ONE HUNDRED FORTY-SEVEN: Everyone, Everywhere I

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“Now this is what we’re talking about. This is what we mean when we say Avowed are not us, they’re tools for controlling us.” The voice of the talk show host flowed from the radio of a restored 1959 Ford Fairlane as it cruised the dark, quiet streets of a California suburb. “For our listeners who haven’t heard about the situation in Uruguay—”

“I think our listeners have heard by now, Wilbert. They’re smart people. They’re staying informed.”

“You’re right, Polly. You’re right. But for anyone tuning in for the first time, this situation we’re hearing about is a sign of things to come if we slack off on monitoring the Avowed. If we let people who are not us live among us. This woman in Uruguay, she is already a member of their Chamber of Representatives. They have let her in there. And she almost certainly is Avowed. People who know her have said it. This is not a rumor, folks.”

“It’s really not,” Polly agreed. “People have said it.”

“And even if they hadn’t said it, you only have to look at her. You can tell through these videos that people have found of her that there is some magic and some mind control…can you imagine what it’s like in person? Forgive me, Polly baby. You’re the love of my life. You’re a breathtaking human being—”

“I am. One hundred percent human.”

“Take a look at Polly’s picture on our website. That is what a gorgeous, all-natural human being looks like. But the woman in Uruguay—I mean just look at her. Just listen to her. They say that Appeal doesn’t have a strong effect through screens. But what else would they say? She’s an Avowed. At least a B-rank.”

“Definitely, definitely,” Polly agreed. “At least a B. He’s a really good guesser about this kind of thing.”

“And she says…get this, listeners…people have asked her about it, and of course she denies it. But she also says she feels sympathetic towards unregistereds and hopes her country will change the way it does things.” A loud bell sound effect played. “That’s the warning alarm ringing! She’s ringing it herself. It’s coming out of her own mouth. Can you hear it?!”

“Wilbert gets frustrated,” said Polly. “I’m frustrated, too. How can so many of our fellow human beings not understand the risks? This woman—I shouldn’t really call her that—this alien tool is already a politician. One day, she could lead a country she shouldn’t even be allowed to live in. She could be speaking at the UN. If that happens, she will have an effect on our President. On the leaders of other nations.”

Wilbert groaned dramatically. “And it’s not like it was in the old days. You old timers remember. There used to be a lot more pushback from humans against the idea that just meeting some Artonans should change how we do things on our planet. But we all live now in a world where people, most people, almost all of our fellow humans are feeding at what I like to think of as that poisoned alien trough—”

“It really is poisoned. That sweet taste is poison.”

“And they’re saying you and me and Polly are crazy. That these ‘superhumans’ are just talented humans. But they’re not. They’re not. When they were children, they were human beings with some kind of a weakness. That’s the theory that makes the most sense to us.

“And it’s very sad, but if you’ll read our books, We Dream of a Lonely Earth and Chaos is a Lie, you will understand that Polly and I are gentle people. We feel sorry for boys and girls with this weakness—a mental pliability is what we think it is—that makes them easier for the Artonans to manipulate and use. They are victims. But once they become Avowed, once they’ve become tools, they…I hate to say it, but we probably can’t save them. They aren’t one of us anymore. When you hear them saying things, you have to know it’s really a wizard speaking through them.”

“If humans were meant to have magic it would have come to us through evolution,” Polly said.

“Tell them about the book, baby.”

“At this very moment, we’re writing a book about raising human children,” said Polly. “We are writing it as fast as we can because everyone needs to read it.”

“That’s right, Polly. It’s a parent’s job to raise children the Artonans would be terrified to use. Strong, safe human boys and girls.”

“We like to call them our little future listeners.”

“Hahaha! That we do. Now, if you’ve already taken your kids to a House of ‘Healing’ or if you’ve been sending them to a school that uses magical devices to ‘enhance’ the educational experience, don’t panic. Our new book is going to include traditional human alternatives—advice from so many ancient human cultures. We really want to get to the heart of what human childhood is supposed to be. And we talk about ways to cleanse your family of—”

The driver, whose fingers had been drumming against the steering wheel as he listened to the radio show, suddenly reached over and switched it off. His hands tightened on the wheel again. The vintage car accelerated.

Just a few minutes later, it had to slow down to make the turn into a driveway. The headlights shone briefly on the house number. Below it, a matching plaque bore the name of the family who lived there:

MOORE

 

A blueish glow leaked through a gap in the blinds of the guest room window. The woman inside was up late, staring at the screen of a tablet, trying to think of all the right things to say to her son, Jacob.

Even though his text messages had stopped coming a while ago.

 

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“All right, who set the sound system to play that Walter and Molly trash?” The middle-aged woman who was speaking set her cards on the table and leaned back to look around the room.

The nonAvowed-only speakeasy was just a pair of apartments in an F-city free housing block. A couple of years ago, some resourceful people had knocked out a few walls, installed soundproofing, and hung up a sign behind the bar that said “Stormy’s.” As far as such establishments went on Anesidora, it was of the lowest caliber, but it was limping along thanks to the location.

“It’s Wilbert and Polly,” said a young man wearing a NesiTechnical jacket. “They’ve said each other’s beautiful human names about twenty times so far.”

He’d been struggling to finish the mint julep he’d ordered an hour ago, and the glass had left a ring of condensation on the laminate tabletop. The older man beside him was having no such trouble. All that was left of his fifth whiskey was a melting ice cube. He was glaring at it.

“I don’t really care what their names are. I come here to hang out with people who aren’t casting spells every few minutes or giving me surprised looks when I have to pay for things with a NesiCard instead of an interface,” said the woman. “That doesn’t mean I want to listen to a pair of foreigners tell me that all my relatives are Artonan mouthpieces and that I’m diluting my humanity by enjoying a good wrestling match at Brutal Ring.”

“How many Avowed could they even have met in real life if they don’t live here?” another woman added. “And what happened to the canyon drum songs that were playing? I haven’t heard all of this year’s batch yet. The bagruoodas were really outdoing themselves.”

The man with the empty whisky glass pushed himself up from the table so hard the poker chips they were using rattled. “Turn that shit off!” he bellowed.

“Cyril,” said the woman who’d complained first, “don’t—”

He was already stalking across the sticky floor toward the bar. A couple of other people at the table winced or sighed.

“He’s been in a bad mood for a year and a half,” someone muttered.

“It has gotten…”

“I know his feelings are hurt, but isn’t he treating his kid horribly? His own parents basically disowned him. You’d think he’d want to do it different than they—”

“His kid?”

“Shhhh.”

“Who’s his kid?” the NesiTechnical student asked curiously.

Before anyone could answer the question, there was swearing from over by the bar, followed by the clatter of a polycarbonate beer mug bouncing across the floor.

“I don’t need this place! I don’t need people like this!” Cyril shouted. “I’m going TO WALK ON THE BEACH!!”

He thundered out. In the ensuing silence, everyone looked around at each other. A few people laughed.

“There are literally no beaches anywhere near here,” said the student. “Should one of us—?”

“Let him go,” said the older woman. “He needs to cool off. Cops are forgiving to drunks without powers. Reason this place is still open even if it’s less than subtle. Whiff-pity perk.”

The student took another swig from the julep and made a face. “At least there’s something. Maybe if I tell my family there are perks, they’ll stop acting like I’ve died.”

The talk show cut off, and a moment later, the canyon drum songs started up again.

An infogear watch was left behind on the table beside Cyril’s poker chips.

 

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“One more, Bird! Please, just one more!”

<<It’s late, and you said that three spells ago.>>

“And she’ll say it ten from now. Don’t keep spoiling my daughter. She’s insatiable.”

“What did she say, dad?”

“She said you’re tons of trouble. Stop forgetting to charge your phone if you want a translator.”

“She did not say that! You didn’t say that about me, did you, Bird?”

A pretty woman with dark, waist-length hair was standing on the deck of an old yacht. She smiled at the girl who was begging for spells, then turned and let out a singing chant, her arms undulating through the air. As she sang, a brachiosaurus appeared ahead of them, walking meters above the waves. It was lit as if it stood under a sunny sky, even though the night was a cloudless blanket of stars.

“SUPER wow!” the girl ran forward. “S-ranks are the best. You’re the best of the best, Bird. I’m glad we found you in Thailand. I didn’t know Adjusters could do illusions of things they haven’t even seen before!”

“You do realize we didn’t discover her, don’t you, Annalise?” her father said from his seat in a deck chair. Beside him, an older man lay snoring, one hand gripping a quarterstaff tipped with carved crystal on the ends. “She and Mr. Dawa are just here because of our job. We don’t get to keep them.”

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“I knooow…we all sail for SAL!” Annalise punched her arm into the air. “Hey, Bird, I’m almost eleven. I could be an S-rank soon. It could happen.”

“That’s unlikely considering your mother and I aren’t even A’s.”

The girl gripped the boat’s railing and leaned over it. Strands of hair, once dyed purple but faded now to a dull pink, blew around her tanned cheeks as they approached the brachiosaurus and sailed beneath it. “Magical,” she breathed.

<<Tell her I have seen this before,>> the Adjuster said. <<An educational park’s megafauna experience. And I have a skill that helps me recall images.>>

He repeated the message.

“Hey, that’s really cool,” said Annalise. “Mum gets loads of work on the Triplanets, and she’s been saving up. So if I do get S, I can probably trade into Adjuster.”

<<Tell her if she does want to when the time comes, I’ll help her get to a consulate for trading without being seen,>> said Bird.

“Will you really? That’s—”

<<Tell her if anyone gives her trouble, I will hit them with my staff,>> Dawa muttered without moving.

The father glanced from one of them to the other. After a second’s hesitation, he translated their words for his daughter. Her eyes grew round, and then she started chattering at Bird even more excitedly than before.

<<Avowed helping each other live freely. That’s how it should be,>> Dawa said, his voice intense despite the fact that he’d just been sleeping. <<That’s what this is about.>>

He finally opened his eyes and peered up at the sky. <<These people we’re going to meet, the magical machine they’re bringing us, the weapons—they will all help Avowed for years to come. My group doesn’t always get along with the ones that call our purpose ‘SAL’. But for this…we unite. One step up the mountain at a time. This is a big step.>>

<<A big one,>> Bird agreed.

“Well, I look forward to seeing what all the fuss is about,” said the father. “This is the most SAL has ever paid us for a job, and I’m curious about this item they’re using to get off the island. It doesn’t sound like it’s worth two S-ranks coming along for something like that. But it’s good to have you both around.”

“Dad, have you gotten another message from the Captain of the boat we’re going to meet? What does he say?” Annalise asked.

“He actually hasn’t answered my last message. Maybe he’s sleeping, like we should be.”

 

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“I have put our daughter to sleep for the third time,” Ethan Roberts announced as he flopped onto the bed beside his wife, Ekaterina.

“Thank you,” she said, her hair spilling across one pillow, her arms clutching another to her chest.

“I scrubbed the last tattoo off her foot. I resisted the urge to use Brute strength.”

“Good.”

“I made up a bedtime story about that turtle rug Lexi bought her.”

“That was Konstantin.”

“Really? That was nice of him. He’s growing—”

“It’s hiding some dents and scratches on the floor.”

He groaned.

“Making up bedtime stories about turtles is sexy,” she said. “If Irina doesn’t start calling for us again in the next five minutes, let’s do something about how sexy you are.”

He smiled. “By the way…did you get us a new mattress?”

Her brow furrowed. “I keep thinking it feels different, too.”

“Maybe we just got used to the ones we used on the trip to—”

Sirens broke their conversation and the peacefulness of the night. One screamed from just overhead on the rooftop of their building. In an instant, the Robertses were down the hall in Irina’s room, and Ekaterina was wrapping her arms around the little girl, who was covering her ears with her hands and howling her own confusion and fear back at the sudden noise.

“What is this?” Ethan asked, as they stood there staring at each other over their daughter’s head.

Disaster messages started to roll in, only to be interrupted by a more personal one.

 

[Emergency teleportation to a safe location is recommended for your child. Teleportation will be available shortly. The Triplanetary Government urges you to accept. Caretakers and comforters, bound by contract to their duty, will be on site to greet children as they arrive.

When you are ready to consent to the teleportation of your child, please select ‘yes.’

YES]

 

“Yes.”

“Da.”

They were both silent for a single second.