The Mark

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Good morning, sir," Linda said, dropping the paper on his desk. "What's so good about it?" Wayne grumbled as he sipped his coffee.

"Now, come on, Wayne. Are you going to have another one of those days?" She dropped her chin and peered at him above her glasses.

"I guess I'm just worn out," he said, looking out his office window. Linda made a quick tour of the room, straightening the pillows on his couch, throwing scraps of paper in the garbage, preparing his office for another day. It was her usual routine, but instead of exiting as quickly as she'd entered, Durbin heard her sit down in the chair opposite his desk. She cleared her throat and spoke.

"Wayne, I know this is taking a toll on you, but you have no choice. Everything you have done is for the good of Creston. You know that when this is over, all the promises that were made to you will be acted on. In no time our farms will have their research funding." She paused. "Do you remember how easily the businesses switched over to the One World Denomination system?"

Durbin took a deep breath and sighed. He knew she was right. "It was amazingly flawless. The systems arrived one day and were up and running the next. I never heard one complaint from owner." any "It's technology. People are drawn to anything that makes their lives easier."

"Well, it's a great system. I don't even carry magogs anymore. The chip in my hand is all I need. Speaking of that, have you finished my travel arrangements for the end of the month?" "Yes. It's still hard to believe you can travel to Europe without a passport."

Durbin took another sip of coffee. "I will never understand why some still won't accept change when it's truly for their personal ben efit. A chip in your hand and a mark on your head are all you need for complete access to a whole new world. And while they refuse to get with the program, the rest of us sit and suffer." Wayne pushed away from his desk and stood. He walked over to the window and looked out at the bus parked in front of city hall.

"Wayne, don't get worked up again. Religious fanatics have al ways slowed the process of progress. But soon they'll be gone and you'll get the funding the FWP has promised you. I heard they might accept ninety percent participation."

"Never. It's all or nothing and I think the Federation of World Powers is tired of waiting on towns like mine. It doesn't matter how many meetings I've held, some just can't get past taking the mark." He turned and looked at Linda, who was now standing with his empty coffee cup in her hand. "Why he had to choose that number, I'll never understand, but we're living in strange times."

"Well, this was quite an undertaking, wouldn't you say?" Linda started toward the door. "And we're only a town of thirty thousand. Imagine Chicago or New York City. There's no way they are all marked yet."

"Money is already flowing into Chicago. I heard that two weeks ago. If they can get it done faster than us, there must be something wrong with the way we're going about this."

"Wayne, Linda spoke with a sternness that Durbin wasn't used to hearing from his fifty-something-year-old secretary. "You chose a far more humane way to handle this. Don't ever second-guess yourself. You know what they did in Chicago."

He turned back to the window, back to the empty bus. There were still a few things that bothered him, but leadership never came out its costs. with

"Roger will be here in a moment for you to sign the transfer pa pers." Durbin heard the door close and was glad to be alone again.

He looked at his watch again. 2:41. Why does this still bother me?

But he knew the answer. Today was harder than usual, and there was a reason for that.

Another knock on the door, and Roger came in with a clipboard and a pen. Durbin knew all he needed was a signature, but this one was killing him. He took the board and sat at his desk. He scanned down the short list. Thomas was number three out of nine names.

"So, Roger, let me ask you a question." Durbin put down the pen, prolonging the agony of the moment. Roger looked confused, since Wayne had never been overly friendly with the transport driver from the training facility. "You've been at the facility from day one. Do you think Governor Slate made a good choice with our system?"

"Um, what do you mean?" Roger shuffled back and forth, shifting the weight of his enormous body from side to side. Durbin wondered where Slate found the monsters he called guards.

"The training program. How long is the average stay down there?"

Roger stopped moving and his eyes narrowed. "Most people never left, sir, but you know that. What's your point?"

"But some took the mark after attending classes, didn't they?" "A small percentage. I wouldn't say the program was overly suc cessful in convincing people to change their minds about him."

"You mean about ...?"

"Yeah. Most just couldn't get past who it is requiring them to wear a mark." Roger leaned over and looked at the clipboard. Wayne Durbin picked up the pen and signed at the bottom of the cover page. "Here you go." "

Roger took the clipboard and left without another word. Durbin swiveled in his chair back to the window. He knew the leader of the Federation of World Powers was shocking at first, and in his first life he was an unbalanced tyrant. But he had changed. He was stable now. And powerful. And generous... though not overly patient.

Look at how he has brought peace to the world, Durbin reminded himself. He controlled the Arab nations, brought Israel into submis sion (not an easy task by any means), and ensured oil trade for the world. Language was no longer a barrier because supernaturally he had unified speech.

Supernatural.

That was the best word to describe him. After all, what other word could one use to describe a man who was raised from the dead?

Durbin watched as the police ushered the nonmarkers into the bus. A small group of people gathered on the sidewalk opposite where the bus was parked. Durbin remembered when people used to plead with the prisoners to mark up. Now they came to mock. These people had plenty of time to comply. He had no choice but to ship them off.