Free Hazardous Materials by Matthew Quinn Martin

“We’ll be taking over from here.”
    â€œFine by me.”
    Agent Diamond mumbled something into his suit sleeve, and another bruiser approached. They thanked the officer, then frog-marched Jarrod to the limo without a word. When they opened the door, a voice came from the dark recesses of the car. “Agent Diamond, you can uncuff Mr. Foster. I can’t see him giving us any trouble.”
    Jarrod’s hands were freed with a welcome click , and he climbed into a seat facing the back of the car. He rubbed his wrists, eyes adjusting to the darkness.
    â€œHere,” came the voice again. Jarrod felt something pressed into his hand, a cardboard container, cool to the touch. “Coconut water,” the man said. “Isotonic. I imagine you’re rather thirsty.”
    Jarrod was. “Thanks.” He drank almost half the contents in a single swallow. He lifted his gaze to see that the man facing him was wearing a suit similar in style to the others. But his seemed more refined, more elegant. The white line of his collar almost gleamed against his dark skin.
    â€œWe have more.” The man gestured to a small cooler at his feet. A flickering gray light flooded the limo’s cabin as they entered the Lincoln Tunnel. “Unfortunate side effects, dehydration and increased body temperature.”
    â€œSide effects?” Jarrod asked. “Side effects of what?”
    â€œIn time, Mr. Foster, in time. First, however, I believe I should introduce myself.” The man stuck out a hand for Jarrod to shake. “Agent Ross. The Division.”
    â€œDivision? Division of what?”
    â€œWhat have you got?” Agent Ross smiled in a way that said that was all there was to know about the subject.
    â€œThese side effects. Are they lasting?”
    â€œNo,” he answered, again with a smile, but this one made Jarrod wonder if they wouldn’t be lasting because neither would he. “We should sort out your eyes, however.”
    â€œMy eyes?”
    â€œYes. The Polybius units were notorious for retinal burns.”
    â€œBurns?”
    â€œUsually text but occasionally images. Again, temporary. But if you would be so kind.” Ross produced what looked like an old-fashioned pair of military binoculars and handed them to Jarrod. “Look directly at the center, please.”
    Jarrod did. All he saw was blackness. “I don’t see any—”
    Suddenly, the world exploded with a wash of colors and shapes—helixes, vortexes, fractals that seemed to spiral away into infinity and then collapse into singularities. Jarrod watched, spellbound.
    Then blackness.
    â€œMR. FOSTER? JARROD?” came Ross’s deep baritone from some other galaxy. “We’ve arrived.”
    The world came into focus. Jarrod saw that the car was now parked on a dirt road. Agent Ross eased open the door. “Walk with me, Jarrod.”
    â€œWhat did you do to me?”
    â€œWe repaired your vision. Just as I told you we would. Now, please, follow me.”
    Jarrod obeyed. He could feel the towering presence of Agent Diamond and the other enforcer hard on his back as they walked toward what looked like a construction site.
    â€œYou know, Jarrod,” Agent Ross said as they walked, “it’s not an exact science, what we were trying to do with the Polybius Project. Some minds are susceptible. Some aren’t. Just the way it goes.”
    Jarrod kicked a stray clump of freshly overturned earth. “The way what goes?”
    â€œThe Division first started experimenting with subliminals, seriously experimenting, in the seventies. For Project Hack, it was a few frames slipped into certain prints of Taxi Driver . It worked—to a limited extent. But it was important that the right type of person was watching those exact frames. It was too hard to manage. Even if all the other vectors were in place, if a subject were to look down at his or her popcorn for the