{"id":2094,"date":"2020-12-10T16:10:00","date_gmt":"2020-12-10T23:10:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/?p=2094"},"modified":"2020-12-19T19:13:35","modified_gmt":"2020-12-20T02:13:35","slug":"induction","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/2020\/12\/10\/induction\/","title":{"rendered":"Induction"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

prompt:  Write about someone who has a superpower….<\/em><\/em>
available on Reedsy<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the moment I stepped in I felt out of place. I didn\u2019t belong here, no matter what their tests said. What it all boils down to is that laws tend to be black and white, and don\u2019t consider anything grey might exist between the extremes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSand-ra Crook-shank, room two. Sand-ra Crook-shank, room two.\u201d The voice over the intercom was mechanical, the machine trying its best to pronounce my name. I made my way to room two, through the hallway marked \u201cInduction.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The room was small, a single desk, two chairs, a photo on the wall, and nothing on the desk besides a folder, opened to a page with my driver\u2019s license photo and stats. Behind the desk sat a small balding man, cheeks pink as if he had been running, short brown hair circling his porcelain dome, and thick, horn-rimmed glasses hanging precariously at the tip of his short nose. \u201cMiss Crook-shank,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSond-ra Crow-shonk,\u201d I pronounced for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSpell it again?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cS-a-n-d-r-a, C-r-o-u-q-s-h-a-n-q.\u201d He hadn\u2019t offered but I sat in the chair across from him anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I contemplated my long fingers, chipped pink polish bright against dark brown skin. They were long, like the rest of me. Maybe I just felt out of place because I always have. A six-foot-tall girl already has trouble fitting in. My skin is dark reddish brown and my hair is either in braids or an uncontrolled afro, which made me stand out even more in the small Oregon town where I grew up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, miss Crouqshanq, I assume you know why you\u2019re here.\u201d He flipped to the next page and began filling out the form there in a small, cramped script, his fingers gripping the pen so tightly they were turning white with pink splotches.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause I got a letter, yesterday<\/em>, telling me to show up here today or go to prison.\u201d I crossed my arms and let my best \u201cI ain\u2019t scared of nothin\u2019\u201d attitude out. \u201cAnd because whoever wrote the stupid powered people law was an idiot.\u201d I shot my growing anger at him. \u201cI rode 16 hours by bus and train to get here, and because you idiots couldn\u2019t give me the time to plan ahead I\u2019m missing work. I want compensation for the tickets and<\/em> the lost wages!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cY-yes, miss, I understand.\u201d He pushed his glasses up his nose with a stubby finger. \u201cI\u2019m sorry that the letter didn\u2019t arrive sooner, but it should have been there last week.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of course, maybe it had been there. I don\u2019t check my post office box very often, and I couldn\u2019t recall checking at all in the week prior. My posture relaxed, along with my attitude. \u201cWell, I\u2019m here now, but I really shouldn\u2019t be.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo no,\u201d he said, tapping on the paperwork with the pen. \u201cIt\u2019s all right here. You\u2019re a muta\u2026, super\u2026, uh, powered person.\u201d He shifted in his seat as though it were made of needles. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, I\u2019m still not used to\u2026 uh, how do you people prefer to refer to yourselves these days?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou people!?\u201d I could feel the anger rising. \u201cWhat kind of backwards shit-hole do you come from that you think can get away with saying shit like that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t think it was possible, but he seemed to shrink even smaller in his seat. \u201cPlease, I, uh, really\u2026 sorry miss Crouqshanq.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m not really sure what it was, but every minute I spent in his presence dragged annoyance to rage. \u201cEnough of that! Just call me Sandra and let\u2019s finish this, mister\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh sorry,\u201d he said. He sat up a little straighter. \u201cKevin McNalley. Please, just call me Kevin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure thing Kevin.\u201d He relaxed and it was as though he returned to his previous small size. In fact, his dress shirt filled out a little. \u201cAre you\u2026 powered?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe always called ourselves mutants, but that works. No one like the m-word any more.\u201d He smiled and pushed his glasses up again. \u201cRight, so, we know you\u2019re powered, but we need to know what your power is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo you can figure out whether to put me in the military or prison?\u201d I huffed. \u201cI\u2019m not dangerous to the government, or the enemy, or anyone really. Look Kevin, I really shouldn\u2019t be here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPerhaps your power hasn\u2019t manifested itself yet.\u201d He continued filling out the form with his vice-grip hold on the pen that made my hand cramp looking at it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, it has, for years now.\u201d I was sure that when they found out what it was they\u2019d want to let me go. Except the law isn\u2019t written that way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFantastic! So,\u201d he asked, \u201cwhat\u2019s your power?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s yours?\u201d Turn about is fair play, right?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI, uh\u2026 shrink.\u201d He said it so softly that I wasn\u2019t sure I heard it right, until he shrunk down to half his size and returned to normal, his glasses barely hanging on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, that would be useful.\u201d I pointed at myself. \u201cNot sure you noticed, but I have a hard time finding a date being this tall.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNonsense, you\u2019ll find someone.\u201d He stopped writing for a moment. \u201cIn fact, I married a tall woman\u2026 w-well, taller than me at least. She\u2019s, uh, five-seven.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, look at you, Kevin. Little guy making it big.\u201d As angry as I was, no sooner had I said it than I wished I hadn\u2019t. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, that was rude and insensitive.\u201d This is not me! Why am I being a bitch!?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He just laughed. \u201cCall it even?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know how long the trip up here was?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot sure. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt was approximately 20,011,875,840 inches.\u201d I pulled out my phone and opened the calculator. \u201cSo that\u2019s\u2026 roughly 562 miles.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy inches?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShush, Kevin,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ll explain.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pointed to a picture on the wall, Kevin and his \u201ctall\u201d woman standing in front of a mid-sized car. \u201cThe car in that photo weighs around 1,519,988 grams. Don\u2019t ask for pounds because I can\u2019t remember the formula to convert it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLook up at the ceiling,\u201d I said. I pointed at the sound damping ceiling tiles. \u201cThere are about 2,816,112 little holes in the ceiling tiles.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs that your power?\u201d He looked confused. \u201cYou count fast?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot quite.\u201d I hadn\u2019t talked about this with anyone. It was too uncomfortable, but now I had no choice. \u201cThey\u2019re\u2026 guesses, but they\u2019re accurate to within two percent.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He opened a drawer and pulled out a bundle of pens. \u201cHow many pens are here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d I wondered how to explain it. \u201cI can accurately guess physical counts and measures, but only for large numbers.\u201d I pointed at the ceiling again. \u201cI can tell you within two percent how many little holes there are, but couldn\u2019t tell you how many tiles there are without counting them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the cut-off?\u201d He leaned forward, his shirt tight. He looked a little larger than before. \u201cWhat\u2019s the smallest number you can guess?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot sure. Probably around a million and a half or so. The car in grams was pretty close to being out of my range.\u201d I groaned. \u201cI told you I don\u2019t belong here. I\u2019m not dangerous, and I\u2019m certainly not useful to the military. Hell, I can\u2019t even do simple arithmetic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He dropped the pens back in the drawer and pulled out a notebook and began flipping through it. \u201cMm-hmm, where is it\u2026\u201d he muttered as he flipped through the pages. \u201cAh! There it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere what is?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet\u2019s see, \u2018enumeration of large star clusters\u2026, simple test\u2026\u2019, ah.\u201d He opened the notebook flat and flipped it around. There were a bunch of dots on the page, but not enough to guess at.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI-I know this is less than what you usually cou\u2026 er\u2026 guess, but look at this for a moment.\u201d He pointed to one of the dots. \u201cImagine starting here, a-and traveling around to every dot on the page once, then doing it again in a different order, and again in a different order, and so on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay, wouldn\u2019t be hard. It\u2019s not like a maze or anything is it? Can the lines cross?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure, sure. But, I want you to guess how many line segments,\u201d he said, \u201cconnections from one dot to another, you would have if you drew out every possible route, starting from this one dot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c183,377,413.\u201d The answer came without hesitation, like it always does.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet me check\u2026\u201d he pulled the notebook back and looked on the next page. \u201cMissed it by one. That\u2019s phenomenal!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd useless.\u201d I was getting tired of the whole thing, and just wanted to get back home and go back to work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, looks like that\u2019s sorted out then.\u201d He put the notebook away, pulled stamps out of the drawer and carefully inked two stamps on the last page in the folder. He wrote something else on the page and handed it to me. \u201cTake this down the hall to room 9, and welcome to government service, Sandra.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWait a damn minute!\u201d I jumped to my feet, ready to fight. \u201cI\u2019m not a soldier, and I don\u2019t want to be one! You can\u2019t make me!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kevin shrank again, and I felt bad for scaring him, but I wasn\u2019t going to let him off the hook. \u201cP-please, miss, just\u2026\u201d he was trying to point at the paper, but had gotten so small he almost couldn\u2019t reach across the desk. \u201cR-read the stamps.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had partially crumpled the paper in my anger, but I opened it up and looked. \u201cNon-combatant\/No Threat\u201d the first one said. The second stamp, in the box labeled \u201cRecommendation\u201d was \u201cNASA\u201d and next to it he had written \u201cDeep field star study.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI flunked math,\u201d I said. \u201cTwice. Never got past algebra.\u201d As much as working at NASA would be nice, they\u2019d never have me. \u201cWhat happens when NASA says they don\u2019t want someone with no degree who can\u2019t do math?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the only part of the law that\u2019s in our<\/em> favor.\u201d He grew a little larger than his normal size again. \u201cThey have<\/em> to take you, since your power is so specific to their needs. And if they decide they don\u2019t need you any more, they have to give you a full pension.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWait, are you serious?\u201d I felt skepticism creeping in. \u201cIf that\u2019s true, why are you doing this job?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, because I am very specifically<\/em> powered for this position, by my shrinking and m-my other power\u2026\u201d he looked down at the desk where his fingers worried at the folder. \u201cI\u2026 make people angry, but I can\u2019t control it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a real thing?\u201d I asked. \u201cI know a bunch of guys with that ability, and they aren\u2019t powered people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a real thing,\u201d he said. \u201cB-but it\u2019s good! It means that when I mark a file no threat, they really are no threat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd the ones that are?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have a very small escape hatch under the desk. I can be out in a second or less.\u201d He smiled but his eyes seemed sad. I imagine he\u2019s had to escape a few times at least.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, Kevin, it was nice meeting you.\u201d I offered my hand to shake and he accepted, and for a moment I just wanted to punch his smug face. His power, <\/em>I reminded myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you Sandra. Maybe you have a second power like my wife\u2019s power,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what\u2019s her power?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s immune to my anger power.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not immune, but that\u2019s still no reason for me to lash out at you.\u201d I looked directly in eyes, swimming in the blur behind his thick glasses. \u201cAgain, I\u2019m sorry for yelling, and I\u2019m sorry I said hurtful things.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His smile this time was complete. I went into the hall and continued deeper toward room 9 while the intercom called out \u201cDa-nee-rees Ran-ga-nay-than, room two\u201d and I wondered how butchered that name was.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

prompt:  Write about someone who has a superpower….available on Reedsy From the moment I stepped in I felt out of place. I didn\u2019t belong here, no matter what their tests said. What it all boils …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[208],"tags":[210,228,209],"class_list":["post-2094","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-trunk-stories","tag-fiction","tag-science-fiction","tag-short-story"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pxT7i-xM","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2094","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2094"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2094\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2098,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2094\/revisions\/2098"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2094"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2094"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2094"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}