“I don’t understand. Wouldn’t they just be super-duper smart or super-duper strong or whatever?”
Granny shook her head. “No, it doesn’t work that way. We need that normal or not-gifted gene for balance. When people have the Gifted gene, there’s a strong pull toward that Gift; we want to think about science all the time, or be writing all the time, or…” She motioned toward Angel and added, “Working on our physique all the time. The normal gene pulls us back in the other direction, reminds us to be human, to interact with others, to eat and sleep and laugh and play. But when someone has two copies of the gene, there’s a constant struggle. A battle for control…mental control.”
Granny’s description of the Gifted Two mentality helped Joe regain his focus. “Yes, that’s what we’ve found. Those with two copies of the gene are obsessive, unbalanced, often, quite destructive. For example, are you familiar with Vincent Van Gogh?”
“Wait, the crazy artist who sliced off his ear?” Ellie’s eyes were wide. “He was a Gifted gene person? No way!”
Granny responded, “Now, Ellie, we can’t be sure. He lived a long time ago, and there were no genetic tests back then, but…yes, I think he was, based on a line that I’ve traced through some illegitimate children that were probably his.”
“Whoa. How cool is that? So like, how many other famous people were Gifted Ones? Like basketball players and singers and writers? What about Justin Fever, and…and J.R. Bowling? Are they Gifted? Are we all, like, related?”
“El, sweetheart,” Grace drew the girl’s attention. “You’re getting off topic. We can talk about all that later. Your Uncle Joe is trying to make an important point.”
Joe couldn’t help but grin. For someone who didn’t carry the gene, Grace certainly had a gift for human insight. She’d always had it, but it seemed that time had only sharpened her intellect and sensitivity. A flood of regret for the many years they had not spoken suddenly washed over him.
“Oh, uh, sorry, Uncle Joe. Go ahead.”
“Right. So as I was saying, Van Gogh was an incredibly talented artist, but he was also nuts. He suffered from hallucinations, delusions, and psychotic episodes. He’s known for the ear incident, but he’s also believed to have died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Now, as Granny said, we can’t be sure he was a Two, but we’ve seen similar things happen with people who have the double gene. With the artsy types, it seems to be hallucinations and schizophrenic behavior. The Leaders, Healers, and Scholars tend toward superiority complexes and narcissism. At the deep end of the pool, we’re talking Hitler and Jim Jones and Charlie Manson.”
Ellie said quietly, “Oh, I see.”
Then Angel piped up, “And don’t forget the Defenders.”
“Mm, yes, Defenders, they’re a special kind of trouble,” Granny admitted.
Ellie wrinkled her forehead, “Why? What happens with the Defenders?”
Angel chimed in again, “It’s a control thing, as in controlling aggression. We’re naturally competitive, we love to fight, and we damn sure want to win. It’s a struggle for all the Defenders to learn to subdue, but not destroy their opponents. In addition to physical training, I spend hours every week doing yoga, tai chi, and meditation. I’m the most Zen Defender there ever was.”
Granny smiled proudly. “Angel is our shining example. She’s proof that any Gifted person can successfully master their skill without letting it control them. Many Twos eventually lose the battle with themselves.” She looked up in her head a moment, then finished the thought, “They end up like Van Gogh. We try to keep that from happening, but not everyone wants our help.”
Granny reached over then and took the eraser from Joe. She replaced another one of the parent’s small Gs with a capital, creating a double-gene parent in the diagram. “But that’s not the biggest problem with the Gifted Twos.” She changed the results in the make-up of the children, replacing more of the lower-case Gs with upper-case, then explained, “Because the gene is dominant, all of the children from a double-gene parent will be Gifted, even if his partner is non-gifted. And if his partner is a Gifted One, they will likely have double-gene children. And if two Twos get together, all of their children are Twos.”
Ellie raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying if two of these megalomaniacs decide to make babies, they’re going to create a whole little army of megalomaniacs?”
Granny tipped her head to the side. “Yes, that’s a rather concise synopsis of the issue.” She looked directly at Ellie. “I knew you were a bright girl. And I’m sure you see now why we find it so important to try to track down all the Gifted people, and at least keep an eye on them.”
Ellie’s response was quizzical, “Wait, what do you do exactly? I mean, say there are two Gifted people who fall in love and want to get married and have kids. Do you tell them they can’t?”
The room was quiet again. Grace raised a hand to her forehead, as though she was very tired or maybe had a headache. Granny pressed her lips together and appeared to be contemplating an answer. Angel just looked uncomfortable.
Joe put on his brave face and answered the question, “We can’t tell anyone who they can marry and have children with, Ellie. We don’t have any authority over anyone, nor would we want that. We’re just here to make people aware of their own biological make-up and how it could affect their future. We try to help people and encourage them and offer them opportunities to make their lives better, but sometimes, there are unintended consequences to even the best of intentions.”
Grace dropped her hand back into her lap and locked her eyes on his for a long minute. Then they both looked away.
Chapter Six: Scheming
“Three more are dead, sir.”
“Dammit! Are you sure?” Dr. Ian Spengler blustered, angrily tossing papers aside and causing his young assistant to cringe as though expecting to be struck for being the bearer of bad news.
“Yes, sir, quite sure. I checked; they’ve been dead for hours.”
The older man ran a hand through his unruly white locks. “We were so close…now this.” He plunged his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, then paced a few steps to the right, away from his assistant. He turned back around, feeling the beads of sweat forming on his brow. “They’re going to be here any minute to make their report to the senator. If we can’t come up with—”
“Dr. Spengler, your guests have arrived.”
The two men turned toward the sound of the receptionist’s voice to see her holding the door ajar. Before either of them could say anything, a tall, solidly-built man strode into the room. He was fit, well-dressed, and carried himself with confidence. His stern face, nearly bald head, and prominent cheekbones did nothing to soften the look. Behind him, a much younger man followed, and though lacking the commanding manner of the first, still managed to infuse the room with a discomfiting arrogance.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Spengler.” The large man looked expectantly in their direction, tacitly expressing disapproval for the less-than-pristine state of the lab. “I trust you are ready for us?”
Spengler straightened up, smoothed his lab coat, and extended his hand. He pasted on a smile and tried to appear unruffled. “Dr. Orucov, how nice to see you again. And this handsome young man must be your son.”
Archer gave him a brief nod and motioned between the two as introduction. “Aiden, Dr. Ian Spengler.” He continued, speaking over their handshake, “Aiden has a real interest in biological energy sources, Doctor.”
Spengler shifted his focus to the young man. “Really? Well, you’ve come to the right place, son. Perhaps you’d like to have my assistant—”
Archer cut him off, “No time for that. I want to see the ponds.”
Spengler flashed a look at his assistant. What had he done with the dead animals? Were they cleaned up? They couldn’t afford to have anyone poking around the ponds and discovering decaying carcasses. “Oh, you don’t want to go out there. I’ve got all my samples right here. With all the rain last week
, it’s so muddy—”
“It’s this way, isn’t it?” Archer was already heading to the door that led to the fields.
Spengler gave his assistant a shove in that direction. Maybe if he got out there first, he’d be able to hide the bodies.
As they emerged into the sunlight, Dr. Spengler herded the two Orucovs toward some vertical tanks where new strains of algae were being developed, while his assistant hurried off in the other direction. Spengler began a lengthy explanation of how the new species varied from those they’d been growing for the last several years, but Archer was impatient. “Dr. Spengler, please. You know what we came here to see. Senator Stanhope is not a scientist. He doesn’t care about life cycles and recombinant DNA. He wants to replace dying industries with cutting-edge technology. He wants to bring jobs and security to his constituents. He wants to restore an economy. Now let’s see what you have for him!”
Spengler nodded dutifully and opened his hand, inviting the father and son to proceed him in the direction that his assistant had gone. The three men walked along a path of crushed stones that wound around and between several large algae-covered ponds. As they walked, Spengler pointed out the differences in algal varieties and explained the potential benefits of each for transformation into usable fuels. Aiden, who appeared very knowledgeable on the topic, asked a number of relevant, provocative questions. Spengler found himself increasingly at ease, as the visit seemed to be focusing on the positive aspects of his research—specifically, the enormous profit potential for inexpensive, home-grown fuels that would thrive in the American Midwest.
Just as they were nearing the end of the tour, however, Archer stumbled in the stones. Aiden and Spengler, who were in front of him, stopped, and looked back. As Archer recovered his balance, his attention shifted to the long grass on the other side of the path. “Wait. What is this?” Archer picked up a stick and used it to bend back a section of the grass. He beckoned to the other two.
Spengler felt his heart drop into his stomach as he approached. In the opening that Archer had created in the grass, there were a couple of baby bunnies who’d been hidden from view. They would’ve been adorable little creatures were it not for the fact that they were stone cold dead with wide-eyed stares. A feeling of queasiness rose in his throat.
Archer read the expression on his face. “How many of these have you seen, Doctor?”
Spengler dropped his shoulders. “Enough.”
“Only rabbits?”
Spengler shook his head. “Birds, squirrels, even a cat. The amphibians don’t seem to be affected.”
“Not this generation, anyway,” Aiden remarked with a tinge of sarcasm.
Spengler struggled to keep the desperation out of his voice, “Please, Dr. Orucov, give me some time. I’m sure I can figure out what’s happening. It’s probably just one strain, one of the new ones. We weren’t seeing this in our earlier experiments.” He shifted his weight uneasily. “We’ve come so far. The oil production from these new strains is phenomenal. If you could just see—”
Archer raised a hand to silence him. “Calm down, Doctor. No one’s pulling the plug on your research. It’s still better than anything any of our competitors have come up with. We need results, not perfection. If you can produce the fuel, I’ll take care of the fallout. Just keep your mouth shut about what goes on in this facility, and we’ll all be fine.”
“But the senator…his people…”
Archer narrowed his eyes. “You let me worry about the senator. Now get back in there and start planning your next experiment.” Archer waved him off dismissively, then motioned for Aiden to follow him back around the building and out to the parking lot.
Once there, Archer snapped his fingers to get their driver’s attention. He brought the car to them, and after they’d settled into the rear seat, Aiden finally said what was on his mind, “So, Arch, I don’t get it. The guy screwed up. Those ponds are no use if they’re toxic. That’s exactly what all the greenies are freaking out about. You can’t sell this project to the senator if someone’s tossing pictures of dead birds and bunnies in his face. Why didn’t you rip him a new one?”
Archer pursed his lips and threw a sidelong glance at the boy. Then he pushed the button to raise the screen that separated the front of the car from the rear section before speaking, “Aiden, really. I know it’s just the two of us, but that’s no reason to be crass. If you talk like that with me, you’ll talk that way with anyone. A true leader leads by example.”
“Uh, sorry. What I meant was—”
“I know what you meant. You are wondering why I didn’t drown Dr. Spengler in that pool of toxic sludge for attempting to hide his horrendous results from me.”
“Well, yeah. That’s what I meant.”
Archer raised his index finger as he spoke, “This is what you need to learn, Aiden, and I intend to teach it to you. I have had to learn many things the hard way, through painful life events. You will have the benefit of my experience.” He settled back into the seat and continued, “Dr. Spengler is a very bright scientist, one of our best, but he is no Communicator, no Persuader—clearly, and certainly not a Leader, like you will be someday. We use him for what he can do for us and nothing more. ‘Ripping him a new one’, as you so inelegantly put it, would serve no purpose. If he is terrified that he will be discharged and his work discontinued, he will lie and try to cover up when things go wrong, as he did today. Instead, we want his honesty and his loyalty. We want him to believe we are on his side.” Archer looked up in his head a moment, then back at Aiden, “To put it bluntly, you catch more flies with honey, my boy.”
A little grin spread across Aiden’s face then. “Okay, I get it. It’s really no different than with the girl, right? You told me I would gain her trust by being flirtatious and flattering. And it worked.” The grin turned into a wide smile. “Like a charm.”
Archer laughed then. “Indeed it did. You are a quick study, Aiden.” Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a phone. “Now, shall we call the senator together? I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear about how quickly his state can be profiting from these wonderfully green biological fuels.”
# # #
Whoever called those things mountains had obviously never been to Colorado. Big hills was more like it. Grace drummed her fingers on the side of a large, empty coffee mug as she stared out the picture window in the farmhouse kitchen. The mountains of North Carolina were certainly pretty, especially in the spring, when they were brimming with vibrant green and patches of colorful flowers, but having spent several years in the Rockies when she was in vet school—and much of that outside—she didn’t see how anyone could mistake those little green bumps for mountains. Still, with an early morning mist twisting in and out their valleys, and a pinkish sky their backdrop, those little bumps were kicking remnant thoughts of the busy streets of Atlanta from her mind.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
The sudden sound and the more sudden nearness of an earthy, masculine presence startled Grace into almost dropping her mug. “Doo! I-I didn’t hear you come in.” She pretended not to notice the bare chest peeking out from under a shirt he hadn’t bothered buttoning yet.
“Well, I’m sorry, Miss Grace. I guess I am right quiet without my boots.” He lifted one bare foot from the old pine floor. “I’ve learned to move around silently when I need to. The horses and the chickens don’t mind so much, but the cows are very sensitive to noise when they’re grazing.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Really?” She took a moment to assess whether he was joking with her. Nope. He was dead-on serious.
Doo reached up into the cupboard and pulled out a coffee mug for himself. “Oh, yeah, you should see ’em when Joe or whoever brings the plane in. They get all put out with me. Specially those Belties, like Gilda.”
Grace raised both eyebrows then and opened her mouth to form a question, but couldn’t quite figure out how or what she wanted to ask. Good thing, because he continued on as
though she was one hundred percent with him.
He nodded toward her empty coffee mug. “Already had your coffee, or just about to pour?”
“Well, to be honest, I couldn’t find the coffee. Or the coffee maker. You do have one here, don’t you?” She waved her hand in the general direction of the kitchen counters and cabinets, which were a charming blend of mid-century styles, but with a complete lack of modern conveniences.
“Oh, sure. It’s just Granny likes the old country look of this place, so we keep the gadgets out of sight.” He stepped back to one of the counters and beckoned her to follow. “Coffee maker’s in here.” He opened an upper cabinet door to reveal a narrow metallic and glass box. He took her mug from her and set it beneath the box, then asked, “So what’s your poison? Latte, cappuccino, machiatto…”
“That little machine can do all that?”
Doo patted the side of the machine. “That, and a lot more.” He shook his head, “Spencer—one of those little brainiac kids—built it. Man, that kid comes up with some amazing stuff. If you can dream it, he can do it.”
Grace shook her head. “I haven’t met him. Heard about him, but that’s it. I didn’t think he was that old.”
“He’s not. Twelve or thirteen, I think. Just a flippin’ genius, that one.” Doo made a face, “Not a lot of common sense and ’bout as graceful as a buffalo, but he’s great to have around when you find yourself in need of an automatic chicken feeder or an ultrasonic dishwasher that won’t break fine china.” He pointed to a lower cabinet on the other side of the room.
“Handy, but can this thing make a cup of good old-fashioned black coffee, strong?”
Doo laughed, “Sure.” He faced the machine and spoke to it, in a troubled Spanish accent, “Café, Colombino suprema, oscuro, sin crema.” And before she could ask, he explained, “There’s a little glitch in the language module. Spence is still working on that.”
The Gifted Ones: A Reader Page 8