that the participating agencies, chief amongst them your agency,
will further disseminate Spectrum’s plan at the participating state level and
help implement the plan in a manner that is consistent with established
processes and procedures while remaining responsive to feedback from the field.
This will impart an evolutionary yet dynamic quality to the methodologies
resorted to by each participant.”
Topic Two:
“Spectrum will remain an active participant at all levels. The goal is not so
much standardization as the rapid synchronization of all available resources—”
Topic Nine: Kill Harbinger.
Again, the message
was as clear as if its speaker stood at my side—or, behind me?
I reached for my
gun. My shoulder holster was empty.
No one else I could
see had moved, save for an audience member in the front row and near the center
aisle, who quickly stood up, reached inside his suit jacket, then pitched
forward onto the edge of the stage in front of the podium. I did not see him
again.
My legs collapsed
under me. I saw the upside-down viewgraph of Topic Ten projected onto the wall
screen.
I lay on my back
behind the podium. I could not move. I felt no pain.
The man and woman
stood at my side and looked down at me.
“So what do we call
it?” said the man.
The woman
responded, “Well, we’d call the one in the front row rather seriously dead,” and
looked over the podium. “I’d say he was well-targeted.”
The woman faced me. “I don’t know about this
one.”
“Spectrum want to
medevac him straight to their own lab.”
“Why do you suppose
they wanted us to try only to knock him out? We weren’t sure we could. And they
weren’t sure he’d even arrive.”
“A good thing he
did, and when he did. We got Harbinger out of here as soon as this one was
spotted at the airport.” He indicated the bottom of the podium. “And a good
thing we mounted the Taser where we did and set it on Max Stun.
“If it had come to
the worst, both he and that one,” the man pointed over the podium, “were very
well-targeted indeed. I don’t know about the rest of the audience but I wasn’t
going to wait all day for the ‘stare condition’ to resolve itself.”
“Is the original
still around?”
“Here I am,” said
another man from behind them. “And to think I heard someone I couldn’t see and
definitely didn’t recognize clearly tell me to sit in the front row. I’d like to
see this one.”
The first man and
the woman parted to let the newcomer stand between them. The newcomer wore no
suit jacket but a thick segmented vest with leg armor. He handed a helmet to the
other man, then slowly knelt down and studied my face. He did not move for a
long while.
“Next time you
visit us,” the other man said, “we’ll let you drink on duty.”
The newcomer shook
his head slowly. “Not as long as they think I’m still receiving. And who knows
how long that will last?” The other
man and the woman helped him stand. “I did sign up for this.”
The other man
nodded, then said, “Think there will be others like you?”
The newcomer again
shook his head. “If there are, I won’t envy them.”
“Then I hope we get
better at this,” said the woman.
“For my sake, if
for no one else’s,” the newcomer said.
That’s not me.
Help me.
Spectrum Intelligence Special Agent Harbinger
remains on active duty but effectively under full watch until further notice.
The Mysterons may try to re-establish contact with him.
He remains receptive to, if not thankful for the compounded hypnotic
anchor to “a safe place” that Spectrum specialists helped implant pre-trauma. We
had thought that could only help him but frankly did not know how well that
would work afterwards.
As for the subject, it remains in Spectrum’s care and custody. It is
under full watch.
For all purposes the subject is alive and well, possessing all of Harbinger’s
long-term memories that can be validated by the original.
The subject is cognizant of its condition and surroundings for only the
preceding 12 hours. Memory degradation begins after two hours, almost precisely,
and leads to as comprehensive a memory loss as can be verified or corroborated.
Within those two hours the subject’s memory is nearly eidetic.
I say “nearly” for three reasons:
First, the subject calls itself Michael Vincent Harbinger but does not
recognize any representation of Harbinger save for its own mirror reflection.
Second, we cannot explain the subject’s inability to recall, or perceived
failure to recognize, the other Mysteron re-creation of Harbinger in the
front row of the law enforcement agency training center auditorium.
Finally, we cannot conclusively establish whether the subject possesses
the original’s hypnotic anchor, or if it does, whether it is capable of deriving
the same benefit. We doubt we can ever be certain of this.
It is beyond dispute that the subject provides invaluable insight into the
composition and workings of a Mysteron agent.
That is, we infer
the subject is a Mysteron agent.
And we don’t know whether the subject is the only remaining re-creation
of Harbinger.
Personal note: Whatever shall we do with him?
Fawn, Chief Medical Officer.
End Log Entry, Topic Nine.
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