The Push Chronicles (Book 1): Indomitable (6 page)

One question was answered for us at lunchtime when Alma found that normal food and drink was more than sufficient to sate her hunger.  It was right around four o’clock when I brought Alma to my office to tell her what we had discovered.

“Well, the good news is that, for the most part, your new body operates in many ways like your old one.  You seem to eat, drink, excrete, and your brain produces comparable electrical activity and nerve impulses to a human brain.  The exact frequencies and voltages are a bit different, but comparable.  I’m going to also infer from that evidence that you will sleep and dream like you used to as well.”  There was some relief on the young woman’s face from that.

“What’s the bad news?”

“Well, obviously, you are not flesh and blood anymore.  We won’t get back the material analysis until tomorrow at the earliest, but from my examination, your skin is now an extremely hard crystal.  Not as hard as say diamond, but close.  I guess the difference in hardness may be some allowance for flexibility, or your skin would crack and shatter anytime you moved.  Your blood and fluids are also seem to be completely inorganic.”

Alma’s hands had started to grip the arms of her chair, the sound of twisting metal interrupted us as the arms had begun to deform under the pressure.  Her eyes swam in a strange mixture of horror and a new-found elation.

“Alma, it’s OK.”  I couldn’t help but note that before, she had simply been scared of what she had become.  Slowly, it seemed, it was turning from fear to thrill.  Was that the Whiteout’s mental influence starting to work on her?

“As you just showed, because your muscles and bones are now also made from this incredibly durable crystal, you are much stronger than you were previously.  I’m currently working out the biomechanical models, but suffice it to say that it’s doubtful you’ll need help opening pickle jars any more.”  It was a bad joke, but the woman was still so stressed and confused that even the weak attempt at humor made her laugh, if only a little.

“Thanks, Doctor.  I think I needed that.”  Faceted lips formed a rainbow smile.

“You’re welcome.  There’s a lot more here to go through if you’re up for it.”

“Sure but ... one thing first.”  Alma looked down at her hands, especially the now razor-sharp nails.  “What should I do now?”

“What do you mean ’what should you do’?”  My brow tightened in thought.  “If you’re uncomfortable at your old dorm room, we can find you another place on campus to spend the night.  Obviously I want to see or at least talk to you every day to see what course of treatment we can find to help get you back to normal.  Otherwise, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What should I do with these ... powers?”   Alma held her hands up towards the overhead lights, watching the light refract through them.  Her voice was almost dream-like now.

“You shouldn’t do anything with them.”  I put her medical file down.  “Obviously, if you need to, for instance, fight off a mugger attacking you, sure, scratch him or throw him across the block, but seriously, what else would you do with your physical changes?”

“Well, a lot of the other Pushed people seem to be doing things with them.”  Alma lowered her hands and looked at me.  Though I couldn’t see it in the crystal orbs, I could see that odd star-struck look in Alma’s real face.  “I’m practically a superhero!  I could do lots of things with them, good things.  It’d be a waste to do nothing.”

“Alma! Please!”  I could see through the windows to my office that my sudden shout had made the rest of the lab start then scurry on.  I rarely lost my temper, but the research assistants knew to scatter if I raised my voice.  “It’s not a waste to live a normal life.  Besides, what happens if you got hurt, crystal skin aside?”  I started to pace behind my desk.  “What could any doctor in any hospital do for you?  How do you stitch living crystals?  How do you transfuse blood when your best guess at a blood type is ’O Rocky’?”  I stopped and looked into Alma’s eyes.  “It’s crazy, is what I’m trying to say.”

I could see that she was thinking about it, weighing my words of reason against whatever impulses the Push was causing in her brain.

“ ... Maybe you’re right ...”  The sound was sad, defeatist.  “I don’t know.  I’ll ... I’ll sleep on it?  OK?”

I would have to take what concessions I could get.  We made arrangements with student housing to get Alma moved to a new private dorm room, not too far from the physiology lab.  As we were about to make our goodbyes, I carefully embraced the confused, young woman, trying my best to be comforting.

“Be safe, Alma.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow, OK?”

“Sure, Dr. Roman.  Thank you for everything.”

The crystalline woman made her way into the dormitory, stopping once for a long backward glance at me before letting the glass door close behind her.  I turned to walk back to the lab, wiping a thin trickle of blood from my cheek where I had cut myself against her, the first time I had managed to do so during the entire day.  I swore to myself as I stalked down the sidewalk that I would fix this, now more than ever.  Before I had only seen the outward destruction the Whiteout was causing, now I had a chance to see the more personal damage it was threatening, not just to normal humanity but the Pushed as well.

Chapter 8 Icarus

I strode across the deserted campus, back to my lab.  Just like the rest of the city, Georgia Tech seemed locked in the same state of shock.  The quiet was welcome; there were few distractions from my thoughts.  What today had shown me was how urgent action was becoming.

I had originally considered simply trying to recreate Eric’s experiment.  Eric had said the God particle was generated by belief or strong thoughts.  I could, in theory, simply use my feedback prototype and amplify my own thoughts, then proceed to think very, very hard about the world the way it was.

There were two immediate problems with that idea.  First, most obviously, I had a strong suspicion my prototype wasn’t the only component that generated the Whiteout.  Eric had said that most of his equipment had been to detect and quantify the God particle, but not all of it.

Second, I wasn’t entirely certain if I could get it all correct without extensive practice.  It’s not that I was bad at visualization.  It was more my concern of having my own preconceptions color the reality it would cause.

If I took Eric at face value, it was obvious to me that, already, things were not going according to what he believed he would be bringing about, despite his extensive planning.  Right now, until I could either turn Eric’s mind around or collect more data, trying to mitigate the damage seemed to be the best way to go.  I was mulling over specifics when the campus announcement system crackled to life.

“Please remember, all students and faculty must obey the 7 pm curfew as set by the Department of Homeland Security.  All evening labs and classes have been indefinitely suspended.  If you need to leave class early to comply with the curfew, please inform your professor or teaching assistant.  Thank you.”

I glanced at my watch.  It was already 4:28.  Fortunately I kept an overnight bag in my office, the result of one too many all-nighters.  I had work to do and here was the best place to do it.  By the time I got back to the lab, most of my colleagues had already left or were packing up to go.  I passed Ken on the way to my office.

“Hey, Kenneth, do me a solid?”

“What’s up, Irene?”  Ken flashed me a jovial smile.  “I’m just about to get up out of here, but if it’s quick, I’m your man.”

“Please let Eugene know I’m going to be working late.”  No reason to freak out the night watchman, after all, not these days.  “I want to get a head start on Alma’s biomechanics numbers.”

“Sure thing!  Want me to swing by your pad and let Eric know?”  Ken was a great guy.  Unfortunately, he was being too helpful right now.

“Oh, no, no,”  I smiled in response.  “I already called him, he knows.”

“Cool beans!  Well, I am outta here.  Have fun with your numbers!”

With that, I locked myself in my office and booted my computer.  It seemed like I had some major news to catch up on before I did anything else.  What I found plastered on every news agency’s front page was a link to the joint Presidential/Congressional press conference from earlier that day.  I watched it, replayed it once to put it to memory, then sat back, letting it all sink in.

To be fair, it was about what anyone should have expected in response to what was, by all measures, a global natural disaster.  The entire nation was declared to be in a state of emergency.  All National Guardsmen were being called into service immediately, as well as all military reservists.  A national curfew was being enacted to help reduce the sudden and disastrous outbreak of violent crime as well as provide a potential safe time zone for reconstruction work to begin.

The President made sure to mention that while he was thankful for those private citizens that had stepped in and used their new abilities to help contain the violence, there was a fine but important line between self-defense, good samaritanism, and outright vigilante activity.  The United States was a country of law, I believe is how he put it, and the best thing for any of the newly empowered to do to assist the country was to follow legal channels.  Any crimes where a Pushed individual uses their powers were considered to be committed using a deadly weapon or lethal force, where appropriate.  The powers that be assured the nation that the best minds in the free world were working on finding out the causes and long-term impact of the Whiteout and that our country would continue onward, doing our best to balance freedom and national security.  Near the end of the press conference, the President made a specific statement that I particularly paid attention to.

“Now, there has been talk of an assembly of these empowered individuals, a rally of sorts, to be held here in our nation’s capitol in two days time,” he said, then paused a moment.  I could tell, despite the makeup for TV’s benefit, that the man hadn’t slept in a day or more.  “While we will not suspend anyone’s right to assembly, even in this time of crisis, I would like to personally put forth that such an assembly has the potential to be a volatile situation with the current state of affairs.  I want to make sure that the organizers of this event realize this and take that into account for their plans.”

There was concern in the President's voice, and just the faintest undercurrent of fear.  Whatever charm the Whiteout was weaving wasn’t universal, or was it?  Maybe this wasn’t only a rational response.  In quite a few of those comics I jammed into my marathon reading session, the government was often portrayed as a possible foil to the noble heroes.  Registration acts, black ops, super soldiers, and old fashioned paranoia were all themes explored.   It was certainly possibly that the powers that Eric unleashed were following a similar course.

Would Eric take the president’s veiled warnings in stride and alter his plans?  I had no idea.  He might take it as an affront and turn the event into something more violent.  He might take it as a chance to win over the suspicious by showing up and enforcing peace.  He might just cancel the whole thing.

Every time I had encountered Eric, I was having more of my notions about how he would act change, usually as more lies are peeled away.  I would simply have to assume the worst and try to prepare accordingly.  I would have to be in Washington in two days time.

My plan was as simple as it was insane.  It was a perfect product of a comic-book-influenced mind and it still made me nervous to have embraced it.  I would have to set myself up as an opposite of Eric/Epic.  Not a ‘villain’, as I needed the public to be open to listening to me, but an equally ‘heroic’ rival.

The majority of the people seemed to be instantly fascinated by the Pushed so if I could step into that role, I could try to push the actual truth of the situation forward.  Maybe, just maybe, I could counteract enough of Eric’s lies to make a difference.  If enough people started to shift their beliefs, it could start to blunt and maybe even reverse the Whiteout.

It wouldn’t be clean; it might very well not even work.  I would probably get myself killed in the process.  It was still a better chance right now than sticking my feedback machine to my head and hoping for the best.  I pulled my notebook out of my backpack and flipped to where I had begun to list what I thought I would need to try to slip into the role of, best to call a spade a spade, ‘superhero’.  I had to get past planning and into actualization very soon.

Before I could even put pencil to paper, I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck and a throbbing sensation in my brain: what I was realizing was the precursor of the Pushed and their powers.  I got up from my chair as papers and knickknacks began to blow around in an unnatural cyclone.  In a split second, there was a blinding flash of pure white light and a sudden wind as the air was displaced in the room.

As the light faded into white splotches, I could see Eric floating only a few inches off the ground, both his godlike and human faces contorted in a mixture of rage and grief.  I ignored my crawling flesh as I felt my body tense up.  Never had I seen him like this before and I had no idea what would happen next.

“How could it not work?” Eric cried as he started floating back and forth in an unnatural form of pacing.  “Tell me, Irene, what is the logic behind that?”  Even altered and enhanced as it was, Eric’s voice was trembling.  I kept my eyes on him, following every movement, and tried to keep my most even and gentle tone of voice as I spoke.

“What didn’t work, Eric?  What’s wrong?”  The question brought him to a sudden and immediate stop as he clenched his fists and shook, like a child who was filled with undirected rage.  Tears pressed out of the corners of his eyes as he turned in midair towards me.

“I could not bring them back, Irene.  I should be able to and I cannot!  My parents are still dead.  Why?”  Eric’s eyes were pleading and his tone desperate.

“I don’t know.  There’s a lot I don’t know right now because you changed it all.”  I wanted both to comfort him and to hurt him at the same time.  I settled for trying to be both blunt and helpful simultaneously.  “Honestly, I think you do have some idea why whatever it is you did didn’t work, don’t you?”

Despite my plea of ignorance, I had a few theories.   First and in my mind most likely is that, under such tremendous stress, Eric’s concentration cracked just the tiniest bit during his experiment, causing his new reality to veer from his intentions.  Maybe the Whiteout decided it needed to keep the great motivation of it’s soon-to-be greatest hero.  After all, how can you have a true defender of justice without his tragic back story?

Eric floated there, unmoving in thought save for the tremble of his clenched fists.  Even that much tension was enough to keep my senses screaming in warning.  All it would take would be a flick of a finger by such Herculean strength to knock my head clean off.

“I have so much power, almost everything I wanted, but not that one request.  Why can’t I?  Why aren’t we being greeted with open arms, Irene?  So many people love us but, even now, with the effect setting in, the government is still scared.  They shouldn’t be!  Why, Irene?”  He paused for a moment from his almost sing-song cycle of depression, clarity, and anger.

“Wait.  There was something ... one thing that I did not include in my calculations.  I never thought, even if it happened, it could possibly alter the outcome of the experiment.”  His eyes flickered from his normal brown to those same inhumanly glowing orbs I had witnessed before.  This time, that gaze felt like it was pushing right through the very essence of me.  “You.”

“Wait!  Hold on!  You seriously didn’t expect me to be there, even after that goading message?  You even said yourself you figured that I would parse out all the odd things you did.”  I met that inhuman gaze and tried to match it, as realization set off a cold anger in my heart.

“You expected that I would just roll over and accept this, didn’t you?  The whole time.  Now only is that insulting, it’s stupid, almost as stupid as thinking I somehow sabotaged the whole thing.”

“It had to be you.  My calculations were perfect.  Months of exacting research to formulate that one signal, it could not go wrong.”  Eric, no, this time there was very little Eric, it was Epic that floated up to me, the anger of the gods in his eyes.

“It was all you.  Your stubborn unchanging mind, so much confidence, so much belief, you poisoned the source at the well.  Even now, I can see it, flying off of you, waves of defiance, your desire to make this new world a tiny bit worse.”  Tears rolled down his cheeks as I felt my back against the shelves behind me.  “Why, Irene?  Why can you not let me save the world?”

“Save it?  You’re going to destroy it!  It wasn’t a great place before, but you’re going to push us over the edge unless you back down!”  I pointed out the door behind him.  “For every 10 people who are brainwashed into loving you, there is one person deathly afraid and all it takes is a few of those people in the wrong place to turn this into a new World War.”  I had ceased flinching back; now I was moving forward.  We were almost brow to brow as he hovered lower to meet my gaze.

“You want to know the worst part?  You’ll suffer the least!  You’ll wave your magic hands and fix the things you want to fix.  Just like in the comics, the good guys never suffer for long, but if you’re an extra in the background, your luck is up!”

That’s when he slapped me.  I only caught the barest indication of movement, a microsecond of tensed muscles, then the impact.  It’s possible I could have ducked away or at least softened it by flinching.  I made up my mind, in that microsecond, I wasn’t going to back down to Epic.  If I was ever going to get through to him or, in the worst case, stop him, I couldn’t retreat ever again, even if it killed me.

It stung.  It hurt, to be honest, it wasn’t a light tap on the chin.  My head snapped to the side and I could feel my lip bust open, but somehow, my head was still attached.  It felt no harder than any normal guy mistreating his girlfriend.  Even the surface of the hand felt small, smaller than Epic’s giant fists.

As I swiveled my head back around, unable to suppress a grin born of cold anger, Epic looked horrified.  Tears still trickled down his chiseled cheeks.  One eye was locked on my face, the other locked on the hand that had slapped me.

“Irene ... how ... I ... I did not mean to -”

I interrupted his stammer with a wild, angry, haymaker.  It wasn’t any of the calm, practiced techniques I learned in all those self-defense classes city-going women take.  It was the retaliation of a woman who had been pushed too far, thought of as an attachment, and then slapped like she was an animal that needed to be disciplined.  I didn’t care how much it would hurt, as long it would show him that I wasn’t the frail helpless object he wanted me to be.  It came again, the same rush I had felt in the cemetery, as my anger and focus of intent seemed to push everything in my body into overdrive.  Adrenaline pumped, endorphins sang, and every muscle fired in one giant push.