"Five for Fighting"

FIVE FOR FIGHTING
By Curtis C. Chen

Gottlieb checked his watch again. "Can't you work any faster?"

"I thought faster was his job." Caitlin nodded at Herman while continuing to pelt the computer keyboard with her fingertips.

"You'll tell me if there's a problem, right?"

"Sure."

Herman paced on the other side of the console, a man-shaped blur streaking back and forth across the room. In the far corner, underneath a metal stump, Paul cradled the remains of a security camera.

"You okay, Paul?"

Paul didn't look up. "I couldn't feel it. No pain. Nothing. It didn't even break the skin."

"The presentation is unusual," Gottlieb said. "But interactions between your gene therapy and these implant drugs are poorly documented—"

Paul flattened the camera between both palms, then let the metal pancake fall to the ground with a clatter.

"I was supposed to be strong. Not indestructible." He looked at Gottlieb. "They're never going to let me go, are they?"

"Paul—"

Gottlieb's earpiece chirped. "Escape route looks clear, Doc," Alex said.

"Okay, get back here." Gottlieb had failed to discourage Alex from running off by herself, and failed to convince Herman to follow her into the ventilation ducts.

"In a minute. Something else I want to check out," Alex said.

"We're on a schedule here, Alex," Gottlieb said. "And we have very specific mission parameters."

"Listen to you. 'Mission parameters?' I'm becoming aroused."

Caitlin snickered. Gottlieb ignored her. "Alex, I don't feel you're taking this seriously."

"It's a simulation," Alex said. "And we're doing great. Nothing here we can't handle."

"They're not just evaluating your physical skills," Gottlieb said. "They want to know if we can function as a team. And so far, we're failing spectacularly."

"What are you talking about?" Alex said. "We're like clockwork. Took out all the cameras in less than three seconds—"

"Paul went on a rampage," Gottlieb said. "And now he's freaking out because he's stronger than we expected. You rushed off before we cleared the room, Herman refused to go with you because he's claustrophobic, and I have no idea what Caitlin is doing."

The teenager smiled up at him. "I'm in your computer, hackin' your datas."

Gottlieb shook his head. "General Schumann doesn't think I can lead the four of you in the field."

"You've got other talents, Doc," Alex said.

"You're missing the point. If I can't convince Schumann that I can supervise this team, he's going to find someone else. Is that what you want? Some jarhead barking orders at you?"

Silence. Gottlieb allowed himself a triumphant nod.

"Jarheads are Marines," Alex said.

Gottlieb frowned. "What?"

"Schumann's an Army General," Alex said.

"She's right," Herman said. "My brother's in the Army. He'd be deeply offended if you called him a jarhead."

"I guess 'grunt' would be more appropriate?" Alex said.

"Or just 'soldier,'" Herman said.

"'Doughboy,'" Caitlin offered.

Paul said, "I've also heard 'dogface.'"

Gottlieb threw up his hands. "Really? This is what we need to discuss right now?"

"Hey, you get upset when people call you Mister Gottlieb," Alex said. "Words hurt too, Doc."



Image: broken cameras 2 by punkrockdiva, May, 2009

"Stronger"

STRONGER
By Curtis C. Chen

"He needs a new skeleton," Gottlieb said.

Schumann glared for a moment, then turned his broad shoulders and sat down behind his office desk.

"In private," Schumann said.

Gottlieb closed the door and dropped the file on the General's desk. "I'll need your authorization for the procedure—"

"I'm not going to authorize the procedure," Schumann said.

Gottlieb blinked. "This is a medical emergency."

Schumann shook his head. "You need to remember who's in charge here, Doctor. I know the guy's your friend, you have history together, but this program is not your own private research lab. If I can't make a case for the operational benefit of a procedure, I can't authorize the funds for it. That's the bottom line."

It took Gottlieb a moment to unclench his jaw. "The operational benefit is that Paul Wilson doesn't die. Or is the United States government no longer in the business of keeping its citizens alive?"

"There's no need for insults, Doctor," Schumann said. He pushed away the file on his desk. "I've seen the updates. Wilson's condition isn't life-threatening. He'll be on his back for a few days until you figure out how to turn down the implants, and then you'll fix him."

"This isn't—" Gottlieb heard himself getting louder, and stopped before he started yelling at a three-star general. "Paul Wilson's enhancile is not purely technological. He has received gene therapy which alters the fundamental biochemical makeup of his muscles. We had to do that in order to keep the myasthenia gravis from destroying his soft tissue."

"I'm not an idiot, Doctor." Schumann stared right through Gottlieb. "Wilson's muscle growth is regulated by the implants. You can tune those to keep him from hulking out."

"We've been trying," Gottlieb said. "It's not working."

"Make it work."

"You tell me how to create some new amino acids and I'll get right on it."

Schumann sighed, opened the file, and scanned through it. "You've done this type of skeletal enhancement before?"

"Dogs and ponies. Literally," Gottlieb said. "But the principle is the same. It will work. I just need a signature."

Schumann closed the folder. "I'll sign on one condition. You need to put Wilson into the field."

Gottlieb shook his head. "He's not ready. We need to—"

"Don't bullshit me, Doctor," Schumann said. "You've released enhanced soldiers onto the battlefield two weeks after surgery. Wilson's been here for years."

"He's not a soldier. He doesn't—"

"I'm not asking him to be a soldier. I'm asking him to serve his country using his unique talents." Schumann opened a drawer and pulled out a reader tablet. "And he won't be alone."

Gottlieb frowned. "What are you proposing?"

"This isn't a proposal, Doctor. This is an order." Schumann pushed the tablet to the edge of his desk. "I'm putting together a task force. FBI's bringing in the candidates now, and they're shipping out as soon as you examine them and certify them fit for duty.

"This department's been making superheroes for three years. It's about time we started using them for something."



Photo: Strength by R.O Mania, June, 2008

"Higher"

HIGHER
By Curtis C. Chen

The girl didn't look happy. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying. Her forearms were bandaged, and her wrists and ankles were secured to the bed rails with heavy straps.

She was also floating about an inch above the mattress.

"You have noticed that she's levitating, right?" Gottlieb said.

Humphrey rolled his eyes. "Of course we noticed. That's why we called you for a consult."

"Because you've been dealing with a lot of strange cases lately," Iskra said, handing Gottlieb a patient file. "And we're honestly not sure what's going on here."

Gottlieb looked through the observation window at the girl for a few more seconds, wanting to form an opinion before any of her records could bias him toward a particular diagnosis. Then he flipped through the file.

"Where are her parents?" he asked.

"Her mother's with the police," Humphrey said. "The officers found some controlled substances in the apartment when they responded to the 911 call."

"No father on record," Iskra added. "The mother's a sex worker. Got herself fixed after the first unwanted pregnancy."

"But she didn't have an abortion," Gottlieb said.

"Not for lack of trying," Humphrey said.

Gottlieb looked up. "You pulled the mother's file?"

"Yeah. Cops wanted to know if she was clean."

"And why don't I have it here?"

Humphrey frowned. "It's not medically relevant."

"I'll decide that for myself," Gottlieb said. "You want me to consult, you get me all the facts. What kind of sterilization procedure did the mother undergo? Was it surgical?"

"Artificial menopause," Iskra said.

Gottlieb blinked. "What?"

"Endocrine regulation, using a combination of—"

"I know what it is," Gottlieb snapped. He looked at Humphrey. "A teenage girl starts floating in midair, and you don't think it could be hormone-related?"

"That was the mother, not the daughter," Humphrey said. "Implants aren't hereditary. And she didn't even have the procedure until after her daughter was born."

"How soon after the birth? Did she breast-feed her daughter?" Gottlieb asked. "What kind of endocrine implant did she have? Was it HPG axis-limited? Was there a nanotech component to the treatment? I need to see that file."

Humphrey scowled, said, "Doctor Iskra can get it for you," and walked out of the room.

"Nice to see you haven't lost your touch," Iskra said, shaking his head. "I'll get you the mother's medical records. Any ideas in the meantime?"

"Has the girl—what's her name?"

"Caitlin. Caitlin Kearny."

"Has Caitlin complained of nausea, dizziness, or vertigo?"

Iskra nodded. "All three. Do you know what's causing it?"

I hope not, Gottlieb thought. "Is it persistent, or does it come and go?"

"She says it happens whenever she gets intoxicated—usually just alcohol, though she's admitted to marijuana use, too. The discomfort also seems to coincide with her, um, levitation episodes."

Shit. "I'm going to need blood and tissue samples."

Iskra frowned. "What are you testing for?"

I can't tell you that. "I don't know," Gottlieb said.



Photo: High Diver by Evan Leeson, June, 2009

"Faster"

FASTER
By Curtis C. Chen

Gottlieb didn't even see his office door open and close. He blinked, and then there was a man standing next to the bookshelf.

"Can I help you?" Gottlieb asked. It was his standard greeting when he had no idea what was going on. Which seemed to be happening more and more these days.

The man's face seemed familiar. Gottlieb squinted. The man appeared blurry, almost as if he were... vibrating?

"I want my money back," the man said. His voice quavered, like an audio sample being alternately sped up and slowed down.

"I'm sorry," Gottlieb said. "Are you a patient here?"

The man disappeared, then reappeared on Gottlieb's side of the desk. He grabbed Gottlieb's coat and lifted him out of his chair.

"I'm one of your patients!" the man shouted. "Don't you recognize the monster you created, Doctor?"

Gottlieb raised both his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry. Your face—it's—"

"Oscillating?" the man said. "Yeah. My whole body, actually. Forty-five hertz, give or take, depending on my mood." This close, Gottlieb noticed an undertone beneath the man's quavering speech—a low buzzing, like an ungrounded electric appliance. "Don't you remember doing this to me? Or am I just another experiment to you?"

The face snapped into focus for a split second, and Gottlieb recognized the man. "Mr. Kendall? Herman Kendall?"

Kendall's grip relaxed. Gottlieb lowered his hands slowly.

"What did you do to me, Doc?" Kendall asked, his voice winding down.

Gottlieb slipped both hands into his coat pockets, finding his panic button in case he needed to summon help. "Please, sit. Tell me what happened. As I recall, you wanted a synaptic enhancile."

Kendall zipped around the desk and sat down. Now that Gottlieb knew what he was looking at, he could almost visually track Kendall's accelerated motion.

"It didn't work," Kendall said. "Or maybe it worked too well. I don't know. At first, it did what you said: helped me think faster, sped up my reflexes. I was unbeatable on the court. But then I started losing control."

"I warned you," Gottlieb said softly. "It was a highly experimental implant."

"I know!" Kendall stood up. "I know you said there would be side effects, and I was ready for that, but this—" He pounded his temples with his fists. "Nobody's going to let me compete now! You gotta take it out, Doc!"

"We discussed this," Gottlieb said. "The enhancile is a permanent change to your physiology. I can try to tune it, but there's no way to remove it without killing you."

Kendall sat down again. "Jesus, you might as well. My life is over anyway."

Gottlieb picked up a reader tablet from his desk and thumbed it to the personal files he'd been looking at earlier.

"Maybe not," Gottlieb said, holding out the tablet. "There are some people I'd like you to meet."

On the tablet screen were photos of a heavily muscled man, a scowling woman in full body armor, and a teenage girl floating several feet above a sidewalk.



Photo: "The fastest animal on earth..." by Keven Law, February, 2008

"Fearless"

FEARLESS
By Curtis C. Chen

"The doctor must have stepped out," the smiling receptionist said as she walked Alex into an empty office. "Would you wait here, please?"

"Do I have a choice?" Alex said.

"Oh, don't be nervous—"

"Do I seem nervous to you?"

The receptionist continued smiling. "Your consultation is entirely confidential. Doctor Gottlieb's very good. I should know; I'm a former patient."

"Let me guess," Alex said. "Agnosia implant?"

The receptionist turned to look down the hallway. "Oh, here he comes now."

Doctor Gottlieb exchanged hellos with the receptionist, then entered the office and closed the door behind him. He pulled a reader tablet out of his white coat and sat down at his desk.

"How can I help you, Miss... Burstyn?"

"It's Officer Burstyn." Alex held up her badge.

Gottlieb put down the tablet. "I'm sorry, Officer. Do you have a warrant?"

"I'm not here on official business," Alex said. "But it's funny that would be the first thing out of your mouth."

Gottlieb folded his arms. "My patients value their privacy. I perform a lot of sensitive procedures, often involving personal issues—"

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm here. I want an MGR-5 enhancile."

The doctor blinked. "Excuse me?"

"MGR-5. Metabotropic glutamate receptor five?"

Gottlieb frowned. "You've done your homework. Most people just call it 'the backbone implant.'"

"That could be any number of treatments," Alex said. "I want the gene therapy."

"You'll still need an implant to regulate stress hormone production—"

"And a wire down my spine, yeah, I know."

Gottlieb leaned forward. "There are side effects. Impaired judgment, for example, which could be an issue in your line of work."

"Which is why you'll prescribe drugs to treat those side effects."

"All this will be very expensive."

"I can pay."

"And if you ever want to have children—"

"I don't."

They stared at each other.

"Anything else you want to say to try and talk me out of it?" Alex asked.

"Just this," Gottlieb said. "Medical science has achieved some miraculous things. But everything we do to the human body is still just a hack. The backbone alters a fundamental biochemical response. We evolved to feel fear for very good reasons. I urge you to think very hard before deciding on this."

"Do you know what happened to me last year?"

Gottlieb shook his head.

"My best friend died," Alex said. "He died five minutes after I asked him to marry me. He died because some mincer wanted his wristwatch, and I was afraid I'd get a hand cut off if we fought.

"I would have traded my arm if I knew it would save Ethan's life.

"I didn't want to make a rash, grief-fueled decision, so I waited. Thirteen months. I did the department-mandated therapy, I passed the psych eval. I know what I want. I want to move on, but I don't want to forget.

"I don't ever again want to see somebody die because I was too scared for my own well-being to do something to save them. Now are you going to help me, Doctor?"



Photo: DSC08090 by Phillip LeConte, February, 2011