Aberrant: In the Beginning - Development and Dialogue

[z-Wei Fang]

Fang opened her mouth to reply, then stopped herself with a glance at the clock. "This has been fascinating, but I must go. I'll be back later." She bussed her tray and hurried to change, then caught a cab into London. She was dropped at her location, and here she paused, feeling uncertain.

Fang drew herself upright, lifting her head and staring up the long stairs at the doors to the Japanese embassy. She had an appointment; she had practically been invited once they knew who – and what – she was. Still, she was nervous. She touched the conservative silk Cheongsam that she’d found in a London boutique. It was floor-length and long sleeved, with a high Mao collar. When she’d seen it, she’d thought it was perfect. Now, she was wondering if it were dowdy.

Still, she had no time to change. Squaring her shoulders, she walked proudly up the stairs. At the door, the Japanese doorman/guard opened it hastily for her, bowing deeply. With a start of surprise, she realized he knew who she was. Doubly nervous because she’d been singled out, she walked into the building, trying – and mostly – succeeding to have a stoic mask.

She was greeted in the hallway by two men who were just as Japanese as the guard she’d just passed. They bowed deeply, greeting her in Chinese. “Welcome, Ms. Wei. You honor us with your presence.”

Fang echoed the bow but replied in Japanese. “Thank you. You honor me with your generosity. It is a privilege to meet with your country.”

They were just underlings; she never even learned their names. The important man was waiting for her via teleconference. Ryutaro Hashimoto, Prime Minister of Japan gazed at her impassively from around the world. Around him, his fourteen Ministers of State watched, their faces even more expressionless than the Prime Minster’s. Fang gave him her best bow, making it as deep as she could. These men were the lynchpin of her plans for the future.

“You wished to see me?” Prime Minister Hashimoto asked.

Fang took a deep breath and began to change the world.

[z-Wei Fang]

Fang opened her mouth to reply, then stopped herself with a glance at the clock. "This has been fascinating, but I must go. I'll be back later." She bussed her tray and hurried to change, then caught a cab into London. She was dropped at her location, and here she paused, feeling uncertain.

Fang drew herself upright, lifting her head and staring up the long stairs at the doors to the Japanese embassy. She had an appointment; she had practically been invited once they knew who – and what – she was. Still, she was nervous. She touched the conservative silk Cheongsam that she’d found in a London boutique. It was floor-length and long sleeved, with a high Mao collar. When she’d seen it, she’d thought it was perfect. Now, she was wondering if it were dowdy.

Still, she had no time to change. Squaring her shoulders, she walked proudly up the stairs. At the door, the Japanese doorman/guard opened it hastily for her, bowing deeply. With a start of surprise, she realized he knew who she was. Doubly nervous because she’d been singled out, she walked into the building, trying – and mostly – succeeding to have a stoic mask.

She was greeted in the hallway by two men who were just as Japanese as the guard she’d just passed. They bowed deeply, greeting her in Chinese. “Welcome, Ms. Wei. You honor us with your presence.”

Fang echoed the bow but replied in Japanese. “Thank you. You honor me with your generosity. It is a privilege to meet with your country.”

They were just underlings; she never even learned their names. The important man was waiting for her via teleconference. Ryutaro Hashimoto, Prime Minister of Japan gazed at her impassively from around the world. Around him, his fourteen Ministers of State watched, their faces even more expressionless than the Prime Minster’s. Fang gave him her best bow, making it as deep as she could. These men were the lynchpin of her plans for the future.

“You wished to see me?” Prime Minister Hashimoto asked.

Fang took a deep breath and began to change the world.

[Courier]

Rich meditated on the concrete floor and tried to make sense of a dream he’d been having. It’d been confused and disjoined, but that Plutonium woman had been involved again. She’d shown up in his dreams more than once since he’d been here. Dreams were basically garbage from the subconscious, but obviously his subconscious wasn’t just digesting something, it was trying to tell him something.

He’d had some news from the States. His coworkers had confirmed, again, that no woman had been at the landing site. No rods either, even dead ones. The consensus was he’d panicked after the impact; currently he was blaming it on gaining his powers. Argonne National Labs had publically blamed him for the ‘death’ of every bit of radioactive matter they’d had. “Blame” might not be the right word, their attitude ranged from ‘pissed’ to ‘thrilled’ and he’d gotten a couple of job offers from them.

Dave’s daughter was still dead (no surprise there). From this far away Rich couldn’t tell how he was taking it. Emily was still in a coma with no change. Telling his family about his changes and newfound abilities had been interesting. He could tell that Bob senior initially believed he’d started drinking again. Samantha had told him so outright. They hadn’t fully believed until after he’d told them exactly what was going to happen during his public ‘unveiling’. Pity he hadn’t been there to see the look on their faces.

Bob had seen right off that pulling Em out was the next logical step. When he made it back to Chicago he’d have friends and family around when he tried succeeded at it. Rich figured that he needed Bob around for the big wake up scene. Not just because he was family, or even because he’d earned it, Bob was pretty much unchanged from 6 years ago. Sam was now a woman, and Rich looked of an age where he could be dating her. Sam had suggested he start dating models and actresses… which he mentally translated into: ‘Could he introduce her to models and actresses’? The hell of it was he probably could.

But although these were the big issues he’d been thinking and dealing with, none of them seemed like a good candidate for generating disturbed dreams with people transforming into radiation. Sometimes a cigar was only a cigar. So… maybe dreams of people turning into radiation didn’t *have* a deeper meaning. Maybe it meant what it said it meant.

Rich glanced around at the bare walls of ‘the radiation room’. No vents, no fans, a table with some junk on it and another with a few cameras and some other sensors. He felt the caged mouse was a little over kill. Granted, his powers ranged from the ‘let’s make the Docs surreally happy by dangling a Nobel Prize in medicine in front of them’ to ‘let’s scare the shit out of them.’ With that range it wasn’t a shock they shied away from the later and wanted to spend serious time on the former. Rich didn’t hold it against them; he’d have done the same. But all the same, Healing was the bastard offspring of radiation control; it was time to see if it had any siblings.

Rich reached out with his mind and made a ‘ball’ of radiation, then cupped in his hands like he would water. Two weeks ago it would have been hard to trust his senses, the radiation was there. His eyes couldn’t see it, but it was there anyway. A week ago he wouldn’t have had the guts to touch the stuff. His training told him he should keel over dead right about now, but experience had shown the brain just wouldn’t let him hurt himself. Like the others, he was immune to the stuff he was controlling.

And then he just… acquired it. Became it. It was easy… but various things started clicking on the table and the mouse died. Rich was two days figuring out how to not kill the mouse or make the counters go ‘click’. Two days after that he got the hang of flying. Picking up eggs without roasting them was harder still.

[Courier]

Rich meditated on the concrete floor and tried to make sense of a dream he’d been having. It’d been confused and disjoined, but that Plutonium woman had been involved again. She’d shown up in his dreams more than once since he’d been here. Dreams were basically garbage from the subconscious, but obviously his subconscious wasn’t just digesting something, it was trying to tell him something.

He’d had some news from the States. His coworkers had confirmed, again, that no woman had been at the landing site. No rods either, even dead ones. The consensus was he’d panicked after the impact; currently he was blaming it on gaining his powers. Argonne National Labs had publically blamed him for the ‘death’ of every bit of radioactive matter they’d had. “Blame” might not be the right word, their attitude ranged from ‘pissed’ to ‘thrilled’ and he’d gotten a couple of job offers from them.

Dave’s daughter was still dead (no surprise there). From this far away Rich couldn’t tell how he was taking it. Emily was still in a coma with no change. Telling his family about his changes and newfound abilities had been interesting. He could tell that Bob senior initially believed he’d started drinking again. Samantha had told him so outright. They hadn’t fully believed until after he’d told them exactly what was going to happen during his public ‘unveiling’. Pity he hadn’t been there to see the look on their faces.

Bob had seen right off that pulling Em out was the next logical step. When he made it back to Chicago he’d have friends and family around when he tried succeeded at it. Rich figured that he needed Bob around for the big wake up scene. Not just because he was family, or even because he’d earned it, Bob was pretty much unchanged from 6 years ago. Sam was now a woman, and Rich looked of an age where he could be dating her. Sam had suggested he start dating models and actresses… which he mentally translated into: ‘Could he introduce her to models and actresses’? The hell of it was he probably could.

But although these were the big issues he’d been thinking and dealing with, none of them seemed like a good candidate for generating disturbed dreams with people transforming into radiation. Sometimes a cigar was only a cigar. So… maybe dreams of people turning into radiation didn’t *have* a deeper meaning. Maybe it meant what it said it meant.

Rich glanced around at the bare walls of ‘the radiation room’. No vents, no fans, a table with some junk on it and another with a few cameras and some other sensors. He felt the caged mouse was a little over kill. Granted, his powers ranged from the ‘let’s make the Docs surreally happy by dangling a Nobel Prize in medicine in front of them’ to ‘let’s scare the shit out of them.’ With that range it wasn’t a shock they shied away from the later and wanted to spend serious time on the former. Rich didn’t hold it against them; he’d have done the same. But all the same, Healing was the bastard offspring of radiation control; it was time to see if it had any siblings.

Rich reached out with his mind and made a ‘ball’ of radiation, then cupped in his hands like he would water. Two weeks ago it would have been hard to trust his senses, the radiation was there. His eyes couldn’t see it, but it was there anyway. A week ago he wouldn’t have had the guts to touch the stuff. His training told him he should keel over dead right about now, but experience had shown the brain just wouldn’t let him hurt himself. Like the others, he was immune to the stuff he was controlling.

And then he just… acquired it. Became it. It was easy… but various things started clicking on the table and the mouse died. Rich was two days figuring out how to not kill the mouse or make the counters go ‘click’. Two days after that he got the hang of flying. Picking up eggs without roasting them was harder still.