Different Strong Read online

  “Are you saying Nita controls the new Governor-- Khan?”

  “He sure seemed like he was in a hurry to approve that Ultracorps water contract. It was the first thing he did when he took office. Only Nita and Ultracorps stock holders had that as a top priority for the Metro Area.”

  “Do you think she kidnapped his kids too?”

  “He doesn’t have any. It might be good old fashioned bribery. There are a few irregularities with his banking records, but I still haven’t figured out what he’s doing with the money. Anyway, Nita can trust a man who’s motivated by money. No one can pay more than Ultracorps.”

  “This is all pretty nuts. Good job Ben. I just don’t get what you want to do about all this. What’s your endgame here?”

  “I want Ultracorps bankrupted so Differents are free to work wherever they desire. I want Nita deposed from power so whatever insane plan she’s hatching never comes to fruition. I want to expose her.”

  “How? By talking to the press? Even if you had hard proof, which I’m guessing is lacking, Hayes is who comes out looking like the villain here. Sending his kid to go live in the Non-Assisted area for political gain is awful, but he’s already resigned. Maybe you could make Khan resign too, but he’ll just get replaced with another politician who might be willing to take a bribe. Sure, Ultracorps will take a PR hit, but they’re already the most hated company in America, and that hasn’t slowed them down yet,” I say. It’s sad but true.

  “I’m not done connecting the dots yet. For all we know, Nita is doing the same thing in every Metro Area. If you help me, we could find more evidence…”

  “I’m going to have to stop you right there, Ben. As disturbing as all of this is, large corporations and politicians acting corrupt in the name of profit is not exactly shocking news. What is shocking is that there is a serial-killing former NBA player who faked his own death on the loose, and I’m the only one who knows about him. Right now, that is my primary concern. I can go back to trying to fix all of the vague evils in the world after I’ve stopped the actual and acute problem of Differents being murdered, drugged, and blackmailed.”

  “It can’t just be about making money. She has a bigger plan. Nita is pulling all the strings in this Metro Area, and soon it might be the whole country,” Ben pleads. He’s obsessed with her. He doesn’t even care that I just told him a former NBA player is killing people. You’d think that might bring on a few questions.

  “I know you can’t wait to stymie her as revenge for taking your job, but it’s going to take more than you and me to stop all that. I got some advice on being a hero the other day I think you could use: part of heroism is accepting that you can’t fix everything and having the courage to do the right thing when you actually can make a difference. That’s what I’m going to do now. If you want to help, you can try to find out who was paying for the crimes I’m investigating. I’m going to be busy trying to hunt down a killer,” I say and walk away.

  “I’ll do it,” I hear Ben yell, but I’ll believe it when I see it.

  19

  Log of Notable Nita/Ultracorps Activity Week 219

  Investigating the anomalies of Ultracorps’ increased food deliveries to Eat-N-Go led to discovering a series of anomalies in both companies’ records. Eat-N-Go chain is owned by Governor Khan.

  Theories: Obvious money laundering scheme to cover bribe money paid by Nita to Governor Khan for his support. However, cannot locate where Khan is ultimately depositing money. Tens of thousands unaccounted for. If I can discover location, may be able to draw a trail to Nita. Will also check Khan-owned medical clinic.

  Ben stands in the shadows between two abandoned, half-collapsed warehouses. It’s been dark for hours, but the street is lit up by WormLights, and he doesn’t want to be seen. Ben watches a Strong-Man carry a massive barrel; the giant container is the same size as the gigantic man. The mountain of muscle hauls the barrel up the ramp and through a cargo door that belongs to an Eat-N-Go grocery store. The man disappears from Ben’s sight, but soon there’s a loud thud, the Strong-Man dropping the barrel into place. The giant man re-emerges flanked by a tattoo-less human worker.

  “See you Friday, Freddy. We got two more barrels coming in,” the human worker laughs.

  “Two more? Christ, are you trying to kill me? I don’t know if my back can take it. You guys bathing in this stuff or something?” the Strong-Man asks and shakes his head.

  “Beats me. Not my job to know what we’re doing with it. I’m just here to make sure all the deliveries come through.”

  “That and spending the rest of the time watching old movies on think.Net.”

  “We’ve all got our jobs to do,” the human worker says while folding his arms to show his mock offense.

  “At least I get to hear your recommendations. You were right about that Rocky movie. Hell of a picture. I’ve had that theme song stuck in my head all week. Helps get me pumped up when I’m feeling gassed. The sequel any good?” the Strong-Man asks while throwing a few shadow boxing jabs.

  “I’ll tell you Friday. That’s what I’m watching tonight. See you, Freddy,” the human worker says and closes the cargo bay door.

  Freddy the Strong-Man heads down the street, his heavy steps rattling the dilapidated street’s cracked pavement. Ben steps out from the shadows as Freddy approaches.

  “It’s a little slower than the first one, but it gets going at the end and pretty soon you’re right back into it,” Ben says.

  “Excuse me?” Freddy asks, confused.

  “Rocky II. I couldn’t help but overhear you asking about it. It’s not quite as good as the first one, but still worth watching.”

  “Oh yeah? Thanks for the review from the alley. Have a good night buddy,” Freddy says while hitting Ben with a cross-eyed look.

  “You too. Say, you look a little peckish. You want a Manna Bar?” Ben asks while extending a small package.

  “Seriously? Yeah, I really could use one. It’s been a long day, and I already ran through my supply. Thanks a lot,” Freddy says as he takes the bar. He quickly tears open the package and devours the eight-inch, incredibly dense stick in a single bite.

  “No worries. We’ve got to look out for our own,” Ben says and holds up his arm into the streetlight, revealing his tattoo.

  “Right on. So what’s your classification? It’s too dark out to read your Mark,” Freddy says licking his lips to capture every calorie and drop of flavor from his snack.

  “Big Brain. I’m on my way to my think.Net node. Shift starts in twenty minutes. How about you?”

  “Strong-Man, but I guess you probably can tell that from looking at me. I do deliveries mostly, just finished my last one for the night.”

  “Yeah? What kind of stuff do you deliver?” Ben asks while pretending to look at something on his arm, giving the impression that it’s an idle question.

  “Whatever needs hauling. I was dropping off some Sodium Benz-o-stuff at an Eat-N-Go.

  “Sodium Benzoate?” Ben says, his eyes wide with shock.

  “Yeah that’s the one. You’re a Big Brain, you must know what it’s for.”

  “It’s a preservative. You can put it on meat or produce to keep it from going bad. It can also be a component in an explosive.”

  “Well that Eat-N-Go must have lost their Cooler or something. I dropped off four hundred pounds of the stuff, and I’m supposed to do more later this week. They’ve been getting deliveries of it all month.”

  “You don’t say,” Ben replies.

  #

  “How many pounds of apples did you say you have available, Mr. Crowell?” the balding, sweating, red-faced Eat-N-Go store manager asks.

  Ben has crafted another combination of transformative and identity obfuscating clothes and makeup. He dyed his hair grey and drew fake wrinkles of wisdom to become a sixty-year-old man. His mock personification of a Southern business man is aided by his white and blue striped seersucker suit and bolo tie, relics from Ben’s days of having extra
spending money.

  Ben the Southerner and the Eat-N-Go store manager walk around the storage area of a grocery store. They’re surrounded by ceiling-grazing towers of Soy Snacks, Millet-Cakes, Rice-Bites, and dozens of other pre-packaged nourishment. There are even bins of fresh produce. Bananas and corn, a rare sight.

  “I was hoping we could start with a delivery of six hundred pounds,” Ben says, doing his best Foghorn Leghorn impression. The old cartoons were one of the few inspirations for his over-the-top Southern drawl. “That’d be a trial run you see. That all goes off without a hitch, and then the sky’s the limit. We’ve developed our own brand of fertilizer. I tell you what, it’d put chest hair on a supermodel. Best of all, it lets us grow apples all the year round.”

  “Is it true you don’t use any Different labor to grow or harvest your produce?” the manager asks with disbelief.

  “That’s right. It is the genuine human article, like in your front yard growing up, or mine at least. I’m a little older than you,” Ben says giving the manager a friendly pat on the back. “Of course we still have to use Ultracorps trains and Strong-Men to haul the stuff, 'no way around that yet, but we have humans do as much as they can.”

  “Nothing against those people of course,” the manager says shaking his head as proof he really means it, “but we’ve noticed there’s a large segment of consumers who desire food grown the old fashioned way. It’s a niche we’d like to serve. Within the next year, we’ll be the sole supermarket chain in the Los Angeles Metro Area that offers food one hundred percent grown by humans. We’ve only got three stores right now, but we’ve got plans for five more breaking ground in the next six months.”

  “I bet the owner moving on up to Governor helps cut through all that nasty paperwork.”

  “It doesn’t hurt,” the manager says with a smile.

  “Sounds like you folks got some real schemes cooking. And thank you for the tour behind the curtains. I know it’s a mite peculiar, but I like to know all I can about who I’m getting into business with. I always say, go ahead and show me the sausage being made, I’ll still eat it,” Ben says and slaps his thigh in delight at his own joke.

  “It’s my pleasure. Whatever it takes to get us into business together.”

  Ben spots dozens of large barrels in the corner, the large biohazard symbols on the containers warning him to stay away.

  “Whoa, what in the Sam Hill is that stuff?” Ben points and asks.

  “I think that’s all Potassium Nitrate,” the manager says, flubbing the pronunciation.

  “Another preservative. It would very dangerous mixed mix with Sodium Benzoate,” Ben says under his breath.

  “Excuse me?” the manager asks.

  “What’s it for? Those symbols aren’t very inviting,” Ben stammers.

  “I know it looks frightening, but I assure you it’s all perfectly safe. As I said, we’re trying to move away from Different labor, including Coolers. That chemical is a preservative they’re trying out that can hopefully help us move away from using the refrigeration the Coolers provide. If you’re worried I’m sure some egghead in the corporate office could explain it better. I could try to raise them on think.Net.”

  “No, no. That’s not necessary, my boy,” Ben says waving his hand dismissively. “I’m sure I wouldn’t understand all that scientific gobble-de-gook anyway. I’m just shocked at how much of the stuff you’ve got. I don’t know what from what, but that looks like enough for a hundred years.”

  “We are planning to be a fixture in the Los Angeles Metro Area for a long time,” the manager says with a smile.

  #

  “Nurse, you’ve got to help me. My back has been killing me all week. If I miss another day at the docks, I’ll lose my job,” Ben pleads.

  His latest disguise centers on grey overalls. This time, he splattered them with fish guts. Ben did not enjoy applying the stench, but it was necessary to sell his charade of being a dock worker. He’s sitting on an exam table in a doctor’s office. A young female nurse examines Ben while doing her best to hide her disgust at his offensive odor.

  “The doctor will be in shortly,” the nurse says while choking down her gag reflex.

  “Tell him to come quick. I feel like I’m dying here.”

  “He’ll be in as soon as he can,” she says, then scurries out of the room, taking a deep breath as soon as she hits the hallway.

  Ben waits a few beats, then pokes his head out of the exam room. He watches the nurse go back to the reception desk. He counts ten more exam rooms nearby, all full of patients. The doctor will not be coming to see him any time soon. Instead of succumbing to a fate of sitting bored and shirtless in the exam room waiting for the doctor for the next twenty minutes, Ben slinks out of the room, carefully pulling the door closed behind him.

  He makes a beeline to a door marked “Dispensary.” Ben is not here for back pain, he’s here to assess the inventory behind that door. Some odd drug orders are linked to this location, and Governor Khan owns this clinic. A costumed caper to infiltrate the location was the only possible plan of action.

  He tries the door, which is unsurprisingly locked. As usual, Ben came prepared. He pulls out a small tool from his pocket and turns a knob on the device, releasing a metal needle. He shoves it into the door lock and, after a few seconds of jingling, the door opens.

  Ben rifles through the shelves, tossing aside boxes of penicillin, morphine, codeine, amoxicillin and many more drugs. There is nothing out of the ordinary. All Ben has accomplished is making an unfortunate mess for whoever cleans up this room. Despondent, he takes one last glance around the room and spots a small metal chest in the corner. It is secured with a heavy-duty lock. Ben spends several minutes alternating between jiggling his tool in the lock and cursing in frustration before the chest finally opens, revealing its booty.

  Amphetamines, clonazepam, diazepam, and dozens of other drugs used to treat mental illness. These drugs do not belong in a clinic like this. They belong in a psychiatric ward. If these drugs are administered in the wrong dosage, or mixed, there could be disastrous results. The doctors who work in this clinic aren’t qualified to dispense this type of medication. So what is it doing here?

  As Ben’s mind races through the possibilities, his ears miss the sound of the young female nurse stepping into the room behind him.

  “What are you doing in here?” the nurse demands with a shout.

  “I uh, was looking for something to help the pain,” Ben stammers in response.

  “I bet that’s what you were doing. I know why you’re really here,” the nurse says, her face turning red with anger.

  “You do?” Ben asks as panic overtakes him. He starts mentally preparing his escape plan.

  “That’s right. Now get the hell out of here, and if you ever show your drug-addicted face in this facility again, I’m calling the cops. You do need help, just not the kind we provide. Now move!” the nurse yells and points out the door.

  “Okay, I’m going,” Ben says, relieved he’s been mistaken for a simple drug addict. He slinks out of the room while struggling to contain his smile. The nurse doesn’t know it, but Ben found just what he was looking for, or what Gavin was looking for, to be precise.

  20

  I’m not going to argue that letting only Ultracorps employ Different labor is a fair economic practice. Of course it gives Ultracorps a productivity boost that no other corporation can compete with. Perhaps our government needs to do more to help companies that rely on human labor succeed. However, those calling for a repeal of the Different Acts of 1996 aren’t thinking clearly. While confining the use of Different labor to Ultracorps creates a host of economic problems, it also ensures the safety of every citizen in the Metro Area. If every company was allowed to employ Different labor, there would be utter chaos. I for one will gladly take a hit to my paycheck if it means the proper precautions are taken to ensure another Danny Libdo explosion doesn’t occur.

  “Money Isn’t Everythi
ng” by Forest Brown, think.Net News LA

  I walk into the OEC office and hear voices talking. Voices belonging to Victor, Linda, and Captain Murphy. That is not good. What are they doing here so early? I feel thoughts trying to force their way into my head and I let them in. Linda must have heard me open the door.

  >>>I told Captain Murphy I gave you permission to get some breakfast with an old teacher. Go with it.

  <<<Understood.

  That’s a much better explanation than that I was illegally following a police detective. Especially considering that detective ended up dead. I walk into Captain Murphy’s office as nonchalantly as I can. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I had permission to be outside. I was getting breakfast with my old teacher Larry Rosen. I make myself think it’s true so I can be more convincing.

  “Gavin, how nice of you to join us. Did you enjoy your breakfast?” Captain Murphy asks.

  “It was good. I haven’t been out to eat breakfast since I got arrested. Linda thought it would be okay. One of my teachers from Section 26 was in town, and he could only meet in the morning.”

  “I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I called this teacher to corroborate your story?” Captain Murphy asks with a frown.

  “Be my guest. His name is Larry Rosen. He’s on assignment with the Federal Government so he might be hard to get a hold of, but if you hurry, you might be able to catch him before he gets out of the Metro Area,” I reply.

  I’m hoping that Captain Murphy doesn’t call my bluff—it was a good one. If he does, there’s still a decent chance Larry will cover for me anyway. He’s good at thinking on his feet and lying to government men is old hat for him. On the other hand, he never returned my phone calls after I was arrested, so I’m not sure if I can count on him.