by Nat Kozinn
The soldier looks around to make sure we are alone before he answers. “Yeah, go ahead and act cocky. Pretend I wouldn’t have gotten away scot-free if it wasn’t for my leg.”
“That wasn’t part of the plan?”
“I was supposed to break the other one.”
“Seems like it all worked pretty well otherwise.”
“A thank you,” he says and takes a tiny bow. “Don’t be too hard on yourself Gavin; I’ve been setting you up for years, letting you think you could spot my transformations. I was saving my ‘A’ game.”
“You said you couldn’t change your hair.”
“I can’t, but they have this new invention called hair dye. The rest is all me, not a bad head of hair for fifty-five huh?” he says, ruffling his glorious mane.
“And the real Karen Grant is what, dead somewhere? Or was Nita nice enough to provide a Tranq Coma.”
“She’s in a beautiful land full of elves and fairies, because she lives in my imagination. I made her up, or Nita did when she made the fake documents. When you say you’re from the CIA, nobody asks many questions. And it’s a good thing too, when you were asking me about the chain of command and executive branch stuff, I thought I was going to blow my cover. I was trying to remember School House Rock. Did they ever put those on think.Net?”
“Nita must be persuasive. I never would have pegged you for joining her. How’d she do it? Talking about statistical likelihoods of future calamities isn’t exactly speaking your language.”
“Yes, but right and wrong are. Are you telling me you think it’s fair for a child to be taken from his family, tested and prodded to his breaking point for eight years, then released, with a lifetime debt hanging over his head, and no choice with what he does with his life? That he gets to live in a ghetto with his own kind, unless he happens to strike it incredibly rich? And all of this happens because of the way he was born. Another country did something like that and we fought a World War over it,” Larry says and throws his hands in the air.
“The Barracks were a lot nicer than any pictures I saw from Poland.”
“You’re being obtuse on purpose. I know you think it’s wrong. You didn’t want to be a fast food taste tester, that’s the reason you’re here now,” Larry says and pauses, letting my hypocrisy hang in the air.
“It is wrong that Differents don’t have the career and life choices that everyone else has. But you know what else is a wrong, people starving in the streets while there’s someone who can feed them. People dying from disease when there’s someone who can heal them. People freezing in the night when there is someone who can house them,” I say.
“I think that’s wrong too. But people need to understand what Differents do for them. If they want our help, it is time to stop punishing an entire race for what Cabot did.”
“Nita’s plan isn’t going to end the suffering; it’s going to exacerbate it. She’s going to make a move on the Manna Fields, and I’m guessing she has a plan to win. That means no more emergency relief trucks going to the Metro Areas which means everyone starves. What do you think desperate and starving people are going to do? Do you think they’ll act rationally and pass new Civil Rights legislation or do you think they’ll rain fiery nuclear Hell down on the Differents? Do you trust the suits in Washington to make the right choice?”
“I don’t want nuclear war either, that’s something we can agree on. Do you think Nita hasn’t logic-ed through the scenarios you can envision and thousands upon thousands more possibilities that you can’t even conceive? You don’t think she has a plan for the nuclear weapons? Hell she probably has a plan for how to deal with it if aliens show up on earth at the same time,” Larry says with a laugh.
“You’re putting an awful lot of faith in a 13-year-old girl.”
“I was a fan of history in school. And I’ll tell you what I learned, it’s written by the winners. And she’s going to win. Besides, it’s not all faith. Why do you think I sowed myself in to her inner circle? I’m keeping an eye on her Gavin.”
“Ohh yeah, you tricked me. I trust you again.”
“You’re an absolutist Gavin, there’s no doubt about that. You only see black and white. Me? All I see are shades of grey, and on my color chart, you and I aren’t really that far apart. We both want Differents to be treated better, and neither of us want people to starve or be blown up.”
“And General Gorvich just wanted a strong Unified Russia. That’s why San Francisco is a radioactive wasteland.”
“Well we hit the comparison to a mass murderer. That’s when arguing officially becomes pointless. Take care of yourself Gavin,” Larry says and starts to limp away.
I dash back in front of him.
“What makes you think you can go? You’re a criminal, I could have you arrested.”
“Yeah, but you won’t. Despite being very angry with me, you still trust me. Not in the traditional believe the words that come out of my mouth sense, but you trust that I’ll do what’s right. We both want to help people, Gavin. And you know I’d never hurt you.”
He’s right. He’s not my enemy. He might be working with Nita, and even helping her, but if push comes to shove, he’s a friend. A friend I’m angry with, a friend who betrayed my trust, but still a friend.
“So you got what you want and it’s time to disappear? I don’t understand why you had to involve me in this. Couldn’t you have found out about the Telepath scrambling thing without dragging me into the middle?”
“The Cognitive Wave Scrambler intel was just a bonus. Nita was the one who told me about its existence. I’m sure she already has a plan for it. That wasn’t the mission. You were the mission.”
“What, to try to get me to join her? She said she realized it was pointless to try to convince me. Or was it to kill me? Is that why she sent me after those Differents?”
“Neither. She’s not trying to recruit you anymore, and she’s got no reason to worry about you yet, unless you take the next step. She sent me to see if you had. The Differents were a test.”
“The next step? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You haven’t taken it, and it’s for the best. No matter how strong you get Gavin, Nita is still going to be smarter. Brains beat brawn every time. She has a plan for you, and no matter how unstoppable you think you are, she will still stop you.”
“Unstoppable? What the hell are you talking about? I just got my ass kicked by six Differents, that’s less than half of the entire gang. How am I supposed to get strong enough to take on an army?”
“I told you, you’re not. Stick to the advice Karen gave you. The best thing you can do to help is act as an intermediary between the Government and Nita. Maybe there’s still a chance we can negotiate a way out of this,” Larry says and starts to limp away again.
“What do you mean I can get stronger!?” I demand. “What was Nita scared I could do?”
“She told me I’d know it if I saw it, and I didn’t see it. She said the power is inside you already,” he says and points down at my belly.
“What is that, an after school special message? What does that mean?”
“It’s time for me to go Gavin,” Larry says and continues his limping.
Private Jackson comes running up, out of breath.
“Any luck?” he asks through huffs and puffs.
“Nope, it’s like she just disappeared,” I say.
Larry limps off into the sunset. And I let him go. I walk back to my hospital bed. I need a place to think.
#
The answer is inside me. What does that mean? Was it anything? Damn Larry for never being serious, now I don’t know if he was just being sarcastically inspirational, or that was some sort of clue. And what the hell could he mean by a next step? Does he mean growing The Beast’s fur and claws? I don’t think that’s going to make enough of a difference to turn the tides in a fight against hundreds of Differents.
The answer is inside me and he pointed. Not at my heart as an
inspirational message, or at my head, telling me I could figure it out, he pointed down at my guts. Was he pointing at my kidney? One of them isn’t mine; it came from Sarah the Regenerator who gave it to me to save my life after The Beast gutted me way back when.
I never thought about it, but even before I had The Beast’s hand grafted to my arm, I had tissue from another Different. Sarah. I’ve replaced most of the cells in her kidney. Regenerator’s tissue dies fast once it is outside the host’s body. People who rely on organ transplants from Regenerators, must undergo surgery every few months to replace the organs.
Most of the cells are gone, but the basic structure of the kidney, the “bones” of it, is made up of stoma cells which are more stable and permanent. If I dig, I can find cells that are hers, I can feel them for lack of a better concept. I might be able to extract some of the cells and maybe I can transform them.
That’s a big maybe there. When I learned about genetics in Section 26 General Education classes, I started wondering if I could ever control myself on that level. I had let that thought pass unexplored, but it was resuscitated when I was able to turn myself into a hybrid of The Beast. Could I do the same thing over again and turn myself into a Regenerator?
But what would be the point? Healing faster would be nice, but if I lose my strength and quickness, there won’t be any advantage. I’ll be harder to kill as a Regenerator, but much easier to stop. A simple pair of hand-cuffs would be enough to stymie me. The whole reason we picked The Beast as my tissue donor was because he combined the abilities of several kinds of Differents.
There must be more too it, Larry implied as much by calling it my next step. But next step to what? Is there some way to have both? Keep what I got from The Beast and add the ability to heal as fast as Sarah?
Sarah’s cells contain the genetic instructions that create the mechanisms that allow her cells to replicate at an extremely accelerated rate. All cells run on DNA based instructions. My cells know how to replicate, because their DNA tells them how. They know to be heart, liver on lung tissue because of their coding. Can I control those instructions? Can I give my cells orders on the fundamental level?
#
I almost died when I first Differentiated. It took me months to figure out how to squeeze basic functionality out of myself. In order to continue my recovery, I had to learn all I could about human bodily functions so that I could tell what the hell was going on inside me. I had to learn the innermost workings of the endocrine system, the pulmonary system, the digestive system, and more. Genetics were touched on, in those studies, but they were never the focus. I know about ACTG, but I don’t really know what any of that means.
Which is why I managed to give myself cancer for the 12th time in the last hour. The guess and check method of playing with genetics is messy business. It took millions of years for humans to evolve, I don’t know why I should expect quick results. Luckily, I have thousands more Sarah cells for my immune system to breakdown. Once they do, I have plenty of her DNA to play with and mix with my DNA, which is really The Beast’s.
It makes me wonder how my abilities work at all. It doesn’t make sense. The DNA inside my cells is his, not mine. Only my brain cells are still original Gavin. Yet somehow I’m able to control The Beast’s cells, just like I did my own. And now I’m trying to become a three ingredient dish. At what point do I stop being me? At what point do I lose my ability to control my cells?
I don’t know the answer, but I’m not going to let that stymie me. I’ll become a hundred people if that means stopping Nita.
I’m essentially trying to mate with myself. I separated The Beast’s DNA and Sarah’s DNA into their component chromosomes. Then I mix the deck, taking 23 pairs from each chunk of DNA, exactly what happens when a baby is made. Then I grow the new chain of DNA into a cell.
It’s working, kind of. The cells I’m making are cancerous messes, but lots of them are incredibly malignant cancers. That means they’re replicating at an accelerated rate, like a Regenerator. I might be taxing my immune system to its upper limits by having to take out so many threats, but at least it’s something resembling progress. The real problem is that there are thousands of possible combinations of chromosome pairs and I have no idea what any of them do. Whenever I healed, or grew new tissue before, I was just copying already existing cells. Even with The Beast, I had samples of his nerves, muscles, bone and skin. I’m like a seal that was trained to play horns, and now I’m trying to write my own music. Copying is a lot easier than making an original.
Luckily, I have nothing but time to experiment. All of the army personnel are leaving me alone. There’s no plan for what to do with me now that my “CIA” handler has disappeared. The only thing stopping me from unlimited attempts is the upper limits of my immune system. I can only destroy so much super-aggressive cancer at a time. That, and calories, I need calories. I’ve got ten Manna bars which should keep me fueled for awhile.
#
I throw the tenth Manna bar wrapper onto the ground. It isn’t going to be enough, I’ve already had to harvest some muscles cells to give me more raw materials for my new growths and I still need more. I suppose it’s for the best anyway, I am going to have to regrow all those muscles once I get what I need.
I do have a promising start. I’ve finally managed to create cells that are neither cancerous nor die instantly. Now I need to grow cultures big enough to test, like I’m working on petri dishes in a laboratory. I think I’ve made a cell that is dense and tough like The Beast’s cells but replicates as quickly as Sarah’s cells, but I need more calories to grow functional muscle. Then I can see what my new body can do. I think I know where I can get the food I need, but it won’t be easy.
10
My Chosen Sons may thank me for this gift by following my directives. When my Chosen Sons go forth and multiply, they give thanks to me. When they travel far and wide in order to join together in brotherhood, they give thanks to me. When they live in peace and harmony, they give thanks to me.
Chosen Sons: 41
>>>I have more to ask of you. The Forgotten Sons have harnessed the very miracles of the world I created through the false icon, technology, and they are using it to fight back against my Chosen Sons. Instead of taking this chance to see the light, the humans have redoubled their efforts to hold onto power for just a few moments longer. It is time to show them what Chosen Sons can do when they work together.
“Does that mean I’m going to meet some of my brothers?” The Beast asks the sky.
>>>For you, that would be paradise and you have yet to be redeemed. But your fellow Chosen Sons can help you, even if you cannot be with them. You have already been given a sword to smite my enemies. Now you will be given armor and a shield, to protect you from them. You will show them that one Chosen Son with help from a few of his own kind can destroy the creations of hundreds of Forgotten Son scientists, engineers, and laborers.
#
The armor itches. Must all the gifts from his fellow Chosen Sons cause such irritation? It has been months since The Beast wore any sort of clothing, and even then, he wore just an overcoat to hide his appearance. Loose fitting, and breathable. This ForteSilk is a miracle that is tougher than anything humans ever made, while still being pliable like fabric. But it is also tight fitting in order to keep bullets and shrapnel out, which The Beast supposes, he should not complain about.
He has no right to complain about anything at all. He is a sinner who has by all rights earned eternal damnation for taking the lives of three of his brothers. He should be grateful that the Lord has given him a chance for redemption, an oddly specific chance. The Lord implanted images of his targets in his mind. Three large trucks with what look like giant bowls on top of them. The Beast does not understand how such a contraption could pose a threat to God’s Chosen Sons, but somehow they are standing in the way of taking control of the Manna Fields.
Even if he does not understand the reason, The Beast feels blessed for a chance
to help his brothers take back what is rightfully theirs. The Fields are the Forgotten Sons most prominent affront to God’s wishes. Chosen Sons work as virtual slaves, growing, harvesting, and transporting endless fields of crops to feed an ungrateful nation.
The Lord has given The Beast the tools right the injustice. A knife that can cleave even their most fortified war machines, ForteSilk armor to protect him from their bullets, and a shield made from Maceo Steel which will stop all but the most powerful explosives.
Although The Beast wishes to punish all of the Forgotten Sons, the Lord ordered him to use discretion. There are members of his own race at the compound. They could be killed if all out fighting erupts. The Beast must simply do his part and the Lord promises his brothers and sisters will do the rest.
That is why he approaches the Fields in the dead of the night. Thankfully, the Lord blessed him with the ability to see clearly even in darkness. Still, he must move slowly and carefully like he used to back in the Los Angeles Metro Area, where he needed to hunt while remaining hidden from sight.
The Manna Fields are lit up like the Fourth of July. The Beast can make out dozens of large spotlights and even more tiny flashlights from soldiers on patrol. His three targets stands out like bright stars in the night sky, the giant truck-mounted dishes are easily visible amongst the rows of corn, apple trees, and countless other crops.
Those crops will provide the cover he needs. The soldiers are on the lookout for an army of Chosen Sons, not a single God warrior. The Beast watches a patrol make its rounds; the soldiers are not even bothering to look where their flashlights point. The Beast is able to approach the first truck without raising the alarm. He waits until the patrol is out of sight, then he moves to destroy the machine that offends the Lord.
He sticks out the Maceo Steel knife on the end of his hand and charges, leaping into the air. He drops the tip of the knife down, slicing the dish and tower in half. He takes several more huge swipes, utterly destroying the vehicle and the mounted dish. Screams erupt from the soldiers inside, but a few more swipes silence them.