Max Lenart leaned back in his chair, listening to his belt squeak against the black leather. The sound annoyed him, but not nearly as much as the man sitting across from his desk. He put his hands behind his head and tried to concentrate.
A highly-decorated officer, Lox Cosgrove was the operations director at Lujenic. Lujenic was the medical applications wing of the Shadostrian Navy. Cosgrove had transferred to the unit after his command in the Galei Wars 15 years before, just after Lujenic was created. His scars and aged appearance made him look ten years older than his actual fifty-nine. The white hair didn’t help.
Lox ran his new post like he had run his battle group: snap inspections, continuous drills, early morning briefings, tight security, and demands, demands, demands. Most of the engineers hated his guts, and knew just exactly how much he cared about how they felt.
Zip, zero, nada.
Whatever his orders, it was the most important thing- the only thing- in the system as far as he was concerned, and he expected everyone under his command- and most of the people who commanded him- to feel the same way. At present he was steadily hammering his techs to produce, and the brass to approve, the TX109-B, a steroid for military enhancement.
However, he had encountered one roadblock that simply would not give, Max Lenart. He was the original architect of the steroid, and he was dragging his feet.
“Lenart, we cannot proceed with the project until you give your approval,” Cosgrove stated emphatically, the way he stated everything. Lenart was thankful he was given a large desk to keep agitators at bay who screamed across the desk quite frequently. His office was rather large than most others, having space for development teams at his large table off to his right. A man could get lost in there, especially Lenart, with his short stature.
Max put his hands flat on his desk. “I know you want to move forward with 109B, but it’s not safe,” he emphasized. “You’re moving too fast. I won’t give you positive answers when we don’t even understand the questions yet. I will not sign off on this project until I know what I’m doing.“
Cosgrove started to object, but Lenart cut him off.
“I want to see my work published as much as you want to use the results. But I will not sign off on it until my concerns are satisfied. Period.“
Cosgrove was enraged by Lenart’s stubbornness. Without his approval, the project would remain stalled, and if Cosgrove couldn’t put the drug into use soon, he would be finished at Lujenic. That would be a blemish on his- until now- exemplary service record. That could not happen. It would not happen.
“What is your problem? Cosgrove demanded, barely controlling his anger. “What are you afraid of?“
The short architect rose from his chair and walked to the big window overlooking the exercise bay.
“Come here, Lox. I’ll show you why I can’t give my approval. You need to understand my position here.“
Cosgrove reluctantly joined him at the window, moving as slow as possible.
“What do you see?” Lenart asked with a dry voice.
In the exercise bay below he saw six men dressed in camouflage pants and gray t-shirts. The men were working out. Each one exercised independently of the others. No one communicated with anyone else. But the posture of each man was wary and ready.
Cosgrove shrugged. “I see six strong, healthy young men exercising.“
“You’re ignoring the obvious.“
The original prospectus on the steroid was that it would (1) increase strength, (2) increase speed, and (3) increase initiative. It affected the parts of the brain that contained imagination and survival instincts. In the event that a team of 109Bs was cut off from command, they would carry out their mission without the need for a CO. In the event that a team suffered multiple casualties, the remaining members- or member- would proceed to carry out the entire mission independently of support.
That was the prospectus, anyway. That was the theory.
Cosgrove replied, “What am I ignoring?“
“Watch them. They do not respond to one another in any way. If one falls no one helps them up. No one spots for anyone. They don’t talk over meals, in the rec room, or during class time. They only speak when spoken to. Some of the instructors are wondering if they have some mental deficiencies.“
“Why is that a problem?” Cosgrove asked rhetorically. “These are soldiers, not nurses. The project is equipping elite troops for every possible mission, requiring minimal supervision in the field.“
“It’s a problem. I’m not seeing team anywhere I look in that room. How could you have a military that has no passion for what they do or for other team members? What if the communication problems get worse? Watch their body language. Does that say independence or paranoia?“
Max Lenart crossed his arms and fixed on the men with a dark expression. “You’re a soldier and I’m a biologist. Fine. But I grew up in a military family, and I’ve seen commands that function and commands that implode.“
He transferred his glare to Cosgrove. “And that bunch is ready to turn on one another at the drop of a hat. Men like that won’t follow orders for long. They’ll start making up their own. These acute responses were not supposed to happen with TX109-B. Something is wrong.”
Lenart stopped talking, seeing that Cosgrove wasn’t listening.
“Are you done yet,” the commander sighed.
“Not yet,” Lenart snapped back. “For everything they’ve gained from the treatments, they’ve lost something. They are stronger, faster, more aggressive, and have more stamina. But they have no sense of cohesiveness- which is essential for a military unit. They are entirely myopic in their worldview. In addition to working together only when ordered to do so and being utterly devoid of social skills, they feature some symptoms of advanced dementia. They retain only mission details. They do not remember names or places unless they are part of their orders. The most recent symptom is very problematic: they cannot remember previous missions they have encountered.“
Cosgrove watched the subjects go through their weight routines. They moved like predators- subtle, silent, and suspicious. His head tilted toward Lenart, and he spoke in an entirely new tone of voice. He didn’t sound exasperated anymore.
In fact, he practically purred.
“Did it ever occur to you that the men you have described are the ideal wet work personnel? Relentless, focused, prepared to go on alone in spite of obstruction. If cornered, they will fight till their last breath. If captured, they retain minimal intel to surrender under interrogation.“
He turned to the scientist. “I am impressed, Max. I was hoping to attain three of five goals. The selective memory is the best news of all. We wanted the steroid to promote reduced memory in order to minimize our risk of exposure in case of capture. These problems you enumerate aren’t side effects; they are the ultimate safety measure when dispatching assassins. I couldn’t be happier. Congratulations.“
Cosgrove seated himself in one of the chairs at the large conference table, watching the scientist’s reaction to the news.
Lenart was speechless, as he moved back to his desk. His mouth hung open in shock. He sat down unsteadily and stared at the desktop.
You don’t publish this kind of work, he thought. You take this to your confessor. Or you put it in your suicide note. “May God forgive me, because I cannot forgive myself…“
“Why would you do this,” he wondered aloud. “How can you justify intentionally eliminating their… their souls?“
“To save lives, actually,” Cosgrove replied. “Consider all the decisions made by basic infantry units. They make mistakes every time you turn around, and someone has to pay- usually with their life. They base field decisions on their gut, when it wasn’t their choice to make. A lot of our troops don’t follow chain of command, and if it hasn’t already gotten people killed. We needed a way to control that. Combining the psychotropics with a steroid that is issued to all lower ranks can keep the mission forefront. It will keep the chain of command unbroken.“
“You have to have pretty good intel to guarantee that your tactics are spot-on. How can you guarantee that?“
“109B can keep intelligence ops from giving us opinion. It will keep them focused on facts and figures. That’s what we need to design the missions. We’ve got it covered.“
Cosgrove believed everything he said. To him, none of this was theory. He could make it happen, which made it just as good as done. He smiled at Lenart and said, “You can sign off on the drug in good faith, Max, because you’ve succeeded beyond our wildest dreams.
“And besides,” he added, “you don’t have a choice.“
Max chose his next words with care. “Is that a threat?“
“Of course not,” Cosgrove sneered. “But think about the repercussions of refusing to approve of your own work. It would mean your project failed at government expense. Do you think you will ever get research funding again?“
He sat back, relaxed and cocky. “No. They’ll blacklist you if you refuse. You would be finished in the entire System.“
“Lujenic would support me.” Max hesitantly said.
He snorted. “Who do you think controls Lujenic? The whole thing is funded and operated by Shadostro and the Shad La. You would be done, my friend.“
Lenart was in a tight spot. He didn’t like what Cosgrove was saying, but it had the ring of truth. Now that the commander knew what TX109B could do, if he didn’t give it the go-ahead, his career was shot.
And Cosgrove would find someone to sign off on it.
But could Max live with himself, knowing that his action would create soldiers morally unconscious of their own actions?
He considered his options for a long time. When he looked up, Cosgrove moved over the chair sitting across from Lenart’s position. He placed the approval letter on Lenart’s desk, with a stylus lying next to it.
“Fine.“
The architect signed the letter fast, making it as least memorable as possible. The flung the pen at Cosgrove and shoved the paper away from himself.
Cosgrove smirked. It’s good to be the King,
Lenart picked up the letter with a smirk, and then added his signature in his hand.
“I want Command to understand I had no choice here. If this blows up in your face, I will not accept responsibility for any…consequences.“
“It’ll be fine, Max,” Cosgrove replied. “It was a pleasure working with you. And I am sorry.“
He raised his sidearm and shot Max Lenart through the chest.
Lenart’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped opened slightly before he slumped forward, his face smacking against the desktop.
Cosgrove patted him on the back of the head and murmured, “I’m proud of you, boy.“
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