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Jordan shuts off the computer and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. In one motion, he brushes a palm over his bald head, exhales, and looks out the tinted fiberglass window of the room. He sees at a sword made of diamond and steel, hung on the wall. He looks at the table he’s sitting at. It’s made of a material he has never seen before. He remembers wood in his other memory, the un-individual one. He sees forests of trees, cut down for space that would never be used. He feels the planet suffocating. The planet grows novel-new lungs to breathe in a metamorphasized environment, but the creatures on its surface are doomed to a revolution beyond their control.

Jordan knows that the council is powerful. He knows that his blood is stronger than theirs, but he doesn’t understand what a danger that is. He doesn’t know how much time has passed in this room, reading these files.

He thinks of his mother’s death. He does not feel anger or hostility. The Elders were correct when they said that morality is strictly a human trait. The only thing Jordan feels is ice sliding down a heated surface using its own water as momentum. Words come up to justify what use to bleed inside him.

The door slides open and the white-hair man enters, his seven minions follow. “So have you completed the file?”

“Yes, I‘ve read it,” Jordan says.

The man’s voice is stern, “And…”

“And, I think you had to do what you had do to.” Jordan lies well.

“So, there is no moral judgement you wish to pass on us?” The man sounds confused.

Jordan says, “None. But I’ve had no visions, dreams, or thoughts that pertain to the Universe.”

“Nothing whatsoever?” The man’s voice wavers and Jordan detects a moment of panic in the group mind. He shakes his head.

“Then I’m sorry, but we must take you to a place where you can be closely monitored.” The man gets up. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.” He walks closer.

Jordan backs the chair up to the wall and stands up. He eyes the men. No one is moving but the man with white hair. He is talking, but Jordan is not listening to what he’s saying. Instead, he’s considering an escape route. He sees the door and the panel for the door. He sees three obstacles in his way, one council member, the panel, and the door itself. He runs, full force, into the council member closest to the door. No one is moving, except the fallen councilman and the slow moving white-hair man, but Jordan doesn’t notice. He goes for the panel. The light flashes red and the door slides open. He runs into the hall. No one is moving now, but Jordan is gone and doesn’t care any longer.

He makes it halfway down the hall, when he is seized by two of the temple guards. He feels a piercing pain in his neck, an injection. His eyelids drop and he forgets himself.

© 1998 by Joshua Minton

photo credit: şãÐ FέëŁίήg™

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