by Cody Sisco
“What do you want from me?” Victor asked.
“I’ve already got what I want,” Tosh said, “your attention.”
12
The world is made by great thinkers, not small minds.
—Jefferson Eastmore’s The Wheel of Progress (1989)
13 May 1991
New Venice, The Louisiana Territories
Victor stared at his hands. Eight fingers and two thumbs—two is the best.
Poor Ozie. He had two thumbs, but only seven fingers remaining. It was his own fault though, wasn’t it? Making bargains with the King was like grabbing a knife by the blade.
Victor looked at Tosh’s long, severe face and into his unreadable dark eyes. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“What I say, when I say it.”
“But what?”
“Something big. Something the King wants. You don’t have to worry about it yet.”
Victor shrugged away from Tosh and rushed across the bridge, muttering and cursing. “Something big.” Be more vague, you garbage human.
Why couldn’t people just say what they meant? Secrets and double talk never helped anyone. His feet thundered on the concrete—a hallucination surely, he thought, as he startled leisurely strollers who weren’t used to anyone rushing on Main Street. Pedestrians in Victor’s path stepped aside. When he glanced back, he could see Tosh following, an amused and curious grin plastered on his face. Maybe he’d never seen Victor on the verge of going blank before and he was enjoying the show. Maybe he planned to take advantage of him while he couldn’t resist.
Victor ground his teeth. He didn’t know where he was going. He just needed to stay away from Tosh and keep the blankness at bay. He shouldn’t have left the hospital without his tinctures.
When he reached a plaza adjacent to the Grand Canal, he found Human Life protesters squatting on stairs that led down to a waterfront promenade. They’d also formed a human chain stretching from the railing to the opposite side of the plaza. Townies and tourists had to detour around them. Victor considered ramming the blockade, the way kids had played Navy in grade school. No. The thought of touching them, even to knock them on their asses, made his skin itch.
He turned away and saw Tosh nearby scrutinizing the crowd. “What’s all this?” he asked Victor. “Are these your Broken Mirror friends?”
Victor stood still, breathed, and repeated the owl mantra, congratulating himself on his self-control. He wouldn’t go blank, and he wouldn’t be baited into aggression—that’s how much he’d grown over the past few months.
Chanting behind him interrupted the mantra in his head. The Human Lifers were spouting some nonsense about Emergence.
“Embrace the eternal present!”
“Abandon your poisons!”
“Free your shackled potential!”
Fail to receive the cancer cure, Victor added silently. Die of uncontrolled tumors.
“Broken Mirrors are people too!” someone shouted.
Victor snorted at the irony of these fools using a slur to defend his rights.
Someone broke away from the human chain and approached Victor. He recognized Wonda, who smiled at him goofily.
“Hello, Victor. It’s good to see you again,” she said. She moved close but didn’t touch him.
Beautiful Wonda, smelling of floral perfume. Unwelcome figures from his past were converging on New Venice, demanding things of him, and this fresh-faced girl didn’t care, didn’t want anything from him except maybe affection. Maybe her touch wouldn’t be so bad.
Wonda was followed closely by the rotund preacher from the protest in Pond Park. The preacher smiled and extended his hand. Victor hesitated then shook it. The preacher’s face was round, unlined, uncomplicated. He looked as if he couldn’t hide a lie even if he wanted to.
“My faith name is Deliberation,” he said. “Call me Del, please. Florence Eastmore is one of my idols, and I met your grandfather a few times too. An incredible man.”
Wonda thrust out her hand to Victor, smiling. “We can shake too, can’t we? I didn’t know who you were before.” They shook, and he felt a warm pulse travel up his arm. “Pleased to meet you, Victor Eastmore,” she said. “May your Seeking unfold magnificently.”
Tosh stood a few paces from them, his expression neutral, but Victor imagined the wheels turning in his head, evaluating whether Wonda and Del were friends or foes, people he could exploit or pick on, or irrelevant to his egocentric goals. If Victor could toss Tosh in a canal and be done with him, he would.
Del wrapped an arm around Wonda. “Don’t mind her enthusiasm. Wonda forgets that we seem like fanatics to the pluripotent.” Del must have noticed Victor’s eyebrows raise because he laughed at himself. “Sorry, our terminology is unfamiliar, I know.”
“Is this your friend?” Wonda asked, looking toward Tosh.
“Come on over—don’t be shy,” Del said to Tosh. “I’m Del. This is Wonda. What’s your name, my friend? Come chat with us.”
Tosh executed a half bow, though he still wore a wary expression. “My pleasure,” he said grumpily as he linked arms with Victor. It felt like the opposite of a protective gesture.
The protesters’ chanting had quieted into low murmurs like water lapping on the canal walls. Wonda stared at Victor, which normally would have made him twitch, but her face was so open, ebullient, and joyful that he smiled. These people were the exact opposite of Karine and her troop of condescending executives or Tosh and his aggression. They lacked deceit, ulterior motives, and contempt for broken people. Their attention was a warm breeze after a summer shower’s clouds passed. So what if they wanted to tell him about their silly cult? Victor wasn’t afraid of being converted.
“Let’s have a squat talk.” Del abruptly bent his knees and squatted there in the middle of the plaza. Wonda winked at Victor and squatted too. Tosh lowered himself with surprising grace for a man who was all muscle. Victor looked around. There were at least three benches nearby. They must prefer this odd squatting, or maybe their belief system required it. He joined them in the squat, feeling foolish.
Del said, “We are the New Venetian and Caddoan Lands Potentiate. We are stewards of the pluripotent.”
“Why do you keep saying pluripotent?” Victor asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
Tosh said, “White people talking about the Caddo without respect could find a world of trouble.”
“All respect due, of course,” Del said earnestly, brow wrinkled, eyebrows high.
“Skin is skin,” Victor said harshly to Tosh and turned to Del. “Pluripotency describes stem cells’ capabilities to transform into different types of tissue. But I’m sure that’s not what you meant.”
“Ah, I understand the confusion,” Del said, chuckling. “For us, the pluripotent are those who’ve not yet found their calling. The purpose of joining a potentiate like ours is to change and grow, to seek and to set our feet on the path to purity.” He held up a hand as if he was going to place it on Victor’s head. The hand remained upraised. “May the road you travel turn toward purity and happiness.” Del’s smile and voice harmonized emotionally. Victor read only good intentions on his face and relaxed.
Wonda gave Del a look that reminded Victor of a dog who’d been promised a treat. “Del promised not to recruit you,” Wonda said. “I made no such vow. I’ll win you over eventually.” She turned to Tosh. “You too,” she added.
Del smiled apologetically at Victor. “As an organization, we don’t push our beliefs on anyone. However, individual potentiates like Wonda are free to take it on themselves to find people who need our help, like you, for example. Those we call ‘seekers’ are free to participate in our potentiate. If they want to join and become a Path Treader, we’ll consider it. Most take a different path, and we accept that.”
“Anyone can join?” Victor asked, throwing a poison look at Tosh.
“We welcome everyone who is willing to follow the Principles of Emergence.” Del cleared his throat
and spoke hesitantly. “Our rules are strict. Anyone on medication or taking alcohol, stims, or other drugs would need to give them up.”
Victor’s face flushed hot. He couldn’t stand when people made assumptions about him or his condition. “I don’t want to join. Besides, you wouldn’t let me. I don’t take Personil anymore,” he said, wondering why he felt the need to explain himself, “but I take herbs, natural medicine. A Chinese woman. She arrived with a woman who saved my life when I was four…” He was babbling. He tried to focus and talk his way out of it. “You’ve probably heard about Samuel Miller and the Carmichael Massacre already.”
Both Del and Wonda looked at him curiously.
Wonda’s brow creased. “Victor, if you take herbs as medicine…” She looked at Del.
He patted Victor’s shoulder. “This warrants a careful study of the rules. I’m called Deliberation for good reason. Come by our camp some time and we can discuss it.” Del stood, reached into his pocket, and handed Victor a card.
“Why here?” Tosh asked. “Why New Venice?”
Del said, “This is where we can do the most good. The future is emerging, and we want a hand in shaping it.” He looked suggestively toward the BioScan campus.
The guarded expression Tosh had been wearing vanished under a wide, tooth-filled smile. “I’m sure you will.”
Like a shark, Victor thought, but worse because this shark is good at fooling people.
His Handy 1000 chimed. It was a message from Karine: Why haven’t you responded to my messages? Where are you? MeshNews is here to interview you!
Victor rose from squatting. Del looked at him with a kind, soft expression. He couldn’t leave the man in Tosh’s grip.
“Run along, Victor,” Tosh said. “It looks like you’ve got somewhere to be. I’ll catch up with you later. In the meantime…” He turned toward Wonda and said, “I’d love to learn more about the potentiate.”
“Bye, Victor,” Wonda said with affection in her voice.
Victor left them with one glance back at Tosh. He would pay for what he’d done to Ozie. Somehow Victor would make sure of it.
13
Can you hear the voices? They are calling out for answers hidden in a memory. Do you remember? Once in louder days, we hollered from the mountain tops. Now we curl in hidden valleys, gathering our treasures close to our breasts, waiting for a light that will not shine in the quiet dark.
—Estrella Burgos’s Theories of Emergence (1906)
13 May 1991
New Venice, The Louisiana Territories
Victor arrived at Karine’s apartment, and she ushered him inside. She wore a tight smile, dark eyeliner, and a puffed-up hairdo. She shut the door behind him.
Expansive windows and glass-walled balconies overlooked the east side of town. The sun hid behind a layer of clouds. The apartment was spacious. The kitchen, dining area, and living room were all visible, occupying and defining their own space in the wide-open floor plan. His gaze was drawn to a raised corner nook with a curved bay window where Lisabella sat.
“Hello, Victor,” Lisabella called, without rising to greet him. “Please have a seat. And thank you for talking with me.” She wore a tight-fitting dress that showed little skin, only her hands and head, yet it revealed every curve of her hips and bust.
He crossed the room, climbed the steps, and sat facing her, his gaze drawn to colorful boats moored in the canal six stories below.
Karine cleared her throat. “I’ve been over this with both of you already, but I’ll say it again. This is a sympathy piece. We show why it’s important that people with mirror resonance syndrome are acknowledged by the government and get treatment. We’re lucky not to have experienced anything like what happened in SeCa here. Victor, you’re a model patient”—He was surprised she didn’t choke on those words. He supposed she was putting her best foot forward for Lisabella’s sake—“and you’re proof that therapy and medication work.”
She thrust a bottle of Personil into his hand.
He looked at it and said, “I’m not—”
“It’s not only about you,” Karine said, talking over him. “It’s about the people in the LTs who don’t know they’re suffering. They have no access to treatment, no validation that what they’re going through is real. Mention the suicide rate, how we think we can bring that down. But try to stay focused on your own story. And make sure we get the truth about how you knocked your head. We don’t want any more rumors.”
Rumors were said to be a second currency in the American Union. The official story came only from MeshNews. Everything else was imaginative fiction. The footage Lisabella gathered in the interview would be chopped up into digestible pieces, reframed, spun into an evolving narrative, and distributed to MeshNews users in the Louisiana Territories over the next few weeks. Victor had never been interviewed before, but every other member of his family had, including his cousin Robbie, who treated media relations as an art of war and liked to lecture Victor on how unsuited he was to the spotlight.
Shock you, Robbie, I’ve got this.
“Karine, please,” Lisabella said. She smiled apologetically at Victor. “I’m sorry about the deception before. I hadn’t quite received permission yet from the suits upstairs. Everything’s now on the up and up.”
Victor asked, “Are you proud to bring Samuel Miller’s story to everyone in the nation?”
Lisabella maintained her smile. Victor envied her. Most people in SeCa would flinch when they heard that name.
Karine said, “Let Lisabella ask the questions, Victor. Shall we start? Just pretend I’m not here.” She sat on an ottoman in the living area, watching them closely.
Lisabella checked her sono and vid feeds, gave Victor a thumbs-up, and leaned forward. “You let me know at any time if we need to redirect or pause. I want to make this as easy as possible.”
“Thank you,” Victor said.
“Let’s start with something I’ve been curious about. We’re dealing with a stim addiction epidemic in the LTs. I’ve read about your condition, and I’ve spoken to many of the stim addicts in New Venice. I understand they feel something akin to what you experience when you have a resonant episode. Can you tell me in your own words what it feels like?”
Victor blinked. It had been a long time since anyone asked about that. Years maybe. Dr. Tammet had quizzed him all the time. The only other person who asked was Elena.
He said, “I can feel an episode coming on, usually. They’re not always the same. Sometimes it’s like losing my balance, like I’m falling. Other times it can be…”
“What?”
“Sometimes I feel weightless and… It feels good.”
“Good how?” she asked.
He met her eyes briefly. Dark blue sympathy colored her face. Her curiosity wasn’t predatory; it was understanding. She simply wanted to know. He breathed more freely. This was going well.
He answered, “Blissful. Sexual sometimes.”
“Interesting,” she said. She licked her lips. He was sure she wasn’t even aware she’d done it. Her fingertips brushed her cheek and smoothed her hair back. “And when you’re blank?” she asked.
Victor frowned. “I’m gone. I’m not there anymore. I’ve seen vidfeeds of my episodes, and it’s like watching someone else. I don’t remember any of it after. It feels—” He stopped himself. This was the worst part. The embarrassment and shame so thick it was like a second skin.
“Please go on,” Lisabella said.
He cleared his throat. “I feel vulnerable when I’m not in control. If it happens at the wrong time…” He looked down at his shoes. “People used to make me do things at school. I woke up once with no clothes on. It was a big joke to them.”
Victor looked up. Lisabella’s mouth was open, shocked. He glanced at Karine. She stared at him, stone still. He couldn’t tell what she thought of his confession.
He continued, “When someone with MRS is blank, they’re highly suggestible. Malleable. Lowered inhibitio
n. That sort of thing.” He put a finger to his temple. “We hear and understand, but there’s no one in charge. That’s why we need protection, not just from ourselves but from others too.”
Karine was nodding vigorously. She made a fingerburst of approval.
Victor sat up straight. “I want to make sure that things are done differently in the Louisiana Territories than they were in Semiautonomous California. I want to help Bro—to help people with mirror resonance syndrome without stigmatizing them.”
“Speaking of helping people,” Lisabella said, “what signs should someone look out for? How can people recognize when their friends and family members need a checkup?”
“If I may?” Karine said and continued without pausing. “We’ll be implementing a comprehensive screening and testing procedure. The public won’t need to be worried about helping make diagnoses.”
Victor glanced at Karine, surprised. She was saying the right thing for once.
Lisabella looked down at her MeshBit, poked at it. Her lips moved, repeating something. Victor thought maybe she was trying to get back into the flow of her interview.
After a moment, she looked at Victor again and gave a small smile. “You’re doing great. I want to ask: Are you happy with the treatment you’ve received?” Lisabella asked. “Medical treatment, I mean. Your therapy and medication, specifically.”
Karine pointed to the pill bottle in his lap.
Victor stared at Lisabella, ignored Karine, and said, “I credit many years of therapy for helping me cope.”
“Don’t forget many years of medication,” Karine said.
“I don’t take Personil anymore,” he snapped.
“But you would if your condition worsened,” Karine said. “If you had delusions, say, or if you found yourself going blank.”
“I’d consider it,” Victor said through gritted teeth.
“Are there downsides to medication?” Lisabella asked.
