Chosen Different (Book 2): Different Strong

by Nat Kozinn

  “Now is the Time for Forgiveness” by Forest Brown, think.Net News LA

  Those old James Bond movies were ridiculous. Who in God’s name would who want to get into a gunfight while wearing a tuxedo? I can barely move my shoulders, and this bowtie feels like it is strangling me. The last thing I want to do right now is battle Dr. No’s henchmen. Why would anyone ever choose to wear something so uncomfortable and restrictive?

  I shouldn’t complain; anything that gets me out of the OEC offices at night is a good thing. Besides, I don’t have a choice. This gala is black-tie and I’m not about to disrespect the man who invited me, Governor Hayes. He kept me out of jail, now it’s time to repay him by letting him parade me around like a show dog. He even bought me the tux.

  I have to admit it has been a good trade so far. Not only am I not locked up in Great Basin Prison, the food at these events is always fantastic. I still fantasize about the mushroom-cheese puff pastry I had at a fundraiser on a yacht a couple months ago.

  Tonight’s event is at the newly remodeled Los Angeles Natural History Museum. It is an absolute zoo out in front of the building. There are giant WormLights set up so the think.Net reporters can get a good view of all the important people as they make their entrance on the red carpet. The guests are dressed as impeccably and expensively as they always are at these events. I’ve never see so many diamond necklaces, gold watches, and silk-blended fabrics.

  I make my way to the start of the red carpet with my head down. I don’t make it more than three feet before someone spots and me yells, “It’s The Beast Slayer!” and I feel the spotlight turn on me, literally and figuratively as the WormLights all turn. The lights are so large I can actually see the strands of bio-luminescent bacteria inside. Every reporter yells at once to get my attention so they can get a good shot of me for the tabloids.

  I do my best to oblige each request and keep a big grin plastered on my face. I’d love to be able to tell myself that I hate all this attention and I’d rather be left alone. Unfortunately, self-deception is not one of my strengths. I want them to love and admire me, and why not? I risked my life to save a bunch of strangers; I’ve got a better right to be famous than most celebrities.

  After several minutes of posing, the reporters’ interest in me finally starts to wane, as new exciting guests make their entrance. I take the hint and continue on down the red carpet. I make it to the grand stone staircase that leads to the museum and start heading up. A voice stops me, one I’ve heard before.

  “Pretty popular, aren’t you?” she asks. I remember that voice; it belongs to Officer Maria Vasquez, the cute officer with the Different serial killer theory.

  I turn around and face Maria. I watch her eyes scan me up and down. The look on her face answers the question of why a man would ever wear an uncomfortable tuxedo. She looks fantastic herself, though she’s wearing the same clothes as before, a blue police officer’s uniform.

  “You think I’m popular, wait till Bobby Singer comes in, then you’ll see everyone really go nuts. Movie star outranks hero any day,” I say and then immediately regret calling myself a hero.

  “Don’t whine to me, I’m a cop. I know all about being underappreciated,” she shoots back.

  “You’re right. Besides, I’ve got no right to complain. I get to go inside. I don’t think they’re going to let you in. That uniform doesn’t count as black-tie.”

  “I’m not special enough to be allowed inside. Instead, I get to stand out here all night and make sure no one tries to murder all you super important people,” she says with a smile.

  Before I can deliver a witty retort, I feel a blow hit my back. It’s a slap, not hard enough to cause me any real damage, but it would hurt if I could feel pain. The slapper meant it to hurt. It’s Detective Rose, the detective who gave us a hard time when we got the false alarm about the Different killer.

  “Hey there Beast Slayer, don’t you look nice. Not bad life you got for a parolee,” he says with a wide smile and eyes full of hate.

  “Not a bad life for a detective either, although isn’t guard duty a little below your rank?” I shoot back.

  “Somebody has gotta make sure no important daughters get snatched,” Rose says.

  “Ouch, a little too soon for that joke, don’t you think? Governor Hayes’ people wouldn’t be too pleased if they heard you say that,” Maria says.

  “I don’t give a crap what that Different loving son of a-” Detective Rose stats to say but is cut off by Roger, the Governor’s young, perpetually panic stricken assistant.

  “Gavin! There you are. The Governor has some esteemed supporters he’d like you to greet. Please come along,” Roger orders me.

  Roger almost never leaves the Governor’s side. I must really be wanted if he’s strayed this far. He starts leading me off by the arm.

  “Sorry, duty calls. Take care,” I manage to say as I’m shuffled off.

  “Bye sweetie,” Rose says and blows a kiss.

  Maria rolls her eyes.

  Roger leads me up the stone stairs and into the main hall of the museum. It is breathtaking. Large tapestries hang from the ceiling, embroidered with messages commemorating the event and thanking the Gambert family, the renovation’s financiers. The banners are interspersed with Double helix-shaped artwork made of B-Crete that crisscrosses overhead, making it feel like we’re walking inside a piece of DNA. In the center of the hall is a large fountain and two fifteen-foot-tall spires made of Motion Sculpture. They look like they’re spinning in place, which is more or less true, at least as far as I understand quantum physics.

  I don’t have long to take in the sight, because Roger is pulling me by the arm. Luckily, I can slow down my perception of time to soak it all in. The main hall truly looks spectacular.

  I came to the museum on a class trip when I was eight. It looked nothing like this before the renovation. There were exposed beams and chunks of the wall missing, scars left on the building by the Plagues. The exhibits were cool, I remember really liking the stuffed lions and tigers. But even as a kid, I could tell the place needed repairs. Now, it finally got a huge cash infusion.

  Roger leads me over to a large group of old wealthy people, who are getting positioned to have their picture taken.

  “Here he is,” Roger says and leads me to my position right in-between Governor Hayes and the Lieutenant Governor, Lewis Khan.

  Governor Hayes looks like he came from a mold that produces politicians. He’s tall, fit, and handsome, with just a touch of grey in his blonde hair. He’s wearing an incredibly expensive tuxedo and a smile that looks simultaneously genuine and phony. Most of his support comes from the fact that he’s what people think a governor should look like. That and his daughter was kidnapped during his campaign, garnering all the sympathy votes.

  Lieutenant Governor Khan is the Governor in a funhouse mirror. He’s short, rotund, and balding. I’m sure his tuxedo was expensive too, but it fits him so poorly I can hardly tell. He’s sweating profusely even though it’s a lovely sixty-seven degrees here.

  The two make the ideal political duo. The handsome, empty-headed baby-kisser and the conniving little behind-the-scenes puppet-master. It’s the kind of pairing the public always complains about but routinely elects anyway.

  “There you are. I’m not used to waiting, my boy. Isn’t being on time a hell of a lot easier than fighting The Beast?” the Governor says to me under his breath. Somehow, his smile doesn’t move at all. I’m not sure I can do that, and I have inhuman control over my body.

  “Sorry sir, it’s a zoo out there. There are so many reporters,” I say back. I’m not late, Roger told me to be here five minutes from now, but I don’t think the Governor wants to hear my excuses.

  Finally, everyone is placed perfectly, and they are ready for the photos. We are surrounded by think.Net reporters. They snap Memories and upload them to think.Net for viewing. The reporters clap their hands to let us know when they are snapping a Memory, so we know who to look at.
After a few minutes the pictures end, and we break up into conversation. I turn to the Lieutenant Governor and extend my hand to shake.

  “Nice to see you again, sir,” I say.

  “If you say so,” he replies, ignoring my hand. “I have to be going now.” He turns and walks away, his entourage in tow. He looks like he’s leaving the event all together. I guess he was just here for the photo op, or he really doesn’t like me. He is always rude to me.

  I turn to Governor Hayes, who’s talking to an elderly couple. Even in this elegant crowd, they stand out as wealthy. She’s wearing a lengthy fur coat and half the queen’s jewels, and he’s wearing a gold watch that’s big enough to pay the national debt.

  “Governor Hayes! I wanted to talk to you about the Metro Area’s Water system. I know you voided the Ultracorps takeover, and I applaud the decision. Have you had a chance to consider your other options? My company…” the elderly man says.

  “Have you met The Beast Slayer?” the Governor interrupts and pulls me close. “Mr. and Mrs. Gambert, I’d like to introduce you to Gavin Stillman. Gavin, these are the individuals who made this all possible. It was their generous donation that paid for the museum’s renovation.”

  Mr. Gambert extends his arm for a handshake, which I oblige. Mrs. Gambert puts her hand out with her palm facing the floor. What is she doing? I slow down time for a second so I can think… I’m supposed to kiss her hand! I grab her hand, kneel down, and plant a small kiss. God I hope that’s what I am supposed to do. Her smile tells me I did the right thing or close enough. I’m still new to being a socialite.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Gambert, this is all so incredible. I came to the museum when I was kid and it looked nothing like this. It is an amazing transformation,” I say with sincerity.

  “Is it true you remember it perfectly?” Mrs. Gambert asks.

  “Edna!” Mr. Gambert scolds.

  “What? The news said he had a perfect memory. I just want to know if that’s true,” Mrs. Gambert says innocently.

  “It’s fine, sir. I do have a perfect memory, but only for things that happened to me since I Differentiated. My childhood memories are like yours.” I have better access to them than she does, but I don’t think she wants me to get technical.

  “See? He doesn’t mind,” Mrs. Gambert says.

  “I’m glad you like what we’ve done to the museum. We’ve been blessed, and we are lucky to get to give some back. Some of us are too old to go fighting monsters on rooftops, so we do what we are able,” Mr. Gambert says.

  “It is a wonderful gift you gave the Metro Area.”

  “The news said you don’t feel fear. That’s how you could fight The Beast. Was that true?” Mrs. Gambert asks from out of nowhere. I might have a groupie.

  “Not exactly. It is hard to describe. I know when I should be afraid. I know when my body’s telling me to run away. But it’s just a message, I can choose to ignore it or even tell it to shut up.”

  “That sounds like courage to me. I should know, I had to find some myself back in Korea, even with BlueHawk on our side. The Metro Area is lucky to have you watch over us,” Mr. Gambert says.

  “Show me something! Show me something special you can do,” Mrs. Gambert demands.

  “Edna, please, you’ve already gone too far,” Mr. Gambert pleads.

  “He said he doesn’t mind. You don’t mind do you?” she asks.

  I don’t mind, per se, but I have no idea what I should do to show her my abilities. If she wants to wait ten or fifteen minutes I should be able to grow an inch more hair. I’m sure that would impress. Oh, I know.

  “I don’t mind. This is what I used to do hide my identity back when I was the Vigilante.”

  I start loosening various muscles all over my face. The point is to make my face look flabby and wrinkled, like a much older person. It is not an attractive process.

  Mrs. Gambert’s face quickly moves from intrigue to horror. She lets out a small shrill scream. Every eye in the area is focuses straight on me. Suddenly, this doesn’t seem like a good idea. I stop half-way and start turning my face back to normal. Governor Hayes shoots me a dirty look. Tough room.

  #

  It’s a nice night, but my bar is low. Averaging 30 minutes a day outside has changed my standard. I had enough of being asked rude and prodding questions by grey-haired elites. There’s something about getting older that makes you think you have the right to ask any question you want. It’s nice to have some peace out here in front of the museum.

  Someone’s coming up behind me, soft steps. Officer Vasquez. I act like I don’t hear her so she comes up and taps me on the shoulder. What can I say, it’s been a long time since a woman besides Linda has touched me, and she only does that to treat my injuries. I whirl around with a smile on my face.

  “Did you tell your captain about the dead Different in the alley?” she asks with a stone-face. I stow my smile.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe my partner Victor did. I don’t think it matters. Captain Murphy doesn’t have much pull with anyone. He’s just the human bureaucrat who talks to the higher-ups. Victor and I pretty much run the show.”

  “Your captain isn’t a Different?”

  “No, the government wanted to say a human was in charge to make everybody feel safer about having the OEC in the Metro Area. Why does it matter?”

  “A guy on my squad told me about another dead Different they found yesterday. I think he was a Cooler or something. Anyway, my Sergeant couldn’t care less about all the dead Differents we’ve been finding. I tried to talk to my captain about it, and he was somehow even less interested. Detective Rose is handling all of the cases and he doesn’t see a pattern either. I thought maybe your captain would do something, you know, if he was a Different.”

  “Because he might care about his own kind?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” she says.

  “You’re right, he might care if he was a Different, but even if he was, it wouldn’t matter. Like I said, no one cares what he has to say, and our mission is to go after criminal Differents, not help Different victims. That’s the law. Unless you find some proof that a Different is the killer, we can’t get involved.”

  “There’s no proof of anything because no one is looking for evidence. They all blame it on gangs or muggings gone wrong, and then tell me they don’t have the resources to cover every murder in the Metro Area. Nobody besides me seems to care.”

  “I care. I care a lot, but I’m on house arrest. I’m only let out of the office if there’s a criminal Different on the loose, or if the Governor needs me to dance for him. There’s no way I can help you.”

  “Looks like I’m on my own. That’s fine. I’m going to track that killer down,” Officer Vasquez vows and walks off. She really meant that. She isn’t going to let this rest. I wish I could help her. Maybe there’s a way I can.

  “Officer Vasquez, wait!” I yell, but she doesn’t stop.

  I chase after her. “Maria, please, I thought of a way I can help,” I plead.

  She stops in her tracks and turns to give me a cold stare.

  “I thought you couldn’t help unless I find proof a Different is doing the killings.”

  “Do you think it’s possible the killer is a fellow Different?” I ask.

  “It’s hard to say. Some of the Differents that have been killed were Betas, hard to believe a normal person could do that. But then again, they’ve all been killed with knives or guns. No laser beams or crushed skulls.”

  “Who were these Betas, what could they do?”

  “What’s with all the questions? You said you could help, so tell me, how?” she demands. She’s a severe person.

  “This. This is how I can help.”

  “By checking over my police work? I’ve been doing this longer than you have. I don’t need lessons or second guessing,” she says her eyes full of fire.

  “It’s not like that. It’s not that I’m a better cop than you. I’m struggling to find a way to s
ay this without sounding like a total jerk,” I say and slow down time to give myself a chance to choose my words carefully. “It’s not that I’m better at being a detective, it’s that my Differentiation gives me certain mental advantages. I think faster than normal people because I can slow down my sense of time. I can recall every piece of information my brain has absorbed since I first got my abilities. Every sight, every sound, every smell. That’s how I tracked The Beast; I used my mind to identify his bite-marks on multiple victims, my memories were like pictures of the crime scene. I can be like a human crime-lab, if you share what you learn with me I might be able to put it all together.”

  She thinks about what I said for a second, and her body-language turns just a bit less hostile.

  “You did sound like an arrogant jerk, but you also managed to convince me you might be useful. So what do you want to know?” she asks.

  “Not here. I’ve got to get back inside to do more performing for the Governor. Accept my knowledge request?” I ask and log onto think.Net and think about sending her the request.

  She receives and accepts the request. I got her info. I have to stifle my body’s natural desire to smile from ear to ear.

  “What’s that?” Maria asks and turns her head back towards the museum entrance.

  “I don’t know,” I answer earnestly. My attention is a laser beam pointed right at her. I have to force myself to tune my awareness to a wider band.

  When I do, I hear running, screaming, and general panic. Fancifully dressed patrons are streaming out of the museum, stricken by fear. They stumble and yell as they make their way down the stone steps.

  They are screaming about fire, and some madman burning the place down. Maria and I look at each other and without a word, turn and run towards the throng of people. We have to fight the river of human panic to get back inside the museum. We’re pushing against dozens of people all intent on moving in the opposite direction. I start out with a few ginger “excuse me’s,” before I give up and lower my shoulder. Despite my size and strength, it is still a hell of a fight to push through the horde.