Ordinary Page 5

  “Your injections will only slow the illness. Paragon could reverse it.”

  Swallowing the anxiety knotted in my chest, I punch the numbers into the phone, and before I can change my mind, it rings.

  9

  A half an hour after making the call, a black car with darkened windows pulls up to the park, and a woman with auburn hair and skin as pale as the moon beckons me to get in.

  “I apologize for the delay,” she says, sliding over for me. Her apology sounds civil enough.

  I can’t help wondering what her Power is. With those thin, shapely legs jetting out of her black pencil skirt and her slender build, there’s no way she’s Somatic. “Dr. Cass is waiting, and she’s a busy woman, so let’s not delay.”

  It’s still hard to believe I’m going to meet Dr. Joyce Cass, my role model. By the age of twenty, she had discovered the linking mechanism that distinguishes specific Powers within each Branch. It’s work others had started and could never complete.

  And if I’m meeting Dr. Cass, then the woman beside me is most likely her assistant, Hilde Long. How many holonews reports have I seen these two women in? And how did I not recognize Hilde immediately?

  The ride is silent. Hilde sits rigidly, legs crossed and hands in her lap, staring out the opposite window. Clearly, she has no interest in talking to me.

  The corners of Paragon Diagnostics twist up and disappear in the night sky when we step out of the vehicle. This building promises hope. Curing Power-related diseases. Improving the lives of those with weaker Powers. The swell of hope I felt at the upstairs railing at home earlier returns.

  The massive glass doors slide apart, granting entry into the large lobby of the building as Hilde and I step up to them. The ceiling rises through the center of the building five stories up, lined with glass panel railings at each level. Pristine whites and deep blacks make the slashes of red, blue, yellow, and green stand out in striking contrast on walls and fixtures. It’s beautiful and clean and everything I remember it to be.

  Employee pass-stations block off the far end of the lobby where another foyer and a bay of elevators waits. Hilde swipes her arm over the station, and we pass through easily.

  In the elevator, she smiles at me. I realize I’m staring and avert my gaze to the red and black elevator doors as they close in front of us, then up at the increasing number on the digital display. My ears pop as the pressure changes. The elevator doesn’t stop until the number reaches 200.

  “This way, Mr. Powers,” says Hilde as she steps out.

  This lobby is different from the other. The coordination of red and white still contrasts, but there is no black at all, and redder.

  Hilde leads the way to a large office with glass panel walls. Dr. Cass sits on the other side, her blond hair in waves down to her shoulders. Her skirt and suit jacket are blue, the same outfit she wore on the broadcast earlier in the evening. Through the glass wall, she looks up and sees the two of us approaching.

  Everything inside me freezes.

  I’m about to enter the office of the woman I have idolized since the age of eight. And all I want to do is run.

  Hilde is holding the door open for me: “After you, Mr. Powers.”

  Each step is heavy as I swallow the lump in my throat and proceed into the office.

  Dr. Cass’s office is like the rest of the floor. Red and white without a single trace of black. An expansive desk of glass guards one end of the room, but there’s nothing on the surface. No computer or phone or lamp. No files. It’s just a polished glass surface.

  “Ugene Powers.” Dr. Cass stands, and the way she moves is smooth. Like gliding. I can’t look away as she rounds the desk and sits on the edge, facing me. Her long fingers curl around the edges of the glass. She holds out her hand to me. “Joyce Cass, CEO—”

  “—Of Paragon Diagnostics,” I say along with her. “I…I know who you are. I’ve read all your reports on the Power classification linking mechanisms. It’s… It’s just brilliant.”

  “Really.” She cocks her head to the side and clicks her tongue. “So, you have an interest in genetic science then. I suppose that makes sense, all things considered.”

  All things considered? I struggle to hold back the wince trying to leap out.

  “Well, Ugene—I can call you Ugene, yes?”

  I nod, but she goes on as if it’s already assumed.

  “I won’t bore you with typical interview questions. You don’t have to tell me about yourself. I already know everything I need.”

  Dr. Cass turns and touches the desk a couple of times, then swipes her hand over the surface. A holographic image rises out of the glass. I know already that she’s a Naturalist with Transmutation Power—changing one organic object into a different organic object. And a strong one, at that. She’s one of the few who ranks above the 95th percentile. But what she is doing with her desk goes beyond computer programming and well beyond my level of understanding.

  Then I notice the image is of me. A report about my birth, childhood, pictures with my family. The exposure should creep me out, but instead, I’m fascinated.

  “I don’t think there’s any question about whether or not there is a place for you here,” Dr. Cass says as she flips her hand through the air, causing the images to whir by until it stops on one. My Testing Day results. “The work you would be helping us with could benefit the future of our entire society. You could be the key to unlocking the genes that trigger Powers, the key to helping us stop regression for good. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Paragon Diagnostics to study the genetics of someone without a Power. You could help us identify exactly which gene determines Powers and how those powers can be boosted by comparing yours with others. This discovery could help us cure Power-related illness, regression, and so much more. The only question is, are you interested in helping the future of humanity?”

  I stare at the image of the blood test results, trying to decipher the meaning. A sigh slips out, and I look at her, my hands folded in my lap to keep from fidgeting. “Maybe. But… what exactly would I be doing in this research testing?”

  “A great question,” Dr. Cass says. “You would be paired with one of our more promising researchers. Together, you would test against each of the Branches of Power while your muscular, skeletal, and chemical reactions would be monitored for discernable changes. Those results will be compared with subjects with Powers in the hopes of discovering the key to the Powers mutation. A standard compare and contrast methodology.” Dr. Cass pauses. “I haven’t lost you, have I? I assume since you read my research you know what I’m talking about.”

  I nod.

  “Good.” Dr. Cass glances at the test results on display. “We would also be taking blood and other genetic samples. Nothing to be alarmed at. All perfectly safe and painless. You would live here, in a dormitory space we provide, along with other volunteers so we can be sure your diet and environmental exposure are optimal.”

  “You mentioned compensation and health care earlier,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat and hoping my darker skin covers it well enough.

  Dr. Cass gifts me with a soft, matronly smile. “Of course. Everything comes at a price.” She swipes her hand against the air again, and images whir by until she finds what she seeks. A medical bill with the name Gavin Powers.

  The number clenches my throat and makes my stomach twist in knots. My dad makes a lot of money, but these bills… There’s no way he could ever pay this off, even with his significant military salary. It’s absurd.

  “Here is my offer, Ugene. We will pay off your father’s current and future medical bills, give your family a generous stipend to alleviate cost of living pressures, create a trust in your name to help you move into the future, provide you with a private dormitory, and seek options for full-time employment for you once the study concludes.”

  Each item she ticks off makes me dizzier. This isn’t real. It can’t be real. Why are they willing to offer so much to me?

  “I c
an tell you are hesitant,” Dr. Cass says, after a glance over my shoulder. “This is all too good to be true, right? I promise you it isn’t.” Her hand pushes the image down into the desk, and it disappears, then she slips into the red chair beside me. “You’re special, Ugene. I get the feeling that no one else sees you that way. You don’t think you deserve all of this, but I assure you, if your genetics can do what we are hoping they can do, you deserve far more than I could ever offer you.”

  “You… you are guaranteeing to help my father?” I point at the now blank desktop, unsure what ‘that’ even is.

  “With his treatments? Of course. His treatments and anything else that might arise out of his disease. Effective immediately.”

  My eyes snap to attention. Disease? I gathered he was sick, but a disease?

  “You don’t know, do you?” Dr. Cass’s face falls, and she reaches over a cool hand, giving mine a reassuring squeeze. “Ugene, your dad has Muscular Degeneration.”

  My stomach twists. I should have guessed. A Power-related illness. Thousands of thoughts tumble through my mind, and I can’t grasp any of them long enough to make sense of any of it. One thing is abundantly clear. Degeneration of any sort kills.

  “Hilde, get him some water.” Dr. Cass’s voice is like a distant bell. I’m aware it’s there, but it’s so far away like I’m drifting away from the world.

  I wipe my sweating palms over my legs and stand. The room spins and I close my eyes to regain control.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” The lie comes out of me in a croak.

  “Ugene,” Dr. Cass’s hand falls on my forearm. “I know this is hard. And I’m sorry to break the news to you. I honestly thought your parents would have told you about this by now. He’s been sick for nearly a year. Please. Take a few minutes to digest all of this.”

  My legs give out, and I drop back into the chair.

  Dr. Cass hands me the glass of water Hilde retrieved.

  Acceptance of the glass is automatic. I don’t realize, but now it’s in my hand, the cold glass contrasting starkly against the heat of my sweating palm.

  “His disease doesn’t have to be the end, Ugene,” Dr. Cass says. “Some of the best Divinics of our age are finding ways to heal even the worst diseases. They are only months away from a cure for cancer. A real, viable cure. There’s every chance your dad’s treatment can cure him. Your participation in our study will improve those odds.”

  I want to believe her, to hope she is right, but her conversation with my parents rings in my memory.

  “The sooner you can get him on our health plan, the better his chances are,” Dr. Cass says, pulling me back to reality. “What do you think, Ugene? Will you help us unlock the mystery of how these Powers work?”

  The sooner, the better. I gulp down the water, coating my empty stomach and insides with the icy liquid.

  “How long?” I manage to ask.

  “Well, that all depends on how your future test results come out,” Dr. Cass says. There is a shine in her eyes that reminds me of an eager child, curious and desperate to know more. “It could be a few months. But it could also be years. We won’t know for sure until we get started.”

  This feels like a mistake, but Muscular Degeneration will kill my dad. If he’s already had it for a year, he probably only has another year left—maybe less. The very thought makes me feel sick. And I can’t help but think of Mr. Springer’s warning, too.

  She raises a brow, then glances at my messenger bag. “Can I count you in?”

  “Yes.” The acceptance is more of a croak than a real word.

  “Excellent.” Dr. Cass slides the glass out of my hand and passes it to Hilde. “Do you need a ride home to collect your things?”

  “No.” The word jumps out, and my gaze locks on hers. “No, I’ve got what I need.” Going home would mean facing my parents. It’s better this way.

  Dr. Cass’s face lights up, making her ice-blue eyes shine in the artificial office light. “Then there’s no need to delay further.”

  Hilde steps forward with a glass surface in hand and holds it toward me. The holographic black letters of the contract rise off the surface of the tablet as if beaconing me.

  “Just sign at the bottom of that first section there,” Dr. Cass says, pulling my attention away from the contract in front of me. “The time and date will be automatically stamped on the document.”

  My eyes skim over the legal jargon, trying to make sense of what I’m supposed to sign.

  “It’s really quite standard, Ugene,” Dr. Cass says. “You agree to cooperate with our tests and offer the appropriate samples determined by your assigned researcher, agree to stay until all tests are complete, any samples we take are our property, and you do not have right to remove them. The basics of any research contract we offer, apart from the benefits terms we discussed.”

  My mouth goes dry. She can’t be trusted. Dad seemed so vehement about that—as did Mr. Springer—that it makes me hesitate, makes my chest compress.

  “I-is there a pen or something?” I ask, buying a moment longer to think. The research belongs to Paragon, which is understandable. In fact, the more I rush through what she said in my mind, the harder it is to find a flaw in what she says. Maybe Dad is wrong.

  “Not necessary,” Dr. Cass says. “We use bio-signatures. Just press your finger to the box. Any finger will do.”

  As I raise my finger over the document, I chew at the inside of my cheek. I’m stuck here once I sign this. At least my dad will have his medical benefits, however long the research takes.

  I press my finger at the bottom of the document.

  Dr. Cass quickly slides the tablet out of my hand and waves toward Hilde. “Hilde will take you to processing, then to your new living space.” A smile splits Dr. Cass’s face, flashing teeth so white they make her light skin seem dark. “You have just saved us all, Ugene. You’re already a hero.”

  The words don’t quite ring true in my head. I push myself to my feet, shaking a little, and follow Hilde back out of the office. Before we slip out the door, I glance one more time over my shoulder at Dr. Cass. She is perched behind her desk, long fingers running over the surface. All the pleasantness that dominated her demeanor a moment ago is gone, replaced by excitement and pure concentration. And it makes me wonder.

  What have I done?

  Part Two

  “Success is simple. Persistence. Perseverance. Knowledge. Education never stops. The most successful people continue to learn, continue to innovate, and continue to question what they have to offer and how they can provide it. Wisdom is a moral duty. If we stop learning, progress stops as well.”

  ~ Dr. Joyce Cass

  3 Years Ago

  10

  Processing.

  That sign above the door runs chills down my spine. Hilde holds open the door to a sterile room with institutional white walls and cold metal tables and chairs. Industrial-strength cleaner permeates every surface of the space, invading my senses as I step over the threshold. I’ve never been in a room that felt so … clean.

  On the table, a set of plain gray scrubs is folded in a neat pile. Beside it is a pair of matching loafers.

  “We will give you a moment to change,” Hilde says.

  I turn, but Hilde is already gone, and the door clicks softly shut. Chewing my lips, I move toward the clothes, inspecting them, picking at the surprisingly soft fibers of the top. They just need to make sure I’m not bringing contaminants on my clothes, I suppose. It makes sense, though why they wouldn’t make me relinquish my messenger bag doesn’t fit the logic.

  Oh well. This is what I signed up for.

  I set the messenger bag on the table, then strip down and slide into the scrubs. The material is smoother than I expect. Possibly enhanced for sensitive skin by Naturalists. I slip my feet into the loafers and find the insides have a nice cushioned comfort my sneakers didn’t provide—like walking on a cloud.

  Soon after I finish, t
wo men in white coats and rubber hair caps enter. Both wear goggles and blue rubber gloves. One of them motions toward a chair. I ease into it, hoping they can’t see me shaking. The other collects my clothes and discards them in a bag marked with my name. He reaches for my messenger bag.

  “No!” I rush over, putting a hand on the bag. “I need the stuff in there.” All my research—the last pieces of my life—are in that bag.

  “It will be returned to you once it’s gone through processing,” he says, sliding the bag away.

  I wrap the strap around my hand and yank back. “No. It isn’t like the bag will contaminate me, and if you send it through processing, it could ruin some of the contents. You can’t have the bag.”

  Something jabs in my neck and my limbs weaken. I stumble back a step, caught by the second lab tech who eases me back into the chair. The metal is so cold it instantly soaks through my clothes. It’s hard to tell if the shivering in my bones is from the chill or the uncertainty gripping me. The bag slips from my weak grip.

  “It’s easier if you cooperate,” the second tech says.

  I try to protest, but my tongue feels too heavy to talk. I make one last, feeble attempt at getting up but hardly do more than slip awkward hands over the chair’s armrests.

  The room sways, forcing me to sit back in the seat. The rattle of the metal cart’s wheels over the smooth floor echoes loudly in the room. I blink slowly, and my head lolls to the side as the tech wipes my arm with something cold. He slides a device shaped like a giant tube over my right hand. It reaches almost all the way to my elbow. Blue UV light emits from inside the tube, warming my skin.

  Sharp pain radiates along the inside of my forearm, burning hot. A scream rises up my throat and comes out as more of a guttural choking than a scream.

  What’s going on? But the words don’t come from my mouth. They only echo in my head.

  Something burns red hot through my blood and into my brain, then a shock hits me. My eyes shoot wide, and I grip the chair with my free hand, then my entire body tenses. A moment later it passes, but the heat of the pain remains. Still, I can’t keep my eyes open. I blink. Struggle to stay alert. But darkness descends.