Chosen Different_Book 1 Page 2

  "You said you work with me all the time. Maybe you've asked me this a hundred times before."

  "No, I mostly had you tell me every embarrassing thing that happened to you when you were a kid. So answer my question, or I’ll tell everyone."

  "I wanted to be a Different."

  "You wanted to be a Different? No one wants to be a Different," Larry said.

  "I did. I never cared about Cabot or the Plagues or The Different Acts. As soon as I learned about BlueHawk, that's who I wanted to be. I wanted to be a Different, and I wanted fight the Russians and save the world," I replied.

  "The Ruskies aren't able to put up much of a fight these days."

  "I think they have enough to stop me," I held up my IV-ridden arm.

  "Maybe, maybe. Hey, do you know how I broke my glasses?" Larry asked.

  "You were trying to do a back flip," I answered.

  #

  "Once I discovered I could control my creation of memories, just like I could control any system in my body, the world reopened to me. After nearly a year of being an invalid, I was able to begin functioning again. I could build off what I had learned the day before and figure out how to make my body work again. I’m just lucky I figured it out before my heart stopped beating on its own,” I tell Scott.

  Why do they have a normal human doing this interview? Why don't they just have a Telepath turn my mind inside out? Find out everything I ever thought or felt? Maybe they know I can hide from Telepaths.

  "That seems like quite an achievement. May I ask why, after such a great accomplishment, it took you another two years catch up on your studies? I imagine a perfect memory would be quite the advantage in school," Scott Wooling asks.

  I'm just being paranoid. It doesn't have anything to do with me, not specifically. The government wouldn't trust a Different with such an important task. Scott is the last line of defense, the last person who can figure out if I'm a danger to society. We Differents can heat their homes and grow food for their children, but the humans don't trust a Telepath to turn on their own kind.

  I have to handle this question carefully. He's probing me again, trying to make me reveal one little nugget that can justify marking me as too dangerous to release or prove that I’m too useless for any job.

  "The truth is, I have Larry to thank again," I say.

  #

  "I had the worst day yesterday," Larry complained. "I got woken up at five this morning because the couple next door was fighting. Something about how he's always spending their money down in Santa Monica while she pays all the rent and COL obligations. Anyway, I've been working with this kid. He's thirteen years old, early bloomer. His Differentiation makes his body produce this sticky green substance. They were hoping he could be used to produce an adhesive. The problem is his body needs carbon-rich materials in order to live, which is not exactly the most common thing in the world, thanks to Cabot. I was hoping we could teach him to focus and stop making the goo, but we couldn't figure it out. They had to put him under a Tranq-coma so he wouldn't die. The point is, by the time I made it home, I swear to God that day lasted as long as most weeks.”

  "I don't get it," I replied.

  "And when I think back to when I first met my wife, back before the Plagues. It seemed like those early days just flew by."

  "I still don't get it. Now hold on, I have to breathe," Larry waited while I took several deep breaths so I could listen to him for another thirty to forty seconds.

  "My point is that time might not be under your control, but I think you might be able to control how you perceive it. If you recreate whatever happened in my brain that made yesterday seem so long, you'll have all the time you need to focus on blinking, or remembering, or growing your hair, or all that other stuff you always have to do. We can talk without you having to take breathing breaks every thirty seconds."

  #

  "Larry was right. The way we experience time is controlled by our brains. By slowing down life, by recreating the way time feels when you're stuck in a boring class or the moments during an accident when time seems to stand still, I gave myself time to manage the systems of my body while still interacting with the outside world. While you and I are talking, I am actively managing my endocrine system, my digestive system, my muscular system, my nervous system, my respiratory system... I could go on and on. By stretching my perception of time, I can effectively give myself time to manage those systems while also answering, listening, talking, and wondering what I'll eat for dinner. I needed more time, and I figured out how to make it," I explain to Scott.

  "That's quite a story. You really have overcome many hardships caused by your Differentiation. You're an example to other Zetas out there. Maybe they too can make something of themselves, if they work at it. I have one more question for you, and it is important. Is there any element of your Differentiation, no matter how minor you consider it, that has not been brought to the attention of Section 26 personnel?" Scott asks.

  And there it is, the question he had really been asking me the whole time, spit out it no uncertain terms. Are there any elements of my Differentiation Section 26 do not know about? Of course there are. I'm not sure if I gave them all the information they needed on how exactly I move fecal matter into my bowel or how hard it is to get blinking timed right. I still blink too often.

  There is something I know they would want to hear about. I can fool Telepaths. I can feel them in my mind searching and probing, but I can control their view. I can let them see only what I want them to see within my mind. I lied to the Section 26 Telepath and got away with it. When I told this to Larry, he made it quite clear I should keep that fact to myself. He said they'll never let me out of Section 26 if they know I can hide from mind-readers. He knew because he can fool Telepaths himself. Apparently some Morphers can manipulate their minds as well as their bodies. Section 26 doesn’t know about that.

  "I can't think of anything, sir. Except that I have you guys to thank for saving my life. If I hadn't had the help and support of Section 26, I would be dead. I'm going to have a life thanks to the people here," I finally answer.

  "I'm glad to hear that you feel that way, because now comes the painful part. We need to discuss your Cost of Living Obligations," Scott says.

  Save me then bill me. It's quite a racket they have here. It's not like I asked them to keep me on an IV for months... not that I didn't want them to.

  "When we add up the eighteen months you had to be kept in isolation before you Differentiated, the medical cost of keeping you alive, food and clothing costs, including the tax on higher than average food consumption, your contributions to the Different Assistance fund, and various administrative and personnel fees, you owe $386,236.74. Hey, that's not too bad!"

  Sounds fantastic. My father didn't earn that in his entire life.

  "There's more good news. I've decided to approve you for non-government housing, so you will be free to live outside Section 26. A Mark of Differentiation will, of course, be required. Now, let's discuss your employment prospects. Based on your Cost of Living Obligations and interest rates, you will be required to make minimum monthly payments of $850. Your profile received one bid for service. It is from the Unified Logistics Technology and Research Applications Corporation. The pay is fair, more than enough to make your payments. You'll be working in the Oasis Burger Research and Development division..."

  "Ultracorps? Was there any interest from the Office of Exceptional Cases?" I interrupt.

  "What in God's name could you do for the OEC?"

  "I told you. I'm in peak physical condition, I have an incredible memory, I can heal at an accelerated rate, and I could master several forms of martial arts if I studied them."

  "Sorry, Gavin. The OEC has no need of your services. If we can get back to the Ultracorps position..." Scott continues.

  "Maybe you can have them review my profile again?" I plead.

  "That isn't possible. Your responsibilities at Ultracorps would center on the testing
and implementation of new foods and recipe changes for Oasis Burger. They believe you will be able to provide invaluable feedback on the effects of chemical additives."

  "Maybe you could talk to the OEC, tell them you think I have potential. Tell them that I would make a good agent."

  "That is not going to happen. Your safety will always be the program's top concern."

  "I don't want to be a lab rat for fast food. I want to do something useful. I want to work for the OEC."

  "Enough, Gavin. It's the Office of Exceptional Cases, not cases of freaks with no talent. You think you're strong? You think you're fast? There are dozens of Differents who can toss a Slug-car like a baseball or run faster than you can throw one. You think you're smart? I've seen twenty Differents this year who could recite the Bible cover to cover. You think you heal quickly? A hundred Differents out there can grow an arm back in five minutes! You may be a Different, Gavin, but you are not exceptional."

  Boom. Just like that, my childhood dreams are crushed. I knew the OEC probably wasn't going to want me, but I still hoped, somewhere deep down. I didn’t even know I still had a deep down. I just wanted some way to help people.

  2

  I speak to you plainly. This time there will be no confusion, no questioning of my will, and no quibbling over translation. I shall make my proclamations known explicitly and directly. These are the words of your Lord, spoken in your own tongue so that all may understand my third missive.

  Chosen Sons: 2

  David Gabbert has to hurry. The last Slug of the night pulls out of the station in six minutes. His feet cannot take another two mile haul to the central line. He gathers a mass of papers from his desk and stuffs them into his brown leather briefcase. He grabs his overcoat and heads out of his office.

  The street is empty. Everyone else has the good sense to be home by now. Ten o’clock is too late for anyone to be out, let alone a sixty-seven-year-old bureaucrat with a potbelly. The one "person" on the street is a Walter, mindlessly sweeping the sidewalk. Even though the clones of Walter Reynolds have been a fixture in the Los Angeles Metro Area for almost ten years, they still give David the creeps with those empty, soulless eyes.

  David still cannot believe his office was moved all the way out to this pit. It is hard to believe there is even a government building this far from the Metro Center. David knows she did it. Not that it was a tough case to crack. One day he took a stand against Nita's plan to have Ultracorps take over management of the Los Angeles Metro Area's water system. The next day there was emergency construction required in David's suite of offices, and he was "temporarily" relocated to the boonies. All because he had the audacity to oppose giving more power to the Ultracorps Librarians, which really meant giving more power to the twelve-year-old girl who is their leader. She already controls the Metro Area's transportation and heating systems. He does not care how smart Nita Martinez is. A child and her human computer friends should not control the entire infrastructure of a Metro Area.

  Taking a stand against Nita hadn’t worked, either. The Metro Council subcommittee overruled David, and Nita and Ultracorps got the contract. Overruled and exiled, it has been a terrible month for David Gabbert. It will get even worse if he misses that last train. He speeds up his pace.

  Half a block away he hears the Slug pull out of the station. Breathing heavily, he sighs at his useless rushing. If David were paranoid, he would think Nita did this too. Ultracorps does run the trains after all.

  He does not want to be paranoid. More importantly, he does not want anyone else to think he is paranoid. If they think he is paranoid then they won’t listen to his opposition to Ultracorps. They will just dismiss him as another crazy old coot that is afraid of change, like one of those old men who used to complain about television back before the Plagues.

  Maybe that's Nita's plan, to keep pushing David until he loses control and says something crazy in committee. Then they will ignore him forever, or until he is replaced. Then there would be no one left to stand in her way. He is the last one, especially since Lauren disappeared. Without her organizing protests, public opposition to Ultracorps is melting away. The LA Metro is just the beginning. Ultracorps—Nita—wants control of the utilities in every Metro Area. Then she will have control of the whole country.

  Stop! David yells inside his head. No more crazy thoughts. A much more sensible plot would be for Nita to have sent David out to the boonies and hope some punks would murder him. He now has to walk two miles to the central line. They are not scenic miles, they are two of the most crime-addled miles in the Metro Area. David gets stared down by thugs every time he has to walk. It’s only a matter of time until one of them does something more than glare.

  David is distracted from his paranoid thoughts by a crippling pain in his foot. He's due for another Healer-Blood transfusion to manage the pain, but he has not been able to find the time. He has to sit down and finds a stoop to plop on. He takes off his right sock and shoe and massages his foot. He has to stop the spasms if he wants to make it home.

  David looks down for a mere second, but when he looks up there is a man standing a few feet away from him. David cannot see the man clearly in the shadows, but the man is the size of a mountain. A mountain staring coldly at David.

  "I don't have any money or anything else on me worth stealing, friend. If you want my clothes you can have them, but I don't think they'll fit you," David says.

  "I ain't here to rob you. I've got some good news. The Lord has chosen you to be saved," the mountain says.

  "Oh, you're one of those. Sorry sir, not interested. I’m happy with my God. Maybe if my feet keep hurting…”

  "But if you don't listen, you won't know eternity in heaven is waitin’ for you after I eat ya."

  "What did you say?" David asks, even though he heard the man clearly.

  The mountain pulls out a book from his jacket and reads.

  "There is but one way for my Forgotten Sons to return to my grace. They must serve my new race, my Chosen Sons, in any way possible. They must tithe to the Chosen, and submit to their every whim. They must be willing to sacrifice anything and everything for them. If my Forgotten Sons do this, they will be welcome in my kingdom for eternity."

  "So what do you say? Are you ready to be held in the arms of the Lord?" the mountain says and steps forward into the light.

  Now David can see that the mountain is not a man. Men do not have six-inch claws and massive canines that stick out from their jaw. Men do not have hair all over their body. Men do not weigh as much as bears. He is not a man. He’s some sort of Beast.

  "My God, it's you, The Beast. I always knew they were lying. They didn't really stop you in Chicago," David whispers to himself.

  "I can't be stopped. The Lord has given me divine purpose. He's got a purpose for you too. Right now, He’s calling you up to heaven."

  Most of David's brain is frozen, unable to comprehend what is happening, but some primitive part of his mind takes over as he turns and breaks into a full sprint. His foot does not hurt anymore, and he forgets he's missing a shoe. Run is the closest thing to a thought in David's mind.

  The Beast watches for a few moments as David scrambles away. Eventually, the creature bends his knees and pounces. The Beast jumps fifty feet through the air with ease and slams into David, knocking the poor man into a pile of old concrete. David can feel some ribs crack.

  David picks himself up off the ground and begins to sprint again. Each breath feels like fire, but it reminds him that at least he is still breathing. He makes it around a corner and thinks, just for a second, that maybe he will get away. The Beast's claw shatters that fantasy. His nails tear through David's back like tissue paper and the man crumples into a bleeding pile on the ground.

  The Beast stands over David, waiting to see if there is any fight left in the man, but there is not. David curls into a ball, whimpering.

  "I knew I was right. I knew I was right," the terrified bureaucrat keeps repeating.

&
nbsp; No wonder God has given up on his race: the Forgotten Sons are pathetic. The Beast licks blood off his claw. The blood tastes sweet, and the rest of David will taste even sweeter. He closes his eyes to pray over his bounty.

  “Lord, thank you for giving me this chance to atone for my sins. I’m going to make sure nobody finds any of him, just like you said. Did I do good Lord? Can you tell me if I’m gonna be redeemed?”

  The Beast keeps his eyes closed, waiting for a response. There isn’t any. He sighs and throws the old man over his shoulders. He grabs the man's briefcase. The Lord commanded The Beast to leave no trace.

  3

  All costs and expenditures associated with the care and evaluation of the Different shall be the sole responsibility of that individual. Upon release from Section 26, the Different individual will be required to pay the debt, such as they are able. The interest rate and terms of the debt shall be determined by the Federal Reserve.

  Article 2 Section 2 of the Different Acts of 1986

  I walk out of the Maceo Steel gates that contain the only world I've known for the last five years. All I take with me is a small bag full of clothes and a couple of childhood possessions. In a way, it's like I'm walking into the world for the first time. I can remember being outside when I was a kid, but it's almost as if they are someone else's memories. Compared to the memories I form now, my old ones are faint shadows. There are things I wish I could remember from before, but I can't, and there are thousands of things I can remember but don't care about. I don't know why I can recall the theme song from some radio show I didn't even like when I was a kid, but not what my dad said to me the day my mom left. The human brain has some flaws.

  Now the memories I form are perfect. Every sight, every sound, every thought, every feeling. When I see a sign for Oasis Burger down the street, I instantly recall all the information I have stored about the chain. I remember all the different catch phrases: “Refresh Yourself,” “Take a Break from Your Journey,” “Discover the Oasis.” I can also recall everything I learned about Oasis Burger from the article on think.Net.