Age of Power 1: Legacy

by Jon Davis

  Hopefully the interviews would be quick, and afterward, we could go do something about figuring out this talent. Taking a seat in one of a row of cherry wood-framed, cushioned chairs, I relaxed. Left alone, I watched people in the room.

  Not much occurred, except that every so often, the well-dressed receptionist would answer a phone or talk with someone. Others would enter or exit offices in the two halls beyond the reception desk. I noticed someone moving in a large side office but didn’t pay much attention.

  I found myself relaxing. The place helped a person relax with neutral blues and light gray floors and stained cherry wood frames around the windows. After the last few days, I needed the relaxing surroundings.

  Someone in the side office was gesturing emphatically with his arms. Blinds covered most of the windows, but a couple were partially open, so I could see the drama going on every so often as whoever was in there walked in and out of sight. Someone was having a big argument in there.

  With a cynical snort, I guessed to myself that it was over some silly algorithm or dropped test tube that ruined an experiment. Then I caught myself. With all the questions going on lately and all the testing I went through last January, I guess I wasn’t feeling too charitable towards scientists.

  I closed my eyes and relaxed a bit more. But then a thought came to me. Until now, I’d been just reacting to events with this power of mine. Even when I had followed that thumping noise, it was because my hearing had gotten out of control. Glancing around the office, I decided I should see if I could do something without having to be in a situation where I was about to die.

  So relaxing back in the chair as much as I could, I let myself go unfocused. I noticed that Erick Ryan got up from his desk, and he was arguing with the other scientist. Ryan was wearing a maroon sweater, but the other man was wearing a white lab coat. From that, I figured him to be a scientist, but he looked relatively young, with black hair pulled back tightly in a ponytail, and a chin beard. He had a Russian accent. Ah, kicked in already, had it? I took advantage of my hearing and listened.

  “Erick! Look at the results again! I tell you, they are right! Something has happened!”

  Ryan said, “Alexi, calm down. This has to be a mistake’”

  “Erick, I’m telling you that the data is correct! I’m not insane!” Alexi said.

  Ryan yelled back, matching the younger scientist’s attitude as he said, “Alexi, it’s not possible. You have to rerun those tests, that’s all there is to it. For something like that to happen is impossible. Magnesium simply can’t exist like this in a human cell, not as a part of the coating! Your results have to be wrong!”

  I realized that if they kept that up, I wouldn’t need enhanced hearing to listen to them. Everyone would hear them soon enough. But things calmed down as Ryan answered Alexi. I watched as they went to a computer screen, looking at something on the screen. Then I looked away before someone noticed that I was staring at Ryan’s office.

  Inside the office, Alexi said, “Look! The cell coating has it as part of the infrastructure. See, here it is—magnesium! It’s intermixed with the carbon, oxygen, and nitrogen atoms in such a way that it’s created a sort of sandwiched chain effect around the cell! And as for the DNA, I’m seeing excessive magnesium ions in both the adenine and the cytosine bonds!”

  I shook my head. Huh? I really needed to get into science. That went way over my head. Then Ryan said, “Look at that superstructure! Even the uracil in the RNA is showing the same excess. That’s not possible. That kind of reaction would burn in the first moment that the oxygen and hydrogen connected. Everything you’ve just shown me is out-and-out impossible! I’m sorry, Alexi. You have to rerun the tests. This is…well, it’s wrong. That’s all there is to it.”

  My eyes widened. It clicked in my brain that this had to do with me somehow. I was taking magnesium daily. It was a part of my diet now. Dr. Kirksten had said I was taking almost double the amount normally required. Now I was beginning to wonder if that’s what these guys were referring to. Our cells had changed. The idea that I might be unstable—cell-wise—bothered me. But Alexi’s voice drew me back into the conversation.

  Alexi said, “No it’s not, Erick! That’s what I’m trying to tell you! The results are right there! I am certain of it! Look, I went over the results three times. I found something that might explain the differences. There is an intron attached to the mTc24.305 gene. I found it in the body of every victim tested! I am absolutely certain that intron is what became active on the Day!”

  My eyes widened. They had bodies here. Whose? And what was this about an ‘intron?’

  “Mr. Hagen? I’m Agent Dobrowski.” I jumped in the chair, startled by the voice. I looked to my left and saw someone standing right next to me, looking down expectantly. I growled to myself to stop focusing so narrowly. If I kept this up, I’d get myself killed one of these days.

  Getting to my feet, I said, “Ah, sorry, I got lost in thought. Ready for me?” I noticed that I came up to his chest. The agent was a big bruiser type, an African-American man who looked ready to pull a gun and shoot me as soon as help me. Then he smiled and I relaxed a small bit.

  He gestured toward the hallway on the other side of reception. He said, “Not quite, Mr. Hagen. Ms. Sinclair isn’t finished yet, but we do have a room you can wait in.”

  I nodded, and we went down the hall to the first open door. Dobrowski closed the door. Inside, a table and two chairs were set up. I was the only person there, so I sat, I waited, and I listened. In spite of the walls, I still heard what they were saying. I heard Ryan speaking. I’d missed something, but what I heard was disturbing.

  Ryan said, “You’re telling me that if they’d been stable, they would have lived? But they weren’t! They died! Obviously, from this crazy configuration, the magnesium turned toxic to everyone who died and are in the basement freezers!”

  Alexi continued. “No! Not all of them. And those who died most likely did so from the lack of magnesium in the cells, not from the changes to their structure! I’m certain that is true from the large number of samples I have tested! And the blood samples from those two in the town, Hagen and Houseman, they were definitely stable!”

  My hearing started reaching a limit of some sort. I was getting a headache as the words began fading. Still, I heard Ryan mutter something about ‘magnesium based DNA,’ and then he said, “Well, I don’t know if we can get more. The labs said there was an accident and that the rest of the samples were lost. I called Kular, but she’s been in consultation all day with someone. And besides, did you hear about the Houseman boy dying? It’s likely that it came from that. He overheated from his own body overreacting from the magnesium and that, in turn, caused the aneurysm. The only donor we have now is Vaughn Hagen. Do you want to go ask him? Be my guest! But if he’s got that same genetic damage, he’s probably going to die, too!”

  I blinked. Die? What? But…no! I…

  Just then, two more FBI agents interrupted my rising fears as they came in and introduced themselves. Pace was the taller of the two who wore polarized blue glasses, and Rachman was the shorter one, a completely bald guy with green eyes. They got down to business, though, and I answered all their questions. As calmly as I could manage, I told them that I’d heard a thundering sound before the first car exploded. I didn’t tell them that it had started as footfalls on pavement. I still wasn’t sure what that meant, except that it made me suspect another superhuman.

  Overall, they were very friendly, and once they finished, they smiled, thanked me, and started out the door. Then Pace turned and said that someone would be in to escort me out. I took it in stride, and once the door closed, I listened for any more information from Ryan and his friend in the big office. I wasn’t happy with what Ryan had said before about dying.

  If there was something that badly wrong with me, why wasn’t I dead yet? Or was Brand just the first one to…I pushed that horrible thought from my mind. I had to get out of there and tell Dana. I jus
t hoped she’d be able to help me figure things out. I started to stand just as the door opened. Expecting an FBI agent, I was surprised when Dane Eisenhawk came in.

  He said, “Hello, Vaughn. I’m sorry to bother you. But I had more questions, which I was hoping you could answer.”

  I just looked at the persistent son of a bitch. I said, “Of course you do.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As Eisenhawk sat down, I said, "You know, if I looked up the word ‘obsession’ in the dictionary, your face would be right there underneath, wouldn't it?"

  Eisenhawk raised a brow and gave me a thin-lipped smile. "Mr. Hagen, with all due respect, I am trying to do my job to best of my ability. Now, if you would just answer a few questions, I'm sure we can expedite an end to your time here."

  Coldly, I said, "Mr. Eisenhawk, the FBI told me this was an interview about the attack on my hometown.”

  Sitting in the chair across from me, Eisenhawk seemed to ignore my outburst and my question as he put his valise down and opened it.

  As he rummaged through it, he said, "I am assisting the FBI and the police in this matter, Mr. Hagen. But this has more to do with information that has recently come to light in the past twenty-four hours."

  I narrowed my eyes as I said, “If this is about Alex Shaw again...sir…"

  See? I can be polite. I didn't call him names. Granted, I said it with a sharp tone to my voice.

  But he ignored that and said, "Actually, thanks to Brian Shaw's recent revelations, I am no longer concerned about Alex Shaw. I’m quite aware of his background. As far as I’m concerned, all the questions concerning his past have been answered."

  I shook my head and sighed. "That's just wonderful. Maybe someday you can publish a book. Now, if there's nothing else—"

  "Empowered," he said, interrupting me.

  I gave him a look. "What? Okay…and that means…?"

  Eisenhawk said, "I was hoping you would know. It's a word that’s been mentioned in some of the Internet's virtual chat rooms for the past month or so. The blogosphere has repeatedly brought it up, as well. And it's not about emotional or spiritual empowerment, as the terminology is normally applied. It's been on Twitter, Facebook—"

  “Failbook, maybe,” I quipped, referring to the web site that featured screenshots of status updates that people found to be funny. He must have gotten the reference because for the first time since we met, he smiled.

  Still, his voice was dead serious when he said, "Are you aware of that word being used in the past few weeks by anyone, Mr. Hagen?"

  He kept saying my name like that, and every time he did, I wanted to look around to see if my dad was behind me. His polite attitude was throwing me off, especially since before now, he'd been a total jackass towards me. He had been smarmy, arrogant, and dismissive in response to the answers I’d given him during the hospital interview.

  I wanted to give it back to him, but I stayed polite and said, "But I haven't had a chance to get online very much for quite a while now. You may have heard that I had quite a lot of people interviewing me. It kept me from having much time site surfing. So I don't know anything about Empowered. Sorry, I can't help you. So can I go now?"

  I started to leave.

  He said, "One moment please. I ask this, because I have a hunch this is connected to the bombing, and to Alex Shaw."

  I looked back at him, half-standing. I said, "Okay, how?"

  He said, "I suspect it's either a codeword or the name of the group involved in the bombings."

  I said, "So this is still about Alex. Why tell me, though?"

  Eisenhawk rubbed at the soul patch on his chin, for a moment. Then, he said, "Yes, you and Dana may have been correct, about their being a connection to Alex and the bombings. I'd like you to show you something."

  Eisenhawk took a folder from the valise and opened it to show me a fuzzy looking picture of a dark-haired woman with an olive complexion. She had deep black eyes and a tight look to her expression.

  The woman was with three other men surrounding her. They were all wearing various types of desert style clothing, light in color and airy. Beyond them, was a sandstone wall, but nothing gave detail to tell me where they were, precisely. The woman looked tense when someone took the picture. She was angry about something.

  Whatever was going on, she didn't enjoy what the men were telling her. The man speaking with her was gesturing almost violently. His back was to the camera, so I couldn’t see who he was. I noticed though, that the others in the group were looking at him with as much anger as the woman was. The man wasn’t too popular.

  Huhn, for all its fuzziness, it had good detail, for a photo taken at a distance and computer enhanced; it told me some things about what was going on. I just didn't know what the problem was, in the scene, to make a connection with anything important to me.

  Glancing at Eisenhawk I said, "Nice looking lady. Is she supposed to mean something to me?"

  Tapping the picture he said, "Her name is Yasmine. She's been showing up in surveillance pictures since early February. I can't tell you much, but I can tell you the men she's been meeting are the type you wouldn't want in our country."

  I stared at him.

  It took me a couple tries to speak up then I said, "You mean like the ones who blew up Main Street? You're seriously asking me about it, why?"

  Eisenhawk sighed, "I'm asking if you saw her at any point, prior to the bombing. You seem to have a connection to all this. The public, as a friend of Alex Shaw, knows you. And while your reputation might not be the best, it does bring up the possibility that someone may want to recruit you to her cause.

  "Gods, no way, man! Are you kidding me?" I yelled in shock.

  I was getting tired of the cloak and dagger stuff. He was in a high government position, yet he was acting like a Game Master in a role-playing game, acting all mysterious about a secret dungeon! I was beginning to expect someone to show up with dice and a homemade map of some underground lair to raid.

  Eisenhawk made a gesture to calm Dobrowski as the agent looked in. Eisenhawk glanced over at him and shook his head to keep him from coming in. The big FBI agent closed the door, and the scientist looked back to me. I tried to calm down; being freaked out wasn’t going to solve any problems. But seriously, had he really thought I could be a potential terrorist?

  He said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Hagen. But it's possible that she was behind the car bombings. I shouldn't be telling you this, but I feel you should know that you might be a target. I’m certain she is one of the Empowered."

  I said, "Then arrest her! If she's some crazed cult leader, then take her out before she causes more deaths!"

  Eisenhawk leaned forward with his elbows on the table. The picture sat between us as he watched me with tense looking eyes. I just stared back at him, and then at the picture.

  Finally, he said, "This situation concerns more than just Alex, Mr. Hagen. And while I’m certain Dana is not in danger, many consider her a good friend of the Avatar, after all. You, on the other hand, do have a rather hard—if undeserved—reputation as a betrayer towards the public's belief about the Avatar."

  I sighed. "Fine, look for these idiots, arrest them. Then I'm sure I'll feel safe, with just the Avatar nuts in town. Is there anything else?"

  Eisenhawk looked at me and sighed. "You don't understand, Vaughn. This isn't about Alex or people’s belief about him as the Avatar. Nor is this about the existence of some cult. Vaughn, these people believe that they have supernormal abilities."

  I froze and stared at him. Lies, truth, prevarications. I wasn’t sure what I should say. If I told him… But if he knew something, and I didn't tell him… Crap. I pushed down the panic and did the only thing that made sense.

  I laughed in his face.

  Then I said, "You're delusional! Or they are!"

  He winced, but merely said, "I assure you, we’re quite aware that superhuman beings do not—and cannot—exist in real life. We have heard the rumors about the appearance
s of enhanced beings since the rise of the Avatar. But, contrary to public opinions, the appearance of the Avatar was one-time event.”

  I blinked. Had I just heard a jump in his heartbeat? Had he just lied to me? I met his eyes and said, “Or that's the story you’re telling people.”

  He flinched, and there was a moment of dead air between us. Eisenhawk gave me a flat look as he closed the folder and put it away. He didn't bring out anything else, but before he could say anything more, I decided to push a little.

  I said, "You know what? I think you want the Empowered to be real. That way, you can use them as a resource. I mean, after all, if there is one thing Alex confirmed, it's that psychic powers are real.”

  I was glad Dana wasn’t there. She'd hit the ceiling if she heard me saying this. But I really needed to see this guy's reaction. I had good judgment if people’s body language. And the funny thing was I got to him. I knew I had. His eyes had narrowed, he had tensed, and I could hear his heartbeat beating far faster than normal for a few seconds before he got it under control.

  Eisenhawk said, "The government isn't in the habit of using people like resources, Vaughn. I believe you’ve gotten this idea that the government is the bad guy from television shows and Internet conspiracy nuts."

  He had a point. But before I could say anything about it, he held up his hand and said, "As for the reality of psychic abilities, I'm sorry, Vaughn, but the Avatar was a one time event.”

  “Alex Shaw, out of seven billion people, is the only person in history to have documented superhuman abilities. If such abilities existed in scores of people, don't you think they would have appeared on the Day? But it was just Alex Shaw."

  Closing the valise, he continued, "Do such abilities exist? Clearly, they do. But even the most liberal of neurologists put such talents as ESP and telekinesis into the category of being chance events, perhaps once in a lifetime flash that never happens again."