Authors: Mikael Aizen
Copyright 2011 by Mikael Aizen
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The Sudanese claims were verified and President Clinton took the offer to hand over Bin Laden.
9-11 never happened.
Gore was elected with the largest financial surplus in US history and money is poured into scientific research.
Behavioral Genetics, a movement that believes a person's behaviors, attractions, and tendencies are coded into genetics is Science’s newest child prodigy--the government’s newest tool in mass propaganda.
The year is 2025.
A bird that migrates for winter.
Was it born with this instinct?
Was it destined to behave this way?
Did some single genetic code deep within it force the bird to flap its wings northward and migrate?
Are there similar genetic codes within humans that make our choices for us?
We are no different than the other beasts of Earth.
Like all creatures we share the four f's of survival: feed, flight, fight, and reproduce.
There are these, and much, much more.
Behavioral Genetics, my friend.
We behave as we were programmed.
-Andre Mollinda, Founder of The Association of Genetic Determinism, 2011 'Letter of Discovery.'
Pa opened the front door.
It was 7:00 in the morning and two security men in black everything--boots, belts, vests--stood outside.
"Mr. Nelson?" Kyle heard one say.
Pa glanced back and nudged the door closed.
The door bounced on the toe of one man's boot.
"Wait for me in the living room," he said.
Kyle hesitated, but he obediently walked around the corner until he was out of sight.
Then he cupped an ear to listen.
He couldn't hear much, Pa and the men spoke so quietly, but he did hear the word 'test.'
The door closed.
He counted to three before running around the corner.
"What was that?" Kyle asked.
"I have to go to work."
His dusty eyes focused as he knelt, handing Kyle the orange he'd been holding.
"Something just came up."
Through the panes of the door, Kyle could see the backs of the men, waiting.
This wasn't work.
The men were Public Security.
Kyle took the orange.
"What about my school?"
"No school today.
I'll be too tired to teach when I get back," Pa replied.
His fingers drummed the kitchen table.
"What's going on at work?"
"A test," he said.
"What kind of test?"
"Nothing I shouldn't pass."
test, isn't it?
For The Code?" Kyle just said it.
The obvious part, at least.
Pa hadn't said "retest" but Kyle
it was a retest because the only time Public Security people came to your house wanting you to go with them right away was when your first test was weird.
And if it was weird because your blood had The Code in it, you never came back.
You went to Murderer City immediately.
Pa shook his head, grinned.
"Can’t seem to keep anything from you anymore."
Pa ruffled Kyle's hair and bent to a knee.
"All right, I'm going.
Give me a hug."
Pa looked at him.
"No use worrying about it.
Either I do or I don’t.
And chances are I don’t."
The numbers in general were twelve in a hundred thousand.
He didn’t know the numbers for retesting.
But Pa was right, no use worrying about it.
It didn’t make him worry any less.
Kyle jumped into Pa's hands just long enough to stuff the orange into his father's mouth, still unpeeled.
"You aren't a murderer.
I can tell."
Pa gave a wry smile.
Then he bit right into the rind, growling as he spit out the piece and tossed the rest of the orange back to Kyle.
"Keep your research to a few hours.
If you want to grow tall, you'll have to exercise.
Try to make some friends with the boys next door or at the very least, play tag with your own shadow.
That's what the sun's for," he joked.
His big boots clomped across the floor.
He was wrong about the exercising and growing tall stuff, Kyle had checked.
checked the facts.
"Hey Pa," Kyle said.
"Be like a duck."
Pa grinned when he heard the phrase.
He claimed that he’d made it up.
He hadn't, of course, but Kyle never told him he knew the truth.
"Kick like hell underneath," Pa said back.
It meant that on the surface, you do what have to do, but you always end up wherever your kicking took you.
Then Pa gathered him in a big bear hug.
Tight like he'd never let go.
Long as any hug Kyle’d ever had.
Pa left with the men.
Kyle ran upstairs to his outdated slate-screen computer.
He'd be waiting for Pa to come home.
Jay looked away.
The doctor patted his shoulder, bent over his exposed arm.
The clinic was small with fake plants everywhere.
As if the room was pretending to be a garden.
It wasn't cold but he felt his hair rise as the needle edged closer.
As smart as Kyle was for a nine-year old, Jay hadn't told said what was really going on.
This was his second testing, a callback testing, a retest.
Chances were that there was a mistake with the first test.
But what if there wasn’t?
If he really HAD The Code, Kyle would be taken away by the government child protection agencies and be given up for adoption by some upstanding members of society...if Kyle didn't have The Code either.
He didn’t know much about Murderer City, but he’d heard the rumors.
Murderer City wasn’t a place for
, criminal, bastard, or murderer.
It wasn’t a place to live with others carrying The Code like they said, it was a place to die with them.
The needle went in and blood came out.
The doctor smiled kindly before turning with the filled vial and leaving the room.
Jay sat alone.
Minutes passed and the silence weighed.
He fidgeted uncomfortably and his fists couldn't stop crumpling at the armrest paper.
He stood up and paced the room, glanced at the door and tapped on the door handle--it didn't move.
He heard a bump on the other side, someone was standing guard.
It made Jay's heart race.
More minutes and Jay wondered if it would just be better to run and hide with Kyle, just to be sure.
Callbacks meant that they'd already tested Jay once.
It meant they were only making sure he had The Code.
It meant that
, right now, was the only chance Jay had to escape.
If he had The Code.
Jay took deep breaths.
He was panicking.
But damn it.
He wasn't going to wait around to see.
If he didn't have The Code the worst they could do was slap him on the wrist for running.
Jay moved toward the only window of the room when he heard the door click.
The door was cracked open, unmoving.
"What is it, doc?" he asked.
"What's the result?
I'm dying here," Jay chuckled, a sick feeling dropped into his gut.
Jay went for the door.
It swung wide before he got there and a man in an armored uniform and dark beady sunglasses stood looking at a form in his hand.
The doctor behind him was cowering.
The uniformed man calmly handed the form backwards and lifted a gun from his waist, pointing it at Jay.
"Jason Nelson, you're under arrest.
Hands on your head.
"You're kidding me," Jay stared at the doctor.
The doctor cringed, retreating behind a nearby mini-palm tree.
Where was the kind smile now?
"You're fucking kidding me!" Jay yelled.
"Do it again, you must've done something wrong."
"Hands on your head," the uniformed man repeated.
Kyle would be waiting for Jay.
Kyle would be tested next.
Jay charged the uniformed man, screaming at the top of his lungs.
The man pulled the trigger and cold agony rampaged through him.
He hit the ground, stiff as a board, unable to move.
Seconds later, he gasped.
The man knelt above Jay with a still look.
He tapped his gun on Jay's head.
"Next time I'll use a bullet."
He grunted, pulled Jay to his feet.
"Hands on your head."
Jay wanted to fight.
Break out in a run.
Swing a fist, try something.
His arms still tingled, his leg muscles were cramped.
He didn’t have a choice.
The gun pressed hard into his back.
"Where are you taking me?"
He had to ask, even though he knew exactly where they were going.
The man prodded him with the gun.
Jay began walking.
The doctor got out from behind the fake tree and spoke.
He never once looked Jay in the face.