Chapter 5

Navy Dolphins

Adam’s initial terror gave way to a steady undercurrent of fear as the days in the spacecraft blended one into the next.        First, they had sanitized him. In tandem with his rapid breathing he had detected an alien sound, a faint hissing and swish of movement. Space definitions in the little enclosure seemed to expand, to pull away from Adam and he felt a tingling sensation as a mist streamed inside, enshrouding his body. After a few minutes, the mist disappeared. As he struggled not to cough and gag, waves of nausea overwhelmed him, and Adam found himself leaning over a cold table, desperately sick. "I should die," he thought.        Hours, days passed. Adam ate nothing, but steadily felt stronger, and calmer. He wanted no food and seemed to lack no nourishment. He didn’t mind the restraints that immobilized him on what he envisioned as a hospital examination table. He knew that he was sleeping for long periods, knew that he could drop into unconsciousness at any moment. He didn’t care.        Time passed. Adam awoke from a dreamless sleep, and he felt fully alert for the first time since his abduction. His eyes focused and found new surroundings. During a sleep period, he guessed, the aliens had moved him from the small, enclosed cubicle to a much larger chamber. He pushed his arms, chest, legs, hands, and neck against restraints. He was still strapped to the table. He gazed at the ceiling, and as far down the walls as he could. Cold fear gripped him again as he realized where he was: an examination or testing room, with a viewing dome above.        He watched as shadows and shapes moved about in the dome, coalesced to form figures, then dispersed again. He felt a sense of agreement, as if the shapes had reached a decision about him. "They’re going to experiment on me," he thought. "And I can’t do anything to prevent them."        Adam watched with increasing horror as a glowing apparatus rapidly descended from the ceiling, hovering above him. It slid soundlessly over him, its light beam scanning/skimming each part of his body. He felt heat but no pain, as the machine did its work. Slowly, the glowing moved to his head. Adam screamed as he discerned a whirling mechanism moving toward his skull. He shut his eyes instinctively against the glare, screamed and screamed still more, as the whirling light seemed to penetrate into his brain.        Sparks, flashes, blossoms, and bursts of light exploded in his mind. Adam saw scenes from his childhood, faces of loved ones long forgotten. Memories flashed in split-second intervals: mother kissing him, dad patting him on the shoulder, an essay stamped "A", an argument, a fist-fight with his best friend Joey, reconciliation and shaking hands, promises broken, love unspoken, jobs undone, sexual awakening, nights filled with secret thoughts, comrades lost in crossfire, abduction, loss...        Each memory triggered profound emotion, as if Adam was actualizing and re-living the event by remembering it. He was exhausted and on the verge of hysteria when the glaring beam of light began to fade, and the apparatus receded into the ceiling of the chamber. His skin glistened with perspiration; his eyes glazed with tears. But before losing consciousness, he whispered, "My name is Adam MacArthur."

David West braced himself against the launch railing and adjusted his binoculars for perhaps the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. Exercises had been delayed at least two hours today because of the interminable troubles getting holding nets set up in the choppy waters of the bay. Adding to the tension, David’s liaison with the Navy, Captain Graves, had insisted on accompanying him to the training session. Graves had found a sheltered location against the boat’s small cabin. He shouted bits of conversation at David through the constant wind that blew across the deck.        "Are you sure we need a fence today? I thought these dolphins were rock-solid about returning from any sortie in the bay. Isn’t it just the gulf runs that cause trouble?" Graves’ comments ran into a monologue with few pauses for a response.        "I can’t risk another loss," David West shouted back at the first opportunity. "We’ve got to start with success and rewards here, Graves. There, I see the signal. Nets are secure," West sighed with relief.        The broadband clicker was lowered into the water. West glanced toward the stern where handlers interacted with the dolphins in a small, temporary holding pen.        "Hey guys," David called, "Let’s start with good old, reliable Buffy. Get her out here."        West leaned over the boat holding a ring at surface level. After a brief, raucous greeting, Buffy slipped her beak through the ring, her eyes widening slightly with excitement. At last, West gave the signal - a series of broadband clicks, but also accompanied by a hand gesture and verbal command. As a trainer, West was convinced that multiple command modes were essential. One never knew what new circumstances might require. Buffy disappeared from view, presumably heading for the target, a dilapidated fishing boat, located a mere 500 yards away for today’s exercise.        Before Captain Graves could resume his litany of questions, Buffy had returned for her fish and kind word from the trainer. Over the radio, a nearby crew on a second boat confirmed placement of the magnetic device on the target boat’s hull. Today, there would be no live ordnance to set off. The goals had been revised backwards since the recent accident. A dolphin, Rad, a fairly new acquisition formerly attached to Sevastopol’s Black Sea Fleet, had been destroyed when detonation had occurred before the animal cleared the area. Still worse, a companion from that same group known as Kozy had gone AWOL, so to speak, on her first sortie after the accident. That left only the younger Vasto, an immature male, from the recently acquired Russian dolphins.        David West, looking slightly older than his 28 years, set aside his persistent doubts and worries, to send out a pair of dolphins. The afternoon exercises proceeded flawlessly, with all ten animals completing their missions both singly and in pairs. Thankfully, the demands of the training postponed any further conversation with Captain Graves until the dolphins had safely beached themselves on the mats and the boats had headed home.        The relative quiet and respite from the wind was welcome on the return trip. David West and Captain Graves shared the small cabin, downing bottled water as the handlers-turned-crew took the boat back to the research facility.        A question erupted unexpectedly from the trainer’s endless inner debate. "So, again, explain to me why we brought these new dolphins into our facility. I mean, we were doing so well with the original group. We were even ahead of schedule. Why stir the pot?" David looked at Graves and then focused on the drink in his hand, wiping a hand through his damp beard. He replaced his constantly fogging wire-rim glasses.        "I think you’d do better to focus on your job and let us worry about the big picture, David," hedged the Captain. Realizing this wouldn’t put the issue to rest, he continued, "It was quite a coup to obtain these Russian-trained animals. For decades, the U.S. and Russia had parallel programs, we believe. But as a trainer, David, and with your background, you’re in a position to discover any differences in these new animals, in their training, in their capabilities."        "All I’ve discovered so far is what I already know," vented West. "Dolphins live in family units. It’s not easy to mix them up and get predictable behavior. Not to mention what blowing up a member of their family does to them. I’m not a miracle worker, you know."        "David, take it easy," replied Graves, "We know you weren’t to blame for the accident. And you have to accept losses in any operation of this sort."        "Well maybe you can tell me this," West continued in an e.shtmlerated tone. "When we’ve completed this project, is that the end of the behavioral hierarchy for these dolphins?"        "What do you mean?" asked Graves, looking genuinely puzzled.        "What I mean is, does the Navy have other tricks in mind. I’ve heard about dolphins being used offensively in other, more direct ways... like maybe attacking divers," West glanced sideways in Graves’ direction.        "Now who ever gave you that idea!" Graves replied incredulously.        "I must have read it somewhere," the trainer mumbled.        Captain Graves quickly regained his composure and suggested, "West, you’ve been working too hard. How about if you take a few days off? No questions asked."        David West suddenly looked up, his expression partially obscured by the foggy glasses, "Yes, thanks. I think I will. I could go looking for Kozy. She’s probably still around the bay somewhere...