The Push Chronicles (Book 1): Indomitable (5 page)

I sat there, mulling over a myriad of possibilities, tossing out the random nonsensical ones.  After my panic earlier today, some of my old confidence in myself was coming back.  I was more sure of who I was and who I wasn’t now than ever.  Even while I was answering the door for my pizza, I was still focused on a new course of action.  I forgot about the pizza even as I laid it on the coffee table.  The hot pie was already starting to cool when something finally snapped me out of my bubble of thought.

“Earlier this evening, our investigative news team acquired the exclusive opportunity to interview one of the first Pushed caught on camera, the hero that saved three hundred and seventy-eight passengers and crew on board Delta Flight 287.  Here is that interview.”

New God Eric appeared on camera.  From the background, I could gather that they were on the top of a building, either very high up or in a more sparsely populated part of town.  The suburbs perhaps?   Unlike when I met him in the flesh, there was only the new perfect superhuman, no painful double image.  Still, though, his face made my skin crawl.

“Thank you for this unique chance, Mr. ...?” Kelly Graham, the interviewer in question, prompted.

“You are welcome.  I wanted to take time to come forward before but there is so much work to do.”  Eric let the implied question hang.  “Still, to calm the public’s perceptions of me and several of my fellow Pushed, I realized I had to make the time to ensure everyone out there knew what my intentions were.”

“I think what the public wants to know as much if not more is who you are and how you came to be like this.”  At least it looked like Graham wasn’t going to totally softball this.

“I do not have a name anymore.  There is nothing left of the man who was, and all that is left is someone who wants to use the power he has to make the world a better place.  As for how I came to be this way, as with many of those who have been Pushed, there was that great white light and I found myself like I am now.  There is not much else to tell.”

“Of course.  The city appreciates all you have done over the past day.  The Hartfield disaster, putting a halt to a Push Battle in Grant Park, and stepping in to rescue people trapped in that tenement fire in College Park, but not everyone like you seems to think that serving the public is the right thing to do.  What are your thoughts on that?”  Here comes the puff piece questions, I told myself, gnawing on a pizza crust.

“I think you are seeing a lot of confused, frightened souls going through a life-altering change.  In time, I think most will see the error of their ways.  If they do not, all I can say is I, and other like minded Pushed, will contain and stop them.”

“That sounds like it may be an epic undertaking.”  Eric smiled at that.  Even as changed as he was, I could recognize that certain smile he always had when he had inspiration.

“Well, if the deeds I am committed to are epic, maybe that is what you should call me.”  Eric gave a humble-looking shrug.

“I suppose it’s as good a name as any.  So, ‘Epic’, how do you know you won’t be doing this alone?”  I heard myself groan.  The analytical part of me chimed in that, regardless of my own opinions, it had the proper flavor to be picked up rapidly in by the apparent tastes of post-Whiteout humanity.

“We Pushed are not any different than you or any other normal person.  When like-minded people seek to accomplish something they cannot do alone, they band together.  They always have.”  Eric paused dramatically and before he could be interrupted, continued.

“In fact, I want to put out a call.  A message to all the Pushed out there that want to help their fellow man.  I want them to join me, to band together not only to present a united front for the good of mankind, but to present an accountable face to allay the fears those same men may have of us.”

“Exactly where do you plan to hold this ... rally?  Meeting?”

“Either words work, Ms. Graham.  Washington, D.C.  The capitol of this great nation.  I will go there in three days to present myself to our government as an act of good will.  All who wish to do the same should join with me there.”

“Aren’t you afraid that your appearance might startle the military or the Secret Service?  We still have little word of what might be coming out of Congress tomorrow.”

“I am not.  My intentions are stated and I expect, like all wise leaders, they will read those intentions for what they are.  Now, I apologize, but I fear that duty calls.”

Before Graham could get another word in, Eric streaked off in a corona of unnatural white light.  The camera shook as the backblast of wind from his departure rattled the interview crew.

“There you have it.  Epic, one Pushed declaring his intentions to help his fellow man.  We’ll have more news on this possible Push rally as word comes in to us.  Back to you, Bill.”

I clicked off the TV.  Experts and pundits would be all over this.  The word would spread like wildfire.  Who knows how many people Eric’s speech would attract?  It’s not like they would know how much half-truth there was to it.

His move to get himself exposed to media quickly, but not so fast as he looked like he was simply there for attention, was well-planned.  If Eric could establish himself as a hero to the public, any misdeeds could be forgotten or pushed under the rug.  If he came into a position as a leader in a community of super-powerful people, the entire nation, hell, the entire world would have to pay attention to him.

Maybe that could be his weakness as well.  Eric may be detached from reality and he may be unbalanced, but he wasn’t ‘evil’.  Direct violence was out of the question.  Even if I thought that a direct confrontation was needed, I had no idea how it could be done.  Hell, if it was even possible now.

To try to counteract Eric, to finally show him the light of reason, the only way to go would be to challenge his notions publicly and overtake his growing reputation.  Basically, someone needed to be the other party in an election for consensual reality, as corny as that sounded.  As the only person I knew on the planet who knew what really happened, I had a growing sense of dread that it would have to be me. 

Chapter 7 Facet

I broke my day-old cardinal rule of this new reality as I sipped at my morning coffee.   I let my mental guard down and fully embraced at least one of the inane notions the Whiteout had brought on.  I was adamant, though, that I was going to do it my own way.  I finished jotting down in my scratch pad a brief list of what I thought I was going to need to carry out my plan, then finished my breakfast.

Whatever had caused my unnatural hunger had subsided and my injuries seemed to be healing nicely.  I was still worried about that particular oddity, but I couldn’t tell if I was simply being paranoid or not.  I was starting to believe that I would just have to accept some unnatural things until the Whiteout had been reversed.

It was probably true that I could have kept with the illness excuse and bought myself another free day but I realized that my laboratory at the university was a valuable asset that I couldn’t deprive myself of.  If I was seriously going to try to lead some kind of resistance (was that the right word?), I would need to know more about what exactly Eric’s experiment was doing to everyone and everything on the planet.  I couldn’t match his genius, but I had my own specialties to draw on.  On top of that, I was anxious to hear what was going to be coming from the federal government this morning.  The press conference was scheduled to start in less than two hours and I wanted to be somewhere useful, just in case something insane like national curfews or the like was announced.

It’s a good thing that I left the apartment when I did.  While it seemed that the first initial surge of Push activity was starting to subside, Atlanta was still reeling from it.  There were entire city blocks cordoned off by police barricades.  Bridges and overpasses had been shattered.  The part of Downtown I cruised through bore more resemblance to pictures of shattered cities from World War II than anything else.

Even the people out and about seemed in a state of recovering shock, if they weren’t glued to a TV, radio, or mobile device spewing whatever bits of news they could shove out about the Whiteout.  The only ‘good’ thing I noticed was that there were far fewer people on the streets than normal.  If there was another Push Battle or other unnatural event, there were far fewer innocent bystanders to be hurt by it today.

My favorite parking deck was half-collapsed from some tremendous force, so it took me a few extra minutes to get to the physiology lab.  I rushed down the hall, glancing at my watch from time to time, when I caught sight of Dean Tyson with a small stack of manilla folders under one arm and an expectant look on his face.  Undoubtedly, the dean had my research group’s next assignment ready and waiting.  I raised a hand to catch his attention and met him halfway to the lab door.

“Dear God, Irene, what happened to you?”  His eyes were flitting around my face, then the cast, then back again to look at my cuts and scrapes.

“Push Battle.  I had to run by the drug store and one broke out right on the freeway nearby.”  I may have been lying a little, but it was close enough to the truth to sneak by his notice.

“Fascinating!”  Reginald had that same star-struck look I had seen in the eyes of most people when talking about the Pushed.  “I would have loved to been able to observe that in person.  For scientific purposes, of course.”

“Of course.”  I clamped down on the hundreds of disgusted comments I wanted to say.  Who would love to see a dozen people dead or horrifically injured in front of their eyes?  A lot of people in this new world order, it seemed.

“I was lucky and was only caught on the fringes.  I don’t really want to talk about it too much.”  I shook my head sadly.  I didn’t need to actually put on an act.  I only needed to let my feelings of anguish over what I had seen come to the fore.

“I’m sorry, I was being inconsiderate.  How about we get to business then?  Maybe throwing yourself into some work will help you cope with things; it always helps me!”  Dean Tyson wasn’t the best judge of character, but at least he was trying to be compassionate in his own peculiar way.

“Right, let’s get to work.”

We sat down in my office.  It was almost surreal being here again and to see it completely unchanged from the time days ago I locked up our prototype.  I suppressed the urge to unlock the storage cabinet to see if the feedback device was actually there like Ken said it was.  After settling in our seats, the dean laid the collection of folders on my desk.

“This is private information, Irene, so please keep this to yourself and only let your research associates know the bare minimum needed to do their jobs.”  The Dean pushed the first folder towards me.

“According to the initial data we were sent from the Department of Energy’s Office of Science this morning, the Atlanta area appears to be a hotspot of post-Whiteout phenomenon.  With that being the case, we were offered the chance to get first crack at studying the Whiteout and the Pushed with our easy access to data.”

I picked up the folder and gave the numbers a cursory glance.  Considering this is where the Whiteout started from, it made sense its effects would be strongest here, near ground zero.

“Alright.”  I nodded slowly.  “What projects do you want us to start with here?”  A strong part of me wanted to have nothing to do with any Whiteout related work, not when my life’s work was sitting mostly finished in the cabinet behind me.  It galled me to have it swept under the carpet like this.  Still, I couldn’t argue that something even more important had reared it’s head and I had an obligation to find out everything I could about it.

“Fortunately, despite the occasional outbreaks of violence, many Pushed are just normal people caught in extraordinary circumstances.  We already have a Pushed citizen, a student here at Tech as a matter of fact, that has already come to us seeking help understanding what was happening to them.”  Tyson handed me the next folder.

“Normally, we wouldn’t be able to get all the paperwork arranged and ready so quickly but, well, let’s just say that certain wheels are being greased by some very important individuals.”  I flipped open the folder and began to glance over it as Reginald continued.  “The specifics aren’t important.  What is important is that this young woman wants to understand her condition and we want to understand it as well.  I want you to do a full physiological and biochemical study of her bodily changes using every tool and technique at your disposal.”

“Alma Gutierrez, sophmore EE major ...” I flipped through the file and then back to the picture taken of her new self.  “Has her form changed anymore from this that we know of?”

“No, the change seems permanent and stable.  In fact, I already took the liberty of having her wait in your clean room.”

“The clean room?  Do we really want to scare the girl by poking at her while we look like CDC workers?”  I closed the folder and got to my feet.  Reginald looked a bit sheepish.

“I simply thought that would be best for achieving the best results as quickly as possible.”

“This isn’t a petri dish of microbes, Reggie.  This is a human being, for Christ’s sake.”

I left the dean there to sputter and made my way across the lab offices to the experimental areas.  At the end of the hall was the clear-paned door of the airlock into the clean room.  From there, I caught my first glimpse of Alma Gutierrez, college student and now experimental subject.

She was short before the Push, at least from the school’s records, but now was fairly tall, even taller than I was, topping six feet easily.  Her entire body seemed to have been replaced with intricately faceted crystals of some unknown mineral.  Whatever her new body was made of it, it was semi-transparent:  I could observe the subtle motions of crystalline bones and the shifting of internal structures in her bare arms and legs as she paced the sterile room.  I wondered for a moment at the lack of shoes but then I noticed how the hard edges of her body were already wearing cuts into her denim shorts and flannel shirt.  As with Eric and the other Pushed I had met, my head began to ache and my senses twist:  I could see that ghostly afterimage of what the photo had told me was the real Alma inside the new shape.  Exposure was starting to making the feeling less sickening but no less bizarre.  I depressed the intercom switch by the door and cleared my throat.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Gutierrez.  The Dean was just being overcautious.”  I pointed at the airlock door.  “Let’s get you out of there, OK?  Get in the airlock and I’ll cycle you out.”

If I hadn’t been able to see that phantom self inside of Alma, I’d have been hard pressed to read her expression through the angular lines and see-through segments.  The inner Alma seemed relieved though and dutifully entered the airlock and waited.  I ran the air exchange from the outer door panel then opened the pressurized door for my guest.  She stepped out into the hallway.  Up close I was a bit dazzled as the overhead lights refracted with rainbow colors through her body.  After a moment, she spoke for the first time.

“Thanks.”  As with Eric’s, I could hear two voices.  The first was windy and resonant; the second was normal and tinged with a Mexican accent.  “I hope you can help me.”

“I hope we can too.”  I offered her a hand to shake.  “I’m Dr. Irene Roman, head of this research group.  My specialties are physiology and physical therapy.  It’s nice to meet you.”  Alma stared at my hand for a long moment with those clear, crystal eyes.

“It’s good to meet you too, Doctor.”  The facets in her face contorted, her inner face showing embarrassment.  “I, uh, I’m sorry.  I really shouldn’t shake your hand.”  It only took a moment of thought to realize why.

“All of the edges of your facets are rough then?”

“Yeah.  The fingers and toes are the worst, but anywhere they get small, they get sharper, I think.”  She ran her hands over her face, producing an eerie sound.  Up close, I could see her hair too was now composed of crystalline strands, extremely stiff and hanging limply against the nape of her neck.

“Well, we will be careful then.”  I carefully put a hand on her shoulder, avoiding putting any real pressure against the edges sawing through her shirt.  Strangely, her crystal skin felt like jelly under my fingers; I had to force myself not to push through it.  This difficulty was compounded as I felt every fiber of my being want to recoil away from her.  “Follow me and let’s get the initial exams started.”

As I started the physical examination, I decided to strike up a conversation.  I would have liked to have said it was purely for scientific purposes, or to help my patient feel more at ease with her unusual situation, and it was partly for those reasons.  I am a little ashamed to say that I also had another ulterior motive:  I wanted to see if I could figure out how the Push affected the mind.  I had only a minor in psychology and minimal post-grad work, but with what I was about to undertake, I wanted to know as much as I could about them.

“So, Alma, can you tell me what how this happened?”  I took a casual friendly tone as I began.

“I don’t know.”  Alma was trying to hold still while I, in vain, was searching for normal human vitals, but I could feel her crystalline body shudder ever so slightly.  “I just woke up yesterday morning like this.  The sheets were torn up, my underwear ... I ...”  She paused, her faceted eyes shut behind transparent eyelids.  “I hurt my boyfriend pretty bad.  I must have been thrashing or something.”

“It’s okay, Alma.”  I gave up on her pulse and put a stethoscope to her chest.  I could see, with close examination, exactly where what had to be a crystal heart beat in her body, clouded by layers of diamond-like tissue.  I was struck by the oddity of her body's hardness to my instruments, despite the strangely liquid sensation it had under my fingers.

“I can assure you, with one hundred percent certainty, this is not your fault.”  Everywhere, it seemed, was more pain that Eric’s experiment had caused.

“It’s not okay.”  The sound of her heart beat was more like hearing the amplified noises of a weak, repetitive earthquake.  “Maybe it’s not my fault I’m this way, but I still hurt him.”  I looked up at the sound of what I could only guess was this body’s way of crying.  Small semi-fluid shards seeped out of the corner of the shut eyelid facets.  “There’s one thing you can never do, Doc, and that’s forget about what you’re responsible for.  Even if I never meant it, I did it.  I’d do anything to fix it.”

I carefully put one of her hands into my own.  Unlike her clothes, my skin remained unscathed.  The gesture of empathy seemed to calm the young woman.

“I promise I’ll do everything in my power to fix this.  For now, though, we need to find out how your new body works so that we can take care of you and you can take care of yourself until we do find out how to fix it.  Please lie back and let’s keep talking, okay?”

Despite the fact that I still wanted to find out how the Pushed mind worked, this brief conversation had shamed that line of questioning from me.  I promised myself that I wouldn’t violate people the way Eric had, intentionally or not, while trying to fix this.  I wouldn’t stoop to his level.  Never.

It took eight hours to complete the battery of tests we had laid out for Alma.  I had become so engrossed in trying to give her some answers I completely forgot about the Congressional announcements.  Some results were pending as I wound up having to send tissue and fluid samples not to the biology department but to the material science department instead.  I continued to notice how unnaturally her tissues reacted to my touch, forcing me to use tools and instruments to manipulate all the samples taken.