Chosen Different_Book 1

by Nat Kozinn

  "Yeah, of course I can hear you. Why?" I ask. What’s with all the questions about my hearing?

  "You're not reading my thoughts or something? You can really hear?"

  "I can hear."

  "Sorry, I just figured if I ever got a roommate, he'd have to be deaf. They did their best to insulate the sound, but it still gets pretty loud down here."

  "Sound?"

  "Didn't they tell you who I am? Of course not, that lady at the desk is evil. I’m the Metro Area's alarm clock,” Nick proclaims.

  He raises his hand up to his face, giving me my first good look at his tattoo. Nicholas Werden: Sound Producer: BETA. Beta means he's powerful. His Differentiation makes him a threat. It also means he probably makes a lot more than me.

  "I'm a Screamer. Three times a day I go up on the roof and scream loud enough for the entire Metro Area to hear. Seven a.m. wake up, noon lunch, and seven p.m. quitting time. The city runs by my voice," He seems pretty proud of that.

  "That's cool. What do you do the rest of the time?" I ask.

  "Relax... or do ads. I make emergency alerts, too. What's your Differentiation?"

  "Anthropomorphic Control."

  "In non-government speak please."

  "I can control all aspects of my body consciously. I can make myself heal, or make my hair grow, or protect my ears from loud sounds. I think that's why we're roomies," I explain.

  "Lucky me. I'll have to clean out your room. I never thought they'd find someone. There's stuff all over the place."

  "Thanks. You mind if I take a shower myself? I've never had a private shower."

  In our apartment growing up, we had a communal shower that everyone in the building shared. In Section 26, all the guys on my floor had to share the same shower.

  "Your room's on the left. And you have your own bathroom."

  I walk into my new room and turn the WormLight on, but nothing happens. I look into the light, and the Manna cube is all eaten up.

  "Hey Nick, do you have any Manna for the light I could borrow?"

  "Uh, that thing burned out like two years ago. The worms are dead for sure. You'll have to buy a new one."

  They aren't worms. They’re actually strands of bacteria produced by a Different. Those strands generate light, as long as you keep them fed, but I keep that fact to myself. No one likes a know-it-all.

  Good thing I can adjust my eyes to the dark. I dilate my pupils, which intensifies the low ambient light and lets me see the room. There are a few dirty clothes and empty boxes on the floor. It's a bunch of stuff Nick didn't feel like dealing with. Looks like he's lazy. Everyone loves a lazy roommate.

  I drop my pack on the floor and make my way to the bathroom, which is also a mess. I see specs of vomit on the rim of the toilet. Nick might be partier, another highly desirable trait. I open the door to the shower, which is relatively clean, and realize that there are two knobs. Hot water! There is hot water! I haven't had hot water since I was eight and we stayed in a hotel on our trip to the Miami Metro Area to see my uncle.

  "Hot water. I can't believe it," I yell to Nick.

  "You know it. The Heater lives a couple floors down, he’s a cool guy. You're not living in the Section 26 dorms anymore. We've got our own Hoover too. Don't have to walk out to the hallway to take out the trash."

  I disrobe, turn on the water, and step into the shower. The hot water should not matter to me. I can make myself feel whatever temperature I want to feel. Still, there's something nice about just letting my nerve signals go and feeling the heat.

  I remember my dad saying there used to be hot water everywhere before the Plagues. There were heaters that ran on oil in every home. I wonder how much one of those heaters would cost to run now, after Cabot’s bacteria ate up most of the oil and coal.

  “Hey dude, I’ve got to go up and do an ad, be back in a minute. Plug your ears or make ‘em fall off or whatever it is you do,” Nick yells.

  I hear him head up a staircase that must lead to the roof. I prepare myself for the noise by flooding my Tympanic Cavity with fluid. This should insulate my ear from damage while still allowing me to hear whatever lovely corporate message Nick has to share.

  "Are you lost in a desert of bland food and high prices? Come to a lush and delicious land. Come to the Oasis. Oasis Burger. We all need a rest."

  Right at the end, Nick lets out a sound which almost ruptures my eardrums, even with the insulation. The sound is at such an incredibly high frequency it makes a small crack in my shower door. What happened?

  I hear Nick come back down and yell the answer to the question he didn’t know I asked.

  “Sorry, dude. Ultracorps tells me what pitch and volume to read it at, I just do whatever they tell me. Somebody should get fired for that.”

  I hope he's the one who gets fired, considering the crack in my shower door. I heard that the New York Metro Area’s Screamer can somehow make it sound like she’s just standing right next to you when she does her thing. I bet she makes a better roommate.

  4

  From this death and destruction, my new race, my Chosen Sons, will rise. From the rubble, they will build a new world. It will be a world filled with wonders that can scarcely be imagined. It will be a world built to my glory.

  Chosen Sons: 22

  "I want to share with you all something that has been weighing on me lately. Most of you are old enough to remember the days before Cabot changed the earth, the days when the entire world's concern was the Cold War and the Soviet Union. We practiced hiding under our desks and questioned the loyalties of those closest to us. We were so afraid of the Soviets and their creed Communism, we would have done anything to fight it," the heavyset, bald pastor says to his mostly elderly congregation. The old grade school auditorium looks almost empty with only the four dozen or so parishioners. The pastor speaks loudly and forcefully, as if the auditorium were full of hundreds.

  "Communism does not believe in liberty, does not believe in a man's right to bear the fruits of his labor. The state, the cold, hard, unloving state, is Communism’s sole purpose. They believe that the individual should sacrifice himself, his well-being, for the good of imaginary lines in the ground. Communism is the enemy of individuality, the enemy of liberty.

  "It is liberty that made America great, liberty that was the greatest gift from our Founding Fathers. We became the most powerful nation on earth because of liberty. Our love for the individual and his right to keep what he earns turned a country of wilderness into the world leader of industry, a country of poor immigrants into the wealthiest nation on earth.

  "This nation's love of liberty compelled us to meet the threat of Communism head on. We built bombs and amassed armies. We started rebellions and supported any foe of Communism. We questioned our leaders and entertainers, making sure none of them bore the stench of Communism.

  “We were not just scared for our own lives or the lives of our children, we were afraid for our way of life. We were afraid that the Russian's disease of Communism would spread onto our shores and extinguish the flame of liberty that made this country great. The fight was long, but victory was ours if we stayed the course.

  "Then Cabot came with his Revelation, the so-called Plagues. The Plagues rotted the guns so they could not fight, the crops so the soldiers could not eat, and the fuel so the tanks could not move. Mankind was meant to move on from the petty political bickering and focus on the advancement of God's Chosen Sons, but as we know, most chose not to follow God's plan.

  "It is but thirty years since the Revelation, and Communism is now the norm in America. Most of this country lives and eats Communism. The entire Metro Area runs on the back of Communism. We do not call it Communism. We call it industry. We call it Ultracorps. The Chosen grow our food, build our houses, and dispose of our trash. But the Chosen do not get to live off the fruits of that labor. Instead it goes to us, the Forgotten Sons.

  "The Chosen are told it is their duty to provide for the Forgotten Sons, their duty becaus
e they were born strong, and we were born weak. Does that creed sound familiar? The Soviet Union is in shambles. Its cities lie in ruin, and its people struggle to keep themselves fed. Even still, it appears Communism won the war.

  "Cabot is the way out of the darkness, the only hope for eternal salvation. Cabot told us that the Chosen are the next step in God's plan. We were meant to serve the Chosen. They were not meant to serve us. If we serve them well, the Chosen can lead us all to paradise. Cabot knew this, we know this, and if we are faithful, the whole world will know it too."

  Pastor Newman finishes. Sweat pours from his graying brow, his bald head drenched. His round cheeks are red from the effort.

  The crowd says "Amen" in unison and starts filing out the door. The pastor begins saying hellos to congregation members but stops when he hears a banging coming from the roof.

  "I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me," the pastor says to the old woman he was speaking with.

  He heads through the back door on the church stage. It leads to a hallway with a staircase to the church tower. The pastor knows his guest prefers meeting away from prying eyes.

  It takes Pastor Newman a full two minutes to climb the stairs to the tower. His guest was probably able to reach it in the blink of the eye. He pauses a moment to catch his breath. His old body is winded from the short trip.

  He opens the door at the top of the stairs.

  "Hello Pastor," The Beast says to him as soon as the door opens a crack.

  The pastor hurries inside the small room and closes the door behind him.

  “How nice to see you, Your Grace,” the pastor fumbles.

  He tries not to tremble at the sight of blood on The Beast’s claws. He should be used to it since he’s seen it dozens of times, but it still fills him with fear. The fear is God testing his faith.

  “Evening, Pastor. Nice sermon. A little depressing though,” The Beast replies.

  “You’re right, of course. I must admit that it can be difficult to stay positive in light of the troubles my parishioners face. Most go to bed hungry. Unlike you, I see,” Pastor Newman says back.

  “It was more than a meal. It was a calling. The Lord had another soul He wanted up in heaven. I gave the man salvation,” The Beast says.

  “What a fortunate soul,” the pastor says, forcing a smile. “How did the Lord appear to you? A vision?”

  “A voice in my head, just like always,” The Beast snarls back.

  “Of course. It’s just hard to believe that I could be so blessed as to know someone who speaks with God directly,” the pastor stammers in response. “I never imagined I could be so lucky.”

  “Well, you are. The Lord spoke to me when I stopped to prey on a different meal. Some nice old lady who I saw giving out candies in her neighborhood. The Lord told me there was some government man who had been fighting for the Chosen Sons. He had done good, but his part was over, and now it was time for his reward. I made sure to take a few bites of the old lady too. She seemed like she deserved to go up to heaven,” The Beast says.

  “How kind of you, and how fortunate you are. You took another step towards your salvation. Did the Lord say anything about your redemption? How many more souls will you need to claim?” the pastor asks.

  “He didn’t say,” The Beast says and hangs his head. “I don’t know why. He never says anything after I claim whatever soul He wants. All I do is go around hunting and praying and hoping this is the night the Lord speaks to me. When He finally does, I ain’t even that happy. All I can think about is how it’s going to be months until He talks to me again. I feel like such a sinner for complaining.”

  “You aren’t a sinner, Your Grace. I think you might be struggling to enjoy the Lord because you don’t have anyone to share His love with,” the pastor says.

  “You mean a woman. You’re gonna need to find me a pretty devout girl.”

  “No, not that,” Pastor Newman says back. His mouth gapes in horror. He quickly composes himself. “I meant a friend.”

  “Are you saying we ain’t friends?”

  “Of course we are. I mean one of your own kind. I’m blessed to be able to help you in whatever small way I can, but I cannot understand you. I don’t know how it feels to have a spark of the Divine inside you. You need to connect with one of your own kind.”

  “I want to, Pastor, but I’m scared. You know what happened the last time I saw some of my own kind. I’m still trying to redeem myself,” The Beast says. Tears start to form in his eyes.

  The pastor sees the water in The Beast’s eyes and his knees start to quake. He doesn’t like it when The Beast gets so emotional. It might just be a matter of time until that emotion turns to anger.

  “I know it can be difficult, Your Grace, but you must trust in the Lord. If you live how He has commanded you, He will reward you. Your task is to be patient and careful,” the pastor says.

  5

  No business that employees more than one individual will be allowed to hire or maintain the employment of any Different individual if that individual is employed for the use of their abilities. Businesses exempted from this provision listed under Addendum i.

  Article 1 Section 1 of the Different Acts of 1996

  "Unified Logistics Technology and Research Applications Corporation (Ultracorps)."

  Addendum i of the Different Acts of 1996 (in its entirety)

  I snap out of the Zone at 6:55 a.m. The Zone is what I call my version of sleep. I don't lose consciousness, but I spend a few hours alternatively resting the various systems of my body, even parts of my brain. Dolphins do something similar while they sleep so they can keep returning to the surface for oxygen. I don’t have to do it every night, but it does help. Even if I can generate the chemicals my body needs to emulate sleep, muscles weren’t meant to run twenty-four seven, and neither was my visual cortex. It also helps pass the time. Life is pretty boring at four a.m.

  I like to start getting ready for work before Nick does his whole alarm clock bit. A petty victory for sure, but I like knowing I have control. I go take a shower even though I don't have to. I can make my body odor non-existent, but I'm a sucker for the real hot water, even if it does slow me down.

  The Doctors aren't usually ready to feed me whatever we are testing until after lunch, but they still get mad if I'm late. They spend hours and days preparing a sample and it only takes me minutes to tell them the results, yet they still go ballistic if I am not waiting the second the sample is ready.

  My head erupts to tell me someone is trying to call me on think.Net. The caller has no ID, but that's the same thing as telling me who it is. There is just one person I know who can block their ID: Nita.

  I don't know much about her. She's been contacting me occasionally since I was sixteen. Sometimes she talked to me for hours, other times she asked me a single question, like what enzymes the body uses to process lipids.

  I think she's a child, maybe ten or eleven, although sometimes it seems like she must be eighty. She's a Librarian, the head Librarian. The Librarians are the human encyclopedias that work with the Telepaths to run think.Net. Nita can think ten thousand thoughts in the time it takes a normal human to think one.

  It’s hard to guess how old she is because I’ve never heard her voice. On think.Net, calls come in using the voice inside your own head. It’s like your internal monologue is having a discussion. My dad never got used to it, and he complained the handful of times he made a think.Net call. He liked the telephone better, where you spoke out loud. Hearing other people’s phone conversations sounds incredibly annoying for everyone involved if you ask me.

  I think about accepting the call, and my eyes glaze over as I go into the think.Net stare.

  <<
  >>>Gavin, I hope all is well with you. How do you like working at lab 207? The work you are doing on iron enrichment is invaluable. Around 65% of America's children are anemic.

  <<. Job placement isn't something you could help with, is it?

  >>>You are in the position best suited for you now. Excuse me for ending the pleasantries, but I have an important question for you. What is the accepted standard for the concentration of sodium in drinking water? The medical Librarian is down momentarily.

  <<
  >>>Thank you. Feel free to take your time getting ready. Your trains will be waiting in their stations. Smell you later.

  And she's gone. She really is hard to get a read on. I can take my time though. She'll deliver on her promise of the trains. If it didn't seem so crazy, I would swear she runs the entire Metro Area.

  I get dressed and head into the kitchen. I put a kettle on the stove to boil some water. I'm hungry, and I've got myself a treat: some genuine oatmeal. Cost me a fortune, but it's worth it. I eat Manna all day. I can't stand the thought of having to eat it for breakfast too.

  I try not to think about it, but Manna is just human Maple Syrup. It's produced by a Different who's basically a Maple tree as big as a house. They pump her full of sunlight and water and her body produces the calorie-rich substance through photosynthesis. Manna may feed the country, but it still creeps me out.

  I go on think.Net and read the news until my kettle whistles. The Metro Area Council granted a contract to Ultracorps to take over the Metro Area's water system. Was that why Nita was asking me about salt levels? I take the kettle off the heat and head into the pantry to get my oatmeal. The oatmeal has moved since I ate it yesterday. Sure enough, the box is light, nothing but dust left inside.

  Nick! I've already talked to him twice about eating my food. He's going to buy me a new box. I don't know why he won't buy his own. He makes enough being town crier. Lucky clown. Ultracorps pays him a ton and he has barely any debt to boot. He's solar powered, not metabolic, which basically makes him a lottery winner. A few hours a day in the sun is all it takes to keep him energized. He only needs to eat multivitamins and salt, but I guess he likes oatmeal too.