We Are Satellites

by Sarah Pinsker

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  VAL

  Val had been angling for an invitation to Sophie’s group for ages. Since before the meetings existed, when Sophie attended her first rally and Val had played the world’s worst spy. The rally had spoken to her, and it was only the realization she’d be stepping on Sophie’s toes that kept her from going back. Gabe and his father were a team; maybe Sophie would see her that way someday, too. She wouldn’t be the one to broach it. If that meant she couldn’t be part of the movement, so be it.

  She waited. When her school decided not to bring her back from suspension, they scraped by on Julie’s paycheck. It took a full year for her to find a job in a public high school on the west side, coaching and teaching non-Piloted geography, which by then was the actual class name. She made sure the students in it knew she thought they were smart and capable, and she took joy in the fact that, Piloted or not, running was still running, and students still needed her advice on body mechanics, on training, on strategy.

  She was one of only four teachers at her new school without Pilots, and they all taught the non-Piloted classes. They sometimes chatted about how fast it had all happened, about the way Pilots had so quickly become the default, so that the class choices were geography and non-Piloted geography, or the fact that there were five freshman geography sections, and the non-Piloted one had only twenty students. Same in other subjects as well.

  When FreerMind formalized its existence, she cheered quietly. When Gabe and Sophie got the two local jobs, which were supposed to be field organizer and assistant field organizer, but instead insisted on co-running the branch at a ridiculously low wage that split the difference, she cheered them on while defending their decision to Julie.

  Val loved the idea of a meeting where you could talk with other non-Piloted folks, but she didn’t want to stifle Sophie’s participation in her own group; Sophie needed it more than she did. She celebrated proof that they’d managed to raise a competent adult capable of holding a job in an increasingly tricky economy, even if it wasn’t the job they’d envisioned, or enough money to live on.

  When Sophie and Julie exploded at each other over breakfast, and Sophie asked Val to come with her and “see what we actually do, instead of whatever the two of you concoct in your paranoid brains,” and Val played it cool and said sure, she’d be open to attending, she had been hoping for that invitation for years.

  Val let Sophie chart a circuitous course to the meeting, amused Sophie thought she could deceive Val, and hurt that she thought she needed to; Val had been driving and running through this city since long before Sophie existed. They skirted the neighborhood that housed the first public school she’d taught in; these were the kinds of neighborhoods she’d grown up in herself. Another parenting failure if she’d never shown Sophie she knew firsthand that love and hope and despair and rage at systemic inequality existed here, too, and needed to be looked at head-on rather than avoided. She decided against questioning the directions.

  She waited until they’d parked to say, “I don’t want to step on your toes.”

  “Be yourself. Most people are pretty quiet at their first meeting. Do you want to be introduced as my mother?”

  “That’s your call.”

  They stepped into a long, echoing room. The floor was inlaid with chipped square tiles, drab green and drab gray, interspersed in some pattern known only to the person who had placed them. It had worn in distinct paths, showing the foot patterns of several generations of lodge members. An actual moose head overlooked a long bar covered in stacked flyers. The moose was enormous, with antlers that spread like branches, and which someone had festooned with plastic leis, giving him the look of someone who had overstayed a party. She wondered where you bought moose heads if you were in the market for one, or if you had to kill one yourself. Online auction, maybe? The postage would be obscene.

  On the walls hung pictures of the lodge’s members through the years, left behind when they moved out. Juxtaposed with those abandoned old men was evidence of the new inhabitants: informational posters, medical posters, pictures of various successful actions. They’d tacked up several Pilot ads, which people had defaced, overwriting the propaganda with the truths their movement held dear.

  The building clearly needed TLC, but that was secondary. The thing Val noticed when she entered—after the moose—was the vibe: the warmth of the greetings, the aroma of whatever was cooking, the way not a single person looked like they’d been left to sit alone if they didn’t want to. Her first thought was, No wonder Sophie likes it here.

  Sophie craned her neck and then waved through an open office door at the back, where Gabe sat wolfing a burger at a cluttered desk. He looked out into the room at that moment and returned the wave. He took a final bite, chugged from his water bottle, and came their way.

  “Sorry. I get sick of crockpot meals sometimes. Just needed a—whoa! Mama Val! Long time no see!” He threw his arms around Val, a hug she returned.

  “Gabe! Good to see you. How’s your dad? Does he come to these meetings?”

  “He still speaks at actions and rallies, but he’s not a meetings guy.”

  Sophie glanced at the clock. “This is a touching reunion, but we should get started.” She herded them toward a circle of chairs, then rang a bell. The others in the room, a dozen maybe, took their seats.

  “Welcome to FreerMind! I’m Sophie, co-head of this chapter. I’m glad you all could join us tonight. Thursdays we usually discuss media strategies, which is not the most glamorous topic. First, let’s start with everybody introducing themselves and their pronouns. You can say as little or as much as you want.”

  She started on her left, so the circle would end with Val rather than begin with her. The first person was a youngish Black woman, David’s age maybe, with a forearm crutch resting against her chair. Her head was shaved, a small bandage at her temple. Val tried not to stare: she’d never seen a deactivated one before. “Hi, I’m, uh, Tommie. She/her. I had a Pilot for thirteen years, until I had it taken out last week. I wanted to see what these meetings were about.”

  Thirteen years! That made her one of the earliest adopters; even earlier than David. “Welcome, Tommie” and “Congratulations” and “Freedom!” came from the circle, then they settled back into introductions.

  When the circle came round to Val, she introduced herself by her first name and pronouns, adding “never had a Pilot.” She liked that better than the other phrase she’d heard, “Pilot-free by choice,” since that suggested those who had chosen were somehow better than those who had the choice made for them.

  She wanted to say more, but she shut herself up. For all the things she wanted to get off her chest about teaching in a Piloted world, about her paranoias living with a Piloted spouse, about her heart aching for their daughter who had created a life out of a battle she shouldn’t have had to fight, she didn’t think that was why Sophie had invited her. She suspected she was meant to be there as a witness, not a participant, and that talking about herself would show Sophie she’d misunderstood her place. Here, at last, was something Sophie could shape and control, something that was hers and Gabe’s in a way that nothing had been theirs before. If Val spoke, she’d want to speak again, to be a part of this, which would mean Sophie would forever be stuck with her mother hanging out in the place where she had established herself as an adult.

  The seizure only reinforced that. When Sophie stopped speaking midsentence, her hand clutching for something out of reach, Val knew exactly what was happening. She had barely shifted in her chair when Gabe glanced at his phone and smoothly took over the sentence, directing everyone who wanted to work on public response over to the bar. Val stuffed her hands into her armpits and forced herself to stay seated for a long minute, until Sophie came back to herself.

  “I’m okay,” she said. “I’m okay.”

  Gabe glanced down at his phone again, then nod
ded at Val, who returned a tight smile. Her daughter had people who knew what to do and looked out for her.

  “Why?” Sophie asked her in the car on the way home. “Thank you, first, then why?”

  Val smiled. “If you’re saying thank you, that’s why. It was your meeting. I didn’t want to step in if everything was under control.”

  “Was it? Under control?”

  “Gabe started talking as if it had been planned that way, and he kept an eye on how long it lasted. I don’t think anybody thought it was all that strange. If anything, they thought he missed a cue, not that you dropped out.”

  “Good. That’s what he’s supposed to do. A few others know, too.”

  Val put a hand on her knee. Sophie let it stay there. “Was it hard for you, Ma?”

  “Not stepping in? A little. A lot, maybe.”

  “Thank you, again. What did you think of the meeting?”

  “It was really interesting, Soph. You know what you’re talking about. You’re a good leader. I’ve got to say I’m impressed by what you’ve got going.”

  “But?”

  “I think you’re in a safe place once you get there, but I don’t think I’m any less worried about the getting-there part. Have you been keeping track of your seizures?”

  “Yeah. Two this week. One definitely got triggered by heat, or maybe heat and stress. This one, I don’t know. No reason. Are you going to tell Mom?”

  “I’ll tell her what I just said: you’re in a safe place, and you have people looking out for you, and you’re a good leader. I didn’t realize how much you were in charge of.” The light turned red and she met Sophie’s eyes. “I’m proud of you, Soph. You’re doing an amazing thing.”

  Sophie smiled and sank back into her seat.

  Back at the house, Sophie disappeared into her bedroom, though her footsteps were soft, and the door closed rather than slammed. Julie lounged on the couch, television on, maybe dozing, but she opened her eyes when Val walked in.

  “How did it go?” Julie shifted her feet to let Val sit, then let them drop again into her wife’s lap.

  Val kneaded the ball of Julie’s right foot, eliciting a groan. “She’s really good at the thing she’s doing. Organized, inspiring, well-spoken.”

  “And?”

  “I think she’s safe there. I’d prefer she crash there than go back and forth, honestly. I don’t think we should be setting a curfew. She’s an adult.”

  Julie frowned.

  “It’s good people there. Not just Gabe. They’ve got her back.”

  “What about you? Are you going to go again?”

  Val shook her head and switched feet. “I don’t think it’s for me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  DAVID

  At the airport the civilian airport almost home people crowds laughter announcements beeping carts instrumental versions of songs from movies music means you can’t hear what you need to hear tune it out tune it out David tried to tune it out. He kept his back to the wall even here however many miles from where he needed to keep his back to the wall he didn’t know the miles he’d never needed to know the miles there was an ocean between a desert between the miles didn’t matter keep your attentions elsewhere, soldier. It didn’t feel like less of a need here it didn’t feel any less urgent the space was so vast there were so many people so many corners so many angles. He scanned the crowd like he’d been taught like he had practiced a thousand times in a thousand rooms on a thousand streets. It didn’t matter that this place was supposed to be safer. Supposed to be home whatever that meant anymore.

  Some homecomings got military jets to the base, families on the tarmac. Big publicity stuff. Not David’s. He’d arrived home commercial. He preferred it this way. He wasn’t much for open spaces these days. He stayed close to the wall.

  Beyond the security checkpoint, some volunteer greeters stood ready to welcome, and families waited for their soldiers to step out. Dolenz pulled a woman into her arms; Tuvim was quickly surrounded by children with balloons. David’s eyes did their customary sweeps, his Pilot boosting and processing the signal so he could check the rafters the windows the doorways the alcoves in a quick glance. A yellow balloon bounced against the skylight high above, and a sparrow cut panicked arcs around it. Plain black bag unattended near a potted plant whose bag nobody’s bag where was security a woman next to the garbage can tossing a coffee cup returned to the bag nothing to see here. The other soldiers looked relaxed. David was more like the sparrow.

  He walked past the happy reunions, overwhelmed by guilt. His moms would have loved to be here. Would have been here in a second, if David had told them to come. It wasn’t their fault David had been unable to visualize the reunion scene, unable to imagine hugs or kisses or any fuss made over him. He didn’t want to draw anyone out into the open. Didn’t want it to be his fault if anything happened.

  He fumbled with his stateside phone, hoping it had kept its charge. Twenty percent. Enough to message both moms. On my way home—surprise! I’ll be at your door tomorrow.

  He tucked the phone back into his pocket and made his way down the corridor, his pack over one shoulder slightly obscuring his peripheral vision on the right, so he kept to that wall to compensate. He dug for his wallet as he walked. He should have done that on the plane, so he wouldn’t have to do it here in the open. Already he’d slipped.

  He took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall, then out the door onto the train platform. The machines to buy rail tickets were still the same one broken one working no line there was also an app these days but he didn’t have it. He negotiated the menu while his other attentions examined the people on the platform. Mostly airport workers finishing their shifts: tired, routine, IDs still around their necks, some with safety vests, fingerless gloves, dirty fingers, some in polos, varied as jockey silks based on their airlines. An acned white teen in a purple jacket slumped on a bench, the only one who seemed out of place. No bags, so he wasn’t a traveler. No airport or police badge, unless he had it under his jacket. David jammed his ticket in his pocket and reframed himself so the boy was the center focus, everything else peripheral.

  The train arrived and new passengers negotiated the geometric dance that put them all at the farthest points from each other. David took the first rear-facing seat in the first car, so the only person behind him would be the driver. The teen chose some car down the line. Not David’s problem anymore.

  He could have ridden straight to the bus station then home but instead he got off downtown, just past the tourist-sanitized areas. Was it odd that he felt more relaxed in a place where he was supposed to keep his guard up? He knew how to do this. He marched two blocks and booked into the first cheap motel he came across. The desk clerk attended him from behind bulletproof glass and overcharged him for a bottle of brandy from under the counter. The seal was broken but he took it anyway.

  His room had a busted and patched door, like somebody had punched out the lock. A piece of plywood over the hole, and a new doorknob slightly below where a doorknob should be. His key worked, so he didn’t care. He locked the dead bolt and the chain, then dumped his bags behind the door for added security.

  The bed passed his cursory bedbug check, and he collapsed onto it, boots and all. The brandy tasted watered down, but there was still some alcohol in there so he wasn’t complaining. His buddies would log into their Pilot apps at this point and change back to this time zone, maybe add a cycle-down period, something they all removed during deployment. He didn’t bother since he couldn’t tell the difference. He drank until he felt his own version of cycle-down, the slight diminishment of attention the difference of attention. Being drunk helped somewhat. No, being drunk helped a lot.

  He missed his unit. Alone was okay, but he wasn’t used to it anymore. He tried to think of whom he could phone. He tried Milo, but disconnected after one ring when he realized the time
. Milo had come back a couple of months before him, was back with Karina. No point in disturbing him.

  The phone rang a minute later.

  “Are you stateside?” Milo asked. “Why’d you hang up?”

  “Wasn’t sure if it was a good time.”

  “You know you can call whenever you need.”

  “I just thought it might be late.”

  “It is. Whatever. You okay? You home?”

  “Okay enough. In some fleabag motel for the night. I wasn’t ready to go home yet.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to meet you somewhere?”

  “Nah. I’m wasted already. Just wanted to say hey.”

  David closed his eyes and listened to sirens voices noise in the pipes TV from next door until sleep took him with his boots on. Woke once bolt upright to someone trying the door, then a knock. Held his breath, waited, calculated his options. The knock moved on to other doors. Someone looking for drugs or a friend or a room number forgotten.

  He woke the next morning with a head full of fuzz and no clue where he was. That only lasted a moment, but a moment in which he thought he might have died or been captured the sunlight was wrong the room was wrong everything was off from where it should be. He tried desperately to cut through the fog as his Pilot created more fog, processing the sounds from the other rooms and from outside. A stinkbug careened off the walls and the ceiling. Water in the pipes. Car alarm outside.

  “Take it in threes”: that was the advice from his first activation and calibration tests. Dr. Abrams he remembered in particular, a blond woman with no Pilot who was reduced to bony angles and painted-on eyebrows in his mind. “I can’t keep up with everything you can pay attention to with your implant. List them in threes for me. It’ll help you process and show me how fast you’re adjusting.”

  He told her he saw blue-seven-F on the multikeyed charts. He told her he saw doctor-intern-notepad, even when he saw and felt and heard all those things and more at once, doctor-intern-notepad-coldass table-intern’s missing button-antiseptic smell-doctor’s leaking pen-dot of something maybe blood on an otherwise clean floor-sky out the window-person watering flowers on the adjacent roof-voices down the hall-blue-seven-fucking F. It was hard to put words to full, nonprioritized attention. He remembered panicking at that stage. Even as he got used to it, it was already overwhelming. Take it in threes.