Rogers and Hammerton looked at him with the faintly accusing, faintly guilty expressions they’d worn since arriving here.They reminded David a little of parents who had caught their child wandering into the street.They felt responsible for what happened to him but also frustrated that the dumb brat couldn’t follow simple instructions.He didn’t blame them.
“I’ll take some,” Hammerton replied.
He was a massive African American man built like an offensive lineman.His partner, Rogers, was a massive Caucasian man built like a powerlifter.Both of them had deep, resonant voices, even tempers, and absolutely no patience for bullshit.
Rogers shook his head when David looked at him, and David brought two mugs of coffee to the living room.He handed one to Hammerton, marveling at how tiny the mug looked in Hammerton’s hand, then took his to the kitchen.His laptop was open, and when he set the mug next to it and placed his hands on the keyboard, Hammerton said, “Are we going to have a problem with what you’re doing on that computer?”
“No, sir,” David assured him.“Just research.”
“The kind of research that’s gonna make you drive off in your brand-new car and do something stupid?”
“No, definitely not.”He saw their stern faces and sighed.“Look, I get it guys.I messed up before.I won’t do it again.Michael encrypted my computer.I’m just going to help with some background research; I’m not going to take off and go do something stupid.”
“Oh, you definitely won’t succeed,” Rogers promised.“I just want to know if you plan to try.”
“I don’t plan to try.Promise.”
They held his gaze a moment longer before Hammerton said, “All right,” and turned back to the tv.It was playing a cop show, one of the many that seemed to have popped up in the past few years.This one featured a brash young rookie paired with a bitter, older partner who’d seen it all.Just like every single other cop show.
Don’t take your frustration out on the television.
He chuckled to himself and focused on the paper he was reading.It was a research paper by Carolyn Maldonado entitled, “Serotonin Agonists and the Development and Amplification of Extrasensory Cognitive Perception in Dogs: A Hypothetical Case Study.”
As the title suggested, the article was extremely dry and dense.It was a twenty-seven-page proposal that suggested that certain non-hallucinogenic serotonin activators could be used to enhance areas of a dog’s brain that would increase their ability to perceive stimuli not created by their environment.Dumbing that down even further, it was basically an article that claimed that if you gave dogs the right kind of drugs, they could read minds, see things from far away, and maybe even exhibit a limited form of precognition.
It was an… interesting read.On one hand, Carolyn clearly had a very thorough understanding of dog behavior and the canine mind in general.On the other, she made very bold claims about what exactly serotonin agonists were capable of.Some of her claims seemed to be dependent on stretching the function of those drugs and outright ignoring the limits of the mammalian nervous system.Hell, any nervous system.
Still, it was intriguing.Her claim hinged on the belief that the brain was adaptable and intuitive enough that if trained and assisted properly, it could hone its sensory abilities to the point of perceiving infinitesimal signals not detectable by instrumentation.Thathinged on the belief that extrasensory perception was really just sensory perception at a level too finite to be measured.
If David hadn’t met Sierra and stumbled onto the 93rdTesting Brigade, he would see this paper as an entertaining product of a mind deluded by hyperintelligence.But he had seen an interaction between Whitaker and Sierra that suggested at least the possibility that some sort of telepathy or at least mild hypnosis had occurred.He wasn’t ready to say he believed anything claimed in this article, but he absolutely believed that the CIA, creators of MKUltra—the disturbingly similar human ESP program—would take it seriously.
The question was, where did they go from here?Dr.Maldonado had died four years ago.The cause of death was listed as an undefined accident, but David was pretty sure that the accident involved some help from the same people who had tried to make him suffer an "accident."
Still, murdered or not, she was dead.It wasn’t like David could call her and ask if she had been involved in any sketchy government programs to turn dogs into telepathic tools.
"Hey, big man," Hammerton called."Are we still good?"
“Yeah,” David said.“Still good.”
He closed his laptop and returned to the living room, taking a seat in the easy chair while Hammerton and Rogers used his couch.The cops on the television were trying to find a killer based on his handwriting.David watched for a few minutes, then said, “It’s the mother.”
“What?”Rogers said, turning to him incredulously.“How do you know?”
"The serifs are rounded," he replied."Male handwriting is usually angular and stiff, while female handwriting is rounded and softer."
“Hey, that’s sexist, man,” Hammerton opined.
David shrugged.“The truth isn’t sexist.People’s perception is.”
“Damn,” Rogers said.“That’s deep.I know your ass didn’t come up with that.Faith?”
David chuckled.“Yeah, Faith.She told me about a case when she was just starting out with the Bureau.Her second or third year, I think.They confirmed a Congresswoman’s involvement in a human trafficking ring by comparing her handwriting to samples taken from purchase orders found with one of the traffickers.”
“Purchase orders?Jesus.”
“Gotta make sure your business is on the up-and-up, I guess,” Hammerton replied, a drop of venom lacing his voice.
“People suck,” David said simply.
