The Forsythe Ambition

T.R. Naus

“You are already dead,” the agent said as he walked into the small room. He raised the folder in his hand as if it explained everything. “Please stop resisting.”

“I want a lawyer,” Brian responded. He was angry, but needed to keep calm. He had bruises around his wrists from the constant pulling, but it hadn’t helped at all. “What am I being charged with?” That is when it hit him. “What do you mean, I am already dead?” The words echoed in his head as the walls seemed to close in around him. He instinctively tugged at his wrists, even though he knew it was futile.  Did they poison him? Or is this some sick mind game?

“We didn’t do anything.” It was as if the Agent was reading his mind. “We are not responsible for your death, Mr. Jones, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are, in fact, deceased.” 

The agent sat down across from Brian and started reading the file. The stark room resembled an interrogation room from a bad TV cop show. A metal table separates two metal chairs bolted to the ground. A long neon light hung from the ceiling over the table, and a large tinted window was now behind the agent.

Brian stopped pulling at his handcuff and stared at the agent. If this was psychological torture, then he needed to stay calm. 

The agent closed the file and stared at Brian. If the agent was trying to be intimidating, then he was failing. In fact, of all the agents Brian had seen so far, this one was the least threatening. He was certainly the least armed and much better dressed. He also portrayed a confidence that the others did not show. They seemed more afraid of Brian.

“Fascinating,” the agent said, breaking the long silence.

“Are you the lead agent in charge? You all aren’t the cops, so what government alphabet do you work for?” Brian's voice was raw, and his muscles ached from the long hours in the chair. He had no idea what time it was, or even if it was day or night. He doubted he would get answers, but he didn’t have much to lose at this point.

His last clear memory was being in a bar fight after losing his job. He wasn’t usually violent, but it was a rough day. He blacked out when the first punch was thrown and woke up in custody. He was just a landscaper, but he was pretty sure this was overkill for a local brawl.

“I am not an agent, and I am not directly in charge of this unit,” he replied. “My name is Dr. Miles Drake, and I am the Chief Scientist at Forsythe Consulting.” 

“The big military contracting firm?” What have I gotten myself into, Brian thought. “What does the military want with me?”

“I do not represent the Department of Defense or any government agency. I am a member of a much larger consortium, and we have been waiting a very long time to meet you.”

“But you said I was dead,” Brian responded. What type of psychological game was this?

“I’m not talking to you, Mr. Jones, but you are more than welcome to listen to the story.”

Brian's head spun, the words “I'm not talking to you” jarring. Who was he talking to? He slumped back, ready for whatever insanity came next.

“It started in the small ranch outside Roswell Army Air Field in 1947,” Dr. Drake started.

“This is not about little green men from outer space,” Brian said, laughing as mockingly as he could.

“No,” Dr. Miles chuckled. “It most certainly is not. In fact, we didn’t find a single thing at the site. Nobody seriously considered the site until 1970, when Friedman began discussing it. Fortunately, he kept the public’s focus on the site and not what happened afterward.” He pulled out chocolate-covered espresso beans. “Want one?” Dr. Drake placed a few beans on the table.

Brian hesitated, rapidly shifting his eyes between his captor and the treats. He was too hungry with few options. He snatched them and ate them frantically. They tasted much better than he expected.

“While the incident was a non-event,” Dr. Drake continued, “it did lead to a military inquest into whether an alien invasion was possible. They hired Forsythe because we were focused on space research at the time. Not aliens, mind you, but we were the closest thing they had on hand.”

Dr. Miles ate his first bean and closed his eyes, savoring the moment before he resumed.

“Our research suggested that we had already been contacted several times over. We discovered that many people in the asylums claimed to be aliens. It was, on the surface, outlandish since each of them had families and jobs, but we interviewed and extensively tested each of them.” 

Dr. Miles leaned forward and lowered his voice, forcing Brian also to lean forward to hear.

“Our conclusion?” He paused, with a smile as he looked into Brian's eyes. “Aliens had indeed taken control of their bodies.”

Dr. Miles slammed the table with his hand like he was revealing a punchline. 

“I don’t believe you,” Brian said. He leaned back into his chair, relieved. “We would’ve heard about it. Nobody can keep a secret that long.”

“Don’t underestimate bureaucracy's willful ignorance,” Dr. Miles replied. “You didn’t hear about it because the Department of Defense killed each of the subjects. They paid us to develop a test to determine who was possessed, and with that handy tool, they continued to kill any human who was infected. Eventually, the number of infections dropped to zero, and the military reported a success. An invasion was averted.”

A profound silence descended. Brian's eyes glazed over, his mind grappling with facts that ripped apart the very fabric of his understanding. He simply couldn't make them fit.

“The US Government killed people to stop a supposed alien invasion?” Brian repeated.

“Yes, but I think you are missing a key point. An alien intelligence infected those humans. We can question the ethics but not the facts.” Dr. Miles ate another bean. “Don’t worry. Forsythe didn’t agree with it either, but for different reasons. While the US Government did its best to forget the incident, we started doing more research.” 

Dr. Miles put the chocolate-covered espresso beans back into his jacket pocket as he stood up.

“My apologies, Mr. Jones. Our models showed that you should be much closer to death, but it seems you are not quite ready yet. I’ll be back later. It was so nice to meet you, and I am sorry that this happened to you.” 

He picked up the folder and walked out the door. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Brian heard Dr. Miles say to somebody outside. “Make sure the Concord Chamber is ready for our guest when he finally arrives.”

Brian was so focused on the eavesdropping that he flinched when the door slammed shut.

Brian felt more alert. Stronger. It was about time the adrenaline kicked in.

He looked down at the shackles and his bruised wrists. If he was going to get out of here, this was the moment. He took two deep breaths and jerked both arms up. He expected to feel the sharp bite of metal again, but his arms flew past his head. He still had the bracelets, but they were no longer connected to the chain.  

Brian moved quickly to the door, but slowed when he opened it. He peeked through the crack, listening for any movement. Convinced that the hall was clear, he slipped out of the room, keeping a low profile with his back to the wall as he moved to his left. Both sides seemed impossibly long, but he kept moving quickly but cautiously. 

After several paces, he found a steel door across the hall with a keypad. He crossed and tried to open it, but the handle didn’t budge. He was about to move on when he heard somebody yelling “Stop!” at the opposite end of the hall.

Brian slammed his shoulder into the door, hoping in vain to open the fortified door. He felt it vibrate from his blow, but it did not give.

The soft blue lights of the hall turned red as a klaxon alarm shrilled. 

He was out of options and running out of time. He again took two deep breaths and slammed his shoulder into the door that gave with a sickening sound of metal ripping. It didn't fly off the hinges like the movies, but it opened enough for him to squeeze in.

He found himself in a high-ceilinged warehouse room with packed shelves that created orderly rows, stretching to a line of more shelves along the back wall. Brian turned to shut the door, but it didn't budge.

“How did I…” He didn't finish the thought as he heard footsteps approaching. He raced to the back of the room, looking for a place to hide among the neatly stacked packages.

The metal door was being forced open with a slow, reverberating squeal that lasted several seconds. It gave Brian just enough time to duck low behind a heavy barrel in the corner.

Brian heard rustling sounds of movement, and from his limited vantage point, he noticed a growing number of small red dots moving in slow circles on the boxes he could see.

“We developed a better testing system, and we learned that the infections were still occurring.” Dr. Miles’s voice, echoing loudly in the warehouse room, forced Brian to strain to hear the approaching soldiers.

“The aliens became much better at hiding themselves. They became less obvious. We weren’t sure what their purpose might be, but we became increasingly confident it wasn’t an invasion force. Explorers, maybe? Scouts?”

Brian could hear his own heartbeat, and he panicked that they would too.

“We came up with an interesting theory,” Dr. Miles continued. “Some alien race sent dust across the cosmos to possess host bodies of the planets they encounter.”

Dr. Miles stopped speaking, and the room fell eerily silent. Brian no longer heard the soldiers. He no longer saw the red dots. For two minutes, the world stopped for him.

“Ingenious, really,” Dr. Miles finally said. Brian heard a knock on the barrel he was hiding behind.

Brian slowly rose with the chilling realization that he had no other option. As he stood, he found the machine guns of four soldiers trained directly on him. The red dots formed an unwavering diamond on his chest.

“And with that insight,” Dr. Miles said, “we eventually isolated this.” He walked calmly between two of the soldiers, not advancing beyond the barrels of their weapons. He held up a small vial and looked at it with a slight tilt of his head.

Brian didn’t dare speak. He didn’t even attempt to look for any way out.

Dr. Miles took a deep breath and turned to Brian.

“We don’t know how to activate it,” he said. “We needed to wait for somebody to get infected and start negotiations with the alien.”

“And you think that is me?”

“You were the first one we detected that was close enough to reach in time. We spent the last several years perfecting an early warning detection system. The alien will commit suicide before being captured. It seems they have a hive mind that remembers the torture the governments inflicted upon them. We had to find a way to get a subject before they were self-aware. Before they could end their own life.”

"Would this early warning detection system get you to the subjects in time to save them?" Brian’s panic turned to anger.

"Probably. Our medical teams are very confident they could eliminate the alien infection if caught early. We had samples from dead subjects that we were able to inject into other subjects. Unfortunately, the infections from these dead specimens prevented us from reaching the hive’s collective consciousness. We developed the technology to defend ourselves, but it did not reach our objective of communication."

"You could have saved me?!" Brian yelled. He instantly heard more movement from inside the warehouse as additional soldiers rapidly appeared behind and around Dr. Miles.

"Of course," Dr. Miles answered.

Brian tossed the barrel in front of him to the side. It was not as heavy as he thought, and it flew against the wall with a clatter.

Dr. Miles palmed the vial in his left hand, and with practiced ease, he pulled a handgun from a shoulder holster under his suit jacket, pointing the muzzle directly at Brian’s head.

"We’ve been waiting a long time for this moment. We didn’t select you, but I will put a bullet in your head if you try to ruin this opportunity. We can wait for another infection."

Brian bent down slowly as reality washed over him, and for the first time, he wept. "This is my life," he said between sobs.

"This is bigger than you. This is humanity’s first real contact," Dr. Miles said. He lowered his weapon. "We’ve kept national governments away from you for 50 years while we prepared for the future. We are ready to talk on behalf of Earth."

The stifled crying slowly ended, and Brian stood up. His back was straighter, and his shoulders were back. He cracked his neck and took a deep breath with closed eyes.

"Mr. Jones?" Dr. Miles asked.

“Brian Jones is gone.” The voice was deeper, and the words came out without a hint of sarcasm. “What do you want?”

“I am ready to offer you and your kind safety in our facilities around the world,” Dr. Miles said. He returned his weapon to his holster. “We will also provide you with host bodies.”

It furled Brian’s eyebrows and cocked its head.

“Your race does not give things away,” it said. “What do you want in return?”

Dr. Miles pulled out his espresso beans and pulled one from the bag.

“Exclusive human access to your knowledge of the cosmos,” he said. “And a conduit to those races through your hive mind network.”

Nobody moved while Brian’s body and Dr. Miles stared at each other. When he spoke, Dr. Miles smiled.

“We are ready to negotiate.”