CHAPTER TWO

Questions Answered

The man’s bald head shone in the dim light like a beacon; a round smooth flash, glistening under the wrought iron lamp standing straight in the corner of his small, but spacious office. With a low sigh, he rolled back lazily in the swivel chair, the legs creaking under even the slightest movement, as his graceful fingers poised just above the keys on his gray, thin keyboard, which lay in front of him on the desk. The desk was a dark wood, long and large, taking up almost the whole wall by the door that led from the rest of the small villa into the office. The whole area was only slightly decorated, used mainly as a workplace and not so much as living quarters, although it could be used as such in dire circumstances, which is what the man had just experienced. In this small village, the house was but one of hundreds, completely unnoticeable on the outside, but with all the necessary technological necessities that the man in the office needed. He squinted at the screen in front of him, his mouth twisting into an uncertain grimace. With tiny words, the monitor informed him that there were no incoming messages in his mailbox. An impatient huff burst from his pursed lips as he pounded a key and the screen shifted away from the email page. He had only sent the message a few hours ago, but he was eager for a response, any response. Using a secret encryption code, he had sent the scrambled message through a secure satellite link, which contained a specific bounce back parameter. If the person who received the heavily garbled message simply hit “reply” the response would return directly to this home terminal through the same fail safe secure lines that he had sent the message through. This email connection was bounced through a series of private and as yet undiscovered satellites owned and operated by the organization this man belonged to and worked for.

He sighed and clicked the mouse button twice rapidly, opening up another screen. With a sudden twitch the monitor froze and the small blinking hourglass shuddered lightly. The bald man pounded on the mouse button, but to no avail. He scowled under his thick black moustache and glared at the shuddering screen.

“Blasted Microsoft,” he muttered. “Mr. Gates and I will have to have a little chat.” He pounded the monitor lightly on the side and the humming resumed it’s normal pace.

“Perhaps it’s time his funding got cut.”

He smirked as the screen wobbled and finally popped up correctly, the hourglass blinking into the familiar little arrow. With a snap, the folder marked only as “Phoenix” opened up, but revealed nothing yet. Rubbing his bald head, the man smiled, quite pleased with himself for coming up with that little moniker. It was fitting to the project; yet obscure enough to ensure a mystery. Facial hair twisted even more over his wide smile as he filtered through the elaborate encryption and swiftly tapped in his fourteen-digit pass code. His fingers danced easily over the tops of the small gray keys even as his mind wandered just slightly. Looking upon this project made him suddenly wonder if it would actually ever come to fruition. There were more questions than answers at the moment and the bald Doctor could not stand that. Since he was but a youngster, the man prided himself with his vast wealth of pure knowledge. His genius IQ at such a young age, his ease at gliding through medical school and dental school. Even as he worked as an orthodontist, his mind knew that there was much more to life than this. He knew he was capable of great things; things far greater than tinkering with his patients’ minds, which had been an entertaining side benefit to an otherwise thankless profession. When this man was uncertain, when certain knowledge eluded him, it was almost enough to drive him mad. His grin faded into a scowl as his thoughts were now fully consumed by his need to know. The Island Incident, as he now called it. Being ordered away by his leader himself before the important pieces of this puzzle could be fully revealed. And now…now the leader had vanished. Some thought him dead, but the Doctor knew otherwise. He had no proof, no certainty of fact, but the great man in the deep blue hood was not a man to be disposed of so easily. He was far too resourceful to perish in such a heathen manner. But if he wasn’t dead, than just where was he? It was over a month since the Incident…was he holed out, or were more sinister things at work here? What of his beloved daughter? His devoted troops? At this very moment, Aleph was in charge of the Amazon base and doing a remarkable job. The men were constantly training and preparing, fortifying the defenses and sharpening their wide array of skills. It had been a wise idea on the Commander’s part to send such a large portion of men on ahead. Without that bold move, all may have been lost in the fiery, raging attack on the island that had followed. But now, there was a fighting chance. Project Phoenix was set to go, with only some minor details to be ironed out before everything proceeded full steam ahead. The Doctor was prepared to continue without the Commander if need be. He had all of the contacts, and all of the resources. But the triumph would be very hollow without their leader present to revel in it with them. Still, it would continue. It must continue.

So enraptured by his own wild thoughts, the bald doctor nearly leaped out of his chair when the three sharp raps echoed from the thick wooden door. The man glared at the small clock at the bottom corner of his monitor. It was nearly three a.m.

“Who the devil?” he asked no one in particular as he glanced down at his state of dress. He wore dark purple sweatpants and no shirt. The muscles in his chest and stomach were rigid and defined, bringing a satisfied look to his mustached face. Of course, the Commander and his cloning machine had much more to do with his muscled state than his own work out regimen. When he saw the man again, he would have to thank him for creating him in such a fine shape. Another pair of knocks roared through the empty villa and Dr. Mindbender leaped to his feet and bolted into the living room to greet his unexpected visitor. He drew to a stop just in front of the large wooden door set in the middle of the small living room. There was a tan couch against the wall, loomed over by a pair of large windows, with dark curtains drawn tight over each one. A small entertainment center was against the far wall with a moderately sized television set in one of the square cubbies. The set was tuned to CNN as it almost always was, unless it was on The Learning Channel or Sci-Fi Network. The bald doctor pressed his uncovered eye to a small peephole in the center of the door, squinting at the figure on the other side. His monocle pressed tightly against the wooden door and dug slightly into his flesh. Two more solid slams against the door signaled the knocker’s impatience. Through the curved glass of the peephole, Dr. Mindbender could make out the man’s features, although slightly distorted by the curvature of the glass. He was blonde, as were many people in this part of the world, with blue eyes, a narrow, unremarkable face with equally unremarkable features. In a police line up in this part of the world, he would be hard pressed to pick him out of a crowd. His face was narrowed into an annoyed scowl, and his eyes darted around somewhat nervously.

“I think you have the wrong house!” Mindbender shouted through the door at the mysterious stranger. One cold, blue eye loomed in on the peephole and glared into it.

“Open the blasted door, Mindbender or I’ll break it down!” the shout was muffled by the wood, and by the man’s own low, whispery voice. The bald doctor stepped back, but reached down and unhooked the latch.

“I’m not sure who you are—…” he started, but the man slammed the door inwards and barged in before he could finish. Even as he pounded the door back shut behind him, little purplish and black warbles of refracted light began dancing in the air of the living room. The doctor finally grinned, realizing whom the man was, as the unfamiliar features seemed to melt from his face structure as if soft wax from a round, skull shaped candle. The flesh colored “wax” rippled and wrapped back around the head, drawing the blonde hair into it and ejecting a dark brown cloth material from what seemed like the flesh itself. With a burble, the nose split and fell, then joined in with the melting flesh, swirled and rejoined into another nose, although a much smaller and thinner one. The lips closed and flesh oozed over them, and then parted again, a whole new toothy scowl forming just above the block chin. Twin blue eyes rolled back into the mass of rippling flesh and were swallowed by the melting, rolling tan mess, which was gurgling under the fully formed brown cowl. The melting flesh fell away from the eyes again, but the pupils were not blue; more correctly, the pupils were now nonexistent, leaving only the bone white irises of an evil, menacing stare. The whole shift lasted only mere seconds, but Mindbender had never seen the phenomenon up close and was quite enraptured by it, intrigued to say the least. With similar movements the rest of his body had melted and shifted the same way and had dropped away the torn blue jeans and red polo shirt, leaving in their place brown pants, knee pads, thick black boots and a clear chest plate hugging a broad, solid chest. Mindbender smiled, looking up into the shape changer’s grimacing face, which stood almost a foot taller than he.

“Fascinating,” he said softly, looking at the fading purple blobs popping like strange otherworldly bubbles. “What causes this phenomenon?” he asked, pointing to the lights.

“The holographic components in my armor,” the man replied. “I used to rely on them to change my appearance. Now, I use them to mask my body as it goes through its sometimes disturbing metamorphosis.”

Dr. Mindbender smiled broadly at the newcomer, who stood tall and wide in the living room, glaring down at him with empty white eyes. Zartan twisted his head, cracking the bones in his neck and resetting them after the change.

“How did you find me, shape changer?” he asked simply as he turned and walked towards the kitchen.

“I have my contacts, Doctor. Tell me, though. Why here?” he asked, gesturing to the outside world surrounding the house. It was a small Swiss village at the base of the Alps, quaint, yet touristy and trendy at the same time.

“A referral from a friend. Doctor Hundkinter has a practice not too far from here. We are colleagues. It is nice here, is it not?”

Zartan looked around, his pupiless eyes taking in the surroundings. “Not my cup of tea.”

“Heh…not enough snakes and swamp water for you, hmm?”

Zartan glared down at the bald man who started a coffee maker on the marble counters in the small kitchen. “I am not here for small talk.”

“I didn’t figure you were.”

“Have you heard from him?” Zartan asked, leaning on one side of the doorway.

“The Commander? No.”

“Blast!” Zartan shouted and pounded a fist into the wall next to the door. The plaster caved in and small chunks of sheet rock spun into the air.

Mindbender chuckled at the damage. “Not to worry, my hot-tempered comrade. The plan is still set to proceed.”

The shape shifter glared down at the doctor. “Really?” His hopes for a once again full bank account rose slightly. Plus, he was happy with any chance he had to get some measure of revenge for the concussion, bruised ribs and other maladies he had spent the last month recovering from. Lucky for him, his constitution made for a fast healing process.

“Why of course. I have already gotten the ball rolling.”

Zartan signaled to the coffee pot, and Mindbender retrieved it and poured the large man a mug full.

“Cream or sugar?” he asked.

“Black.”

Mindbender handed over the dark blue mug with a deep red Cobra sigil emblazoned on the side. Zartan looked at it carefully as he drank.

“I never got one of these,” he said, looking at it.

“Freelancers aren’t entitled to as many…perks as the rest of us,” Mindbender replied with a laugh. He got his own Cobra mug and poured a full cup of coffee.

Zartan downed the rest of the mug and set it down on the counter. “Got any grape soda in there?” he asked, pointing to the fridge.

“Afraid not,” Mindbender replied.

“Just as well. A habit those foul Dreadnoks got me hooked with. One I would rather break anyway.” Zartan said with a scowl, but then looked deadly serious again. “So, the ball is rolling?”

“Hopefully so. I have contacted an old…associate of ours to hopefully fill some holes in our ranks.”

“What of Vypra and Scrap Iron?”

“Well, if all goes right with this email message I sent, that old associate should be able to take care of that. How about on your end? Are the Dreadnoks available?”

Zartan snorted. “No. They will be unavailable for some time. They made the mistake of skipping out on us in the heat of battle. I was forced to…punish them for their indiscretions.”

“Understood. What of Overlord?”

Zartan’s face suddenly burned with rage. “Overlord? That spineless weasel? Apparently he was on a Moray at the same time the Dreadnoks sped off on their Swampfires. He ran like a scared little girl before the hostilities even got going! Coward!” His fist clenched, but Mindbender held out a soothing hand.

“Please! No more holes in the walls…”

The large man nodded and cooled down. “Overlord gave off such charisma. The troops loved him. They thought he was destined to be the next Commander. But he got gutless. He better hope I never find him, or I will make him gutless in the truest sense of the word.”

“Sorry I asked.”

“So when do we get going?”

“Well, I have yet to hear from our associate, but when I do we will be set to go.”

“Perhaps I should sit this one out?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well…there could be complications, as you well know.”

“Don’t worry, Zartan. It will be taken care of.”

“Very well.”

“Besides, you are the only one who can lead phase one.”

“Understood.” Zartan turned to walk from the kitchen. Mindbender followed closely behind.

“I have all of the pertinent information on my computer. Join me in the office, and we will go over everything.”

Zartan nodded, falling in behind the bald doctor. His eyes wandered around the small office as he marveled at the fact that the evil genius of Mindbender could settle down in a small Swiss villa and fit right in. The keys tapped rapidly as Zartan looked around some more, his stomach growling for chocolate doughnuts. He was about to curse the Dreadnoks yet again when a light, obviously artificial female voice echoed from the computer.

“Welcome, Doctor. You have one new message.”

Zartan looked down at Mindbender, who was smiling broadly.

“I hope you’re ready, Zartan,” he said. “Operation: Phoenix is about to get under way.”