by Sarah Noffke
“Oh, how I could make a mistake? Like you never have?”
“I didn’t know I was making a mistake at the time,” I say.
“I’m not a mistake. I’m a person. And you created me. Why do you have to pretend like you’re so different from me?” she says.
“Because I am. I never wanted children. But you’re nineteen. And you’ve kept this thing even though it’s going to ruin your future. And you won’t even consider giving it up,” I say.
“He’s not a thing and he’s not going to ruin my life,” she roars.
I pause. Run my hand over my chin and cheek, not because they itch but rather to cover my expression. Knowing Adelaide’s baby’s gender has a weird effect on me. Makes it feel real. Like it’s a person. A real one. Not just this atrocious idea.
“And I didn’t want to keep the baby at first but that was only because I was scared. And yet I was too scared to bring myself to the clinic. Instead I went and tracked you down and learned who I was. You see yourself as a monster. You see me that way. And maybe we are. But we’re also incredibly powerful people who are superior with our skills even inside the Dream Travel race.”
I open my mouth to interject but she cuts me off.
“Yes, that power comes with a burden, but still. Look at what you have accomplished,” she says, throwing her hand at the wall, indicating the Institute. “Look at the people you’ve saved, all because of who you are and you used your skills for good. And I want to do that too. One day. And how can I get rid of my son knowing what he will become? You think we’re cursed with these powers. I don’t disagree with you. But what you miss with your faulty reasoning is we’re not cursed with powers, we’re cursed to be great. That’s a lot of pressure. I get that. I feel that way, and yet I have to accept it.”
I press my top and bottom molars down on each other. Suppress the growl begging to escape my mouth. “I’ve never, not fucking once, had faulty reasoning,” I bring myself to say. The statement isn’t true, but it’s the only part of her speech I can address.
“I’m having this baby. I’m keeping him. And I’m going to expect for you to help me. Not with money, but with raising a Dream Traveler right. Not like I was where I thought I was insane but in a way so he knows his ancestry. I want him to feel a connection at a young age with his race. And I want his powers fostered from the beginning. I want you to help me raise this kid right. I want you to help me raise him in the exact opposite way that I was.”
Chapter Five
“Don’t make eye contact with anyone,” I say, hurrying down the corridor of the fifth level of the Institute. Adelaide waddles behind me, panting like a golden retriever.
“Where are you taking me?” she says when I pause to wait for her.
“To the infirmary. You’ll need to be checked out after that long journey,” I say, furious on so many different levels. And now I’m also paranoid that someone will spot my offspring and mistake her for a beached whale that swam into the Institute.
“Yeah, Trey said the same thing but I refused until I saw you,” Adelaide says.
I narrow my eyes at the blue carpet.
“I’m fine though,” she says between breaths. “Just tired, that’s all.”
“There’s a lot of pressure changes your body experiences when you enter the Institute,” I say.
“Well yeah, it’s underground, so that makes sense,” she says, finally catching up with me, her eyes roaming over the various motorized doors and the brushed stainless steel walls that are everywhere in the Institute. The sterile, cold walls are this place’s trademark; well, and also churning out goodie-goodies who interfere in other people’s affairs. The Lucidites Institute did churn out Vivian and she appears to be a soulless beast. However, I haven’t been able to track down the records of the time she was here. I probably trained her but I’ve instructed so many thousands of little shits that my photographic memory is still browsing the catalogue.
“This place is unreal. I can’t believe you work here. It’s like a space ship built by aliens,” she says, her eyes wide and for a rare occasion she looks mesmerized. Usually she looks bored, like the world is a crossword puzzle constructed for underachieving kids.
“It was built by the United States government so yes, that’s pretty accurate. Power-hungry alien-like people built the Institute,” I say.
We continue the trek down the long corridor, but I walk at half my normal speed so that Adelaide can keep up.
“Oh, I didn’t realize that the Lucidites are a branch of the U.S. government,” Adelaide says, looking suddenly perplexed.
“God no. The Lucidites have zero relationship with the United States government. They aren’t a bunch of self-serving criminals who repress their people using defunct systems that are meant to disempower, and wag-the-dog strategies that hide the truth,” I say.
“Oh, good to know you have no opinion on such matters,” Adelaide says, almost smiling.
“Trey is many things: a man who pokes his nose where it doesn’t belong, a religious fanatic, and a hider of truths. However, Trey Underwood is a good man. And the Lucidite Institute is probably the most well run organization in history,” I say.
“That’s a bold statement. And also incredibly impressive. So how did the Institute become the Lucidites’ if it was built by the U.S. government?” Adelaide says.
I scoff at her like the answer isn’t obvious. “They stole it.”
“Oh, real do-gooders then,” she says.
“Believe me, they are. The Lucidites stopped the politicians from testing on Dream Travelers. They’re probably responsible for stopping the government from splicing our genes into soldiers and using their powers to fight meaningless wars.”
“God, there’s so many things I don’t know. So many things…” she says, her eyes glassing over.
“Don’t look so overwhelmed. It’s just information. You’ll learn it in time,” I say.
She nods, but doesn’t look much better. This is precisely the reason I didn’t want her introduced to the Lucidite society or taken to the Institute yet. Trey knew that too. Learning you’re a special race of people with incredible powers is hard enough for a newbie to digest. I’ve seen it create real confusion in a person. But then to also be immersed in a culture that’s more advanced than the people of Atlantis is a boulder to swallow. Most are consumed with a barrage of insecurities. It’s intimidating and overwhelming when one first enters the Institute. For the Lucidites anything is possible. Anything. And that is about the best and worst idea for most to comprehend.
“We’re in here,” I say, tapping the button to the infirmary.
The door slides back to reveal a long room lined with beds and various medical and diagnostic equipment. Whiskers of wrinkles spring to Mae’s eyes when she looks up at us, at first squinting to take in the new visitors. She drops the clipboard on a table and bustles over. The woman always moves like she’s in a hurry while in the infirmary, like any moment could be someone’s last if she isn’t quick enough. It’s probably all this rushing around that’s resulted in her hunched position. Or maybe it’s just old age. She’s probably my pop’s age. However, when she’s outside of the infirmary she goes in reverse, moving slow enough to be run down by a snail. People always overcompensate in one way or another.
“Yes, yes. Trey told me to expect you,” she says, angling her arm to the nearest bed. “Please have a seat, Adelaide.”
Adelaide looks at me like she’s unsure of what to do or if she can trust this person.
“Go on,” I say. “This is Mae and she’s the Institute’s Head Healer. She’ll check you out.”
“Wait,” Adelaide says, eyeing the woman and then me like she’s being told a ridiculous joke. “You don’t have doctors?”
“We have healers,” I say, turning for the door as Adelaide approaches the bed.
“We’re trained the same way doctors are, but we also have the power to heal through touch,” M
ae explains. “Honestly, because we feel the energy of a person, we understand health and wellness and how to achieve it from an intuitive perspective. We’re much more successful than doctors.”
“This place keeps getting weirder and weirder,” Adelaide says.
“I’ll be waiting outside,” I say, turning to take my leave.
“Oh, no you won’t,” Mae says, placing the stethoscope buds in her ears. “I have questions for you, Mr. Lewis.”
“Yes, I have a daughter. Yes, the dumbass got herself knocked up. No, she’s not sticking around here so don’t worry, you don’t have to deliver the little monster. I’ll be going now,” I say, turning for the door.
“Those weren’t my questions,” Mae says to me, but her attention is on taking Adelaide’s vitals.
“Yes, old woman, I’m taking my meds,” I say, my eyes on the ceiling now, annoyance heavy in my tone.
“You haven’t been in for your checkup,” Mae says.
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been busy keeping dumbasses alive so they can get fat and then you can heal their cholesterol problems,” I say.
“You know those monthly checkups are a requirement of the Institute,” the ancient bag of bones says, that usual clinical tone to her voice.
“Well, then Trey can fire me for skipping them. Although that is about as likely as him opening a hatch and chucking you in the ocean. I requested he do just that but he keeps declining,” I say. And it’s a little morbid even for me to pull off those lines. Mae is a healer and I think killing those kinds of people is like burning a four leaf clover or gutting a unicorn. Loads of bad luck.
“How have you been feeling?” Mae says.
“Like killing someone,” I say, thinking of Vivian and the mole she’s employing who’s running around the Institute and reporting on my affairs.
“Are you sleeping? Eating enough? Getting enough activity?” Mae says to me as she presses her fingers to Adelaide’s pulse.
“No. No. And no,” I say without giving any of the questions a real thought. “And I’m thinking of taking up drinking and smoking if you don’t stop this line of questions.”
Mae turns to me now, her lips wrinkling when she purses them. “Your well-being is my responsibility. I don’t go to any lengths to prevent you from fulfilling your job as the Head Strategist and I expect the same compliance.”
“Would you finish checking Adelaide? She is the patient here and not me,” I say.
“She’s fine,” Mae says, waving a hand at the girl. “Good health, both her and the baby.”
“Let’s go then. We need to get you home,” I say to the elephant still sitting on the bed. Adelaide dutifully slides off and follows me to the door.
“You’re going with me, right?” she says, giving me a gross and hopeful expression.
I nod gruffly.
“Are you staying? Living in Los Angeles? Or are you going to return to living here?” Adelaide asks.
“I’m going to stay for a little bit,” I say.
“Mr. Lewis,” Mae says when I pull the door back.
I pause but don’t look at the woman.
“I expect you back for a checkup next week when you get your prescription filled,” she says.
“We shall see what my schedule allows,” I say.
Chapter Six
New York Times
Smart Pods Take the Nation by Storm. Smart Solutions will Revolutionize the U.S.
Smart Pods hit retailers today. These one-foot-tall cones may look unassuming but don’t be fooled. This is tomorrow’s technology and it’s available starting today. The little black devices can remotely control everything in a home from temperature to security to entertainment. Computer applications are used to set up the device and make changes. From anywhere in the world a homeowner can switch on lights in their home or play classical music for their lonely cat. The device can also be turned on to listen in on the noises in a house. A worried parent who is wondering if their teenager is having a wild party while they’re away can check by activating that feature. The system is also voice activated and test consumers describe the female voice who responds as a charm to their ears. Vivian, as she is called, named for the CEO of Smart Solutions, can answer any question from ancient history to the score of the baseball game last night. She’ll play games with the kids or read a book to an elderly person. Her job is to make a home smarter than ever before.
"At Smart Solutions we are committed to making the American home as efficient as possible," the new CEO, Vivian Bishop, reported in a press conference last night. "The American people work too hard and vacation less than anyone worldwide. I can’t fix that and so I’ve decided we’re going to make their lives easier in other ways. Smart Pods will streamline so many of the daily concerns for households. Vivian is the Rosie the Robot from the Jetsons cartoon. I have firm expectations that she will serve in a way that will revolutionize the current household. That’s why I’m giving away the first ten thousand Smart Pods to the first families that apply through our website."
Vivian Bishop is an innovator with a true generous agenda. Smart Solutions might just be on the edge of creating a whole new experience for Americans. Apply for your free Smart Pod using the link below.
“For fuck sake,” I say, throwing the newspaper down on Trey’s desk. “Now we’re getting our news from the New York Times like a bunch of lowly Middlings.”
Trey nods, a look of real frustration on his face. “Vivian has the news reporters blocked. We didn’t see the release of Smart Pods in any of the clairvoyants’ reports. Operation Smart Pod Takeover is out of our control it seems, at least for now. Vivian just keeps outmaneuvering us.”
Trey sounds dejected and it almost makes me nervous. This is a man who has seen it all, lost it all, and always stayed strong and rebuilt. But now he’s like a shadow, dark and subject to other forces. He, like me, isn’t used to failing at being the one in control. Our enemies don’t usually take power or keep it for very long, but Vivian appears to have us at a disadvantage and the most infuriating thing is I don’t know what that fucking is.
“We know how to get around her ability to reflect, which blinds our reporters. Roya is supposed to be reporting in a metal-free environment,” I say, directing my hostility at Trey.
“Roya’s reports have stopped. It doesn’t matter where she reports anymore. She’s not seeing anything,” Trey says, now tossing his hand through his silver hair. It’s an old gesture he used to do nonstop. It only now surfaces when he feels circumstances are outside his control.
“What? Like no reports on Vivian?” I say.
“No reports at all,” he says.
“But she’s our best reporter,” I say, a fuse lighting, connected to panic. We can’t lose Roya’s vision. “Without her reports we aren’t just at a disadvantage against Vivian, we’re at a loss for events worldwide.”
He nods, and now I acutely see the source of his frustration. Roya is notorious for seeing hundreds of events per day and all ones of great significance. Not only has Trey lost his best source of news reports, but his daughter has lost her skill. Not having powers is not something a Dream Traveler takes well. It reduces us to a lower status. Puts us on a level playing field with a Middling. Makes us normal.
I let out a long breath in an attempt to quell the flames in my head. It only fans the fire. “That fucking bitch, Vivian. I can’t believe she got this past us,” I say.
“I know. I thought we had more time before she released the Smart Pods, time for us to stop her. Or at least see what was coming,” Trey says and he almost sounds angry. That’s a first. “But we didn’t. We didn’t see this coming. And now it’s too late to stop her. The devices are already being overnighted to ten thousand houses.”
“There’s got to be a way to stop those from getting into homes. To stop future purchases,” I say, standing and immediately launching into a back and forth pacing.
“Ren, I need one hundred percen
t of your efforts on finding out who that mole is inside the Institute,” Trey says.
I halt and stare at Trey. “The fucking Smart Pods are going to be in homes soon. That means Vivian will be in homes and able to make those residents do whatever she wants. And who the fuck even knows what that is. We don’t. We’re as useless as the bloody Pentagon,” I say.
“Yes, I get that. But she’s going to keep outmaneuvering us if we can’t stop her mole. We will never be able to get ahead of her to stop what’s she’s doing,” Trey says.
“We don’t even know what she plans to do,” I yell, throwing my hands in the air. For the first time ever I’m powerless. I don’t know who’s blocking our efforts, what my nemesis is up to, or how to stop her. I’m like a fucking Middling.
“Ren, find the mole.”
I turn and make for the door. “Yeah, fine. I’ll find the mole, but that’s not all I’m going to bloody do.”
“Where are you going?” Trey says.
“I’m going to find out what Vivian plans to do with the Smart Pods.”
“How?”
I turn and regard Trey with a raised eyebrow. “I’m going to go ask the bitch.”
Chapter Seven
“I like the cream-colored crib, but the choice is yours,” Dahlia says, her voice growing louder as she approaches.
“I don’t know,” I hear Adelaide say. “They’re all nice, it’s just…”
I clang my spoon louder inside my teacup in attempt to drown out their repulsive banter.
“It’s just what?” Dahlia pressures. The pages of a catalogue crinkle as I hear her flip through it. “There’s over three dozen options here. We’ve been through this a ton of times and you won’t make a decision. Isn’t there a single one you want? We need to order now.”
Adelaide sighs.
Even with my back to Adelaide, I know the look she has on her face. She’s been wearing it full time since starting this nursery planning with Dahlia. Even before actually but more so now. Dahlia isn’t a master at reading people. She doesn’t get what that lost look in Adelaide’s eyes means.
