I was trapped… totally fucked, and we both knew it. My rage was beginning to take over and letting it loose here would only ensure the outcome. I thought again about Rollo. Seeing his face inside that dented tactical helmet. Hinge had given his life for that mission, and all I had done was dishonor him.

  As if sensing my crumbling emotional state, the doctor leaned in almost conspiratorially. “Sergeant, listen… this will be a positive thing. You will be one of the most valuable assets in the military, your record will be wiped clean, and you might even get your pick of outposts around the globe. You will be one of the first to have this level of CAE.”

  Yeah… Combat Asset Enhancements. Nothing sounded ominous about that.

  “RDT?” I asked.

  The man nodded unconvincingly. “If you wish. In fact, the muscle and calcium blockers will mitigate the normal bone loss and subsequent decreases in muscle density that is normal for those assignments. You likely won’t be limited to the normal ninety-day rotations.”

  “What about my team?”

  Magnus Reichert looked even less certain. “Your team?” He checked his data tablet before looking up. “Banshee, right? Some have already been reassigned, but yes, I believe we can keep you with them. In order for them to stay in the same Drop Team rotation as you, they might also require some enhancements. Might be best if we keep that to just you for now, maybe concentrate on dirt side ops for the time being.”

  I let my head drop in defeat. That would keep me out of most of my team’s missions. Shit, they had me; I had no outs. Rollo was gone. Ramirez had taken a round to the neck in a later mission and would likely never see active duty again. Besides, what did it matter? Not like I had a family waiting for me back home. Hell, I barely even had a home, a one-bedroom hunting cabin several hours outside D.C. Being a lab rat… no, a guinea pig for the Department of Defense was my only choice. Slowly, I nodded. “So, what will it involve?”

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  One of Doctor Reichert’s technicians removed the IV and swabbed roughly at the small bead of blood left in its place. “Can I ask you something?” The man gave no response.

  “What did you people just do to me?”

  “I’d have to check your charts,” he replied in a tone that lived somewhere between uncaring and ‘You’re a piece of shit lab experiment, and why the fuck do you keep talking to me?’

  To his credit, he flipped up the thin data tablet and swiped through several screens; then he ran a rather delicate finger down what must have been a considerable list. “Initial Regenerax bonding and your final Respirosites infusion.”

  I had no idea what any of that meant. And then he abruptly left. So, I stared down at a body and an arm that used to be all mine and now was clearly… not.

  I shifted in the uncomfortable bed, trying to not so much find a more comfortable spot as to find one that was less like an enhanced interrogation technique. Every goddamn part of my body either ached, was on fire, or felt no sensations at all. And before you ask, yes… that included my junk. I knew it was still there, hell, I could see it lying their flopping out of my wispy hospital gown that still passes as clothing in a medical ward.

  That reminds me, why in the name of all that is good and holy after all these years, do hospital gowns still offer nothing in the way of comfort or modesty? I needed a second person just to get in and out of mine. Jesus H. Christ on a bike. Okay, back to my penis. It… well, never mind, the thought escaped me as someone else approached. I could tell by the walk who it was.

  “Doctor Mengele,” I said with as much love and adoration as I could force into my voice.

  “Not amusing, Joseph. We are trying to save your life,” Reichert said in a tone like he was speaking to a small child.

  It was somewhat amusing, to me at least, and no… they weren’t trying to save my life. They had done that months ago. Now they were seeing just how far they could push a human body before it gave up and said ‘Fuck it.’ My junk had already done that, apparently. Gave me the proverbial middle finger and opted for the afterlife.

  “I can’t feel my dick,” I said with zero amusing lilt to my voice and with as much sincerity as a line like that could be delivered with.

  “Perhaps you should stop trying so much,” the doctor said in his precise monotone. “At least until you are more healed.”

  Did Doctor Magnus Reichert just make a joke? I nearly fell out of the too-narrow bed. “Do you abuse all your patients this way?” I asked.

  He smiled and removed his glasses and carefully slid them into the pocket of his lab coat. His other hand held the familiar black marble he always seemed to play with. “You’re not my patient, Joseph. You are so very much more.”

  “What, are we friends now?” my voice literally dripping with sarcasm.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and patted me lightly on my arm.

  “My dear boy,” he began, “you don’t understand this, and I’m very sure we wore out any patience you might have had months ago, but yes, I do genuinely like you. I never told you this, but I met your father once.”

  Shit, who hadn’t? Seemed like everyone even loosely connected to the military was aware of Colonel ‘Bones’ Kovach.

  Doctor Reichert continued. “I know his legacy. He was a fine leader, but I must admit I found him to be a bit, how should I say this? one dimensional, singularly focused. I know military leaders have to be purpose driven individuals, but in his case, it seemed almost obsessive.”

  I had to admit, that wasn’t off the mark, but I didn’t need a doctorate to figure that out. Try having Sunday dinner with the man. “Where ya going with this, Doc?” They had made it pretty clear already that my dad, or his friends, had a part in me being in this bed instead of in a prison somewhere… or a box.

  The doctor removed his hand that had been resting on my exposed arm. “It’s just that, well, you are not like that at all.”

  “Not a good leader, not a good soldier?” I quipped.

  “Oh, I don’t know about all that. I am sure you are. Your record is filled with considerable accomplishments. What I mean is, your personality is not at all like your father’s. You are intelligent, smart-assed, a bit more disrespectful than we expected, but also quite humorous at times. I genuinely like your wit and will miss you once this is over.”

  Dad could be funny, but generally only at the expense of others. He had a tongue that would slice you into jerky if you left him an opening. “So, I’m not a mindless drone?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that have been better for your program?”

  The older man stared off down the white corridor for a long time with a look that I can only describe as haunted expression. He took out a tissue and absently cleaned his glasses before responding. “When DARPA began looking into enhanced soldiers, Joseph, they did some abominable things. The human body is amazingly adaptable, it seems. They learned they could turn certain genes on or off with very striking results. I’m sure you remember the fiasco on the so-called cluster of warrior genes back in the late thirties.”

  I did recall that, not long after the war, a medical lab working with one of the big private military contractors created a serum that boosted the aggression and stamina of its fighters. The cocktail also raised testosterone and dopamine levels, so they fought with a ferocity that was downright scary. Problems occurred later when the PMCs were no longer in that role. Those genetic changes couldn’t be reversed. Several of the operators committed murderous acts and were killed or imprisoned as a result. Many more killed themselves either by outright suicide or by engaging in such dangerous activities as to be nearly certain of their ultimate demise.

  “You see, every physical advantage we can give you comes with a drawback. If we make you stronger, you will need to stop and eat more. If we make you impervious to pain, you may not realize how much damage you are taking. Even the artificial red blood cells we just added to your system can be a problem.”

  I looked down at my arm… my real one, comprehending what he had just said. “Artificial?”

  “Yes, yes, the Respirosites. They are actually a class of nanorobot, a biological machine of sorts that is much more efficient at transporting oxygen to your body than regular old hemoglobin. Only a percentage of your normal blood cells were replaced, but these will give you many advantages. A significant increase in stamina, better ability at high altitude, or underwater. We estimate you can hold your breath for five or six minutes with no reduced mental functions. Still, too much reliance on them could have long-term consequences, and what remains of your body’s own organs will not accept them. I’ll have to keep you on a regimen of anti-rejection drugs as long as they are in your body.”

  “What?”

  He patted me again in what I assumed was to be a reassuring gesture. “Not to worry, Sergeant. The dosing pack will be self-administered and only need to be refilled every few months.” A chime sounded, and he stood up, unfolded his own tablet from a pocket, and retrieved his glasses again. He scanned something on the screen, nodding slightly. “Yes, very good. Looks like your vitals are settling back down.”

  I already knew the various sensors’ telemetry went to the medical tablets, as there were no monitors nearby. “So, what was it about my dad?” I asked. The man’s attention span seemed to have wandered, and strangely, I wanted to know where he’d been going with it.

  “Oh yes, yes… my apologies. My point was we can make you a better soldier, but it is always a balancing act of improvement versus cost. Whatever you gain, there will ultimately be a price to pay physically. DARPA never cared about the long-term effects of their super-soldier project, and it doomed them. We have always been a bit more pragmatic—we aren’t trying to create monsters, simply give an edge to our fighting force. It’s something that has been done for years. Even those dammed Nazis you enjoy comparing me to tried it.

  During World War II, they gave N-methylamphetamine and oxycodone to their soldiers like they were Skittles.”

  “They gave their soldiers meth?” I asked in genuine astonishment.

  Yeah,” he smiled. “They originally called it Pervitin. Later, they made it into pill form and called it D-IX. It contained five milligrams of cocaine, three of Pervitin, and a nice chunk of oxycodone.”

  “Holy shit… no wonder they fought so damn hard.”

  “Exactly, but that was only good for the immediate moment, and I’d have to say probably not even that. Soldiers that high on narcotics cannot be expected to make sound decisions. In battle, I maintain that is the most important enhancement of all.”

  “Intelligence?”

  “Yes, and that is one area where we can help without any noticeable downside. A smarter soldier is a better soldier in every possible way. Despite everything we have done to you, and it is a lot, you will be more durable, faster, have more muscle mass, get sick less often, heal quicker. Still, we are shooting for only about an eighteen to twenty percent increase over an average soldier in purely physical abilities.”

  He moved the sheet back, uncovering one of my legs, and examined it for a minute.

  “Now that alone,” he continued, “is substantial. In some ways, you should leave here able to compete with Olympic athletes in several events—running, swimming, high jump. You could probably medal with no additional training, but you won’t be superhuman, simply better.” He tapped the leg and smiled. “If we can also get a fifteen percent improvement in cognitive abilities, then… then we really have a super-soldier. Thankfully for you, you already had an impressive intelligence level.”

  “So, not like my dad?”

  He smiled. “The colonel was an amazing soldier, but ‘are we doing this because you are his son?’ I know that’s the question you keep wondering about, isn’t it? The answer is, absolutely not. At most, they may have brought you to my attention, but if you had not been such a good fit for the program parameters, I would have still turned you away.”

  The doctor moved up and shone a penlight into each of my eyes before tapping my skull much like he’d done to my legs.

  “This, Joseph. This is why you are here.”

  “So, you’re going to make me smarter?”

  The man smiled and walked away, leaving me in even more confusion.

  “What about my junk?”

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  “Master Sergeant,” the doctor began.

  This one was new, sort of. I’d had a rotating crop of attendants over the past few weeks. Each of them seemingly concerned only with whatever their particular specialty was. This one… well, I hadn’t quite figured out what she was a doctor of.

  “We… I,” she amended, “don’t want to hear about the shit we are putting into your body. That crap is as old as the old Covid pandemic when people were too stupid to get the cure for fear it might be doing something unnatural or unsafe to them.”

  I nodded glumly; I’d heard my grandad say stuff about that time. He’d lost two uncles to the pandemic back in the twenties, as I recalled. I was just being obstinate and had refused all drugs for the last two days.

  “Unnatural as in fighting off an alien invader that was intent on using you for a breeding ground before it killed you, then yeah, it was totally doing that,” she added.

  She took the data pad and looked at me. “Joe, how much do you weigh?” I knew she could check my charts, but she was obviously trying to make a point.

  “Two hundred and five,” I responded. She ran her finger across the electronic paper and did some quick calculations before turning the screen so I could read.

  “Ninety-eight?”

  “Yes, almost half of you is not human. In your case, ninety-eight pounds of alien material are taking refuge within your body. Get used to it. Much of you is simply not you.”

  The look of shock must have registered as her stoic expression began to soften into a smile. “Don’t be alarmed, this is not because of anything we did. Honey, my body is smaller, but the proportions are the same. Just like every other person on Earth.” She lay the pad aside. “We all want to believe we know what we’re made of. We try to put good things in, but we are an ensemble, a symbiosis of other organic materials and living organisms. This includes bacteria, viruses, fungi, and archaea. The greatest concentration of this microscopic life is in the murky depths of our oxygen-deprived bowels.”

  “So, you’re saying what you put in me is what… natural?”

  “No, you idiot, I am saying the complete opposite. It was totally unnatural, but big effing deal—it was beneficial. Just like the other stuff that’s already in there. It saved your life, Joe. In fact, it did much more than that.”

  The woman leaned in, her tone becoming more sympathetic. “Nearly all of your internal organs are either lab-grown or totally synthetic. You were a mess, Joe. Two decades ago, your chances of survival would have been zero. Now we have tools that can prolong, enhance, and in your case, rebuild the human body.”

  “But the nano meds, those…”

  “They are machines, molecular machinery not that different from the organic cells and bacteria that occur naturally. You’re also on an upgraded course of Regenerax which is a regimen of nanobiotics, but you don’t seem troubled by that. Is one type of nano meds all that different from the other?”

  I hadn’t thought much about that. Artificial antibiotics had been around at least twenty years. Hell, I remember taking them as a kid when I got a sore throat.

  “All this tech is designed to promote healing and keep your dumb ass alive. Some of it will make you more capable in the long run, and that’s all the military teams care about, but there will be some trade-offs. I’m sure Magnus told you that you will have to keep taking the anti-rejection drugs for life. That’s just the way it is. Otherwise, your body will literally start treating your new organs as foreign invaders. Your body will kill itself to be rid of them.” She pulled me close and used her hand sensor on my back to listen to my heart and lungs. Satisfied, she let me lean back. “Joe, it’s important you get how serious this is. Take the meds. They will keep you alive.”

  Reichert had indeed drummed it into me. I would have to take them every few months. He’d explained the consequences in horrifyingly gory detail. Fever, cranial swelling, intense pain as my organs begin to shutdown followed by the most extreme headaches resulting in diminished cognitive abilities, dementia, hallucinations. And just to make the party complete, alternating lower GI issues as my insides try to exit through my asshole. Okay, I mean, he used some fancier words, but that was what I heard.

  “What if I’m on duty? Space borne soldiers don’t have a drugstore right around the corner.”

  She smiled. “Make sure you take enough with you. The Space Force will not want to jeopardize anything happening to you, so that shouldn’t be a problem, but you can’t get this stuff at the local drugstore, anyway. It has to be custom made in one of our labs just for you, Mister Kovach.”

  So, I was part alien even before beginning this ridiculous journey. That didn’t make me feel weird at all. I looked down at my left arm. I knew there was a lot of me that was no longer me. Knowing the military, I was sure there was lots more they weren’t even bothering to tell me.

  She stood to leave, and I noticed her stop and speak to another woman standing in shadow by the door. They whispered in hushed tones, and just from the other woman’s silhouette, I knew I wanted to see more. I was mentally trying to move her into the room. Hey, I was bored. I’d laid in these damn hospital beds for months. I pulled back the sheet to see if any other body part had taken notice of the shadowy vixen… it had not.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  Honestly, I couldn’t keep track of everything they were doing. The surgical procedures, treatments, and tests all began to blur. At some point I ran a fever, and oddly, they seemed to think this was a good thing. “So, can I get some aspirin or something?”