Something Good

[Toaster]

Percival observed the young woman within the cryotube for a moment. Cara Hearth, he remembered. According to their files she was eighteen years old and the sole caretaker of a sick mother and two younger brothers. He frowned. What would become of them with her gone, he did not know, nor did he want to think about it. He checked the gauges on the tube’s display to make sure that the suspension cocktail was properly mixed, then, with a final glance at the frozen woman, turned to head into the cockpit.

Galahad sat in the pilot’s seat, completing the preflight checks. Hearing his colleague enter the cramped compartment, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Everything alright back there?”

Percival nodded an affirmative and settled into the non-standard copilot’s seat behind his partner. Fitting a fighter for two people stripped it of what few comforts it provided to begin with but made for a far more low-profile platform to operate from than a much larger freighter. Still, Percival sometimes wished they could have at least fitted two bunks into the ship instead of forcing the two of them to either take turns or have one sleep in a chair.

The dark-haired man scanned the display and controls before him, found the communications suite, and dialed in a secure line. A woman’s face appeared on the screen, shoulder-length grey hair parted in the middle, a pair of frameless glasses reflecting the light of an off-screen lamp. Her lips were drawn into a thin line.

“Percival,” she greeted him without any inflection.

“Ma’am, we have secured the target and are preparing the delivery,” Percival reported. “We should arrive at base in approximately six hours.”

The woman nodded slowly.

“Very good. I will be waiting.” With that, the screen went black and the line went dead.

“As charming as ever,” Percival muttered under his breath as Galahad ignited the engines, a deep rumble reverberating through the hull. Overhead, the makeshift hangar’s roof parted, and the ship slowly ascended into the open sky beyond. A moment later, its surface shimmered like asphalt on a hot day. A few more seconds and it faded from view like a ghost.


* * *


Five years ago, Galahad and Percival had first met aboard the Chesapeake Complex, standing in what appeared to be a hoarder’s office. The central desk and the floor surrounding it had been littered with paper files and plastic cups, some still containing stale coffee. The shelves that stood along the walls were stacked to the brink of collapse with datapads, binders, storage drives, and an impressive number of framed awards and university degrees.

Sitting at the desk, glaring up at the two men from behind a pair of frameless spectacles, had been Dr. Elizabeth Howlett. Her elbows rested atop the table, her hands steepled in front of her face as she silently observed the duo. Galahad stood at attention, adorned in a navy dress uniform. Percival wore a tailored suit and felt supremely uncomfortable in it. He had not worn one since his first day at the agency. His eyes wandered to and fro between the woman before and the man beside him, wondering when the eerie silence between them would be broken.

Finally, the doctor stood up from her office chair and circled around the cluttered desk, coming to a stop directly in front of them and leaning against the tabletop. She lazily waved a hand at Galahad, whose posture relaxed, if only slightly.

“Thank you for coming,” she spoke through barely parted teeth. “I take it you have read your briefings?”

Galahad nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned her head to look at Percival and raised a questioning eyebrow. He nodded slowly. The briefing he had received sounded like a strange joke.

Section Three, Sub-Section Eta. Bio-advancement. Percival knew of Section Three, Chesapeake’s special projects division. Through the grapevine he had heard of some of the developments the department was working on. Personal cloaking technology. Enhanced cyberwarfare. Nomad reverse-engineering. Of course, it was all highly confidential and far, far above his paygrade, and he never found any official confirmation of the projects. But Sub-Section Eta he had never heard of.

Bio-advancement. What did that even mean?

The briefing enlightened him. Dr. Elizabeth Howlett, honors graduate of the Planetary University of Denver, Rowlings University of Manhattan, and Stanton Medical School, was the sub-division’s lead. She had briefly worked on several projects for the agency, ranging from experimental research into human-Nomad interfacing, prototype medicines and prosthetics, to biological and chemical weapons programs. Her current project, however, had occupied her for a number of years now and had just recently been approved by her director to advance to the next phase.

“You want us to…” Percival tried to think of a way to put a positive spin on what the briefing had described his future task as, but failed, “…kidnap teenagers?”

The doctor’s expression remained unchanged.

“That is the gist of it.”

“To run experiments on them?”

“Yes.”

“For what purpose?”

At this, Dr. Howlett gave him a satisfied smile.

“To save humanity.”

To save humanity. It quickly became Dr. Howlett’s catchphrase when discussing the project and its associated tasks. When she revealed that she was seeking individuals – specimens, as she referred to them – with exceptional genes, Percival had pressed her on what she intended to do with them. Create super soldiers? He had asked her. Her response had been an amused chuckle and a slow shake of the head. Superhumans, she replied.

The way she explained it, it made sense. Sirius was not as tranquil and ripe for settlement as the Alliance had hoped when they first chose it as the destination for its sleeper ships. Many planets remained uninhabitable due to hostile biomes, flora, and fauna, or extreme gravity and climates. If humanity were to truly thrive for the millennia to come and explore further into space beyond the confines of the Sirius sector, it had to adapt. And it needed to do so fast, faster than nature allowed.

And so, Dr. Howlett had convinced the agency to let her seek out suitable specimens to examine and study, in what was ultimately an effort to genetically engineer humans to be more adaptable and resilient, stronger and faster, smarter and more ingenious.

And so, for the past five years, Galahad and Percival had worked for her, finding and collecting the individuals she deemed most valuable to her research, returning them to her labs for further use. For the longest time, Percival had not questioned the ethics and morality of the endeavor, convinced by Howlett’s rhetoric that what they were doing was for the good of all humanity; that it was right.


* * *

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Olivia Sable