genetic plague wars and the radiation burns of the Crash, and still bore the scars branded into their DNA. But even among the multitude of the deformed, the Norma-genes stood out.
It looked like this guy had been luckier than most, Harry thought. The Norma-gene plague was a broad-spectrum mutation that played countless variations on the basic Norma-gene theme. In this case, it had apparently played havoc with the bodies inner thermostat, but apart from that had left none of the grosser genetic deformities of a disease that could turn human flesh into something as fluid as melted wax and leave walking nightmares in its wake. Many Norma-genes died young, the genetic damage too extensive to repair.
On the other hand, not all broad-spectrum variations turned out negative. It was known that some Norma-genes developed almost superhuman abilities. Their reflexes were incredibly fast or their senses extremely acute. Some developed the strength of ten men while others developed paranormal abilities and were called, “weirdings”. Some were telepaths, others far-seers or fire-starters, some could teleport, or even bend space time to their will. A few never seemed to age. Maybe this guy was one of them, Harry thought. He looked to be only about thirty but might be as old as Doc. With Norma-genes you never knew and that was the problem.
Harry could still remember the scary stories that older kids whispered in his ear when he was little. “If you were bad, the Norma-genes would get you. They could call up demons and cast spells on the unwary. They possessed the evil eye and could kill with a look. They were shape-shifters and skin walkers, who took the form of animals and roamed the night seeking blood, and there was no escape because they could read your mind and knew where you were going because they could see the future;and when they caught you, they would burn you to a cinder with a look.”
They were the stuff of children’s nightmares. The residue of old horror stories left over from the Genetic Plague Wars and the Crash, when frightened bands of refugees huddled around lonely fires and gave a face to their fears, whispering about the inhuman powers of the mutant Norma-gene.
With time the stories grew wilder and more hysterical, encompassing all mutants and at last spiraling out of control into bloody witch-hunts and the holocaust of the Seraphim Jihad, where the ovens burned day and night to rid the world of its mutant stain. In the old days, he could even remember a few witch-hunts through the streets of New Hollywood.
As the Norma-gene drew nearer, Harry could smell the sour reek of urine, sweat, and cheap wine. He could see the patches and stains on the man’s clothes, the unwashed hair, and ground in dirt. Too many mutants ended up like this. The witch-hunts were history now, but Norma-genes were still shunned, mistrusted, and feared, even by other mutants.
After the fall of the Caliphate, most of the other mutants gradually returned to the Continental Quarantine, but the Norma-genes stayed behind, living as homeless derelicts on the edge of a society that had no time for shame, guilt, or recompense.
When he was a kid, he remembered seeing them creeping through back alleys, sleeping under bushes, scavenging in garbage bins, or begging with their deformities for a dollar or two to buy the next bottle, needle, or wire fix.
But that was before the Norma-gene messiah, Rielly Logan, brought his promise of salvation to the Nevada Quarantine and emptied New Hollywood of Norma-genes. So what was this guy still doing here?
“You’re Harry Neuman, aren’t you?” The man asked in that breathless, sexy, alto whisper, so characteristic of Norma-genes“I’d know you anywhere,” he added almost shyly and put a hand on Harry’s sleeve. “I’m sorry to bother you, but a lady wants to talk to you, back there,” he jerked a finger back up the street towards the corner. “She said it was real important. Gave me a twenty
It looked like this guy had been luckier than most, Harry thought. The Norma-gene plague was a broad-spectrum mutation that played countless variations on the basic Norma-gene theme. In this case, it had apparently played havoc with the bodies inner thermostat, but apart from that had left none of the grosser genetic deformities of a disease that could turn human flesh into something as fluid as melted wax and leave walking nightmares in its wake. Many Norma-genes died young, the genetic damage too extensive to repair.
On the other hand, not all broad-spectrum variations turned out negative. It was known that some Norma-genes developed almost superhuman abilities. Their reflexes were incredibly fast or their senses extremely acute. Some developed the strength of ten men while others developed paranormal abilities and were called, “weirdings”. Some were telepaths, others far-seers or fire-starters, some could teleport, or even bend space time to their will. A few never seemed to age. Maybe this guy was one of them, Harry thought. He looked to be only about thirty but might be as old as Doc. With Norma-genes you never knew and that was the problem.
Harry could still remember the scary stories that older kids whispered in his ear when he was little. “If you were bad, the Norma-genes would get you. They could call up demons and cast spells on the unwary. They possessed the evil eye and could kill with a look. They were shape-shifters and skin walkers, who took the form of animals and roamed the night seeking blood, and there was no escape because they could read your mind and knew where you were going because they could see the future;and when they caught you, they would burn you to a cinder with a look.”
They were the stuff of children’s nightmares. The residue of old horror stories left over from the Genetic Plague Wars and the Crash, when frightened bands of refugees huddled around lonely fires and gave a face to their fears, whispering about the inhuman powers of the mutant Norma-gene.
With time the stories grew wilder and more hysterical, encompassing all mutants and at last spiraling out of control into bloody witch-hunts and the holocaust of the Seraphim Jihad, where the ovens burned day and night to rid the world of its mutant stain. In the old days, he could even remember a few witch-hunts through the streets of New Hollywood.
As the Norma-gene drew nearer, Harry could smell the sour reek of urine, sweat, and cheap wine. He could see the patches and stains on the man’s clothes, the unwashed hair, and ground in dirt. Too many mutants ended up like this. The witch-hunts were history now, but Norma-genes were still shunned, mistrusted, and feared, even by other mutants.
After the fall of the Caliphate, most of the other mutants gradually returned to the Continental Quarantine, but the Norma-genes stayed behind, living as homeless derelicts on the edge of a society that had no time for shame, guilt, or recompense.
When he was a kid, he remembered seeing them creeping through back alleys, sleeping under bushes, scavenging in garbage bins, or begging with their deformities for a dollar or two to buy the next bottle, needle, or wire fix.
But that was before the Norma-gene messiah, Rielly Logan, brought his promise of salvation to the Nevada Quarantine and emptied New Hollywood of Norma-genes. So what was this guy still doing here?
“You’re Harry Neuman, aren’t you?” The man asked in that breathless, sexy, alto whisper, so characteristic of Norma-genes“I’d know you anywhere,” he added almost shyly and put a hand on Harry’s sleeve. “I’m sorry to bother you, but a lady wants to talk to you, back there,” he jerked a finger back up the street towards the corner. “She said it was real important. Gave me a twenty
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