By Stoney M. Setzer
“Good morning, sir.” The smiling woman in the white lab coat held the door open. “Cubicle One, as usual.”
“Thank you.” Donald returned her smile as he limped through with his cane. I’ve wanted superpowers all my life, but this is what I get stuck with? Janus Labs was one of the few places where his “superpower” didn’t feel completely useless. True to the comic book superheroes he had always loved, he didn’t feel completely useless. True to the comic book superheroes he had always loved, he hadn’t told anyone else about his ability. Nobody would believe him anyway. With the cane, he certainly didn’t look superpowered.
Then there was the power itself—enhanced taste buds? Lame. Not exactly superhero stuff that would save the world or draw flocks of adoring fans. However, since Janus Labs was paying for participation in taste tests, he could at least make a little money from it.
Here, he wasn’t a man on disability with a mullet and secondhand clothes. These people treated him with respect, like he was Sardis County’s own Mayor Collins.
“Good morning, Mr. Pitts,” said Dr. Lockhart, another lab coat. “We’re so glad you’re here to help us again. Today you’ll be tasting samples of peanut-based barbecue sauces.” He smiled, anticipating Donald’s next question. “And yes, you will receive cash at the end.”
“Thank you.” They know me so well here.
“And thank you for your time. You’re early, as usual. The other participants will be along shortly.”
Donald settled into the cubicle. At first, this gig had been just a side hustle to augment his meager pay as a Golden’s Grocery stocker. Then Janus researchers had raved over him, calling him a “super taster” uniquely able to detect even the slightest differences between samples—or even when they tried to trick him by slipping him identical samples. They’d told him how valuable he could be to their food science division. This had been around the time of his diagnosis—a degenerative hip condition that had forced him to quit Golden’s and apply for disability—perfect timing.
Suddenly a wild-eyed man with long, red-streaked white hair burst into the testing area. “Don’t trust these mad scientists or their samples! You don’t know what they’re feeding you!” The man ran into Donald’s cubicle and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Don’t trust them! They’re experimenting on you!”
What am I supposed to do? How did this guy get past all the employees? “Well, I guess this is sort of an experiment, but it’s really just a taste test…”
“That’s what they want you to believe! You don’t know what they’re really doing to you! You’re the experiment!”
What a psycho… Probably on drugs or something. Better play along so he doesn’t get violent. “What’s the experiment about? What are they doing?” He fingered the button that would signal he was ready for the next sample, even though he hadn’t touched the first one yet. It was the only way he could think of to get Dr. Lockhart’s attention without this intruder knowing.
“They’re feeding you some alien substance, trying to see how it interacts with human DNA. Looking to see if it causes any crazy mutations.”
The only thing crazy here is you, sir. “Well, you can see that I’m perfectly normal.” Other than a degenerative condition causing me to need a cane to get around but mentioning that will encourage him.
“You’ve got to believe me!” The man slapped the wall in frustration.
Donald jumped. If this crackpot got violent, he would be helpless.
The madman waved his arms. “These people are into some far-out stuff like you couldn’t imagine! They’re—”
The door swung open, and Dr. Lockhart burst in, flanked by a pair of security guards. “Old timer, didn’t we tell you yesterday to quit coming in and harassing our volunteers? Enough already!”
“I know your game!” the man screamed as the guards grabbed his arms and dragged him toward the exit. “He deserves to hear the truth!”
Lockhart turned his attention to Donald. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Nah, I’m good. Just ran his mouth, that’s all.”
“That’s a relief. I’m sure he said some wild stuff.”
“Yeah…”
Lockhart looked at him pointedly. “I apologize for the security lapse. Do you still want to continue with today’s taste test? I’ll double your pay.”
“Sure, no problem.”
***
After Donald had finished and gone, Lockhart entered the back room and approached one of the desks. “Quite convincing, Dr. Balelo. You missed your calling. Perhaps you should be in Hollywood.”
“Nah, our mission at Janus is a far higher calling. Better dress code, too.” Balelo chuckled at the long, red-streaked white wig on his desk. “Do you think Donald bought it?”
“Oh, yes. He is thoroughly convinced you’re insane. Now if he hears anything negative about Janus Labs, he will associate it with you and dismiss it. Well played.”
“And he’ll never suspect that the caprinium’s already been in his system for weeks.”
“Precisely.” Lockhart chuckled and shook his head. “So strange how the compound affects people differently. Always an ability coupled with a disability. In his case, it heightened his sensitivity to taste—we even told him that he was a ‘super taster’—but degenerated his hip. He never connected the two.”
“Why do you keep inviting him back for these so-called taste tests? He’s no use to our real mission. You aren’t even giving him caprinium anymore!”
Lockhart chuckled. “Of course not, he’d be able to taste it!”
“We need warriors, not super tasters!”
Lockhart sighed. “We took away his livelihood. We owe him something for that. Besides, he gives our tests an air of legitimacy so that we can keep recruiting other volunteers. Perhaps the caprinium produces more useful mutations in them.”
Balelo smiled. “Ah, then we’ll see who can really help our cause.”
“Exactly.” Lockhart nodded. “Our real work against the Other Side can proceed. As you say, we need warriors if we want to stop an invasion.”
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