easy street haunt

I sensed the tension everywhere on the base. The colonel approached my barracks tentatively as I practiced my Katas, but I didn’t get the sense betrayal was near. He was nervous, his pheromones gave it away, but I sensed he had bad news to deliver rather than attempt an assassination. 

He looked up at me as he entered and cut to the chase, “We need to bring you before a Senate hearing today.” They told me this would happen eventually. The colonel wanted to drag me along as a witness, because I have a “baby face”. He said I would  help make the SPEP (soldier, performance enhancement program) look benign to the senators and public.

At any rate, DARPA and the DoD kept me and my older siblings a secret for a long time, but after using kids like us in the Sino-American war, nothing was a secret any longer. As I understood things, there’s a chain of command for everything. Even the DoD has a boss. There’s the president and then something called a Senate subcommittee. The colonel told me a hearing like this would normally take place in a “SCIF” (sensitive compartmented information facility) and some of it might, but there’s public pressure and political machinations I don’t fully understand, which has led to a televised hearing. I stopped my Katas and quickly dressed in my uniform as the colonel waited. 

We made our way from the barracks to the helipad in the middle of the base. An aging V-22 Osprey was on the helipad, waiting for us to get in. We climbed aboard and the rotors began to spin, and as the machine lifted us into the air, I wondered how the Senate hearing would play out. Would this result in the Army trying to euthanize me? Did they really think I would go down without a fight? 

The Osprey touched down at Andrew’s Air Force base at 1200 hours EST. From there the colonel and I caught a ride in a civilian vehicle to the Capitol. We didn’t have any conversation during the ride. I had my guard up, but the colonel seemed relaxed, which I found interesting. The driver let us out at Union Station, and from there we made our way to the steps of the Capitol building. 

The place was a dump. A breeze carried a hotdog wrapper in front of my feet like tumbleweed, and I stepped on an empty soda can. The ground was sticky and my boots made an irritating noise each time I took a step. The gaudy facade of the building looked dark and grungy like it could do with a power wash. Did they have any janitors working here? I’d get in so much trouble if I let the barracks look this shitty. 

Something was off. The security was a joke. There were Capitol police slouching as they patrolled the perimeter, looking bored as if their shifts couldn’t end fast enough. When the colonel and I entered the building we had to go through a metal detector, but the guard didn’t even look up from his fucking magazine as a green light sanctioned our entrance. Was my fate going to be decided by these useless twats? Was the Senate subcommittee really out for blood, because DARPA created a bunch of killing machines?

It turned out I read the whole situation wrong. I wasn’t going to be euthanized or shot in the head. I heard senators and staff whispering behind closed doors as the colonel and I made our way to a Senate hearing room. They weren’t appalled by my existence, they were sympathetic. I caught phrases like “child soldier”, “illegal experiments” and “reparations”. I thought the words were strange, I didn’t consider myself a child or a victim of any sort. I thought they would call me an abomination or something. My older siblings leveled Beijing in a way Godzilla would be impressed after all. 

The Senate hearing turned out to be a fucking joke. The whole thing was a ridiculous fucking circus run by ass clowns. There were doddering old men who used their time to ramble on about their time in the Army. Whenever they asked a question it was irrelevant to the SPEP, which they were investigating. One old fart spent five minutes talking about a dog he use to own and how precious it was to him. Did that fucker just compare me to a dog?

Before the hearing, the Colonel and I took our seats at a rectangular table, which faced a semi-circular dais where the senators sat. Photographers squatted awkwardly or sat cross legged on the grey and red carpet beneath the dais. Both the colonel and I had little black microphones set on the table in front of us. There were name tags in front of the microphones, which I couldn’t see, but I assumed they identified us by rank and name. Each senator had a microphone and a black tablet in front of them, and they were allotted a few minutes to speak and interrogate the colonel or me. The chairwoman had to call on each senator before they could speak. 

Oddly the chairwoman had broad shoulders, a strong jaw line and a very prominent Adam’s apple, but she wore red lipstick and gold hoop earrings. She also had breasts and was wearing a solid purple dress. I was confused, so I reached out with my senses. It was difficult at first to isolate her scent from the mess of scents in the room but I was able to do it. I could smell her pheromones and determined she was in fact, biologically a man. I turned to the colonel and raised an eyebrow, but he held up a hand, indicating “not now.” I assumed he’d explain later. 

The first senator was from Alabama and to kick things off, she asked me if I could read minds. I can’t make this shit up. She was an odd looking woman, elderly, with platinum hair and a broad nose. Her eyes were too close together and she seemed very angry when she addressed me.  

“Isn’t it true cadet that you can read my mind?” There were groans from her colleagues. 

“No Ma’am, I can not read your mind.”

“Don’t lie. Isn’t it true you can read our minds and influence the way we vote?”

“No, I’m unable to read or control people’s minds.” Then the senator took out what looked like a bicycle helmet with tinfoil lining.

“I demand the witness wear this helmet to prevent him from reading our minds.” Her colleagues erupted in laughter and the chairwoman banged her gavel. Photographers swung their cameras around in unison and trained them on Alabama.  

“Order, order. The witness is not required to wear the helmet and there is no evidence he can read minds. The senator from Alabama will cease this line of questioning.” More laughter from the other senators. The chairwoman banged her gavel again. There was more back and forth between the Alabama senator and the chairwoman. Shouting and accusations. Another senator chimed in, telling Alabama she should be ashamed of herself. Another call to order. Finally, the senator from Alabama continued questioning me in a huff.  

“What abilities or powers do you have and be honest,” she continued.

“I have enhanced strength and speed, and I have heightened senses. I’m also able to go for weeks without sleep,” I replied.

“And you were created by the democrats.” It was an accusation rather than a question. The colonel put his hand on my arm, indicating he would answer for me.

“Concerning the specifics of the origin of the SPEP, we should continue that part of the hearing in a SCIF.” 

“Very well,” said the senator from Alabama. “I yield the remainder of my time”. She seemed satisfied for the moment. Maybe she thought the colonel confirmed her suspicions. 

After Alabama there was the deluge of old senators talking about their experience in the Army or Navy and whatnot. They always began their opening statements with, “Now listen here young man,” and then they’d drone on and on about maturity or some shit that came with time and what a privilege it was for them to serve this country. They always asked me irrelevant shit like, “Hey, how much can you bench press?” and “How fast can you run?” There was the one who compared me to a dog and got teary eyed.

No one really asked the colonel questions; they just chastised him for his role in the SPEP. They accused him of war crimes, training child soldiers, etc. I felt bad for the guy; I got the sense they were making him a scapegoat.

The hearing closed out with one senator who actually asked relevant questions. A senator from Vermont asked me what would make my life easier. I didn’t understand the question, and he asked me how the government could make things right for my imprisonment and mistreatment. 

“I’m sorry I don’t understand,” I said. “I’m not a prisoner. The base was where I was raised and they never mistreated me.”

“Forgive the expression, but don’t you want to know how normal kids live? High school, parties, freedom?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m not normal, and I like where I live now.”

“But other kids like you were forced to fight in the Sino-American war. Many of you died over there.”

“It’s what we were created for. We’re superior and can carry out missions normal humans can’t. It’s our purpose.”

“But you see it’s not right to put kids in danger and use them like that.”

“I agree it’s not right to put normal kids in danger, but it’s not their purpose to carry out the kind of missions we can.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen sir.”

“You deserve to grow up and experience life.”

“I have.” The senator from Vermont sighed. He seemed frustrated with my responses or with his questions, so he changed his line of questioning.  

“What would you like to do?”

“I want to go back to the base and finish my training. And then help train my younger brothers and sisters.”

“I’l be honest with you, I don’t know if that’s going to happen. I’m not sure we can authorize the continuation of the SPEP.”

“Do you mean to kill us sir?”

“No, no. God no, we would never do that, we don’t do that to kids. But you might have to find a different purpose There’s more to life than training for the next war. God forbid we have another one.” The senator yielded back his time. I was dismayed. Everything we learned and did on the base was fun. Wargames and learning weapons was fun. There was nothing I could imagine doing differently with my life. 

After the hearing, the colonel and I toured the National Mall. We stopped by the Lincoln Memorial and there was a group of school children being led by a teacher. The colonel told me it was a “field trip” civilian children took from time to time. They must have been 6 or 7 years old. They were very noisy, laughing, talking amongst themselves. Their teacher struggled for their attention so she could tell them about the memorial. They were an undisciplined group, wearing mismatched clothes, not adhering to any formation but they seemed very happy. I couldn’t begrudge their experience, but I felt their experience didn’t invalidate mine.   

By Jack L. Bryson