Callsign: Queen (Zelda Baker) (Chess Team, #2)

“More than a few.” Slifko nodded. “Under the old Soviet government, I tried approaching various elements through intermediaries, but without success. After the fall, I made similar inquiries to corporations, but was met with outright scorn. It was a long time before I found a man who took my work seriously.”


“Richard Ridley.” The name was bitter on Queen’s lips. The sick bastard already had much to answer for, and here was yet another example of his evil at work.

“Correct. I do not think he held out great hope for my work but I had enough research to convince him it was a worthwhile investment. He granted me a modest budget and set us up in the shadow of Chernobyl in a place close enough to find subjects for study, but also a place where we were unlikely to be discovered.”

“Hiding in plain sight.” Queen frowned. Something he had said bothered Queen. “What do you mean by ‘close enough to find subjects to study’?” The malice in her voice was unmistakable, and Slifko took a step back.

“Subject Alpha, that’s what I labeled the first patient, hails from this region. I was able to study other members of his family, and that is how I made my breakthrough. Once I learned what was going on inside their bodies, I was able to initiate those changes in test subjects.”

“What happens to them? Obviously they don’t turn into wolves.”

“No, nothing so mysterious.” Slifko settled down on the counter that ran the length of the left-hand wall. If he still felt himself in danger, his enthusiasm for his subject seemed to have overcome it. “You have, of course, heard the many stories of people who, under extreme duress, do amazing things? Lift a car off a loved one, for example.” Queen nodded and indicated he should continue. “This is caused by contraction of the deep fascia, a thin, fibrous membrane that holds our musculature in place. Our fight or flight response, for example, involves a temporary increase in the stiffness of the deep fascia, which allows us to perform those feats of strength and speed that greatly surpass our normal capabilities.”

“I know all about this,” Queen growled, reaching into the medical waste bag and removing a thumb drive from her backpack. “Move on. I don’t have much time, and you’re beginning to bore me.” She gave him a cool look. “You’ll find I’m not the most patient audience, and you won’t like my heckling one bit.”

Slifko’s eyes darted to the barrel of the Mark 23, now aimed at his groin, and gasped. “Yes, of course.” He took a moment to compose himself. “How and why the deep fascia contracts is not completely understood, but in the case of our subjects, it involves agitation of the myofibroblasts.”

“Which are?” Queen moved to the computer and settled into the swivel chair, still keeping an eye on Slifko.

“A myofibroblast is a cell that carries some of the properties of a smooth muscle cell, the ability to contract, for example, and the properties of a fibroblast, a cell that serves many functions. Fibroblasts provide structure for connective tissue, produce and secrete fibers and play a critical role in cell maintenance and metabolism, particularly in healing.”

Queen inserted the thumb drive into the computer, switched her weapon to her left hand so she could use the mouse with her right, and double-clicked on the icon that popped up. The program was a simple one that would search out and copy all data files from the computer, and any part of the server, to the thumb drive while also initiating an upload of the same data through a satellite uplink. It wouldn’t bypass the better firewalls, but it was a useful tool when time was at a premium.

“What are you doing?” Slifko scowled.

“Don’t worry about me, just keep talking.” The program now initiated, Queen turned back to Slifko. “You know, myofibroblasts, werewolves, sicko experiments on human subjects. Make me understand. Your life depends on it.”

Slifko’s Adam’s apple looked like a buoy bobbing in rough water as he attempted to swallow his fear. “Under certain circumstances, the number of myofibroblasts inside our subjects’ bodies multiplied substantially, and entered an agitated state of contraction, resulting in an extreme and prolonged contraction of the deep fascia, granting them strength and speed bordering on the superhuman.” His eyes darted to the computer screen where the upload had begun, and then back to Queen. “Unlike those brief feats of heroic strength that people perform in emergency situations, this state can last for hours at a time.”

“Is it caused by the full moon?” Queen smirked.

“Yes, at least that is the most common inducement, and it is one of the things we do not fully understand. For some time now, the medical community has used photobiomodulation, or low-level laser therapy, to stimulate healing. We know that through specific wavelengths, fibroblasts can be transformed into myofibroblasts. In our subjects, something in the moonlight actually causes the fibroblasts to produce myofibroblasts and send them into a state of contraction.”