Psyclops

“What I’m about to show you is highly classified.”

Jeffers reached in his briefcase, pulled out a sheet of vu-paper, and placed it on the low table in front of Nyra. He pointed his hand-remote at the paper and pressed a sequence of icons.

“Does that mean I have government clearance?” she asked sarcastically.

“No,” he answered. “It means you didn’t see what you’re about to see.”

Nyra leaned forward and waited for the image to form on the vu-paper. She was confused at first because it was just swirls of white and light grey; then she realized it was clouds. The pictures were of a descent from above the Earth.

This is highly classified, she thought. It’s taken from the new Boynton sky-spy satellite. It’s amazing what it can see from space.

The whites and grays cleared, and a vast expanse of land came zooming up. It didn’t take long for Nyra to recognize the terrain.

“That’s the southwestern part of Larma. Thorne has a lab in the foothills of the Cathian Mountains.”

Jeffers looked at Nyra and gave her a nod, not only to say that she was right but also to say he was impressed.

The zoom continued and came to focus on a rocky area with several old concrete buildings. Nyra could make out a half dozen vehicles including one very large military truck. When the image finally came to a stop, she could even see several people moving between the buildings and the vehicles.

“This is an abandoned bauxite mine,” said Jeffers. “The man beside the red car is Thorne.”

Nyra leaned closer and noted the man by the car, but the image was too small for her to recognize Thorne. Soon several men emerged from one of the buildings carrying a large unidentifiable object. They placed it in the back of the truck, but not before one of the men collapsed. Several others ran up to check on him then jumped back. The man that Jeffers had identified as Thorne seemed to be barking orders at the soldiers. Everyone leaped into vehicles and sped away. The image on the vu-paper dissolved to white.

Nyra leaned back, crossed her long slender legs, and stared at Jeffers through dark Gothic eyes. She had plenty of questions about what she had just seen, but Jeffers had come to her, and she knew he would explain.

Jeffers stared back knowing what Nyra was doing. He was director of the government agency that spied on neighboring Larma and he had dealt with freelancers like Nyra many times before. Freelancers liked to portray themselves as cool, calculating, off-beat, and elusive. Nyra must have invented the persona. She was good, very good. Her short black hair gave her a boyish look that was offset by full lips. Her nose, cheeks, and chin were etched in white marble. But Jeffers was most impressed by her eyes. At times they could be intensely expressive but, like now, there was also a calm yet deadly presence lurking behind them.

Jeffers gave in to the eyes. “What do you think?” He pointed at the vu-paper.

Nyra raised an eyebrow knowing she had won a tiny victory. “You want me to go into Larma and find out what Thorne put on the truck.” It was a statement, not a question.

“We already know what he put on the truck. An embedded agent gave us that much information.”

Nyra was expected to ask what it was, but she didn’t want to appear curious, so she deflected the obvious. “Would you like something to drink?”

Jeffers had tired of Nyra’s little game. “No.” He paused for a few seconds then asked, “Have you heard of the psyclops?”

Nyra smiled; almost laughed. Her eyes were more expressive now, showing humor and amusement. “You can’t be serious. The psyclops doesn’t exist. It’s a myth. A one-eyed monster that tortures people for fun?” The eyes returned to a cool calmness. “I can’t believe you would waste my time like this.”

“They do exist,” said Jeffers.

Nyra read his face and knew that he was serious, but she waited for him to continue.

“At some point in ancient times, before the Great Deception, there were psyclops. We don’t know what they were, maybe aliens, genetic experiments, robots. Specific information from that time is lost, so we just don’t know. But they did exist and now Thorne has found one.” Jeffers paused. “We need you to go into Larma and get this psyclops or, if that’s not feasible, destroy it.”

Nyra knew that when Jeffers said “we” he meant the government and if the government believed in psyclops then there must be something to it.

“Why not have your embedded agent do it?”

“He’s dead,” said Jeffers.

******

To successfully slip across the border into Larma you need a moonless night and a small low-flying stealth flyer piloted by someone like Conway. The burly guy looked like he hadn’t slept in three days. His hair was disheveled, his eyelids were drooping, and there was just a hint of body odor and alcohol wafting from his person. But even in this condition he was the best pilot for the mission.

Nyra, sitting beside Conway in the cramped quarters of the plane, looked out her window but couldn’t see any of the terrain below. She touched the side of her omni-goggles twice and they switched to night vision. Suddenly the hills and trees came to life in a fuzzy green image. She recognized the area and knew they were getting close.

“Going to autopilot,” mumbled Conway.

Nyra switched her glasses back to normal vision. From the soft glow of the plane’s instruments, she could just make out the outline of the pilot.

Conway touched some buttons on the control panel and removed his hands from the controls. “We’re nearing Thorne’s lab. Two minutes to your jump point,” he said.

Without hesitation Nyra pulled a pen size neutralizer from an upper pocket of her pitch-black jumpsuit and pushed it against Conway’s arm. His head immediately dropped to his chest in unconsciousness. From another pocket Nyra removed a small disk and inserted it in the slot to the navigational computer. A split second later there was a slight shake from the plane as the new programming kicked in. Nyra checked the time on the plane’s instrument panel and compared it to the time superimposed in the corner of her omni-goggles. It was time to go.

Nyra tugged on the shoulder straps of her glide chute, switched back to night vision, and opened the plane’s door. Air pushed against her body at hurricane force as she climbed onto the wing of the plane and shut the door. She leaped from the wing and immediately opened her chute. The small glide chute didn’t lessen her momentum, but it did give her control over her fall. Pulling slightly on the chute controls, Nyra was able to fly parallel to the treetops at a high speed.

Within minutes Nyra flew silently into that narrow “dead zone” between the top of Thorne’s perimeter fence and the local network radar. She was on a collision course with the side of one of the buildings on the compound but a quick yank on her chute controls and she made a ninety-degree turn that sent her upward parallel to the building. Nyra’s momentum slowed quickly as gravity pulled at her. She stopped in midair; then, using the chute, gently drifted down to a balcony on the third floor.

Nyra rested there, listening for alarms or voices, but heard nothing. She checked the time on the inside of her goggles, gathered up her chute and stuffed it behind a large vase in the corner.

Tapping her omni-glasses, Nyra reviewed a schematic of the compound. If the data she had was correct, then this whole floor should be Thorne’s personal suite and thereby have minimal security devices. Nyra pressed the lever on the balcony door and slipped into the dimly lit apartment. No alarms. Good data.

Thorne’s apartment was lavishly decorated with paintings, sculptures, and sleek, plush furniture. Nyra glided across the room to the hall door and quietly turned the knob. A quick glance into the hall revealed a well-lit but empty corridor. With the smoothness of a cat, Nyra was out the door and down the hall to a corner where the path turned right. She froze against the wall when she heard soft, rustling sounds.

Removing a small camera from a pocket on her jumpsuit, Nyra focused it around the corner. Images appeared on her omni-goggles. A man and a woman, probably part of Thorne’s servant crew, were locked in a passionate embrace just a few steps from Nyra.

Damn, thought Nyra, why couldn’t they take it into one of the rooms.

She checked the time and made a decision. She set her jaw, narrowed her eyes, and took a breath. Pulling out a small, but highly effective gun, Nyra made her move. As if in one fluid motion, Nyra went around the corner, made two quick steps, put the gun to the back of the man’s head and pulled the trigger. The bullet silently crashed through the man’s skull at just the angle that Nyra had intended. Racing through his brain the bullet exited just above his nose and continued into the head of the young woman where it exploded into several tiny pieces which spun through the delicate tissues of her brain. Still clutching each other in their deadly embrace, the two fell to the floor.

Without another thought, Nyra stepped over the bodies and headed down the hall. She removed a wall panel and squeezed into the cable conduit that would lead her down to the first floor where Thorne had his lab.

After several long minutes and a few tight squeezes, Nyra moved out of the conduit and onto the support structure that held up the first floor’s ceiling. At that point all it took was a slight slip, a bit of misdirected weight, and the ceiling gave way. Nyra tumbled to the floor with a number of ceiling tiles rattling down about her. Instincts kicked in as she rolled once and sprang to her feet, but it was for naught. Nyra found herself facing three soldiers with their weapons drawn.

With a wry smile she said, “Take me to your leader, boys.” She made one last check of the time before the soldiers confiscated all of her equipment.

Held by each arm, Nyra was ushered down the corridor and into a large room with several computers and machines manned by lab-coated scientists. Nyra spotted a clock on the wall and made a quick calculation to transfer her time schedule to the new clock. Now she could give a more detailed look at the lab.

Many of the machines that she recognized were medical. The scientists manning the computers were intensely focused on analyzing the information being displayed on their screens. But most of the people in the room were gathered around a large window on the far wall that looked into another laboratory room beyond. Nyra couldn’t see what they were staring at. She assumed it was the psyclops.

A swarthy, mustachioed man stepped away from the group and walked toward Nyra. His eyes were cold and demanding, and he walked with a swagger of confidence and control. It was Thorne.

“Nyra,” he said with an air of familiarity, “at last we meet. You have no idea how much I’ve looked forward to this.”

“And I’ve had you in my sights for a long time too,” she replied.

Thorne noticed that his guards were still holding Nyra by her arms. His eyes narrowed on the soldiers. “Let her go.”

Thorne stepped beside Nyra and wrapped her arm in his. He began walking her toward the large window.

“It’s so nice of you to drop in, but, as you probably know, I’m very busy right now.”

“Well, if you’d like me to come back later...” Nyra said mildly.

Thorne returned the banter. “But then you’d miss meeting our guest, the psyclops.”

The scientists at the window stepped aside to allow Thorne and Nyra to get closer.

Just as her schematic had shown, the laboratory room on the other side of the glass was much larger than the one Nyra was in. On one end of the room was a large metallic cylinder standing on end. More than halfway up the cylinder was a frosted glass panel shaped in an oval pattern.

That would be the psyclops, thought Nyra.

Lying just in front of the psyclops was a man in a white lab coat. He was curled up in a fetal position and didn’t move.

Suddenly Nyra’s attention shifted to movement in the center of the room. Two soldiers were rolling on the floor in agony. The face of one was covered in blood apparently because he had ripped his eyes out. The other was clawing feverishly at his skull resulting in blood streaming down his head. Both of their mouths hung open in silent screams.

“Dr. Knowles,” Thorne pointed to the fallen scientist, “was trying to attach a data device to the cylinder. He started shaking, fell to the floor, and curled up like that. He hasn’t moved in two days. We assume he’s dead.”

“And the others?” asked Nyra.

Thorne looked at the men rolling in pain. “We put sensors on them and sent them in.” Thorne turned to Nyra. “We got some useful information before they went crazy and tore off the sensors. Of course, we’re preparing some robots to go in, but we still need to know what is happening to the human brain.”

Thorne leered at Nyra long enough for her to get the message. She sneaked a quick glance at the clock and said, “What is it you want me to do and what’s in it for me?”

For her part Nyra agreed to wear a device that registered her brainwaves into the room with the psyclops, Thorne promised her it would only be for ten minutes and then she would be released for a debriefing. In return for her help Nyra would be allowed to live as long as she worked her spying skills exclusively for Thorne. It seemed fair to Nyra but she knew Thorne wouldn’t keep the bargain. If it took ten minutes for the others to be incapacitated, then they wouldn’t still be in the lab room. Thorne had no intention of ever releasing her. But if things went right it wouldn’t matter. If they went wrong she’d die an agonizing death.

The sensor they stuck to her temple was very uncomfortable, but Nyra knew that very soon it wouldn’t matter. She was to have a showdown with the psyclops and there was no escaping it.

Without even a ‘Good Luck’ from Thorne, Nyra was shoved through a door that quickly slammed behind her. She fell back against the door and waited for something to happen. Thorne and his scientists pressed against the window to the other room, the two soldiers in front of her continued to writhe in pain, and Nyra’s heart pounded at her chest.

It started as a tickle or itch in the center of her brain. Then it felt like tiny worms slowly moving inside her skull. Nyra looked at Thorne and realized she was now standing several meters from the door, but she didn’t remember taking any steps. There was a flash of red in her vision and a second later the pain hit. Nyra put her hands to her head to keep it from exploding. When she opened her eyes, the world had shifted again, and she was lying on the floor. Thorne smiled at her from the other room and Nyra noticed the clock on the wall behind him. Between the surges of agony, Nyra wondered if her timing was off.

If it doesn’t happen soon, she thought, I hope death comes quick.

At that moment a thunderous concussion struck Nyra. She almost blacked out but struggled for consciousness when she realized the explosion was not in her head.

Just in time, she thought.

The pain in her head was gone but a new pain, a physical pain, came from her left arm. Nyra coughed from the dust in the air, grabbed her arm, and strained to get to her feet. The place was a mess. Concrete blocks, ceiling tiles, metal supports, and an assortment of rubble were everywhere. The lab room where Thorne and the other scientists had been appeared utterly destroyed. She heard faint moans coming from the room but ignored them.

Nyra turned her attention to the massive hole in the far wall. The damage to Thorne’s building was severe, taking out the entire wall. The night air was slowly drawing out the dust and smoke, and Nyra could hear a faint alarm going off someplace.

One of the wings from Conway’s plane ended up just in front of Nyra. She stepped up on it as she made her way toward the hole.

“A little late,” Nyra said to the fragment of aircraft. “But I’ll forgive you.”

After stumbling a couple of times, Nyra saw the cylinder. It must have received a very hard hit from Conway’s flyer, because it was badly dented, and the “eye” was broken. A blue-green gel was oozing from it. Lying in the gel was an infant. At least it looked like a human infant. All the fingers and toes were there but it had a large bulbous head that gave it an alien quality.

Nyra’s attention was drawn to its child-like eyes. Those large soulful eyes cried out for help. The creature’s arms reached toward Nyra, who made a motion to pick up the odd being. But she abruptly stopped, raised her foot and brought the heel of her boot down hard on the psyclop’s head. It broke like an egg, spewing slimy tissue in all directions.

Nyra took a few more steps toward the edge of the hole, stopped, and looked back.

“Psycho,” she said with total disgust.

THE END

Bio: George Schaade is a retired history teacher that loves writing science fiction and humor. His stories often reflect the comic books and pulp magazines that he was raised on.

E-mail: George Schaade

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