Brilliance

by Marcus Sakey

  Natalie and he exchanged a look. A look older by far than either of them, a look that had bounced between women and men as long as they’d been mothers and fathers. And then they broke apart to face the children sprinting toward them, Todd in the lead, Kate right behind, letting the screen door bang behind her.

  He dropped to a squat and opened his arms. His children flew into them, warm and alive and oblivious. Cooper squeezed them both until they nearly popped and then made sure his face was innocent as he leaned back. “Uh-oh. Uh-oh!”

  Kate looked up, concerned; Todd smiled, knowing what was coming.

  “Uh-oh, I gotta go! I gotta go, who’s coming with me?”

  “Me!” Kate, all glee.

  “Me too.” Todd, caught between childish joy and the first hints of self-consciousness.

  “Okay then.” He stretched out his arms. “Take your seats. In the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling. Please swing from them like monkeys. Ready?”

  Kate was on his left arm, body wrapped around it like, well, a monkey. Todd had his right locked, their fingers gripping one another’s forearms.

  “Okay. Prepare for liftoff. Three.” He rocked up, then back down. “Two.” Again. “One!” Cooper lunged from a squat, using the force of his legs to send them into a spin and then half hurling, half falling into it. Todd was really getting too heavy, but screw that, he just cranked harder and planted his heels and then they were going. The world was the faces of his children, Katie giggle-screaming and Todd smiling pure and wide, and beyond them a blur of green lawn and brown tree and gray car. He pushed harder, feet moving like a dancer’s, arms rising wide, the kids floating now, momentum doing the work for him. “Liftoff!”

  Later, he would remember the moment. Would take it out and examine it like the faded photograph of a war veteran, the last relic of a life from which he was adrift. An anchor or a star to navigate by. The faces of his children, smiling, trusting, and the world beyond a whirl of green.

  Then Todd said, “I want to fly!”

  “Yeah?”

  “I waaaannaa flyyyiyiyiyyy!”

  “Oh-kay,” he said, and gritted his teeth and spun faster, one more revolution, two, and then as he came around on the third he forced his right arm up, and Todd let go of it and he let go of Todd, and he had a stutter-second view of his son in midflight, arms up and back, hair wild around his face, and then momentum spun him out of sight. Katie clutched his arm as he slowed, one rev, Todd coming to the ground, two, Todd on his back laughing, three, touchdown, Cooper’s world a little wobbly as the revolution brought Katie down to bump gently against him. When he stopped he let go of her arm but kept close, waited for her to catch her balance, the endless parental quest to make sure his baby girl didn’t fall and crack her skull, didn’t run into sharp things, didn’t feel the rough edges of the world.

  What if she’s tier one? They’ll take her from us. Send her to an academy…

  Cooper shook his head and straightened his smile. He bent down, elbows to knees. His daughter stared at him with solemn eyes. His son lay on his back on the ground. “Toddster? You good?”

  His son’s arm shot skyward, thumb up. Cooper smiled. He glanced up at Natalie, saw her look, the happiness a veneer on the fear. She caught him, touched her hair again, said, “We were about to eat. Have you?”

  “Nope,” he lied. “Whatcha say, guys? Breakfast? Some of Mom’s famous brontosaurus eggs?”

  “Dad.” Todd scrambled up and brushed grass off his pant legs. “They’re just regular eggs.”

  Cooper started on the old routine—You ever seen brontosaurus eggs? No? Then how…and found he couldn’t do it. “You’re right, buddy. How about some regular eggs?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.” He gave Natalie a look no one else would have noticed. “Help your mom get started, would you? I’ll be right in.”

  His ex reached down and took her son’s hand. “Come on, flyboy. Let’s make breakfast.”

  Todd looked briefly baffled but followed Natalie as she led him inside. Cooper turned back to Kate, said, “You want to fly again?”

  She shook her head.

  “Phew. You’re getting so big, pretty soon you’re going to be doing that to me.” His shoelace had come undone, and he knotted it quickly.

  Kate said, “Daddy? Why is Mommy scared of me?”

  “What? What do you mean, honey?”

  “She looks at me, and she’s scared.”

  Cooper stared at his daughter. Her brother had been a restless baby, and many, many times Cooper had spent the ghostly hours of night rocking his son, soothing him, talking to him. Often he wouldn’t want to move once Todd had finally fallen asleep, certain that any shift, no matter how gentle, might wake his infant boy. And so he had played a game with himself, looking at his son’s thick dark hair—now faded to sandy brown—and the broad forehead and lips that looked like they’d been taken directly off Natalie’s face, and the ears that belonged to Cooper’s grandfather, big outward-facing things, and he had tried to find himself there. Other people said they could see it, but he never really could, at least not until Todd got older, started making expressions identical to his own.

  Kate, though. He’d seen himself in his daughter since the day she’d arrived. And not just in her features. It was in the way she held herself, the way she observed things. It’s like the world is a system, he’d said to Natalie, years ago, and she’s trying to break it but knows she doesn’t have all the data yet. Kate had mostly been calm, but when she wanted something, boob or bed or fresh diaper, she had made it goddamn clear.

  “What makes you think she’s scared, baby?”

  “Her eyes are bigger. And her skin is more white. It looks like she’s crying but she’s not crying.”

  Cooper put a hand on—

  Dilated pupils.

  Blood diverted from the skin to the muscles to facilitate fight-or-flight.

  Enhanced tone in the orbicularis oculi.

  Physiological responses to fear and worry. The kind of stimuli you can read like a billboard.

  —his daughter’s shoulder. “First of all, your mom isn’t scared of you. Don’t you ever believe that. Your mom loves you more than anything. So do I.”

  “But she was.”

  “No, sweetheart. She wasn’t scared of you. You’re right, she was upset. But not because of you or anything you did.”

  Kate stared at him, the corner of her lip sucked between her teeth. He could see that she was wrestling with the dissonance between what he had said and what she had seen. He understood that. It had been part of his life growing up, too.

  Actually, it was still pretty much SOP.

  Cooper dropped from his squat to sit cross-legged on the ground, his face a bit below his daughter’s. “You’re getting to be a big girl, so I’m going to tell you some things, things that you may not understand all the way right now. Okay?” When she nodded solemnly, he said, “You know people are all different, right? Some are tall and some are short and some have blond hair and some like ice cream. And none of that is right or wrong or better or worse. But some people are very good at things that other people aren’t. Things like understanding music, or adding really big numbers together, or being able to tell if someone is sad or angry or scared even if they don’t say so. Everybody can do that a little, but some people can do it really, really well. Like me. And, I think, like you.”

  “So it’s good?”

  “It’s not good or bad. It’s just part of us.”

  “And not other people.”

  “Some of them. Not a lot.”

  “So am I…” She sucked her lip back in. “Am I a freak?”

  “What? No. Where’d you hear that?”

  “Billy Parker said that Jeff Stone was a freak and everyone laughed and then no one would play with Jeff.”

  And thus are human relations boiled down to their essence. “Billy Parker sounds like a bully. And don’t use th
at word—it’s mean.”

  “But I don’t want to be weird.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re not weird. You’re perfect.” He stroked her cheek. “Listen. This is just like having brown hair or being smart. It’s just a part of you. It doesn’t tell you who you are. You do that. You do it by deciding who you want to be, one choice at a time.”

  “But why was Mommy scared?”

  And you thought you might dodge that one. Sharp girl. What do you say, Coop?

  When Natalie had been pregnant, they’d had lots of conversations about the way they would talk to their children. Which truths they would tell, and when. Whether they would say that Santa Claus was a real person or just a game people played, how to answer questions about dead goldfish and God and drug use. They had decided that the thing to do was to be essentially honest, but that there was no need to dwell on things; that obfuscation was preferable to outright lying; and that there was an age when saying, Well, where do you think babies come from? was preferable to charts and diagrams.

  Funny thing, though, they’d never imagined what it would be like if their child could see right through them. Dozens of studies had shown that a gifted parent wasn’t any more likely to have a gifted child, and that if they did, there was little connection between the parent’s gift and the child’s. In fact, young gifted children rarely exhibited a specific savant profile. At Kate’s age, it was usually more an uncanny facility with patterns that could manifest itself mathematically one day and musically the next.

  And yet his daughter could read and interpret miniscule movements of interior eye muscles.

  She’s tier one.

  “There are some people,” Cooper said, choosing his words carefully and controlling his expression, “who like to know about people like us. People who can do the things you can do, and the things I can do.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s complicated, munchkin. What you need to know is that Mommy wasn’t scared of you. She was just…surprised. One of those people called her this morning, and it surprised her.”

  Kate considered that. “Are they bullies?”

  He thought of Roger Dickinson. “Some of them are. Some of them are nice.”

  “Was the one who called Mom a bully?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you going to beat him up?”

  Cooper laughed. “Only if I have to.” He stood, then reached down to hoist her to his hip. She was getting too old for it, but right then he didn’t care, and she didn’t seem to either. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Your mom and I will take care of everything. No one is going to—”

  If the test says she’s tier one, they’ll send her to an academy.

  She will be given a new name.

  Implanted with a microphone.

  Raised to mistrust and fear.

  And you will never see her again.

  “—hurt you. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.” He stared into her eyes. “You believe me?”

  Kate nodded, chewing her lip again.

  “Okay. Now let’s go have some eggs.” He started for the door.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you scared?”

  “Do I look scared?” He smiled at her.

  Kate shook her head no, then stopped, nodded yes. Her lips pinched. Finally, she said, “I can’t tell.”

  “No, baby. I’m not scared. I promise.”

  It’s not fear I’m feeling.

  No, not fear.

  Rage.

  MAX VIVID IS TRYING TO OFFEND YOU

  Entertainment Weekly, March 12, 2013

  Los Angeles: You can call him an ingenious ringmaster with his finger on the pulse, or the most offensive, degrading television host since Chuck Barris. What you can’t call Max Vivid is polite.

  “Social conscience is boring, darling,” Vivid says, downing a triple espresso at Urth Caffé. “F–k political correctness. I’m here to entertain.”

  If ratings are any proof, his latest show, (Ab)Normal, is precisely the entertainment America is looking for. The reality show, which pits gifted individuals against teams of normals in competitions that include mock assassinations, daring robberies, and even hand-to-hand combat, regularly draws 45 million viewers a week.

  It also garners criticism for at best exacerbating social tensions—and at worst, being explicitly racist.

  “In Rome they watched slaves fight lions. Entertainment’s a blood sport, baby,” Vivid responds. “Besides, how can it be racist? We’re all the same race, f–ktard.”

  It’s a typical comment from the inflammatory host, who revels in insulting detractors and fans alike. Nor does he stray from controversy. In this season’s most infamous (Ab)Normal episode, three gifted contestants were tasked with infiltrating the Library of Congress and planting explosives. While the bombs were fake, the security was genuine—and failed to protect the library from the television terrorists.

  It was a shocking display in an age when domestic terrorism is a very real threat, and neither the FCC nor the FBI was amused. The former has levied extensive fines against the network, while the latter has opened an active investigation to determine whether criminal charges should apply.

  “I think of it as a public service,” says Vivid. “I’m pointing out the weaknesses in the system. But bring ’em on. I’ve got a 42 share. I can afford all the lawyers in the world.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Cooper used the drive to work to run scenarios. He got no small amount of grim pleasure from the one in which he tracked down the gutless bureaucrat who had called Natalie this morning and beat him bloody with the handset of his desk phone. Unbelievable. What kind of a job was that? Sitting in a cubicle, cold-calling families to tell them that something had happened, you couldn’t say what, but their son or daughter needed to take the Treffert-Down Scale Assessment the following day. Hiding behind a call sheet and a flowchart of responses. Sorry, sir, sorry, ma’am, it’s just policy.

  Drew Peters will be able to help. There had to be some advantage to being the best that the best of the DAR had to offer. Seven years of dedication, of brutal hours and relentless travel and blood on his hands. It had to count for something.

  He remembered a conversation he’d had with Natalie back when Peters first recruited him. He’d already been with the department, first as a military liaison, then, when his term with the army was up, full-time. But Equitable Services was a whole new world. Instead of just tracking and analyzing brilliants, he would be actively pursuing some of them.

  “Our task,” said the neat, calm man with steel in his eyes, “will be to preserve balance. To ensure that those who would upset the order of things are held in check. In certain cases, preemptively.”

  “Preemptively? You mean—”

  “I mean that when the evidence is clear and the danger is real, we will act before they do. I mean that instead of waiting for terrorists to attack our way of life, instead of allowing them to push this country toward a war against its own children, we will act to prevent one.”

  To the average person, it might have been a stunning statement. But Cooper was a soldier, and to a soldier it was simple logic. Turning the other cheek was a lovely sentiment, but in the real world, it mostly resulted in matching bruises. Better still, why wait until after you’re hit to hit back? Neutralize the threat before it hurt you. “Will we have authorization to do that? Terminate citizens?”

  “We have support at the highest levels. Our team will be protected. But what we will do will require the sharpest mind, the clearest moral sense. I need men and women who understand that. Who have the strength and intelligence and conviction to do difficult things in service of their country. I need,” Director Drew Peters had said, “believers.”

  “He needs,” Natalie had said, when he recounted the conversation later, “killers.”

  “Sometimes,” Cooper had said. “Yes. But it’s more than that. This isn’t some evil CIA spinoff group whacking politic
al rivals. We’ll be protecting people.”

  “By killing gifteds.”

  “By hunting terrorists and murderers. Some—okay, most—of which will be brilliants, yes. But that’s not the point.”

  “What is?”

  He’d paused a long moment. A beam of dusty sun tracked across the scuffed hardwood of their apartment. “You know that moment in a movie when the good guys stand together? Against incredible odds, and for something important, and with total faith that their brothers will stand with them?”

  “You mean like at the end of a rom-com, when the best friend rushes the guy to the airport to catch the girl?”

  He’d mock-pushed her, and she’d laughed. “Yeah, I know the scenes. You get all teary. You play it off, but I can always tell. It’s cute.”

  “I get teary because I believe in it. In heroism and duty, in sacrifice for justice and equality. All that good stuff. That’s why I became a soldier in the first place.”

  “But now you’ll be fighting against other gifteds. People like you.”

  “I realize it’s weird.” He’d taken her hands. “Twists—”

  “Would you stop it with that word?”

  “Okay, abnorms, they’ll think I’m a traitor, and some of my new straight colleagues won’t trust me. I get it.”

  “So why—”

  “Because we have a son.”

  Natalie had been about to respond, but his answer threw her. She looked down at her hands in his. “I just—I don’t want you to end up hating yourself.”

  “I won’t. I’ll be fighting for a world where it doesn’t matter if my son is gifted or not. That’s a cause I can kill for.” As if on cue, Todd had stirred in his crib. They had both held their breath. When he settled, Cooper continued. “Besides, I want to be able to protect you both if things do get worse. There’s no better place to be able to do that.”

  Time to test that theory.

  The Equitable Services command center was as busy as ever. Shifts ran twenty-four hours, and day or night analysts keyed in their data, argued over meaning and relevance, and updated the video wall that showed every action in the country. There were more oranges and reds overlaid today than yesterday, measurements of the nation’s growing tension. The bank of monitors played cable news, two channels dedicated to that evening’s reopening of the stock market, a third showed a conservative pundit drawing on a chalkboard, the fourth running an earlier press conference in which a reporter buttonholed President Walker about the New Canaan Holdfast in Wyoming. The president looked tired but handled himself well, reminding the world that the gifted were also American citizens, and that the NCH was legally purchased corporate land.