The news is never good.
Dad watches it at max volume or muted—no middle ground. The TV’s always screaming about United States politics, about what a shit show it is a few miles across the Salish Sea. It’d sound like a lie, except he watches so many different channels, and the yelling’s the same.
Even the local news isn’t better. There’s so much going on, and I can’t help but hear it when he’s watching. And, under the thin covering of the official news, I’ve always got the same questions. How much of this is real? How much is merges? And how much isn’t getting covered at all?
I used to wish he’d listen to me like he listens to the talking heads on the television. Later, I was glad he didn’t.
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Building Three-Five, Victoria, British Columbia - May 31, 2043, 6:03 PM
- - - - -
I can take him.
The equation’s simple. Director Smith’s got a Smith and Wesson—don’t ask how I know that, I just do—and I’ve got the Revolver, Bullet Time, and a half-dozen other skills that apply here. He wouldn’t have a chance if it was just him against me. He doesn’t have enough variables. I doubt he even knows what all the variables are. But I do.
And that’s why I sit down, Revolver pointing at him but lying flat on the table. Because a fight right here only does three things, and none of them are good.
First, Alice. His gun’s pointing at her. Even if I can kill Director Smith, there’s a good chance he pulls the trigger. She can’t take a bullet. There’s no way. So I can’t fight him because, liar or not, Alice is my sister, and I can’t risk her life.
Second, James. He’s been screaming in my head since the door opened. [Claire, listen to me. Smith’s not in it for revenge. He wants the same thing you do,] on and on and on. But he’s at least a little right because if Smith wanted me dead, he’d have put shots through the bathroom door while I was in there. So he must want to talk. I don’t want to talk, but…yeah.
And third, Dad.
He’s sleeping, and both Alice and I know better than to wake him up this late. It’s far better to just let sleeping rocks lie.
So, I sit down, Revolver on the table. Smith gestures for Alice to sit, then does the same. He’s in Dad’s seat. His shadow throws it into darkness under the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, but I can barely see him through my narrowed eyes. A dozen questions flow through my head, but none of them are helpful, so I don’t try to answer them.
“Clarice,” Director Smith says. He sets his gun down, a massive, dark gray mirror to the Revolver. “During the evacuation from Victoria, I realized that while I had enough data to allow other SHOCKS facilities to continue our work, I hadn’t gathered crucial data from any eyewitnesses. In fact, our memetics dispersal teams had been so thorough that there was only one witness left, other than our Recovery and Stabilization Team members.
“Unfortunately, I’d considered you more as a combat asset than an intelligence one. My mistake—the situation with Merge Prime had me panicking. But you were there, you saw what happened, and a SHOCKS interrogation team could have gotten that information out of you easily. So, we’re going to fix that, and then you and I are going to find a way off this island and get to the SeaTac SHOCKS headquarters, or Beijing, or wherever we can find a team that can tear into your memories and give us an edge here.”
Alice glances at me. Her eyes are full of apology, and it’s genuine. She knew he was here. And she didn’t tell me. But she tried as best she could. I run through all her glances and weird looks over the last few minutes; that’s what they all were. Warnings. She won’t stop shaking, and I look away, locking eyes with Director Smith’s. “No.”
“No?” Smith rolls his eyes. He has that condescending voice he uses when talking to a kid. “Cut the crap and let’s get to work, Clarice.”
[He’s got almost all the cards, Claire,] James says. [I’m running a sim to figure out a way out, but you need to play along and keep the status quo for now. When I have something worthwhile, I’ll let you know.]
I close my eyes. This asshole thinks he’s won. But I won’t let him. When I open them, his fingers are touching his gun’s grip, a mirror of my own. I nod slowly. “I have questions.”
“Great. Once you’ve answered mine, maybe I’ll answer one or two of yours. Now, May Twenty-Third. That’s what I care about right now. What was your first indication that a merge was coming?”
“No. My questions first.” I narrow my eyes even further. He doesn’t have any power here—not really. I know everything he wants to learn, and my questions aren’t as important. At least, I tell myself that.
“We’ll trade. One for one. Now answer.” Smith’s fingers drum on his Smith and Wesson’s grip. “What was the first sign a merge was coming?”
“I got an emergency notification on my aug,” I answer. It’s simple, gives nothing away, and it’s the truth. “It said we needed to go to the shelter, so everyone started moving.”
The silence ticks by as Smith scribbles something in a notebook. It takes me almost ten seconds to realize that he’s not paying a damn bit of attention to me as he writes. By the time I decide to do something about it, he realizes his mistake and looks me in the eye. “Okay, your turn.”
“I’ll know if you’re lying. What happened to my mom? The truth.”
“You’re not ready for the truth. Neither is your sister. And you’re not cleared for that information anyway,” Smith says smoothly.
I slam a hand on the table. It barely shakes, but Alice gives me a look that says, ‘Don’t push things.’ Then she glances toward Dad meaningfully. She’s holding it together, barely.
“I can give you both the less classified version,” Smith continues. “Your mom died in a merge. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and our early warning systems didn’t go off in time to intervene. It happens sometimes, and it’s regrettable, but it’s also not our fault.”
“And Alice and my Dad? Why wouldn’t they believe me when I told them what happened?” I ask.
“No. It’s my turn. Did you receive any messages from the Halcyon System prior to James contacting you?”
“No,” I lie.
His eyebrow raises, and he stares at me. I redden a little; he was a therapist, so he’s probably almost as good at picking out liars as I am. “It sent me something about it coming online, then got interrupted.”
“Do you remember what it said?” Smith’s hand’s already writing, but his eyes are locked on my hand this time, and his free hand stays on his gun. He’s sweating, though. It’s humid, but not that hot, even mid-merge. Is he nervous?
“No. It’s my turn,” I counter. “What did you do to Alice and Dad?”
“Alice, you can leave,” Smith says. “Go to your room.”
“No. She needs to stay. She needs to hear what you have to say,” I interrupt. "So spill it.”
The gun’s still sitting on the table, and Alice glares at me—at me—like it’s my fault her whole life’s a tower of lies. It’s not my fault, but I’ve got a bad feeling about what Director Smith’s about to say, and I want someone who’s not me to hear it. Well, who’s not James and me.
“Okay. But understand that what I’m telling you won’t be more than standard operational procedure for post-merge stabilization. Most details about specific incidents are classified.” Smith pauses, and I look at Alice again.
She’s still scared, and angry, and a bunch of other emotions, but one’s coming through I haven’t seen much. Envy. And embarrassment. She’s hidden them away by being valedictorian and soccer star and a million other perfect things. Buried them under pounds of foundation and eye shadow. But now, she’s not the center of the conversation, and she can’t be, and it’s killing her. I can’t spare any more focus for her, though. This answer’s going to hurt her, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
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I nod.
Smith sighs, rubs his eyes, and starts talking. He looks exhausted. “SHOCKS procedure post-merge is to administer amnestics as quickly as possible, but the common drugs only work when a target’s in the right head space to accept implanted memories to cover the rest. That’s not an issue with most targets, but we see more resistance from kids. You’re malleable, and your brains flex to accept merges more easily. That’s why we had ‘therapy’ sessions—to set you two up for amnestics so we could get the specifics of the merge out of your head.”
I nod slowly. “And when I didn’t take the drugs—” I clamp my mouth shut, but it’s too late. I’ve already revealed something I didn’t want Smith to know.
“You didn’t take them? Fuck.” Smith groans and looks up at the ceiling. “We gave everyone involved in the R-091 merge a cocktail of pills. When you didn’t forget, we assumed you had resistance because our experience with five-year-olds was that they’d trust adults easily and take their medicine. Plus, they were chewable and—“
“Grape flavored,” Alice says slowly.
“Yeah. Grape flavored. I should have stayed in the room. Okay, next question. Was there any hint about what was coming when you made contact with the Halcyon System anomaly?”
“No. Of course not. It did a final sync when I found the Revolver, but that’s all.” I’m still processing my blunder; Smith knows something he shouldn’t, and SHOCKS—the boogeymen—were monitoring me for a reason. They’d tried to wipe my memories. They had wiped Alice’s and Dad’s. And that means…their lies were all built on what they thought was the truth. It doesn’t make their lies less untruthful, but maybe the Y and Z values are different. I’m going to have to—
“That’s all the Halcyon System said?” Smith goes quiet again, but his quick question snaps me out of my thinking before I can run the numbers over for all their lies.
The silence presses in, broken only by Dad’s snoring and the occasional hiss of static from the TV. I glance at it. The news isn’t on anymore. Now, it’s just a solid stream of gray and black lines, some of which break through the mute to hiss a little.
[Claire, I’m taking over your aural aug for a minute. Expect heat.] A moment after James says it, my ear warms up painfully. I try to keep a straight face, blinking back a stray tear, and stare forward as James runs my aug through a series of changes.
“It wanted me to solve Inquiries. It didn’t seem to care what kind, as long as it was learning. As long as I was learning.”
“Understood.” Smith jots down a note and flips to a blank page.
“Why are you after me?”
Smith answers smoothly, slickly. Like a practiced liar, but his words are truthful. “Because you’re the best lead I have.”
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Alice is long past embarrassment and envy. She’s retreated into herself; I can see it through the make-up she applied this morning, even though it’s not like she could leave the apartment.
I’ve only seen her like this a couple of times. When she had to break up with her boyfriend after Dad found out. The time she got a C in math and had to figure out how to hide it while trying to study even harder. And, of course, for months after Mom died when she was trying to hold things together while Dad collapsed, until we fell into an almost-functional pattern.
The next few minutes are hard on her. Luckily, James gives my aural aug back, so I can keep an eye on her and just listen to Director Smith’s questions. They won’t stop. He wants to know the exact color of the sky during the R-389 merge. Precisely what each anomaly did, how they acted, and what I did with them. What happened with the Universal Reality Anchor. He has so many questions, and he scribbles in his notebook after every one.
What he doesn’t do is let go of his gun for even a second. Even after I run out of questions to try to respond with and Alice looks pale and withdrawn, he keeps going, and the barrel’s just slightly pointed at her. It could be an accident. But the math in my head says it’s not.
[Okay, I know you’re running your own equations, Claire, but I’m picking up some strange stuff here. I’d advise you not to commit to any theories you have. Be flexible, and be ready for anything.] James sounds nervous. [I’m trying to finish these sims, but the questions Smith’s asking don’t make sense. He should know these answers. They were all covered in the RST’s debrief. The sims are going slowly, too. Too many moving parts, not enough data.]
I wish I could respond, but the last thing Smith needs to know is that James is here. He hasn’t given any sign that he knows I’ve got the boy in my head, and I want to keep it that way. So, instead, I hunker down and try to weather the storm.
Director Smith’s questions slow down. He pauses after I tell him about the tree faces, eyebrow raised. “That’s it? Your spatial anomaly duplicated a wall ornament?”
“And made it alive, yeah,” I say, eyes daring him to keep questioning me.
Instead, he stands up, grabs his revolver, and walks to the living room window. I shoot Alice a look. No words, but I can tell that even in her current state, she knows that if Smith wakes up Dad, this whole situation will spiral out of control. Dad used to be a rock. Somewhere under all the bottles, he still remembers being one, and I don’t know what he’ll do if he wakes up to see a strange man holding his kids at gunpoint, but it won’t be good for any of us.
“Clarice Alora Pendleton, the holes in my research you’ve patched today will go a long way toward helping SHOCKS return the world to its status quo and restoring the veil.” Smith’s staring out the window as one of the Fungal Lords pulls itself between Building Three-Five and the neighboring building. He’s not paying attention to me. At all.
It’d be easy to kill him. And it’d solve this equation pretty fast. Sometimes, the math is complicated. And sometimes, it’s easiest to just cut through all the bullshit. But when I reach out to touch the Revolver, James speaks up again. [Hold off for now. I’m almost done with the simulation.]
Alice keeps side-eying me, though, like I’m the one who should solve this. My perfect sister, reliant on me for more than just waking her up in the morning. I’d laugh if I could.
“Now, Alice is going to take a couple of pills and forget this whole mess ever happened. I’m going to leave, and you’re going to come with me. Victoria’s fallen, and we need to get this information to the mainland. Once we’re at SeaTac or Los Angeles Headquarters, we’ll get you secured and work on building a full picture of what happened at Albert Head.”
“No,” I say again. My finger’s on my Revolver’s trigger. It’s pointing at Smith. Alice is trying to make herself small in her seat, but it won’t help if shooting does start. I’ve already abandoned the equation I’ve been trying to solve, and I’m working on another, simpler one. X is whether Smith’s faster than Bullet Time. Y’s whether I can take him down before Alice gets hit. And Z is how much of a bang it’ll take to wake Dad up.
When I glance at Dad, my eye catches on the TV behind him. It’s back on the news program—a talking head reporter yelling half-truths over the muted screen. But where there should be a ticker tape of ‘breaking news’ and ‘important updates,’ there’s nothing but a bright red box. The current story has a picture but no words on the screen. And even the TV’s brand name, in plastic silver writing, is gone.
“Uh, James?” I ask. The math on whether to reveal him doesn’t even cross my mind. Things have changed. “Are you seeing this?”
[Yes. It’s gotta be—]
“Hello, bestie.” Director Smith’s shadow swirls and congeals, and a moment later, he’s putting distance between a fully-formed, unbound Li Mei and him. His pistol’s up, but I know her, and she’s not going to care about a mundane gun. She didn’t even care much about my Revolver before.
Li Mei continues, swirling around the table and coming to ‘rest’ in Dad’s now-empty kitchen table chair. Her tone’s playful but not friendly. Less like she’s happy to see me and more like a cat toying with a bunch of mice. “Now that we’re all here, we can discuss my needs.”
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Dad’s still asleep. The house still smells like bottles, even if the labels have been cleared of words. James is losing it in my ear, in my optic aug. [Claire, we can’t fight her. We have to get out of here. You have to get me out of here!] He’s panicking. She’s only here for one thing: him. What I don’t understand Is how. But the how doesn’t matter.
He’s right. He can’t be here.
But I can’t leave, either.
Alice flops into her chair. Her eyes are closed, and she can’t stop fast-breathing like she’s having a full-on panic attack. Director Smith’s across the room, his gun trained on Li Mei. Clearly, she’s the biggest threat in his eyes. And I’m still at the table. The Revolver’s in my hand, but I don’t have a good shot at anyone, and I’m not sure a gout of fire or a gravity shell would solve this. Actually, I am sure. It wouldn’t.
So, as Director Smith barks orders at Li Mei like she’s still contained and Alice covers her eyes and mutters to herself, I try to ignore James.
This equation’s not simple anymore. It’s got entirely too many variables. Too many people. Too many things that can go wrong. Even Director Smith was too many, and I think James and I understood him. But Li Mei’s here, she’s actively consuming information from the TV like she’s starving, and that throws everything into chaos. What will Smith do if she goes for his notes? What will Dad do if he wakes up and the TV’s fucked? And how will Alice deal with all this?
“Now, bestie, I tried to be reasonable back in the JAMES room,” Li Mei says from her perch around Dad’s kitchen chair. “I needed you to unlock James for me so I could get stronger. That’s all I care about right now—the diet I’ve been on was enough to keep me alive and useful to SHOCKS, but now I need more if I’m going to thrive. And you’re going to help me by giving me what’s in your hea—”
“No.”
The word’s on the tip of my tongue, but someone else has said them first. It takes me a moment to realize Alice is the one talking. Smith and I stare at her in shock.
Li Mei looks at her too, but more like she’s been interrupted just as she was about to start eating. “No? Why do you think you can stop me?”
“Because none of this is real.” Alice doesn’t look like she’s in shock anymore. Her face settles into its usual perfect expression, and in a moment, Valedictorian Speech Alice is standing there. I wince. Valedictorian Speech Alice is the hardest one to talk down, and in this situation, with that thought, the math doesn’t look good. She’s going to do something dumb.
I clear my throat. “Alice, please—“
“No. This dream’s different than the usual, Claire, but it’s a dream. This is a dream—or a nightmare—and I’m going to wake up soon. So, since I know that, I can stop this. I have that power.”
I stand up. The Revolver’s in my hand, but it’s not aimed. Smith’s moving, too, but it’s to cover Li Mei, not to stop Alice.
And before I can do anything—while my hand’s diving into my hoodie pocket to find the gravity shells’ cylinder—Alice steps toward Li Mei, balls her fist, and reels back for a punch.