The Origin of F.O.R.C.E.

Diane Hoffman’s laboratory was housed in basement sublevel 4 of the historic, original Johns Hopkins Hospital building. The massive, red brick edifice was a Baltimore, Maryland, landmark. Located on the medical school campus, the building was easily recognized by its beautiful dome topped with a tall spire.

The outward appearance as a staid university campus center was deceiving. Its interior had been modernized over the years to the point it wouldn’t have been recognized by its architect, John R. Niernsee. Four sublevels had been carved from the bedrock beneath the original foundations by contractors working in secret for the United States Government. These sublevels housed scientific facilities dedicated to the creation and testing of advanced military technology. The building was known as the Dome to those people with security clearances high enough to permit them knowledge of the sublevels.

Hoffman’s sublevel 4 lab was a self-contained 250 square foot space filled with the latest equipment dedicated to genetic research. The lab had its own water and air supplies and an electrical generator enabling continuous operation even if the power grid serving the eastern seaboard was disabled. There were no windows and only one thick, solid steel door guarded 24-hours a day by two armed MP’s.

Security measures and guard personnel increased geometrically as the sublevels dropped from 1 to 4. Every drop in sublevel meant the secrecy of the advanced research became more critical to National Security. Anyone other than Dr. Diane Hoffman, Major Jim Blunt and Major General Matt Collier, who entered Sublevel 4 was stripped, X-rayed, poked, prodded and guarded by an armored commando with orders to shoot-to-kill for any provocation. Before a visitor was allowed to leave Sublevel 4, he was again stripped, X-rayed, poked and prodded to make sure nothing was removed from the lab.

Diane was bent over her electron microscope as usual when the steel door opened, and Jim entered the room. Glancing away from the viewer, she smiled and motioned for him to join her. Jim’s easy smile was infectious, and Diane loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he was happy. Removing his jacket and hat, Jim ambled over.

Pulling a lab stool close, Jim put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her lips. “Morning, Beautiful.”

“Good morning to you, handsome,” she replied.

It had been a little over three years since the raid on the church known as The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany. During that interlude, the team had seen many changes. Tom Jenson and Lucy Smith had married and were expecting their first child in a couple of months. Jim had moved to Baltimore so he could be closer to Diane while she was conducting her research. One thing had led to another, and they were now living together.

Whatsit had grown to be 6 feet tall and had put on another 50 pounds of muscle. The alien teenager had decided he liked the Cisco Kid and his sidekick, Pancho. Every Saturday morning you could find the big lizard sitting in front of his television watching the famous Mexicans save the day and kill bad guys. At one point, Whatsit tried to switch his trench coat and scarf for a black, western style outfit with brocaded sequins sewn down the chest and arms like the costume worn by the Cisco Kid. Jim vetoed the change. To mollify the distraught youngster, Jim allowed him to switch out the white scarf for a brightly colored bolo tie similar to the one worn by the Cisco Kid.

Heinbaum was still crunching numbers trying to develop the mathematical theory underlying the fusion reactor powering the Chrysallaman spacecraft. McPherson continued trying to develop better methods for charging the Human-crafted power modules and devised a way to use the Chrysallaman fusion reactor to charge them. So far, McPherson had built and charged 5,000 power modules, but he was hampered by the fact there was only the one alien reactor available to him.

“So what’s new?” Jim asked.

Peering over the top of her oval-shaped glasses, Diane gave him with a look he knew from experience meant she’d made a breakthrough.

“I think I’ve figured out how to implement the genetic changes necessary to duplicate the abilities of the Lama and Skullreader in the brain,” she answered.

Turning back to the Electron Microscope viewer, she explained, “The implementation of the specific genetic changes in sight and hearing were relatively simple in concept since they were based on specific organs in the body dedicated to distinct functions of sight and hearing. The abilities of Sanger and Gutlang weren’t abnormalities caused by chemical or radiation-induced mutation. They were actual genetic advancements in Human evolution to specific gene sequences existing in all Humans. As superior genetic advancements, the Sanger and Gutlang uniques were dominant rather than recessive traits. Experiments proved when my recombinant genes with the evolved, dominant traits were introduced to normal Human eye and ear tissue samples, the uniques superimposed themselves on the existing genome and became the active, dominant characteristics.”

Pausing a moment to make an adjustment to a focusing wheel and scribble a notation in her notebook, she continued, “The splicing of the recombinant genes for the mental abilities was vexing. The brain controls everything about our bodies and has many distinct functions. It was essential any genetic alterations I made limit themselves to the telepathic powers of the Lama and Skullreader. Problem is 99.9% of the Human race doesn’t seem to have telepathic abilities. In other words, unlike the eyes and ears, I didn’t have existing telepathic genes in Humans to be superimposed by my recombinant genes.”

“Okay,” Jim replied with a wink. “How did that big, sexy, un-telepathic brain of yours figure it out?”

“Oh, stop it, you big lunk,” she laughed as she hit him in the chest with her fist.

“I was reviewing studies of brain-mapping done at Harvard University when I made my breakthrough. Here, let me show you.”

Diane moved to a wall and pulled down a display like a window roller blind. A depiction of the Human brain was revealed with lobes labeled. Jim’s attention was drawn to the large frontal lobes, but Diane pointed her finger at an area just back of them labeled the Supramarginal Gyrus.

Like a lecturing professor, she said, “There exist in the brain two structures just behind the frontal lobes called the Angular Gyrus and the Supramarginal Gyrus. The Angular Gyrus is the part of the brain that deals with intent, desire, pretending and knowledge. It also controls our language and spatial recognition. The Harvard researchers were able to pinpoint these functions by inserting probes into the brains of living patients and measuring the responses of those subjects to various stimuli.”

Excitement glowing in her eyes, she continued, “The Supramarginal Gyrus proved to be more difficult for the Harvard professors to study. Their experiments were inconclusive. The researchers finally conceded the only function they could definitively assign to that section of the brain was the ability of Humans to empathize with others. The way the Harvard people went about determining this fact was by numbing the Supramarginal Gyrus and noting the changes in the patients. Every patient lost the ability to be empathic to the feelings of others.”

“In other words, the patients lost the ability to read the emotions projected by other people.”

Looking triumphant, Diane swelled her chest, crossed her arms and stared into Jim’s eyes as if she had just clearly explained her discovery and was expecting him to lavish her with praise.

Jim’s response was a dull, “Okay, so what does all that mean?”

Diane’s triumphant look fell away. She looked at Jim like he was a caveman with a wooden club thrown over his shoulder. Exasperated, she replied, “I tested my telepathic recombinant DNA on Supramarginal Gyrus tissue samples from several Human cadavers. Just like with the eyes and ears, my recombinant was dominant and superimposed itself over the tissue samples. In other words, I found the dormant telepathic center of the Human brain. It was there all the time, just undeveloped.”

Jim hugged her. Holding her shoulders at arm’s length, he smiled and asked, “So you are ready to do your active demonstration?”

Diane’s face clouded and her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know.”

She began pacing the floor. “All my tests have been on donated Human tissue, not live subjects. I don’t dare test Human recombinant DNA on non-Humans like mice or monkeys. I have to work with a live Human.”

Diane buried her face in his chest and hugged him hard. “My theories are sound. My process works with Human tissue samples. I just can’t predict what will happen if I test on a live Human subject. The process might cause horrible, irreversible damage.”

Placing his fingers under her chin, Jim lifted her head until their eyes met. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “I volunteer to be your test subject.”

Her reaction was instant, but calm. “No, Jim. I can’t allow you to take the risk. There’re too many unknowns. What if something goes wrong? What would I do? I love you.”

“I love you too, Beautiful, but you and I both know you have to demonstrate to the big boys your recombinant DNA works, or the dormant virus idea won’t be approved. If you aren’t successful, then the only scientist the world can rely on is Heinbaum.” Smiling a wicked smile, Jim said, “And I won’t let that weaselly egotist take the credit for saving humanity.”

Recognizing her continued obstinance, Jim added, “I’m the perfect candidate.” He began ticking off his qualifications on his fingers. “I’m already part of the project. I know what the desired unique abilities are and how they’re supposed to work. I’m best friends with an alien lizard who can do telepathy.”

“And,” he added with a sly smile. “I sleep with a gorgeous scientist who’ll make sure I receive the best of care while we wait to see if her theories really work.”

Jim felt Diane nod her head against his chest and knew she agreed with him. He also felt the warm dampness of her tears as she cried. He smiled and kissed the top of her head.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart. Everything’s going to be fine.”

***

The following morning, Diane put Jim through a battery of tests to establish a baseline for his normal body health. She measured his weight, height, blood pressure and drew five vials of blood for later testing. She performed a series of eye and ear exams. X-rays of his entire skeletal structure were followed by an EKG and EEG.

Sitting on a stool after enduring the poke and prod, Jim watched her bustle around a workbench preparing her experimental dose of the active virus. Vials filled with different colored liquids stood in racks, ranging in color from light blue to bilious yellow. Drawing liquids from each vial using pipettes, she mixed them into one vial. Jim watched curiously and noted as she released the final yellowish-green drops into the combined mixture, the liquid turned clear as water.

With a satisfied look, Diane turned to face him and shook the vial. “It’s ready.”

Jim started rolling up his left sleeve and flexed his arm at the elbow several times. Diane looked at him oddly and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for the shot,” he replied, looking down at his arm to see if his veins were beginning to show.

“Silly, I don’t need a needle,” she replied and reaching into her lab coat pocket, pulled out a medicine dropper. “My virus can be administered orally. It will be absorbed by your body sublingually, so no shot is required.”

Rolling his sleeve back down, relief evident in his eyes, Jim grinned and said. “Great! I hate needles anyway.”

Opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue, he waited for the drops, but Diane smiled, “What are you doing?”

Closing his mouth with a bewildered look, he said, “Well what are you going to do? Squirt it at me?”

Laughing, Diane walked over to the nearby coffee urn and picked up a sugar cube from the condiment basket. Returning to her workbench, she squeezed two drops of the clear liquid onto it from the dropper. The liquid was readily absorbed, leaving a normal looking sugar cube.

Diane placed the cube in Jim’s palm. When he kept staring at the sugar cube, doing nothing, Diane put her balled fists on her hips and frowned at him. Noticing her look, Jim quickly popped the cube into his mouth and felt it begin to dissolve.

Tasting nothing but sugary sweetness, he said, “Don’t taste or smell anything out of the ordinary. So when should I start feeling something going on?”

With a pensive look, Diane replied, “I’m not sure, but several hours is my guess. The virus is designed so it doesn’t cause a white blood cell reaction. Your immune system won’t flag it as a threat.”

“So how does this stuff work?”

“The mechanism is elegant,” she explained. “Think of a virus as a miniature factory using a hypodermic needle to deliver its output. The virus injects its output into a cell in the body, inoculating it with the recombinant DNA. The cell then becomes an incubator for manufacturing more of the virus which then inoculates other cells. The process multiplies geometrically. The dominant recombinant genes delivered by the virus superimpose themselves on the existing genome carried in each cell of your body and become the active, dominant characteristics of the targeted organs.”

“Ok, so how about lunch. I’m starving.” he grinned.

“How can you possibly think of food?”

Putting his arm around her and turning her toward the exit door, he said, “Consider it my need for strength to see me through my metamorphosis.”

Two hours later, Jim was feeling feverish and complained of aching in his joints. They hurried from the restaurant to their apartment where he could ride out the sickness in the comfort of familiar surroundings. The aches became worse and within an hour, his temperature rose to 101. Diane tried to make him lie down, but at first he refused.

“It feels like I have the flu,” he complained as he paced the living room floor. “I actually feel less pain if I keep moving. When I stop, everything hurts worse.”

Diane kept notes of her observations about his condition, noting how long after he ingested the virus each symptom appeared. She allowed him to have aspirin for the pain, but nothing else. As his temperature rose to 102, his eyes became bloodshot, and a short time later, he began sweating. She persuaded him to go to bed where he soaked the bedsheets because he was sweating so much.

Four hours after ingestion, Jim began to get a headache which got progressively worse. He described the headache as a migraine and claimed he could see lightning flashes behind his eyes even though he kept them tightly closed. Diane alternated cold and warm compresses on his forehead and behind his neck at the base of his skull which seemed to ease his head pain.

Six hours after ingestion of the virus, Jim’s headache subsided, but he suffered a shivering fit. It required several blankets to keep him warm. At eight hours past ingestion, he fell into a restless sleep. Diane noted his muscles would occasionally convulse in a short series of violent thrusts and kicks. Fortunately, the convulsions eased up, and he seemed to settle down to a gentle sleep. At last, she fell into a fitful sleep in a bedside chair, exhausted from ministering to him for 12 long hours.

***

Diane was awakened the next morning by the clinking of dishes. She was covered by a blanket, and it occurred to her that at some point, Jim had tucked it about her. Getting up with the blanket wrapped around her and dragging the floor, she padded to the bedroom door where she could observe what was going on in the kitchen. Jim had set two places at the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and was cooking something on the stove. He looked like he had showered and shaved. He was wearing blue jeans, a white T-shirt and was acting like yesterday’s sickness had never happened.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Turning from the stove, he smiled, “Boy, last night was rough, but I feel fine now. Thanks for taking such good care of me.”

Curiously, she moved across the room and sat in one of the high legged chairs fronting the counter. She watched him move around the kitchen, working industriously, seemingly none the worse for wear.

“I’ll get you some coffee,” he said.

Diane had to admit strong coffee would taste good. Maybe some light cream and sugar. A few moments later, Jim handed her a steaming cup of coffee with just the amount of cream she liked. She could tell by the caramel color. She sipped and had to admit he had sweetened the drink just right. “Delicious,” she thought.

The breakfast was eggs, bacon and toast. Diane noted nothing seemed different from any other morning they had spent together in the last year since they moved in with each other. Conversation was light as they ate, and each of them read their favorite sections of the newspaper. In fact, everything was so normal and routine Diane was disappointed. She wasn’t sure what reaction she’d expected the dose of the active virus to have on him. Certainly she didn’t want Jim to sprout horns or grow scaly skin, but she had to admit something a little more dramatic than reading the newspaper would have been intriguing.

Jim noticed she was distracted and guessed what she was worried about. Peering over the top of the sports section, he said, “Sorry I got sick and ruined the day, but I feel fine now.” Pausing a moment, he asked, “You think I had an allergic reaction to the dose you gave me?”

Diane put down the pencil she was using on the crossword puzzle and answered, “Doesn’t seem likely, but I’m into new territory with superimposing genetic material on a live recipient.”

Staring into space for a moment, she said, “I need to re-run the baseline physical tests I did yesterday before the treatment. See if anything has changed.”

“Sure, no problem. But frankly, I don’t feel any different right now than I did when I got out of bed yesterday,” he responded with obvious disappointment.

An hour later, they passed through the normal security protocols and entered her sublevel 4 lab. Diane measured Blunt’s height, weight and blood pressure, noting no change at all from the previous day except a couple of points dip in his blood pressure. She retrieved fresh vials of blood to compare to the samples taken the day before. The EKG and EEG results appeared to be identical to the previous day’s scans. Diane even laid the scans on top of each other so any change in a reading would jump out, but every line from the latest report was a carbon copy of the previous report.

Disappointed by the absence of any measurable change in the test results, Diane decided she would assay any possible skeletal changes in his body. Just as she was leaving her desk to prepare the X-ray machine for its scans, her telephone rang. Jim was sitting on a lab stool over 10 feet away, and when the phone began ringing, he put his hands over his ears and winced. He looked at the phone with an amazed expression.

Stunned for a moment by his reaction, Diane picked up the receiver to stop the jangling noise. It was General Collier.

“Dr. Hoffman, just thought I would see how things are progressing.”

Arching her eyebrow at Jim in a classic ‘what is going on with you’ look, Diane answered, “General, I’m glad you called. Everything’s fine here.”

“So why don’t you bring me up to date. I was thinking of coming to visit in a few days, but if there is nothing new, I don’t want to waste your valuable time.”

Picking her words carefully, she replied, “I have decided it’s time to test my live virus on a Human volunteer, and I’m right in the middle of recording my observations.”

There was a long pause as if Collier was framing his next question. Finally, he stated more than asked, “How’s Major Blunt doing since you dosed him?”

Now it was Diane’s turn to pause and consider her response. Determined, she replied, “Since yesterday when I administered the virus, I haven’t been able to detect any appreciable change. He had a very restless afternoon and evening with flu-like symptoms, but today he seems normal.”

Collier’s voice took on a tone of concern. “Dr. Hoffman, I consider Jim Blunt to be more than just a cog in the vast military machine. He is my friend! I’ll be there tomorrow.” Pausing, he continued, “Take good care of him, Doc. He’s one of a kind in my book!”

Smiling at the concerned tone, she gazed over at Jim and said, “No worries, General, he’s definitely one of a kind in my book as well. See you tomorrow.”

Hanging up, she noted Jim was looking around the room. Every once in a while, his eyes would lock on something and his brow would furrow. After a few seconds, his eyes would begin roving once more.

“General Collier is coming to see us tomorrow.”

“I heard,” Jim replied. “I’m glad he thinks I’m not just another cog.”

Diane was about to say the General considered Jim a friend when she paused. “Cog?”

“Yeah. You know, a cog in the vast military machine. I’m happy he considers me his friend.”

“How do you know he said that?” Diane asked, excitement making her glow.

Jim looked at her like she was daft. “Darling, I heard him tell you when you were talking to him. Surely you remember what he said.”

“Jim, I’m at least 10 feet away from you and had the receiver against my ear. You couldn’t possibly have heard what the General said.”

“I did too. Heard every wor . . .” His voice trailed off as he realized the truth. She was over there. He shouldn’t have been able to hear a word the General said to her, and yet he clearly heard every word.

Now that he was aware, Jim concentrated on listening to sounds. With a shock, he realized he could hear Diane’s heart beating. He heard every breath as she inhaled and exhaled. The ticking of the clock on her desk was loud and clear. Closing his eyes to further concentrate on his hearing, Jim gasped. The lab and everything in it took on the appearance of a black and white movie.

Opening his eyes, he saw all color return to the scene and everything appeared normal. “What the hell?” he wondered.

Diane watched as Jim blinked his eyes and peered wonderingly about him. She realized he was experiencing something incredible and knew whatever was happening had to be allowed to run its course. She picked up her notepad and began writing down her observations of his reactions.

Closing his eyes once again, Jim saw everything return to the whites, blacks and grays of a typical black and white movie. Details of everything were clear. Keeping his eyes closed, Jim got up and walked around the lab. It took him a moment to realize what he was ‘seeing’ was really a sonic picture of the room and its contents. His ears were picking up the sounds in the room as they echoed off objects. He was able to interpret those sound echoes into the black and white scene. Everything creating a sound enabled him to hear and interpret his surroundings. The ticking clock, Diane’s breathing, her heartbeat, her pencil scribbling on her notepad; even his own breathing, heartbeat and footsteps provided sound echoes enhancing what he perceived.

Hearing a distinct, metallic clink from where Diane was seated, Jim turned his head toward the sound and saw a sewing needle bouncing on the floor tiles near her feet. Keeping his eyes shut, Jim walked over to her, bent down, picked up the needle and placed it in her palm.

Opening his eyes in triumph, vivid color returning with his regular vision, he looked at Diane with unabashed astonishment. Whispering in wonderment, he said, “I can see everything with my eyes closed. I literally heard the pin drop and knew exactly where it was.”

Smiling, Diane said, “I want to try an experiment to see if your eyesight has improved. I want you to leave the lab for five minutes. I’m going to put this needle somewhere in the room. It will be visible. I want you to try finding it by standing in the middle of the lab and using your eyes only. Okay?”

“Finding the old needle in a haystack trick, huh?”

Making sure Jim closed the steel lab door on his way out, Diane looked around for a good place to put the needle. She decided to stick it in the ceiling an inch and a half from a corner where two walls met. The needle was so small when she backed a meter away from the ceiling corner, she was unable to detect it even though she was the one who stuck it there. Returning to her desk chair, she waited on Jim to return.

Shortly, the steel door opened and Jim walked in, gazing nonchalantly around the room.

“The needle is somewhere in this room, unhidden. If you like, I’ll give you hints about its location if you can’t find it,” Diane said.

“No need.”

Walking across the room to the ceiling corner, Jim reached up, plucked the needle down and carried it back to Diane. “You could have tried to hide it a little better.”

Diane was astonished. She grabbed Jim by the arm and led him to a mark in the floor 20 feet away from the eye chart she’d used the day before to test his vision. The chart was a standard eye chart with large letters decreasing in size by line until near the bottom of the chart, most people needed to be closer than 3 feet and squint to make out the small print.

Walking to the chart, Diane said, “Read me the lowest line you can see.”

Blunt smiled wryly and replied, “It might be more meaningful if I backed away from the chart until I can’t read the bottom line anymore.”

With that said, Blunt began backing away from the 20 foot line. He kept backing until he bumped into the opposite wall of the lab, a full 40 feet from the wall holding the eye chart. Realizing he couldn’t back any farther, Jim read the smallest line on the chart as if he was reading the morning newspaper.

All Diane could say was, “Unbelievable.”

Sauntering back to her, Jim said, “I’m starving. How about you? Let’s go to lunch.”

***

The Soup and Crackers Cafe was a trendy neighborhood restaurant located on the corner of East Monument and Broadway. It was well known for a variety of delicious homemade soups and sandwiches and featured cozy booths as well as a long lunch counter lined with swiveling stools bolted to the floor. Its customer base was made up principally of students and faculty from Johns Hopkins University. A large jukebox with flashing neon lights sat near the front entrance and was constantly playing the latest Top Forty tunes. Jim and Diane had enjoyed lunches there many times in the past.

Some street improvement was going on in the intersection, and a couple of jackhammers operated by burly construction workers clanked and hammered away at the concrete roadway. As Jim and Diane strolled down the sidewalk, the clanking stopped and they heard a wolf whistle. It was easy to pinpoint the source of the whistle, and Diane glared at the ill-mannered louts. Jim held the door open for her, and as he followed her inside, he looked back at the workers and shook his head in disapproval.

All the booths were full so they took seats at the end of the counter farthest from the jukebox. Jim was sensitive to high noise levels at the moment, and he wanted to sit as far away from the noise box as possible. Diane was very happy with the quick results she was seeing from the active virus. Twirling around in her seat like a giddy teenager, she laughed delightedly.

They’d just settled down to eating their lunch when a big, thick-chested man with hairy arms sat next to Diane. It was one of the jackhammer operators. Jim noticed the guy’s partner, also a heavyset man, took the seat next in line. Both men were covered with concrete dust and smelled of a combination of sweat and diesel fumes.

The man nearest Diane leaned toward her and brushed his hairy arm against her. With a disgusted look, she moved away, but the man persisted and rubbed against her again.

Diane balled her fist and thumped it against the man’s arm as hard as she could, saying, “Stop touching me.”

Acting surprised, the goon leered at her, spat some chewing tobacco juice into his empty water glass and said, “What’s wrong, pretty lady? Don’t you know a real man when you see one?”

“Leave her alone,” Jim warned.

Ignoring Jim, the goon grasped Diane’s upper arm in his giant paw and said, “You don’t need a puny, little worm like that,” jutting his unshaven chin at Jim. “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

As the hairy man jutted his chin, the second thuggish worker got up from his stool and stood next to his friend, his arms crossed and fists balled. Together, the two street workers looked like a veritable mountain of bone and muscle, itching for a fight.

Jim rose from his seat. The first man with the hairy arms was close to 6 and a half feet tall, and his buddy was only a couple of inches shorter. Jim had to crane his neck up to look them in their eyes. Years of hard labor manhandling the heavy, concrete-smashing jackhammers had bulged the arm, shoulder and chest muscles of the workers to large, rock-hard slabs. To an outside observer, Jim’s chance of winning a fist fight with either one of the thugs, let alone two of them, was virtually zero.

Hairy arms poked his thick index finger into Jim’s chest and with a deadly look, warned, “If you know what’s best for you, buddy, you’ll mind your own business.”

As he made his threat, the fellow standing next to him uncrossed his arms and smacked his fist into his palm with a loud whack. Restaurant patrons sitting in nearby booths began leaving when they realized a fight was imminent. No one offered any assistance to Jim.

Diane couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. She’d always lived in a sheltered environment where violence simply didn’t exist. Her thoughts flew back to the pool ambush and the numbing fear she’d felt as she watched death take her friend, Tom LeBlanc. Now her Jim was being threatened. All she could do was watch helplessly and hope for the best.

Jim didn’t like being poked in his chest, and he could feel his adrenalin kick in as his anger grew. Hoping his military, close-combat training would be enough to defend him in the fight he realized he couldn’t avoid; he narrowed his eyes and said in a low voice, “You guys need to turn around and leave this place before I have to hurt you.”

A wicked grin split the face of the big thug as he replied, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He reached to grab the front of Jim’s shirt. Seeing the move, Jim whipped up his left hand and grabbed the hairy wrist as it came toward him, trying his best to fend off the attack. The guy’s wrist was so thick Jim’s hand looked like it was grabbing a 4 inch diameter wooden pole. The moment Jim grabbed the massive arm, it stopped moving toward him. As he held the guy’s immense arm, stopping it in midair, his fingers kept closing. In the blink of an eye, Jim felt his index finger touch his thumb.

The big man began screaming, and he swallowed the lump of chewing tobacco with a choking cough. At that moment, Jim felt a gravelly crunch and discovered his left hand had closed into a tight fist. Releasing his grip, Jim stared as the man’s blood-red hand fell toward the floor, hanging from his forearm by a kite string of bloody flesh. Falling to his knees, the big man reached down with his left hand and picked up his limp right hand from the floor, cradling it to his chest as he screamed in pain and horror.

In that instant, the other big man swung his fist at Blunt’s head, but defending by reflex, Jim blocked the blow while he reached for the man’s chest. As if he was grabbing the handle on a coffee pot, Jim’s fingers closed on the rib cage of the fellow, fingers wrapping through the ribs and his thumb clutching under the sternum. With a high-pitched, gasping wail, the man froze with tears on his eyes as Jim held his rib cage in an iron grip. But Jim was still angry and flushed with adrenalin. Raising his right arm with no apparent effort, he lifted the beefy thug off the floor. The man had to weigh at least 250 pounds, but Jim raised him in the air one-handed as if he was lifting a box of tissue paper. Drawing the quivering man close, Jim said, “Pick up your buddy and get out of here while you can still walk.”

Releasing his grip with a shove, Jim watched as the burly hulk fell backwards and slid across the floor on his butt. Rising with a cowed and terrified look, the man pulled the mewling, hairy-armed jerk to his feet. Stumbling between the booths and the swivel stools, both men backed out the entry door onto the sidewalk and ran from the building.

Turning to look at Diane with deep concern shadowing his eyes, Jim asked, “Are you okay?”

Shakily nodding her head, Diane smiled, “I guess we don’t have to go to a gym and lift weights to test your muscle strength.”

Frowning, Jim said, “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day. Let’s go home.”

***

Next morning, Jim and Diane were back at her sublevel 4 lab testing the limits of his newfound ability to close his eyes and sense his surroundings. Their principal discovery was that some kind of noise was necessary to provide the echoes allowing Jim to see the black and white scenes in his mind. Heart beats and breathing alone provided a weak echo but were not sufficient by themselves for clear images because of the muffling effect of the chest wall. They found any normal noise in the area such as a ticking clock, whirring fan or ongoing conversations provided enough background noise vibrations for the sonar-like images to clearly manifest. Gunfire and explosions created sharp images.

Diane was intrigued by the comparison of new X-ray images compared to X-ray images she took of Jim prior to his ingestion of the active virus. The pre-virus images showed normal bones within a hazy outline of flesh covering his fingers, arms, legs and torso. The underlying bony structure in his body was clear in the pre-virus images. The new X-ray images revealed only a sharp, white outline of his body with no underlying bone structure.

Post-virus, Jim’s skin and muscles remained supple and felt normal to the touch. Diane felt a warm quiver as she remembered her empirical, personal test of his body last evening and had to admit in a very unscientific way she was sure he felt and acted completely normal. The only conclusion she could reach was Jim’s muscles and skin had become so dense that X-rays reacted to them as bone instead of flesh. Based on Jim’s account of his reactions and feelings during the fight with the thuggish construction workers, Diane concluded his adrenalin rush had provided the fuel his body needed to become immensely strong.

Her musings about his muscle strength and soft skin were interrupted when the lab door opened, and Collier walked in followed by Whatsit.

Smiling, Collier grasped her shoulders. “Wonderful to see you, Doctor.”

Looking back at Whatsit, he said, “I thought I’d bring our little friend along. He was beginning to get cabin fever in Nevada.”

Whatsit was wearing his sombrero outfit with his new, colorful bolo tie in place of the old, white scarf. Pushing his sombrero back off his head so it dangled by its draw cord, Whatsit peered around the lab and spotted Jim sitting at Diane’s desk, grinning at him.

Gathering his thoughts of happiness at seeing his Master after several months of loneliness, Whatsit concentrated and projected, “Master Jim, happy I am to see you after so long.”

The next few moments startled the big lizard so much he stumbled backwards in amazement. As if communicated from one of his instructors on his home planet, Chrysalis, came the reply, “Good to see you, Whatsit. I’ve missed you also.”

“Master?”

Smiling broadly, Jim walked toward Whatsit, mentally projecting, “I’ve been practicing. How do I sound?”

“Perfect!” came the gushing reply and for the first time since Jim had met the young lizard, tears welled up and ran down the teenager’s face.

Embracing the Chrysallaman, Jim said, “It’s good to finally be able to tell you how much you mean to me, my friend. Never refer to me as Master again. You are part of my family, now.”