The B Gene

by Carlos Hardy

  She tumbles back down to earth, left in the wake of every single African-American who has floated towards the source. Caleb, Jaylen and Bree are the last to enter, and soon after, the light disappears in the freezing cold night. Micky remains behind, glaring up into the dark sky wondering where her friends have gone.

  Chapter Sixteen:

  The Lottery

  The morning after the declaration, America is panicked and it can’t turn back now. The White House is in disarray, attempting to portray a calm demeanor on the surface. Several briefings overlap one another, as Press Secretary Romana Lexington ready’s her notes before heading out to speak to the figures of the media.

  Her apparel is unorthodox, to say the least. She’s been portrayed as one of the most attention-seeking Press Secretaries in any presidency, though she carries herself well enough in conversation that the backlash has flat lined. She sits with Molly, the Chief of Staff, to discuss everything that’s going on.

  “Stay on message,” Molly states. “The transition worked, and Americans are safe.” Molly quickly snatches the notes out of the Press Secretary’s hands. “No, take black and African out. We don’t want lingering reminders.”

  Releasing an exhausted breath, obviously flooded with stress from recent events, Molly grabs a pen from the desk. “This is gone. That is gone.” She begins going to town on the notes, redacting information. “Remember, this is galactic terrorism. Keep things as bland as possible.”

  “Got it, I understand.” Press Secretary Lexington replies. “Is there anything else?”

  “Okay, this will work.” Molly says, making one final adjustment before handing the notes back. The Press Secretary begins to shuffle away. “Romana,” Molly calls after her, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Yes?”

  “Go and sell the shit out of this, just like I know you can.”

  Romana nods and heads off, leaving Molly to sit in silence. She inhales sharply before turning to the monitor. She watches Romana ascend the podium and stand before the free press. She opens her binder and offers information on the transition. Press Secretary Lexington gazes into the room of flashing camera and eager faces. Several reporters stand nearby, hoping to fire off questions. Tape recorders are on; the cameras begin to roll.

  “Good morning,” she begins. “I am here as the liaison to General Leonard George, current commander of the Melanin Experiment transition. As of last night at 10:00 PM, EST, over one-million Americans took an oath to protect our country. These citizens help to secure and continue our freedoms, not only in this country, but globally. We have spoken to several of our allies, each of whom have congratulated us on this monumental victory. Intelligence during this transition is currently classified, and details cannot be released over at this time.

  We thank our global allies for their well wishes as we pioneer new opportunities to solve the country’s issues with this new threat; the first of its kind for the United States. There will be flaws in our policies, but the President is diligently working with Congress to assure that our cities, states, and our planet is safe.”

  Press Secretary Lexington feels confident in her reassurance to the American people, though she’s seemingly distracted by the dazzling lights of the cameras from the back of the room.

  “I would like to mention and thank General George,” she continues, “who is a veteran and purple heart recipient. He led our soldiers into a harmonious transition, as were the expectancies of the President when he hand-picked him. He will be retiring this year, and will not be present to answer questions. On a final note, I would like you all to know that every American that has entered this lottery is a hero. Please provide respect to their families at this time. You may begin your questioning.”

  Every hand in the room shoots up. Molly watches from the back, looking towards the monitor, and whispers to herself. “Take a few questions, then get her out of there.”

  “Press Secretary,” the first reporter begins, “with all due respect, this lottery was exclusive to African-Americans, correct?”

  “As a way to respect most of these families, it is appropriate to refer to these heroes as Americans. President Adam suggested that our lottery reach those in diverse communities but all were entered.”

  “How much of the $100,000 severance package is given tax-free to the families?”

  “They will be taxed the same as our military personnel.”

  Patty Denker, the BNC reporter who previously covered the riots, raises her voice above the onslaught of questions.

  “Ms. Lexington, is it the White House’s goal to eliminate the fact that these lottery recipients were exclusively African-American?”

  “Lottery recipients were chosen from several states and cities.”

  “Answer the question.” Patty says with an edge to her voice.

  “I have answered your question. Next question please.”

  Press Secretary Lexington points towards an elderly reporter in the front row, only to be overshadowed by Patty’s voice again.

  “Where are these recipients, Romona? Can you provide us details?”

  “As stated previously, that is classified information. Next question.”

  “When will they be back?” Patty asks, and the room falls silent.

  “There’s no clear answer. These brave men and women enlisted for at least five years, though the time frame may be minimized in the coming months. Let’s not forget that we owe these American citizens our respect and support. Thank you for your time; that will be all.”

  “Enlisted? This was a lottery, Secretary!”

  Romona moves away from the podium, as one unknown male voice carries above the others from the back of the room. “Is the President a racist? Is that why only African-Americans were in this lottery?”

  Molly turns away from the monitor, anxiety filling her chest. “Just keep walking, Romona.” She says to herself under a hushed breath. That’s when she hears Romona’s voice, and turns back to the monitor; she just can’t help but pridefully answer that question.

  “I take offense to your question, sir. The President has protected all Americans since his election three years ago. Look at his record as a Texas Senator prior to his presidency. He joined Republican legislators to write bills that furthered consequences for racial profiling. How dare you.” She begins to walk away.

  “That’s a lie,” the insistent reporter says. “He did the complete opposite.”

  Molly sits anxiously on a couch in the Oval Office, right next to the President. General Leonard George is quickly escorted into the room, and fails to salute his Commander in Chief. There’s little but harrowing certainty on his expression.

  “Those people were lied to.”

  “Molly, close the door.” The President says, unfolding his legs and assuming an assertive position on the couch. “I took an oath to protect this country at all costs.”

  “No, Mr. President. You took an oath to protect and preserve our constitution. Those people were not told the truth. The American people don’t know what I saw. The danger we face is at the hands of our own.”

  “Do you understand why I selected you, General?” The President says, cutting him off. “I picked you because you had no trouble in Iraq. You led a campaign that left thousands of innocent civilians in the rubble.” The President tosses a folder onto the table in front of him, sending it sliding towards the General. Molly’s face is beaming, enamored by the President’s aggression.

  “Go on, open it.”

  The General opens up the folder, noting dozens of foreign names. The President lifts from the couch, adjusting his suit jacket. For the first time in his Presidency, President Adam isn’t wilting. It’s apparent a personal agenda has taken over momentarily. General George continues his scan over the list. “That’s a list of the civilians you killed. We’re in the same business, General: kill or be killed. We are all fighting to survive by any means necessary. Black, white, brown: it’s s
urvival.”

  The General stares at the names, unable to retain every single one of them. He strides towards the President’s desk, placing a device on the edge and walking towards the door. “If you can stomach to look at that, then I’ve been wrong about something all these years. We’re nothing alike.” The General exit’s the oval office.

  Flooded with curiosity, Molly and the President walk over towards the desk. He picks up the strange square device, noting similar technology that he’d seen at the Pentagon. He presses a button on the top of its flat surface, and a hologram funnels upward. It shows the events of last night; the clouds, the light, everything that happened.

  “If word of this gets out…” he begins.

  “It won’t. Cameras and cell phone signals were jammed.” Molly cuts him off.

  “The contents of this brief remains classified.”

  “Your Press Secretary handled everything perfectly. There’s a… different matter that we must attend to right now.” The President walks towards the door. He turns back. Molly knew this day would come and she’s ready for it.

  “I’ve always played the good guy. On the farm, at the prom, in the school play, at my sister’s wedding. I’ve managed to always come through for others.”

  Molly quietly listens. “My past isn’t all peaches and cream Molly. I haven’t always been honorable. And for the first time in my adult life, I’m okay with that. I’ve switched from Democrat to Republican when my sister was raped in the 90’s. I fought for tougher laws.”

  Molly beams, parts of his story hasn’t been shared with her until now. “The Republicans have the upper hand and they know it, particularly on a few things from my past. I push their agenda and they leave me alone.”

  Molly clutches her briefcase tightly as her thoughts race to figure out what he could be withholding. “I am sure whatever they are dangling, we can get in front of it.”

  “I hope so.”

  A knock on the door is followed by the voice of the President’s assistant. “Mr. President, there’s an important visitor. He says he needs to speak to you now.”

  “That’s the matter I was talking about.” Molly sighs.

  * * *

  As soon as it lands, the President escapes his unmarked helicopter, guided by Secret Service agents. Adviser Doley and Molly walk on either side of him as they head into the undisclosed building of T and S. Without wasting a single step or breath, they shuffle into the cramped elevator, and begin descending down into the belly of the beast.

  The passing moments of silence bring an air of tension. The doors finally open, and the President instructs his Secret Service agents to await by the elevator doors. Down the hallway, double doors open to reveal a room filled with government-specific technology, including a small digital console on a platform in the middle of the room. Electronic maps stretch across the walls, updating classified information in real time.

  Doley leans in to the President as Molly listens closely. “Mr. President as homeland security we have kept you in the loop of this galactic threat. It is our duty to surveillance all aspects of this classified information. We can wait no longer.”

  Doley uses the console in the center of the room to shift a large red wall on the far side of the room. As it moves, the President’s eyes widen as an African-American forty-something is revealed, sitting chained to a chair. His beard is long and wily, his clothes dirty and ruined. On his neck, there’s a solid chunk of metal attached. It begins to glow as he struggles for freedom, riling around in his shackles to no avail.

  “I know you,” the man says through gritted teeth, continuing his struggle. “You’re the President. Help me. Please, help me.” He begs.

  Doley pushes a button on the console, immediately forcing the shackled man to sit upright. The device tightens around his neck.

  “What’s going on?” The President asks.

  “You’re looking at a surrogate.”

  “surrogate?”

  “Yes, we can only receive transmissions from Akache, through…black Americans.” “What does that mean?” “It means we tread lightly.”

  Doley sends an electric current through the man’s body, forcing his heartbeat to race, his skin to sweat. Suddenly, through the pain, his head raises. His eyes begin to roll backward as the President and Molly brace themselves, uncertain as to what’s about to happen. The muscle’s in the man’s arm contract as his mouth opens, releasing a deep, ominous voice that isn’t his own.

  “I am Commander Karnitu.” The man, or whatever is controlling him, says slowly. “Your sacrifice has averted a disaster on your planet. The units of melanin received are plenty to assure the regeneration of our colonies.”

  The President is in awe, and stumbles through his next words. “The United States of America can be a powerful ally, Commander.”

  “With regards to your aligning forces, my kind holds trust above all else. You’ve sold your species into the abyss without determining a proper destination.”

  “It can look that way, but our African-American citizens took this sacrifice as a badge of honor, to service their country.”

  “We don’t value honor. The Akache honors strength and courage.”

  The surrogate’s heart begins beating furiously, visible to everyone through his tattered shirt.

  “Is he okay?” Molly asks to Doley, who begins to watch intently.

  “I lead your species beyond the galaxy. Once the melanin has been transmitted, there will be no further need for them.” The surrogate begins to shake and foam at the mouth in between words. “As stated in past transmissions, the B gene in their melanin powers our colonies, replenishes our crops, and strengthens our weaponry.” The voice deepens drastically. “Planets are evolutions of life that dictate standings in the galaxy. My tribe spent four of your earth’s centuries tracking resources. We are not willing to spend another four centuries compounding our efforts. Please provide a bid for all of your remaining melanin units!”

  The President removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, cautiously approaching the surrogate with a stone-cold expression on his face. “May we have a few days to convene over the details?” He states.

  The room falls silent. Everyone glares in anticipation of the response, of an end to this threat. “There’s only one thing I couldn’t say to that offer.” The voice states.

  Out of nowhere, the man breaks through the shackles as rays of light discharge from his eyes, sending beams outward. The President moves to shield Molly, as Doley smashes buttons on the console to end the transmission.

  Seconds later, as the surrogate’s body begins to flail uncontrollably, blood begins to seep from his ears, succeeded by an eruption of blood splitting from his temples, coating the room in brain matter and splatter. The man’s lifeless body falls to the floor.

  The President wipes a few drops of blood from his face, and sharply turns towards Doley.

  “Either way this goes, we are fucked.”

  Chapter Seventeen:

  The Obscure Object

  Slowly but surely, Caleb, Jaylen and Bree begin to wake up. Beneath them lays a metal floor, but not made of steel or iron; something they’ve never seen before. They do their best to move the tips of their fingers, as they fight to open their eyes further, noting the heaviness in their legs, as if something is holding them down. Jaylen begins to freak out.

  “This is weird, Cal. I can’t feel my legs bro. The gravity in here is ruthless.” He says, looking at Caleb sitting upright on the floor. Jaylen tries to stand and repeatedly stumbles to the floor. “Okay, there we go. Finally.”

  Jaylen rises, tracing Caleb’s gaze to the eerie sketches on the wall, draped in the dim light of the space. Caleb rises and stabilizes, and quickly moves to Bree’s side while Jaylen stands on the other. They assist her in standing up.

  “Thanks guys.” She sighs.

  “Yeah, you should be thanking us. It’s the least you could do after forcing us in
here.” Jaylen says with contempt.

  “You didn’t have to follow me, Jaylen.”

  “Guys, are we really doing this now?” Caleb asks.

  “Yes we are!” Bree and Jaylen say in unison.

  “Well don’t. There’s bigger things to worry about… this looks like the ship.” Caleb notices a particular design on the wall, forming into a semicircle. In the design, several elongated stick figures are floating above an object. “This is creepy. I think I’ve seen this before.”

  “How could you have seen this before? This is the first time we’re all seeing it.” Jaylen asks, putting his childish differences aside for a moment.

  Caleb walks closer towards the image. “In my dreams.” He looks from marking to marking, trying his best to decipher some sort of meaning behind them, but fails to do so. They vary in sizes; some intersect with one another, connecting them in a way.

  “So since you had the vision, where are we?” Bree asks, breaking his focus.

  “I don’t know, but those dreams never ended well.” Caleb says softly.

  “And what does that mean?” Jaylen shakes his head.

  “It means exactly what I said. I could tell you, but it’ll probably freak both of you out.”

  “Tell us.” Jaylen says. Caleb quickly presses his index finger to his mouth.

  “Shh,” he ushers. “Something’s coming. I can feel it…. Get behind me.”

  Caleb stands in front of his two lifelong friends, arms extended, standing his ground for come-what-may. He feels something bigger than himself as he feels the energy coming from behind the wall’s surface.

  Suddenly, the power from behind the wall intensifies. Caleb collapses to his knees, his body sliding around violently on the hard surface. Bree rushes over towards him, calming his body down.

  “Caleb are you okay? What are they?” She demands.

  Caleb scoots back, pressing his back against the wall. A few drops of blood begin to trickle from his nose. “I don’t know, but I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”