Read Online The Other Eight by Joseph R. Lallo - Free Book Online
Authors: Joseph R. Lallo
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man, and Major St. John.
“Morning, Doctor, Private, Sergeant,” St.
John said, shaking hands one by one. “These two men will be helping
us to document our little selection process from this point
forward. If you’d just hold still, the sound man will put a
microphone on each of you.”
“Hi,” Private Summers said, extending her
hand to the heavyset man strapped with fifty pounds of recording
paraphernalia. “Your name is…?”
“Please don’t address the sound or video crew
directly. The idea is for you to pretend that they aren’t
there.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. This is my first time
on TV.”
“Don’t think of it as television, just think
of it as an official record. All right, everyone mic’ed up?
Excellent. I’ve got a bit of an instruction packet here; I’ll leave
it with you, Private Summers. Just a few things we’ve decided will
help things flow for the cameras. I’ll leave you three to the task
at hand. Do try to keep it interesting.”
Major St. John returned to the van and
instructed the driver to return to HQ.
“What does it say?” Aiken asked as Summers
read over the contents of the packet St. John had handed her.
“He wants us to stick to codenames when
referring to the… oh lord, he actually called them
contestants.”
“That’s for the best. One of the aspects of
the meta-human condition is a sensitive ego.”
“That I noticed.”
“Calling them by their codenames will
validate their hero status. That should keep things going
smoothly.”
Just as Major St. John’s van drove away, a
taxi rolled up to deliver the first of the hopefuls. It took nearly
an hour before the last few of the callbacks arrived.
“Okay, I believe that’s everyone, except for
Bottleneck. It should come as no surprise that he’s late,” Aiken
said, raising his voice to address the crowd huddled beneath the
tarp. “Now, I’d like to thank you all for coming here today. Don’t
mind the cameras. It is just for documentation. If you are here, it
means that you passed the initial screenings and were considered
the best of the group that was interviewed. Congratulations. Right
now Private Summers is handing out your assessments. They contain
the class of powers you have, as well as some basic observations
about you that we felt were relevant in the decision-making
process. You’ll also find a sticker with your codename on it.
Please place it in a visible location, so that we can more easily
identify each other. I want you all to take a look at your
assessments, and if you have any questions, raise your hand.”
Summers tracked down each of the heroes by
name and handed him or her a thin manila envelope. There was the
murmur of a few dozen voices reading over the contents.
“Oh, cool!” said a young man who had
optimistically worn army fatigues. Combined with dark eyeliner, it
made for an unusual ensemble. “I got Class B. That’s pretty good,
right!”
“Yes and no, Mister…” Dr. Aiken began.
Private Summers checked her clipboard and whispered in his ear.
“Mister Dusk. That is just your classification.”
“But it’s like grades, right? B is second
best.”
“Wait, why did I get a C then!” cried an
applicant labeled “The Hocker” by his freshly applied tag.
“No, no, no. Something isn’t right here. I
got Class O,” Nonsensica said. “What is this, a blood type? Is that
good or bad?”
“There are no good or bad classifications. It
is just a set of terminologies to help separate you into different
groups. The classifications are B, C, H, O, S, and U.” Summers
whispered something in his ear. “Ah… evidently there are two
different Class Os.”
“Well gee, Doc. You think maybe you could
have made it a little more confusing?” Nonsensica asked.
“Well, if B isn’t a grade, then what is it?”
asked Dusk.
“B stands for baseline.”
“So, average then?”
“In a manner of speaking. It means that, from
the military’s perspective, you do not have any
“Morning, Doctor, Private, Sergeant,” St.
John said, shaking hands one by one. “These two men will be helping
us to document our little selection process from this point
forward. If you’d just hold still, the sound man will put a
microphone on each of you.”
“Hi,” Private Summers said, extending her
hand to the heavyset man strapped with fifty pounds of recording
paraphernalia. “Your name is…?”
“Please don’t address the sound or video crew
directly. The idea is for you to pretend that they aren’t
there.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. This is my first time
on TV.”
“Don’t think of it as television, just think
of it as an official record. All right, everyone mic’ed up?
Excellent. I’ve got a bit of an instruction packet here; I’ll leave
it with you, Private Summers. Just a few things we’ve decided will
help things flow for the cameras. I’ll leave you three to the task
at hand. Do try to keep it interesting.”
Major St. John returned to the van and
instructed the driver to return to HQ.
“What does it say?” Aiken asked as Summers
read over the contents of the packet St. John had handed her.
“He wants us to stick to codenames when
referring to the… oh lord, he actually called them
contestants.”
“That’s for the best. One of the aspects of
the meta-human condition is a sensitive ego.”
“That I noticed.”
“Calling them by their codenames will
validate their hero status. That should keep things going
smoothly.”
Just as Major St. John’s van drove away, a
taxi rolled up to deliver the first of the hopefuls. It took nearly
an hour before the last few of the callbacks arrived.
“Okay, I believe that’s everyone, except for
Bottleneck. It should come as no surprise that he’s late,” Aiken
said, raising his voice to address the crowd huddled beneath the
tarp. “Now, I’d like to thank you all for coming here today. Don’t
mind the cameras. It is just for documentation. If you are here, it
means that you passed the initial screenings and were considered
the best of the group that was interviewed. Congratulations. Right
now Private Summers is handing out your assessments. They contain
the class of powers you have, as well as some basic observations
about you that we felt were relevant in the decision-making
process. You’ll also find a sticker with your codename on it.
Please place it in a visible location, so that we can more easily
identify each other. I want you all to take a look at your
assessments, and if you have any questions, raise your hand.”
Summers tracked down each of the heroes by
name and handed him or her a thin manila envelope. There was the
murmur of a few dozen voices reading over the contents.
“Oh, cool!” said a young man who had
optimistically worn army fatigues. Combined with dark eyeliner, it
made for an unusual ensemble. “I got Class B. That’s pretty good,
right!”
“Yes and no, Mister…” Dr. Aiken began.
Private Summers checked her clipboard and whispered in his ear.
“Mister Dusk. That is just your classification.”
“But it’s like grades, right? B is second
best.”
“Wait, why did I get a C then!” cried an
applicant labeled “The Hocker” by his freshly applied tag.
“No, no, no. Something isn’t right here. I
got Class O,” Nonsensica said. “What is this, a blood type? Is that
good or bad?”
“There are no good or bad classifications. It
is just a set of terminologies to help separate you into different
groups. The classifications are B, C, H, O, S, and U.” Summers
whispered something in his ear. “Ah… evidently there are two
different Class Os.”
“Well gee, Doc. You think maybe you could
have made it a little more confusing?” Nonsensica asked.
“Well, if B isn’t a grade, then what is it?”
asked Dusk.
“B stands for baseline.”
“So, average then?”
“In a manner of speaking. It means that, from
the military’s perspective, you do not have any
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