by Dima Zales
“It’s not a good long-term solution, no.” He gestures with the remote. “Alternatively, you could swallow your pride and make up with Nero, so that—”
“Forget it.” I turn on my heel. “Watch your stupid TV.”
I stomp into the kitchen, get the card, and go to my room.
Fluffster is inside, so I show him the card and explain Felix’s theory.
He looks at the card, his beady eyes widening. “I possess more memories than I thought. I can read that. Does it mean I can speak Russian?”
“I don’t know.” I lean in and give Fluffster a side scratch. “Maybe try talking to Felix? If that doesn’t work, we should get you a Russian book. Or maybe you can watch something Russian on YouTube?”
“Great ideas, all,” he says and runs to the door.
Left on my own, I realize that I can put Felix’s Baba Yaga theory to the test. All I need to do is get back into Headspace and run the same vision for a longer duration of time.
Encouraged, I begin meditating.
And meditating.
And meditating.
No matter how hard I try, Headspace eludes me.
My theory about one vision per day must be true.
Before I can think of what else to do, Fluffster runs back into the room.
“I speak fluent Russian,” he says in my mind. “Felix said he’ll get me some books, and he showed me a Russian search engine called Yandex.ru. We searched about domovoi there. I learned some really interesting things.”
Fluffster proceeds to tell me the fairy tales about his kind and describes the plot of a cartoon with a domovoi character.
“Maybe you’ll remember more as time goes on, after all,” I say when he runs out of steam. “Maybe I should take Baba Yaga’s call and thank her.”
Fluffster shakes his furry head. “I just read about her in the original Russian. Even if she just borrowed that name, she’s bad news.”
“I was kidding. Besides, she must think my phone is disconnected—which is probably why she’s now sending her goons after me.”
“Probably,” Fluffster says and yawns. “I’m going to nap, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m also going to head to bed for the night,” I tell him. “The sooner I wake up, the sooner I can try having another vision.”
Chapter Fifteen
I’m awake at six a.m. on a Saturday, for the first time ever. I guess this is what happens when you go to sleep so early.
I go through my morning routine and share an oatmeal breakfast with Fluffster.
“Did Ariel come home last night?” I ask as we finish up.
“No,” he says. “She didn’t.”
“We’re supposed to go to the gym today. I hope she doesn’t flake on me.”
Fluffster shakes his head disapprovingly and joins me when I head back into my room.
He curls up on my bed, and I decide to work on getting another vision.
The meditation goes smoother than ever; I’m clearly getting better at it.
My palms get warm in record time, and lightning hits my eyes.
I’m surrounded by a new set of shapes.
How do I—or Headspace or whoever—decide where I end up when I first appear here? Should I pay closer attention to these shapes?
Either way, today I have a different goal in mind. I need to find the Russian writing vision again and figure out if it’s connected to Baba Yaga or Nero.
I float forward, doing my best to think of the same things as I did yesterday.
There are hordes of different shapes around me, but none are the impossible-angled ellipsoids that I need. In fact, I don’t see a single shape that’s even remotely ellipsoid.
I try to focus on the shape itself and will myself to find it.
Nothing happens, and I eventually give up.
The password shapes are clearly beyond my reach.
Maybe you only get one chance to see a vision set in a specific location and time?
If so, I should be very careful with those time intervals in the future.
Speaking of time intervals, I can at the very least test a theory about them. All I need to do is find a shape I like, then zoom out a bunch of times, and see if this will lead to a long vision.
The warm, white, pickle-tasting roundish prisms play a welcomingly safe music, so I settle on them.
I zoom out once.
Twice.
Three times.
On the fourth, I pick a prism at random and touch it.
A fist slams into my face, then into my stomach. Then a leg sweep smacks my back into the ground.
Scrambling to my feet, I block a round kick, try to throw a punch, and fail. An uppercut sends me flying back in a heap of limbs.
“No more Miss Nice Sasha,” I grit though my teeth as I block the next punch, uppercut my opponent into the air, and then throw my deadly metal fan at him—drawing rivers of blood.
Closing the distance between us, I unleash a combo—a set of moves I’ve previously memorized.
When I’m done, he barely has any strength left.
I’m going to win and enjoy wiping that smug expression from his face.
I jump, determined to end it.
He blocks my kick, then sweeps his leg under my feet, sending me tumbling to the ground.
As soon as I try to get up, he freezes me with his special move, walks up to me cockily, and unleashes a series of punches and kicks.
I’m on the ground, health bar empty.
“Finish her,” a deep voice says.
In the next frame, I’m standing shakily.
He walks up to me, freezes my midsection, punches a hole in it, breaks my spine as he brings my body over his head, and rips what remains into two bloody pieces.
“Fatality,” the deep voice concludes.
“That was much better.” Felix selects a female with huge boobs as his next character. “One of these days, you’re going to win. You’ll see.”
I clench my jaw and choose Sub-Zero—his last character.
And lose again.
Then lose even worse.
Then lose without hitting him even once—a state of events the deep voice calls “Flawless Victory.”
When it comes to video games, I’m way too competitive. I can’t take losing.
We play for hours, and I always feel like I’m on the verge of figuring out Felix’s technique, but then he changes something and I lose again. And again.
“You’re still playing?” Fluffster asks after another hour of my defeats. “Can you give me my dust bath?”
“Hold on,” Felix says. “Let me kill Sasha one more time.”
I find myself back in my room.
Wow.
That was a multi-hour vision—though probably the most useless one I’ve ever had.
Sounds like Felix is going to ask me to play Mortal Kombat later today, and I’ll say yes, just to lose for hours.
Or will I lose? I did see how some of those games had gone. Maybe I can leverage that knowledge?
Either way, I need to act naturally. I don’t want Felix to catch on.
I read magic books for an hour, then binge on TV until Felix wakes up and eats breakfast.
Eventually, he knocks on my door.
“Hey,” he says when I open it. “Sorry about last night. I should’ve talked to you instead of watching TV. I was just dead tired—but I’m ready to talk if you still want.”
I smile. “It’s fine. I was maybe rash too. There wasn’t more to talk about. I’m staying in today, as you suggested, and when I do go out, I’ll make sure Baba Yaga can’t get me.”
“Good. I was also wondering how to entertain you—and I have an idea.”
“What did you have in mind?” I ask, but of course, I already know.
“Why don’t we play some video games?” he says predictably. “We can play Mortal Kombat. I know you and Ariel play that all the time.”
“Are you sure you’ll tolerate all that computer-generated
gore?” I ask, inwardly smiling an evil grin.
“I can manage,” he says and heads into the living room where we have Ariel’s Xbox set up.
As he starts up the game, he grumbles something negative about the console, but I ignore it. He’s a huge Nintendo fanboy and thus unable to have an objective opinion about any other system.
TV on, controllers in hand, we begin to battle.
I start off by losing. We haven’t gotten to my vision yet.
Then we finally get to the part I foresaw: his blue ninja slams a fist into my face, then into my stomach, then sweeps my legs, dumping me on the ground.
Now, though, I have the benefit of foreknowledge—and I impress myself with how well I remember what both of us are about to do.
So, I win.
Then I win again.
“Hey,” Felix says after his fourth defeat in a row. “Something fishy is going on.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you using your powers to win?”
“No,” I lie. “Are you?”
He reddens, and I want to smack him outside the game.
Why hadn’t this occurred to me before?
He’s a technomancer, and the Xbox is a glorified PC, so of course he can manipulate it as easily as the other computer stuff.
“No more video games,” I tell him. “I can’t believe you’d cheat.”
“It’s only because I cheated that I could catch you cheating.” He throws the controller on the couch. “Tell me how you did it.”
Grinning, I explain, and his anger turns into awe as I go on.
“That’s really interesting.” He turns off the TV. “Such a long vision. I wonder if there’s a cost to it?”
I scratch the back of my head. “I didn’t think about cost. I don’t feel particularly tired or anything—so maybe the length of the vision doesn’t matter?”
“Hmm… You said you can zoom out as many times as you want, right?”
“I only zoomed out a handful of times, so who knows? Maybe there’s a limit that I didn’t reach?”
“There must be. Otherwise, what stops you from seeing a vision that lasts a year or two? Or a lifetime?”
“I have no idea.” I put down my own controller. “Maybe such visions are possible.”
“That would be amazing,” he says. “But in any case, if Headspace is like a computer interface, then I bet the initial size of those shapes is already optimized for the best vision duration.”
“Optimized by whom?”
“You?” he suggests. “Or some kind of seer gods. Who knows?”
We sit in contemplative silence for a few moments; then I stand up.
“I should see if I can enter Headspace again,” I tell him. “Probably not, but worth a try.”
“Good idea.” He gets up as well, takes the game out of the Xbox, and replaces it with another. “You do that. I’ve got this racing game I wanted to try.”
I make my way to my room and try meditation again.
It fails, as I assumed it would.
After Felix and I eat an early lunch, I try again but to no avail.
Giving up, I realize that Ariel didn’t show up to take me to the gym—and, of course, that makes me really want to go to the gym.
I pick up my phone and dial her number.
A familiar ringtone goes off in Ariel’s room.
I go there, and sure enough, her phone is still on the charger.
Why did I let her convince me to delete Gaius’s number? If I had it, I’d at least call him.
Knowing full well that both Fluffster and Felix would chastise me for even considering leaving the house, I do some pushups by my bed and consider my physical activity done for the day.
After dinner, Felix and I rent a couple of movies, and I head to bed early again.
Following our unofficial tradition for Sunday mornings, Felix prepares something extremely yummy for breakfast—quark cheese pancakes called syrniki.
As we eat, Fluffster informs me that Ariel didn’t come home yet again, and I begin worrying about Orientation.
It’s today, and if Ariel doesn’t show up, I’m screwed.
Returning to my room, I contemplate the practicality of carrying a gun. My last gun lived in a big bag, but I should think of something better.
An idea arrives, and I locate the outfit I designed to allow me to vanish a cellphone.
Yep.
The secret pocket that’s key to the method of that effect works well as a holster for the Glock.
In a pinch, I can also use it to make a gun disappear, though the reverse would be much better.
Then I get another idea. Even without Ariel, a vision can help make my trip to Orientation safer. In fact, perhaps I can repeat what happened yesterday and see a multi-hour prophecy.
Yes, that’s it.
This way, I could go to Orientation in my vision instead of in the real world—and skip the trip unless the vision shows me getting there and back harmlessly.
Excited about such a workaround, I get into the lotus pose and focus on my ever-slowing breath.
Nothing happens.
I sit, my mind as clear as can be, but the lightning on my palms never materializes.
Maybe this is the cost Felix mentioned?
If so, the guy is a total jinx, but he might be right. Looks like yesterday’s longer vision drained me, and I can’t reach Headspace today.
Or at least I hope it’s just for today. As sweet as it was to beat Felix in Mortal Kombat, it would suck to lose my powers for a long time over a video game.
Regardless, I need a backup plan when it comes to Orientation if Ariel doesn’t appear at the last minute.
I get dressed, hide my gun in the secret pocket, slide the admiral’s knife into a regular pocket, and walk into the living room.
When Felix and Fluffster notice my arrival, I ask, “What if I take the gun with me and cab it there and back?”
“I’d rather you stayed home.” Fluffster half runs, half hops a circle around me. “I don’t think you should ever leave.”
“Great.” My tone drips with sarcasm. “Felix?”
He stands up. “I know how important Orientation is. Which is why I’m sharing that cab with you.”
“You are?” I look over his thin frame with skepticism. “Actually, no. You’re not. Why put you in danger?”
“If you’re going, I’m going.” In a quieter voice, he adds, “I was actually going to go there anyway, so it would be silly not to go together.”
“You were?” Fluffster and I ask at the same time.
“It’s not a big deal,” he says defensively. “Just chaperoning a friend there.”
“A friend?” I look into his black eyes to see if he’s joking and find no sign of it. “A friend who isn’t me?”
Felix blushes. “It’s Maya.” He looks down. “She and I made a pact. If the werewolf bitches threatened her again, Maya would text me, and I would take her to Orientation.” He takes out his phone and waves it in the air. “She texted.”
“Maya?” I repeat dumbly. “You were going to take Maya to Orientation and are only telling me about it now?”
Maya is my petite classmate and new friend, who is, and I quote, “turning eighteen in a few months.” In part because she’s so tiny, she fell prey to Roxy and her b-hive’s bullying.
For Felix to make such a pact with her is gallant in the extreme. Except I somehow doubt Roxy would threaten Maya on her way to Orientation. It’s much more likely the girl is just scheming to spend time with Felix.
And I bet he knows this.
Most importantly, though, I don’t think Felix could actually help Maya deal with Roxy if push came to shove. I can picture it now. Roxy or one of her minions turns into a wolf, bites someone; Felix sees blood, faints, and that’s that.
“I can take care of myself,” Felix says, as if discerning my thoughts. “Wait here.”
I hear him rummage in his room, then go into Ariel’s. When he comes back, he’s holding two gun
s—the one I saw in Ariel’s room earlier and a funky-looking contraption.
“This one, I will give to Maya for the duration of our trip.” He stuffs Ariel’s gun in the back of his pants. “And this one”—he displays the funky gun—“I acquired as contraband after that whole mess with Harper. Mind you, if I get caught with it, the Council will have my head.”
Fascinated, I examine the intricate carvings on the side of the weapon, and its odd sights and handle. It looks like someone took a musket, shrank it, and then used it as a basis for a futuristic laser blaster. “What is it?”
“A gun,” Felix says. “From Gomorrah.”
I examine it with even greater interest.
“Gomorrah technology is ahead of ours,” he explains excitedly. “This gun has more computational power than your laptop. It can auto-aim, has a nonlethal mode, is lighter than any weapon made here on Earth, and the coolest part is that I can use my technomancer powers on it. Thus far, I made it so that it only works for me—so even if I lost it or someone stole it, it would be a useless toy for them.”
I reach over and touch the gun. The material feels even more plastic than that on my Glock. Close up, it looks more like a toy gun than some toy guns. “But wouldn’t it be against the Mandate to brandish that about on Earth?”
“It won’t activate the Mandate protection if I pull it out, if that’s what you mean.” He sticks the weapon in the back of his pants next to Maya’s/Ariel’s gun.
“But if someone sees—”
“Dead men tell no tales,” he says. “Assuming I use the lethal option, that is.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. You’ll pass out before you shoot that thing. You faint at the sight of blood, remember?”
“I don’t always.” He confidently walks to the front door and puts on his shoes. “We played that gory game, and I was fine.”
“It wasn’t real blood,” I remind him. “Not like when you actually shoot someone.”
He shrugs. “There’s always the nonlethal option. If I were to use that, the person would just blank out for a few hours. But even if I had to shoot someone full throttle, this gun shouldn’t make them bleed. At least in theory. In any case, I wouldn’t pass out before squeezing the trigger.”
