Chapter 1

My name is Marvin Harris. According to my father, a

man can be measured by three truths; His intent, his actions, and his heart.

All too often, we fall sway to those things that are outside the parameters of

each. We search for clues as to who we are and wallow in the mire of retrospection.

My dad was a dreamer, and he imparted in me the

ability to dream. He had faith in mankind despite the hate and callousness

witnessed every day. He believed that while there are those who would choose to

wallow in the catastrophe that ultimately man would rise to any occasion. He

also touted the Yin to every Yang, and that balance was imperative.

There is a theory that a dream is a reality that has

yet to manifest. Dreams do not become real because there are those who do not

try hard enough. No, dreams are manifested by those who forsake all else to

make thought real.

The most important thing in my world as a

seven-year-old was speed. Not the speed of cars or jets, but of a boy or girl

who could run the fastest. In my neighborhood, speed was everything. We lived

in a small rural community halfway between Athens and Atlanta, Georgia.

Every other summer, my cousin Samantha would stay the

summer with us. She hated being called Samantha and preferred Sam. The only one

she allowed to call her Samantha was my best friend, Taruane. He hated being called

Taruane and preferred T. The only one he allowed to call him Taruane was my

cousin Sam. Sam and T were a year older than I was. Their eight-year-old legs

were just faster than my seven-year-old legs were.

Sam was tall and thin, and very pretty. Whenever she

visited, the uptick in male visitors at my house increased. She was a tomboy

through and through. She was aggressive in a competitive kind of way. I think

she fought and beat almost every boy in the neighborhood at least once. Every

boy that is, except T.

T was a little taller than Sam and was the only boy

she couldn't beat in a fight. He was naturally more muscular than most boys in

that we knew. He was a wisecracking, salt of the earth kind of guy.

When we raced, the races always took place in the

middle of the street, and that was the one place which I was not allowed to be.

Whenever I was caught in the street, my Ma would embarrass me in front of

everyone.

"Marvin, you get your little narrow behind out of the

street!" she would yell. "If I have to tell you again, it'll be with a switch!"

The laughter would erupt, and my confidence and

self-respect would wither. It seemed that every summer since I was four, there

would be a reminder that I was inadequate. However, the day I turned eight, my

whole world would change. This year, Sam and her mom drove down during winter

break. It was my second birthdate, being a leap year baby.

My dad was rarely home because his work kept him away.

I used to tell everyone he was a spy on secret missions. He made a living that

kept us in an upper-middle-class home. Every chance he got, my dad would

reinforce that I am only limited by my imagination.

On the morning of my eighth birthday, some of the

neighborhood guys showed up with T to challenge Sam. It was unusually warm this

winter, and kids were out playing. They all lined up in the street while I

stood on the sidewalk hidden by the parked cars.

Sam yelled, "Go!" We all took off. From my house to

Mr. Miller's house was the chosen route. It was about 100 yards.

Now, what I am about to describe is going to sound

crazy. Have you ever felt like you have stepped outside of your body and were

able to see the events unfolding before you? I could actually see the race

unfold before me.

Sam took an early lead. The other boys quickly fell

behind. The first boy tripped, fell, and skinned his chin on the asphalt. The

second just stopped as he grabbed his side in agony. T was determined to catch

Sam, but she would not relent.

The race for second was between T and me. The burning

in my lungs and the pain in my legs grew with each beat of my heart. I was

about to give up and give in, but then, something happened. The burning

sensation in my legs, and the pain in my mind faded as an energy I've never

felt before coursed through my body.

The pain and agony were replaced with a smile and

elation. I outpaced T and ran as fast as I could. I caught up with Sam and our

eyes met as I made it to Mr. Miller's house first. I actually won the race. My

first time ever.

Everyone was attempting to catch his or her breath as

they stumbled in the street. My legs felt heavy, but good, as the adrenaline

wore off. Sam smiled as she looked at me, as if she were so proud. I shook my

head to wave off her acknowledgment. I wasn't ready for the teasing of me

running on the sidewalk while they raced in the street.

While we were breathing heavily, a black sedan pulled

up in front of my house. Some men in dark suits with earpieces got out and went

into the house with guns drawn. Sam, T, and I hurried back to the house.

Inside, you could hear a commotion. They were

ransacking the house. They flipped over the table with my cake. They destroyed

the wrapped gifts looking for something. They carried out several boxes and my

dad's computer. It seems that my dad was the project manager and programmer at

a secret government installation called ARC: America's Rebuilding of

Communities. Somehow, he locked down the facility and was the only one capable

of unlocking it.

I later found out that ARC was built to withstand

chemical, biological and nuclear warfare. It was supposed to be the country's

failsafe to the end of the world. My dad had yet to transfer control of the

artificial intelligence and security protocols over to government officials.

There was no way inside unless you knew the password.

My mom, aunt, cousin, and I were taken into custody

and continuously questioned. They were trying to determine if my father had

shared the codes with us. After three days of questioning, we were released.

The government tried for months to compromise the

facility. They tried saws, drilling, explosives, acids, and lasers. Try as they

might, there was nothing that could penetrate the security. Some of the

greatest minds in the world attempted to access the facility, but they all

failed.

Because this project was responsible for the

employment of 80 percent of the town when it shut down, my mom and I became

instant social pariahs. It seems that builders, programmers, construction

workers, etc. were shuttled to the site in buses with blacked-out windows to

perform their work and then returned to their pickup sites at the end of their

shifts. There were only a handful of people who knew its exact whereabouts.

The government seized our house, bank accounts,

insurance settlements, as well as everything else. Mom and I were left

destitute. My dad was charged with treason. The majority of the town shut down.

Very few of the businesses remained. Most of the workers got jobs at the quarry

a few counties over. The town was little more than a ghost town.

My dad's friend, Charles Williams, was one of the

unfortunate ones. My dad got him a posh job as a shift manager on the project.

Charles was unskilled and when the project was shuttered, he got a job with the

county doing road maintenance, which meant digging ditches for runoff water.

Charles was a short, stocky man who looked a lot older

than he was due to his drinking. He was balding and had cracked, leathery skin.

His hands were rough, and he had yet to acclimate having to now perform

physical labor.

We received one more visit from the government. It was

at this time that we were informed that my dad was not missing but was in fact

dead. He died of congenital heart failure. Moreover, when he died, he took all

of his secrets with him. The government was desperate for information that we

just didn't have.

When we lost everything, and with this new revelation,

my mom just kind of checked out. There would be times when she was completely

unresponsive. Mom and I went from house to house looking for a place to stay.

We were about to head North to Detroit to stay with her younger sister, Sam's

mom, when Charles made her an offer.

He asked her to marry him. Charles had always had a

thing for my mother. Three months later the two were married. My mom continued

to check in and out, which essentially meant I was left alone with Charles.

Charles was a bitter man. He was bitter and childish.

He truly believed that the sins of the father should be visited upon the son.

He blamed me for losing his job, and for my dad marrying my mom. My life became

a living hell. I was bullied at school and I was bullied at home.

One day while on my way home from school, when I was

about to get the crap kicked out of me again for the umpteenth time, I heard a

voice from outside the crowd of fist and feet pummeling me. It was T.

"I think you better let my boy up," said T. "If you

don't one of you will take his place!"

"Who the hell do you think you are?" said one of the

boys. "You're nothing but a delinquent!"

"Yep!" said T. "Delinquent enough to kick your ass!"

And with that, T kicked him in the stomach. The boy

doubled over and fell to the ground. The boys helped up their friend, and they

all ran.

T had as much right as anyone to be angry. When the

project closed down, his dad abandoned his family. T took a job running numbers

and began running with a tough crowd. However, through it all, he never stopped

being my friend. My best friend.

"Man, you gotta stop lettin' those guys kick your ass,"

he said. "I mean stand up for yourself. This is almost becomin' a daily

occurrence. It's embarrassing."

"That's easier said than done," I said. "Especially

when there is five of them and one of me!"

"Iunno! If you could just figure out a way to hurt

their fists more with your face!" T said as he laughed. "You'll be all right."

"Very funny," I said. "Hey! Do you mind if I crash at

your place? It is payday and I'm sure Charles is drinking away part of his pay

envelope."

"Today might not be the best time," he said. "My mom

is meeting with the guy she hired to find my dad."

"Dude, I'm sorry!" I said. "For everything!"

"It's crazy that people are blaming you and your ma

because your dad died!" he said. "The place he worked was a secret, and it

stayed that way. Even if it did cost the government millions upon millions.

Hell, I even heard they used to blindfold the employees as they bused them to

and from work."

I walked home and found the house dark. Charles' house

was smaller than ours and seemed even smaller when he was berating me or

kicking the crap out of me, as there was nowhere to retreat. As soon as I

walked through the door, he started in on me. He slurred his words, and I knew

he was drunk.

"Where da hell you been?" yelled Charles. "You was wit

dat no count boy who run da numbers? Yo' momma done tol' ya ta stay away from 'em,

didn't she?"

"I got jumped again," I explained. "T was there to

help."

He stood there in the dark. I could hear him breathing

hard like he had just climbed a flight of stairs. He was mumbling something

about me being just like my dad. He then mentioned something about hate. His

eyes seemed to glow red as the moonlight caught them from the window.

"Youse a pansy!" he yelled. "Um shamed dat people

think you ma son! All you do is read dem damn books. Like yo' asshole daddy!"

"My dad wasn't an asshole!" I uncharacteristically

yelled back. "He was a great man and an even better father!"

"Iffen he was so damned great, where da hell is he?"

he slurred. "Oh yeah, dat's right he died to get away from your sissy ass!"

"I'm not a sissy!" I shouted. "One day, I'll be rich

and famous, and I'll take my mom out of here!"

"Da hell you say," he said as he leaped across the

room and pushed me to the floor. "You gon' take my woman from me? Like he did!"

He began to pummel me. I was adept at covering up due

to all of the bullying around town. Between that and his drunkenness, I was

able to avoid any real connections. But that didn't dissuade him from swinging.

This went on until he heard my ma on the porch. He quickly got up and stumbled

to the door.

When she entered the house, he attempted to kiss her.

She avoided him and commented about him smelling of booze. She persuaded him to

take a hot bath, and she promised to cook him something. She asked me how my

day was and went into the kitchen. It was as if she was on autopilot.

Such was my so-called life. As the years passed, T

began to move up in the numbers organization. He became something of a real

hustler. When T and Sam were 14, Sam no longer wanted to visit us. She instead

invited T and me to visit her. We caught the bus to Detroit.

It was kind of odd that Sam just decided she didn't

want to come back to visit. It was what she didn't say that led me to believe

that Charles was the reason. She assured both T and I that he never touched

her. She just didn't want to give him the chance. She said he would leer, lick

his lips and make off-handed comments like "What a fine woman she was turnin'

inta." It was this year that Sam became consumed with all things Japan.

It was also this year that I realized that Sam and T

were sweet on one another. Over the next four years, the three of us tried our

hand at martial arts. Sam had actual lessons, whereas T would learn what he

could from the local YMCA and try as he might to teach me. I couldn't attend

myself due to my pariah status. I was a horrible student for anything physical.

I knew my strengths lied in academics.

The two of them attempted to make their long distance

love a reality. Nevertheless, they were like cats and dogs or oil and vinegar.

I mean they would be fine until it was time for us to return home and then a

big fight would ensue, with me caught in the middle.

No matter how hard they tried, theirs was a love not

to last. When they turned 18, and Sam graduated from high school, she told us

she was going to spend a year in Japan to study martial arts with a master.

Before she departed, she and T were inseparable. But when it was time to go,

they had another of their infamous fights. She told him she never wanted to see

him again. When we returned home, T enlisted in the United States Marine Corps,

and I was accepted to the University of Georgia having graduated from high

school a year early.

The next four years went by very quickly. T and I

wrote to each other often. I think I received a total of eight letters from

Sam. Once on each of our birthdays. I kept her informed on T's activities, but

she never asked about or commented on him in her letters.

It seems that T was becoming a regular G.I. Joe. He

was indoctrinated into a program to train with Army Rangers and Navy Seals. He

was traveling the world doing God knows what for his country. T had truly left

his questionable past behind. I was so proud of him.

After I completed my undergrad work, I was accepted as

a Ph.D. candidate in the genetics program. My dad's death still haunted me, and

it is the reason I wanted to study genetics. At the urging of one of my

professors, I also completed medical school and became a resident at Cook

County Hospital with a specialization in research.

While researching tissue regeneration, I stumbled upon

a process to reverse the effects of degenerative brain maladies. After months

of trial and error, I was able to extend the applications to the central

nervous system, and the treatment was beginning to show very promising

theoretical results on physiology as well.

I was being sought after to consult on a myriad of

medical issues. There was a child who almost drowned, a state senator who

suffered from a pharmaceutical "accident," and a farmer who volunteered for

early human testing due to being kicked in the head by a horse. While on a

hospital team building exercise on an Army base, I was asked to consult on a

soldier who went into anaphylaxis shock due to multiple bee stings. There was a

100% recovery rate for each patient.

My career slowly but surely began to take over my

life. I had to force myself to visit my Ma and continue my martial arts

training. I wanted so much to shock T when he returned home with how far I had

progressed. Imagine my surprise when a television station wanted to interview

me because of the state senator's recovery. His people spun a drug overdose

into an adverse reaction with two medications. The public will never find out

that the medications in question were cocaine and alcohol.

Thus, began my flirtation with celebrity. The hospital

assigned me a publicist and increased my funding for research. The drug

companies began to court me aggressively: symposiums in lavish locales, gifts

of sports cars, use of villas all around the world and the offers of cash.

I spoke at length with my Ma about how to proceed. I

wanted her away from Charles, but she stated he was insistent that he could

take care of his wife himself. I accepted a deal from one of the larger

pharmaceutical companies with some very pointed clauses. I would be a 70%

stakeholder of my process but would supply it on a case-by-case basis to ensure

that it could not be mass-produced or co-opted.

I was still in negotiations about how to turn over my

process when the hospital administrators informed me I would be receiving an

award for my accomplishments in medicine. The ceremony was to take place in a

week's time. Ma showed up without Charles.