Chosen Different (Book 3): Different Paths Read online

  Different Paths

  Chosen Different Book Three

  By Nat Kozinn

  Text copyright © 2016 Nat Kozinn

  All Rights Reserved

  [email protected]

  Recap

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  Recap

  Six months ago Gavin Stillman was promoted to an OEC (Office of Exceptional Cases) agent, assigned to protect the Los Angeles Metro Area from criminal Differents. A call mistakenly directed to the OEC lead him to a murder scene where a Different was the victim, not the killer, and this was not the first murder. Gavin lacked the legal authority to track the killer, but he’s never let something like that get in his way. Gavin began spending his nights hunting the serial-killer with the help of L.A.P.D. officer Maria Vasquez. Meanwhile, his day job grew busier as someone started drugging Different individuals, leading to violent outbursts. The two investigations got intertwined as it became clear that Los Angeles Metro Area Governor, Lewis Khan, was the man funding the operations to drug and kill Differents.

  Gavin’s “friend,” Benjamin Jacobs, the former head of think.Net, insisted that Gavin was being shortsighted. Ben claimed that the current leader of think.Net and another “friend” of Gavin, Nita Martinez, was actually leading the plot. Gavin’s attempt to unravel the web backfired. His partner at the OEC ended up dead, and Gavin was forced to go on the run from the law. Desperate, Gavin turned to Nita who offered him a devil’s bargain. She could make Gavin stronger, but to do so would require the help of Gavin’s old nemesis The Beast. Gavin agreed and had his hand surgically replaced with The Beast’s hand. This allowed Gavin to assume The Beast’s abilities. He grew bigger, stronger, faster, and could heal more quickly. Still it was not enough; Gavin did not prevail and the Los Angeles Metro Area was devastated by a series of bombings that targeted Differents.

  Nita Martinez knew about the bombs before they detonated and used the opportunity to call a general strike; many Differents walked off the jobs, fearing for their safety. Now, the Los Angeles Metro Area is in shambles, and no one knows the truth about the bombings, except for Gavin and his friends. They are the only ones trying to bring the Governor to justice.

  1

  A few hundred individuals left their jobs, and it has thrown this Metro Area into utter chaos. But, as is so often the case, crisis has brought with it opportunity. Now is the time to transform the Metro Area and repair the cracks that have been exposed. If Houston can live without Ultracorps, so can Los Angeles. We must not, we will not, be victims.

  “Letter to the Editor” by Governor Lewis Khan, Los Angeles Times

  My capillaries pull fluid out of my eyes, bending my cornea to focus my vision at a target a thousand yards away. An aid comes onto the stage and taps a microphone, sending out a loud boom from speakers on either end of the stage. The Governor is sparing no expense for this press conference and that includes electricity.

  The aid recedes, and I take a quick scan of the gathered crowd. Well, the back of their heads anyway. Luckily, I have perfect memories of the back of every head I’ve ever seen. I spot an odd-shaped brown-haired skull belonging to Ben, who’s about fifteen feet behind Linda. My eyes move up to the two dozen police officers gathered in front of the stage. I’m sure they have some plainclothes friends in the crowd. There are also National Guard soldiers with rifles standing on the buildings closer to the podium. This is a normal security deployment; the Governor is simply being cautious. I make myself believe that.

  Governor Khan finally walks out onto the stage, his bald head covered in beads of sweat. Despite his disheveled look, he walks with a spring in his step.

  “Thank you all for coming. I have an important announcement,” the Governor says without looking up from his notes. His oratory skills don’t compare to those of our old Governor. “I am proud to announce a partnership with Sagamore Industries to complete the first fishing vessel constructed entirely by human hands in Los Angeles in over thirty years. This ship is merely the first step towards increasing food supplies—” the Governor stops mid-sentence and hangs, like someone activated pause on a think.Net show. Linda is doing her thing!

  “Okay, pay attention now; I’m going to say something important. It concerns the bombs that devastated this Metro Area a few short months ago,” Linda says through Khan’s mouth. The crowd quiets its murmurs.

  “I have used this office to repeatedly accuse Gavin Stillman of causing the explosions, and many of you did not believe me. It turns out your doubt was well-placed. Not just because it never made sense, but because I am responsible for the bombs that devastated the Metro Area. I am a terrorist.”

  The crowd erupts in a wide range of noises, but Governor Khan gets louder, and they all grow quiet.

  “I used money from illegal bribes and laundered it through my supermarket chain and Medical center to purchase the ingredients for the bombs, as well as the cocktail of drugs that I used to induce the Different attacks that we all forgot about after the bombs. Later, I will deny these accusations and say a Telepath made me say all this, which is true, but it’s also true that I’m guilty. If you look through my financial records or search my properties, you will find incontrovertible proof of my crimes. If the police refuse to look into this matter, you the public should demand justice, and reporters, you should do your part to help unravel the web. You’re in for a real surprise when you find out just who my accomplice was. Now, I may stay here and try to dig myself out of the hole I just fell into, or I may run off the stage in disgrace. Let’s find out.”

  The Governor shakes his head like he just woke up. Then his face turns a deep crimson, and he rushes off the stage, chased off by a slew of screaming reporters in the crowd. Looks like he went with option two.

  As soon as the Governor leaves the stage, there’s a deafening boom followed by a whistle. I can tell from the pitch that it’s from a bullet headed right towards me. Bullets on a trajectory towards me have a particular tone, and I’ve been shot at enough to identify the sound. I slow down my perception of time so I can think this through, but even my recently improved muscles and nerve fibers can’t help me dodge this shot. I try to dive to the right, but that just puts the hole in my left shoulder instead of my right one. The rifle was high-caliber; it cuts through my hardened bone like a hot knife though Manna. It knocks me from the edge of the roof and onto my back.

  “Target hit. Repeat, target hit,” a mechanical voice says… a radio. There’s someone else on this roof.

  I was too focused on the Governor. I let someone sneak up on me, a spotter who helped the sniper put the bullet in me. I access my just-formed memory of the sound and replay it in my head. It came from my left. I get to my feet, using only my right arm. I turn towards a post, where the radio holder must be hiding.

  As I stalk over, a fresh-faced young man in camouflage gear pops out of the hiding spot. He has a jittery finger resting on the trigger of his army rifle. I don’t think he has the wherewithal to pull the trigger, not that I can blame him he is facing a seven foot tall, five hundred pound hairless monster of a man. Becoming terrifying was the price I paid for stealing The Beast’s strength.

  “St-Stay where yo
u are!” the National Guardsman stammers.

  “No thanks,” I say and take a step forward.

  That jittery finger turns steel and holds down the trigger, I underestimated him. Hot metal tears into my flesh, my dense muscles stopping six slugs before they can penetrate into my organs. I rip the gun from the young man’s hands and toss the weapon off the side of the roof. I grab the man by the throat, my massive fingers wrapping entirely around his neck. I should make him pay for thinking he could hurt me. All I’d have to do is squeeze…

  Why did I think that? I drop the soldier, who gasps for air as soon as he hits the ground.

  I hear footsteps reverberating in the building below me. National Guardsmen, and lots of them. I’m on a ten story building though, so I’ve got some time. Their heavy guns will slow them down… which really isn’t that comforting. I’ve got to get moving before that sniper gets another shot at me. I take a few steps to get a running start and leap twenty feet down onto the building next door. As soon as I land there’s another boom that tears into the flesh of my back, putting a hole in my lung. That boom is joined by another, but I leap before that hits, making it on to another roof. More booms chase me, but I scramble away, leaping like a frog on lily pads until I’m finally out of range of the shooters.

  #

  I take a ladle and stick it in the pot of syrupy goo. Manna straddles the line between liquid and solid, shading ever so slightly towards a liquid. I drop the ladleful into a pot of wheat flour, roll it around, then drop it into a greasy pot of flaxseed oil. We've been using this same oil for more than a week, but we don’t have enough of a supply to indulge the luxury of not being disgusting.

  You can eat Manna raw if you go slowly enough, it just tastes much better and is easier to digest after it’s mixed with flour and cooked. Fried Manna may not provide much in the way of essential vitamins and nutrients, but it is full of calories and tastes phenomenal, not that that matters to me. The liquid pops for about a minute, and it’s time to remove my noodle of fried sugary goodness and put in on a plate with some tissues to absorb the grease. I take another ladleful and repeat the process. I have to cook a lot: it takes an eternity to get the solar cooker up to fry temperature, and I can’t let this opportunity go to waste.

  I hear the door to the roof open and loud, heavy, deliberate steps. Ben coming to gloat.

  "I don’t need your ‘I told you so.’ I know you’re smarter than me already,” I say before he can speak.

  “Oh no, no, no, Gavin. You can’t take this away from me. Not if you won’t even sit and listen to the fallout on the radio. Khan is leveraging your crimes and spinning them as proof that you are the true threat to the Metro Area. The National Guard is stepping up their efforts to find you. You’re now on the national most wanted list, not just the L.A.P.D’s.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Now that it’s out there, someone is going to investigate the allegations. They’ll find out what Khan did.”

  “You missed out on that too. The police did listen and got a warrant to search the Eat-N-Go grocery stores. Guess what they found… jack nothing. The Chief of Police just gave a public apology to Governor Khan and not only that, he gave a description of Linda, who’s now sought in connection with the incident at the speech. That plan was a masterpiece of a failure.”

  "They didn’t find anything? Nothing to make bombs?" Ben shakes his head no. “You were the one who told me those chemicals were in his warehouses,” I say turning the accusation.

  “Don’t you try to turn this around on me. I was against the entire plan from the start. This is more than an ‘I told you so’ about your stupid plan. You shouldn’t be wasting your time on Khan at all. There are much bigger and more Machiavellian villains to chase.”

  “I don’t see taking down a Governor who financed and oversaw the murder of his own constituents, not to mention my friend Gary, my partner Victor, and Linda’s son, as a waste of time.”

  “The Governor made his move. The purpose of his bombing attack on the Different facilities was to turn the public against Differents. He may not have succeeded for the reasons he imagined, but he was able to make his wish come true. Any Different who didn’t go on strike or die in the explosions is living under the watch of the National Guard, in part to protect them from angry mobs. Being as he has achieved his goals, it is doubtful he will try to execute any more terrorist attacks,” Ben says while not making eye contact. Even I know that’s weird.

  “He gets to walk free because he probably won’t kill again?” I ask, getting in his face in a vain attempt to catch his eyes and force a normal interaction.

  “No. He simply is not the priority at this time. There is no statute of limitations for murder. He can still be prosecuted in ten years time, which is why he shouldn’t be your focus now. Even if you refuse to go after Nita, if your goal is helping the most people, and you usually say helping people is the goal, then given that lack of food is the primary concern for the Metro Area, your best use would be working towards that goal. Fishing provides the best hope for both an immediate increase in the food supply and for the long-term viability of the Metro Area, assuming we remain cut off from the rest of the nation, save a few military supply runs. In order to acquire more fish, we’re going to need more ships. Duh. Ultracorps ran the shipyards, of course. Sagamore Industries may try to build more ships without the use of Different labor, but given the relative scarcity of functional heavy machinery, it is going to be extremely difficult. You, and more importantly your strength, could greatly increase the rate of ship production by moving heavy materials and shaping metal.”

  “Wow, take a breath… Are you saying your calculations determined I should be a ship builder?” I ask.

  “Only if I assume you want to maximize your utility in Los Angeles. If I expand your premise to helping the most people in the nation, or the Metro Areas at least, for simplicity’s sake, then it gets more nuanced. Winter is just a month away, and while it gets pretty nippy in Los Angeles thanks to Cabot screwing with the atmosphere, indoor heating is still more of a luxury than a necessity. Cold presents more of an immediate threat than starvation in the New York, Chicago, Minneapolis, and Seattle Metro Areas. Now, according to my friends on the ole’ Ham Radio, the rest of the Metro Areas Governors are not as stupid as Khan, and they’ve made use of the Differents who did not go on strike, which has allowed them to keep control and provide a modicum of basic services in the East Coast Metro Areas, and Danny Libdo left Minneapolis a little population density light. Houston, by the way, is doing great. Their ignorance against Differents left them perfectly capable of surviving without Ultracorps, not that they need heat. So that leaves Seattle as your best destination. There, when not building ships, you can power large friction-based heaters that could service a few huge apartment buildings. Assuming you could get enough food for yourself. Now, if I expand my thinking to the entire world…” Ben says talking in a creepy even tone.

  “I get it human computer, that’s enough.”

  “But I haven’t even told you the real answer. The no-holds-barred, numbers don’t lie, clear as day, number one thing you can do to help the human race. And you might be the only person on the planet who can attempt it,” he says and finally pauses.

  “Go ahead and tell me already.”

  “Track down Nita, infiltrate her complex, and kill her,” he says, maintaining his monotone voice.

  “I’m shocked that’s your conclusion. Shocked,” I say with sarcasm I’m not sure he catches. “No matter the equation, she is always the answer.”

  “If you could manage to sneak in, you might be able to get the drop on her and snap her neck. I’d give you about a five maybe 10 percent chance of success. I’m sure she’s planned for you, but you’re difficult to account for in the math. That’s a better shot than anyone else has got of stopping her and ending the strike,” Ben says, expressionless.

  “You’re talking about murdering a thirteen-year-old girl.”

  “I’m a
ware of that, and there’s a voice in my head that says that’s wrong, but there are louder voices telling me that it is only a matter of time until Nita takes control of the Manna Fields. When she does that, those government food convoys are going to stop. Then, the whole country will starve to death, or we’ll all be killed in the fallout of the war between Differents and humans. Or, most likely, both. You wanted to know how you can really help. There it is: you can take one life to save millions. I can give you my files on possible locations for her and all the Differents that joined her. Are you interested?”

  Ben waits for a response, but I can’t get any synapses to fire in a way that would give me a sensible retort to his claim. He shakes his head then walks out of the kitchen. Linda walks into the room.

  "You're cooking? Will wonders never cease?" Linda says and peers over my shoulder, checking my handiwork.

  “So, what do you think?” I ask, ignoring her comment. “I know you heard.”

  “It’s a small apartment… I think Ben says a great many things, but he doesn’t mean all of them. Even though he thinks so much, he doesn’t always think things through,” Linda says carefully choosing her words. She doesn’t like being put in between her two surrogate sons.

  “You think he’s wrong about killing Nita?”

  “I’m sure he’s right, in a way. I bet if we could all do the math like him, we’d look at the numbers, compute the horrors of the worst case scenario, and conclude that it’s worth any price to stop that from happening. I know I’d pay just about any price if it would have saved Martin.”

  “You agree with him?” I ask. Talking about her murdered son always makes me uncomfortable. I’m never sure how I’m supposed to address the issue.

  “If it comes down to it yeah, his math is always right. But that doesn’t mean his timing is. Maybe there will come a time when the horrible path is the only choice, but now is not that time. Now we have to make sure we give ourselves more options,” Linda says with a smile.