The B Gene

by Carlos Hardy

  “Slowly.” Green offers, rather unhelpfully.

  “I think we’re safe,” Caleb says, peering through the opening as he widens it.

  Micky pushes through the other door, looking around the room. Caleb and Bree would notice it from the website photographs: The Lanier Brown University library. Bree had always wanted to get a clear photograph for herself, from the ground to the ceiling, the third floor is octagon-shaped with a clear view of the ceiling. While the view is breathtaking, they snap back into the moment, heading for one of two spiral staircases that lead down to the first floor.

  Once they reach the bottom, they inch closer to a tall window halfway up the wall. Caleb grabs a nearby chair and plops it down, watching Bree as she climbs up and glances out into the night. The military tanks are still there, along with a few trucks, each loaded up with an untold number of blindfolded black students.

  “They’re still here.” Bree whispers. “They’re going to find us. Where are they taking them? I can’t die here.”

  Micky does her best to console Bree, standing on the chair and gently touching her shoulder. “It’s okay,” she offers. “We’ll make it out of here.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Bree whispers loudly, choking down her anger.

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “Shhh.” Caleb demands. He ushers the girls down and takes his turn, looking across the campus to see a handful of soldiers guarding one of the few remaining buildings. In a moment, he takes a panoramic view of the once-beautiful university, now just a pile of bleak rubble. The clouds have lifted, but that humming sound still lingers slightly. He eyes the would-be glorious shield of the school, still in one piece, jutting out of a pile of rubble in the yard ahead.

  His father went to this university, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s ever going to see him again.

  “I have to rest,” Professor Green says from somewhere behind Caleb.

  “No, we have to keep moving.” Bree returns.

  Green pours out the bag of food he had, grabbing a piece of fruit and sinking his teeth into it. Micky quickly joins his side, devouring a piece of cinnamon bread.

  “I’m afraid there’s too many of them,” Green concedes defeat almost too easily. “My back is in ruins. I can’t keep moving.”

  Caleb turns to see Green leaned up against a low-bearing wall. He joins him, contemplating a last meal by staring at the pile of food on the floor, while Bree nervously paces nearby. After a moment of silence between them, she reluctantly sits on the floor beside them. She places her camera on the floor, and grabs from the pile of food. A shred of light quickly passes by the window, glistening the sweat on Bree’s mocha skin.

  “Professor,” she begins, breaking the silence. “I’ve always wanted to know, since I was a little girl, what made me different. I’ve won a few beauty pageants. I was a spelling bee champion. I was at the top of all my classes. I thrived. With everything I’ve accomplished, I’ve always had to content with this skin. Why is the world so threatened by it? It means nothing. We all bleed the same.”

  She turns away from the others, not expecting any sort of answer. In a moment of hope, an idea sparks inside her mind. She mutters out loud, “There’s something I saw that’s been racking my brain for the last few hours… Did I actually see what I think I did? Was I hallucinating?”

  She approaches a nearby bookcase, lifting a book with the title The Price of Melanin. Caleb lifts to his feet and joins her.

  “Bree, it wasn’t a hallucination. I saw it too.” He offers as they face one another.

  “It was definitely a ship of some sort. Gray. Reddish, perhaps?”

  “In the storm? I saw no such thing.” Green interjects.

  “I saw it too. It was enormous… powerful. It swallowed those students whole.” Caleb says.

  Green finds his footing. “I was there,” he says, “I only saw a great deal of clouds.”

  “A UFO?” Micky asks, her eyes unblinkingly trained on Caleb and Bree.

  “Yes,” Caleb says, “there was no storm. We saw a ship.”

  “Impossible.” Green shoots down their words. “I didn’t see anything.”

  Caleb’s voice lowers as tension floods through the room. He struggles to get the words out, wondering if he should even speak them. “As I got closer, I don’t know…” He stalls momentarily. “I felt this internal strength. It was almost ushering me forward. For a moment, I didn’t want to resist. Is that weird?”

  “No Caleb,” Bree says softly. “I felt it too. It was intoxicating… relentless. It’s like there was no fight left. Every ounce of resistance had yielded.”

  “Why didn’t I see anything?” Green asks frustratedly.

  “You can’t see it, Professor,” Caleb exhales, “It’s not meant for your eyes.”

  Chapter Eleven:

  The Lottery

  The House of Representatives reside in an emergency meeting with Homeland Security. The chambers are flooded with anxious reporters, vying to ask more questions than they have time for. Protestors sit in the back of the room, notably by plenty of armed security waiting for the situation to turn ugly.

  Camera flashes pop off without warning, capturing dozens of shots of each Homeland Security committee member as they walk by. Protestors attempt to shout over the chairman’s gavel bangs, and are quickly silenced by security.

  Committee Chairman Harper Felix looks out over the room. It appears as though he’s reveling in the shouts and noise, noting the eager eyes of junior representatives and journalists awaiting the news. They’re here for answers, and there’s only one man who can truly give that to them.

  Brad Doley is escorted into the chamber by armed guards, ignoring obscenities that are hurling his way. Security officers immediately remove those protestors, as the video cameras begin to aim in on center stage. The lack of diversity is painfully obvious: there are two members that aren’t elderly white men, and only one is present.

  Kathy Smith, an African-American congresswoman, is the spearhead for social issues for minority areas in the United States. The Chairman bangs his gavel, commanding as much silence as he’s going to get. Adviser Doley begins his opening statement to the other members of the committee.

  “Chairman, fellow members of the committee, and the American people: it’s an honor to speak before you.” He begins, scanning the crowd as he continues. “I won’t take up much of your time, but we must act quickly. Our democracy is under attack. As head of National Security, it’s my duty to keep every American citizen safe.”

  Doley takes a sip of water, trying to stave off the nerves he had during the tarmac press release. He takes a sip of water, quickly regaining his mental clarity, pushing forth a light emotion behind his words.

  “I come before this committee to offer a solution to our nation’s current security breach. Chairman, our intelligence reported attacks by a foreign power, but not of the magnitude that we’ve become accustomed to. Our country has been compromised by invaders from a distant galaxy.”

  Commotion quickly erupts in the House chamber. A few bangs of the gavel, and the Chairman puts the spotlight back on Doley. “Continue.”

  “One-hundred and twenty traditionally black universities in our nation are under siege. We are doing everything within our physical power to stabilize the situation. Law enforcement and military forces are working around the clock to meet the demands of this foreign entity.” Doley turns a page in his notes. “We are asking that the house construct and rapidly approve a bill that will help defend America from this threat. The bill will provide much needed security to all Americans, and aid us in strengthening our relationship with our allies. Thank you.”

  “Mr. Doley,” Kathy Smith leans in to her microphone, “did you say one-hundred and twenty black universities?”

  “Correct.”

  Chairman Harper bangs his gavel, dismissing any further questions from Smith. “I will yield time to Congressma
n Marshall Shaw.”

  Marshall Shaw approaches his microphone. Even in the House, others spoke ill of his ignorant politics (the very same politics that won him the vote in Texas). This stubble-chinned, pear-shaped man showcases his repugnant reputation in full force the moment he opened his mouth.

  “Tell us about these black universities.”

  Doley shifts around in his notes, his nervous hands skittering over his podium. “We haven’t received enough information to further explain the situation at this time.”

  “It’s something that we need more information on, now.” Kathy interrupts, her assertive bark catching the eyes of reporters from around the room. “Simply answer the question. Why are they targeting black universities?”

  “Congresswoman,” Chairman Harper roars, “do not speak out of turn again. Mr. Shaw, continue with your questions.”

  “I beg to differ with the little lady,” Shaw flashes a smug grin in her direction. “I’ve seen the reports. I’ve watched the news. Protecting Americans should be your top priority. I relinquish my time.”

  Doley stands idly by, watching his adversaries in the House do his work for him. Chairman Harper’s unenthused glare falls towards Congresswoman Smith.

  “Congresswoman, you may proceed.”

  “Adviser Doley, I have limited time.” She states, leaning into her microphone to rifle off questions. “I would appreciate direct and brief answers.”

  Doley simply nods in agreement, nervously leaning on one leg and jittering his other leg.

  “Is this foreign entity only after black Americans?” She asks as a hush falls over the room.

  “Based on our current intelligence, I wouldn’t say yes to that, Congresswoman.”

  “Then why are they attacking one-hundred and twenty historically black universities, Mr. Doley?”

  “We haven’t reached a conclusion on that question. Top personnel are currently working to determine an answer.”

  “There’s a lot of American lives at stake. Please, propose your bill in a brief overview. Convince me as to how this is going to help the situation.”

  Doley takes a sip of water, watching the barrage of lens flashes from across the room. History’s eyes are unblinkingly staring at Doley in this moment.

  “As the National Security Adviser, there are difficult decisions that must be made.”

  “The bill, Mr. Doley.”

  Doley looks towards Chairman Harper, to Mr. Shaw. Most of the House have received information on the bill hours ago.

  “There were one-million black Americans.” He states boldly. Gasps erupt in the back of the room, followed by additional lens flashes.

  “So this is directly related to black Americans.”

  “Congresswoman Smith, we are proposing a bill, asking the House to pledge one-million black Americans to this foreign entity in exchange for our freedom.”

  Protestors outrage in the rear of the room.

  “You people are sick!”

  “This is modern day slavery!”

  “Black lives matter!”

  Chairman Harper continuously bangs his gavel, silencing the protestors. Reporters dash out of the rooms as Congresswoman Smith leans back in disbelief. She remembers herself, leaning into the mic once again.

  “Mr. Doley, I want to be clear.” She enunciates. “In exchange for the safety of all Americans, they want one-million black citizens?”

  “Yes.” Doley doesn’t hesitate, his eyes locked on hers. Everyone is looking to the center of the room, trying to figure out the next move. Doley removes a stack of papers from his briefcase, and places them on the table. “To keep America safe, we must execute the Melanin Experiment.”

  As midnight passes, reporters are shoved into the hallways as protestors repeatedly chant. While Congress stays in session to construct the guidelines of this bill, news outlets began pouring this information out to the public, calling it a constitutional crisis. Polling begins, and within minutes, the American people begin displaying their take on the proposal. The nation sits divided on what to do, and all the while, Speaker Manning begins walking down the hallway headed for the congressional meeting.

  A blonde news reporter throws herself out in front of him in an effort to add to her piece. “Mr. Speaker, what will this bill do to the morale of race relations in America?”

  “We’re here to create policies.” Manning offers without looking her in the eyes. He continues walking. “If we don’t create a policy, then what’s the point in having elected officials?”

  “Headlines are stating that this is twenty-first century slavery.” The woman continues. “What do you have to say about that?”

  “They can call it what they like. The fact of the matter is that we are saving lives.”

  A few protestors shout in the direction of the Speaker, while security holds them back. “You fucking Uncle Tom. Go to hell, race baiter.”

  Manning continues on, ignoring the hurl of insults. The reporter won’t leave his side. “Who are they?” She asks. “Do we need to be worried?”

  “Brad Doley is our National Security Adviser, not me. I trust that he knows what he’s doing.”

  “But does Adviser Doley have the temperament to contest with these foreign entities?”

  “Yes. I won’t be coy; these are uncharted waters, but there’s no one better for the job. Thank you.” Manning says finally, attempting to dismiss her.

  “One more question,” she urges. “There are reports that the government may be aiding the invaders. Is there any truth to that?”

  “You’re questioning based on baseless speculation.”

  Manning breaks away from the woman, entering his office space. He passes by his secretary, gesturing to leave the phone off the hook. The last thing he needs right now are phone calls. Tucked away in the corner of an adjacent room, Doley stands nervously.

  “How did I do?” He asks quickly.

  “I was convinced.” Manning offers.

  Doley has broken into the vodka, taking small sips out of the bottle. Manning throws his suit jacket over his chair. “The House approved the bill within minutes,” he says. “I think that’s a first.”

  “The Senate is voting on the bill as we speak,” Manning says confidently.

  “And you’re sure we have the votes?”

  “A few senators owe me big. The President will surely sign off on it.”

  “This could be political suicide, Carl.”

  “We have him over a barrel,” he says with a grin, sipping on a glass of whiskey. “Tapes. Brazilian whores. The lot.”

  “What a headline.” Doley grins.

  “Sir?” There’s a repetitive knock at the door from his secretary.

  “Come in.”

  Quickly, she barges into the room, panic-stricken. “It passed,” she said. “The President will be speaking on it shortly.

  Manning reaches for the remote nearby, turning on the television. The press secretary stands before a podium, answering questions from reporters. Manning hits the mute button, and begins staring down at his arm. His skin releases a burning sensation all of a sudden. “Why call it the Melanin Experiment?” He asks.

  “You know, it’s just one of those things that first popped into my head.” Doley answers. His face drops as he approaches Manning. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  “Of course not. Curiosity is all.”

  Manning approaches the window by his desk, pondering his decision. The title of the bill. Doley’s hand finds his shoulder.

  “You’re doing the right thing,” he insists. “Don’t let the naysayers tell you otherwise. This is a deed for your country.”

  Manning tries to shove away his emotions, branding them as unwarranted. A sturdy handshake seals the deal with Doley, forcing him to smile widely. The secretary enters the room again, lifting the remote to increase the volume.

  President Reid sits in front of a camera, his words
steady and assured. This is the moment that will define his presidency, how he served the American people.

  “My fellow Americans. There are tough times we’ve found ourselves in.” He begins with emotion flooding his words. “We need your understanding, and your collective American spirit to get us through this. Congress has approved…”

  President Reid stalls, his eyes trailing away from the camera. He contemplates what he’s about to say before clearing his throat.

  “The Melanin Experiment… is a bill that will help our country defend against the unthinkable: galactic terrorism. If chosen through this legislation, you will accompany our military and spend some time away from home.”

  “Galactic terrorism.” Doley states out loud. “I like that. Who came up with that?”

  “That would be yours truly. Nothing brings Americans together more than the fear of terrorism in any form.”

  “Your mission will not be disclosed to the public,” the President continues his speech. “The content of the Melanin Experiment bill will be unpopular, to say the least. Some will accept it, others will not. This partnership will provide stability across the globe, providing the necessary assurance we require to protect our country, and the entire world.” President Reid pauses for a second. “It’s true that 85% of our military is made up of white Americans. It is truly our goal to offer balance throughout the military, so I say, to my African-American brothers and sisters: we need you. As your Commander in Chief, this was a difficult decision to make. Random lottery sites will be offered to Detroit, Houston, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Washington. As I called on Jesus, he told me this was the right decision to make.”

  “Religion always makes Americans feel at ease,” Doley chuckles. “You know, the possibility that there is something more. Such bullshit.”

  “Our country is counting on one-million African-Americans, between the age of twenty-five and fifty, to be drafted into the Melanin lottery. Your families will receive financial stipends once you have been selected. Others will have the option to apply freely. You will be serving your country, and providing freedom for all Americans. I ask that all Americans come together as we conquer the war of a lifetime. God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.”