Fix

by Ferrett Steinmetz

  “No,” Imani shot back, cutting the general off. “Project Mayhem is dismantling. This is a new, top secret organization for alternative ’mancer rehabilitation.”

  “An organization staffed with ex-terrorists.”

  The ex-terrorists didn’t bother Aliyah. But Project Mayhem’s “rehabilitation” hadn’t helped her at all in Morehead. They’d leave hundreds of ’mancers to rot under government control.

  “That’s bullshit!” she cried.

  Mom turned around, shocked. “Aliyah! Language!”

  “Fucking language?!” Aliyah stepped forward; Mom flattened back up against the maps. “You’re going to weaponize ’mancers all over again, and you’re worried about my language?”

  Mom’s face darkened. She slapped the map, as though bouncing off a wrestling ring’s ropes, to loom over Aliyah. “We’re not weaponizing anyone. Weaponizing ’mancers is how the broach started! If Robert thought this was a military op, he’d shut it down–”

  “ –I told you this was Robert–” Valentine purred.

  Mom pointed up at the ceiling, trying to stab that Thing by willpower alone. “What we’re doing is legalizing the exploration of magics other than Unimancy to see whether anything stops this!”

  “No!”

  Her mother went deathly quiet. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I. Mean. No.”

  When Aliyah spoke, every Unimancer in Europe voiced Aliyah’s dissent.

  General Kanakia held up his hands. “Gentlemen. This isn’t negotiable. Paul Tsabo has skills, and–”

  “He does not deserve them.”

  Daddy spasmed – hurt his daughter had spoken first.

  “Aliyah Rebecca Tsabo-Dawson!” Mommy said. “The United States government has griped about SMASH’s black-book funding for years! I’ve convinced them there are other ways! Rebel, and America might block SMASH’s access!”

  “America wants results, Mom. Dad can do great things – but he can’t be trusted to do them on his own. We’re taking him off his euclidosuppressants.”

  Aliyah, no, Ruth thought. You can’t bring him into the collective, you don’t want his memories mixed with yours–

  That won’t happen, Aliyah thought, feeling the collective choose her – her! – as their leader. He knows how to join ’mancies without fusing with the Unimancers. We’ll join with him, make his broach-healing secrets our own.

  So what you’re saying is…

  We’ll back his techniques with our strength, Aliyah told them. We’ll have seven thousand Paul Tsabos smashing that Thing tomorrow morning. When we wipe it from the planet, the world will trip over themselves to fund us.

  There were objections: government funding wasn’t based on gratitude, bureaucracies dispensed money based on a complex web of obligations and budgetary needs, and–

  The objectors got shouted down.

  Consensus.

  She’d fused the collective’s conflicting trains of thought: yes, her father had unique talents, but there was nothing the Unimancers could not do.

  “Tomorrow morning, we’ll join with you, Mr Tsa… I mean, Daddy.” Daddy hyperventilated. “We’ll channel your knowledge to rip that Thing apart. If that’s what we need to do to show the world Unimancy is the only safe ’mancy, then we’ll do it.”

  Her father held out his wrists, offering to be handcuffed. She pulled his face against her chest.

  “It’s the right thing, Daddy.” She stroked his hair. “You know this.”

  “Think carefully, Aliyah.” Sweat rolled down General Kanakia’s cheek. “You’re leading a rebellion against the policies that gave SMASH global judicial powers. Are you certain you want to do this?”

  “No.” Aliyah held her father protectively. “But it’s what we need to do to save you from Daddy.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Blue Valentine

  The Unimancers had checked in on Valentine aggressively since she’d arrived – but after the rebellion, they shadowed her like a paranoid store clerk trailing a black woman in a Hermes store. Unimancers popped out from behind half-crumbled walls as she walked through the camp.

  Each of them eyeball-fucked her. She found it particularly unnerving when they conjoined forces, tracking where she’d be next, so when Valentine shied away from one angry Unimancer she found another staring straight into her eye.

  It was a pretty good trick.

  She tracked down Aliyah, curled up in what had once been a thrift shop. She and the redhead sat primly hip-by-hip, holding hands, staring dreamily into space.

  The redhead – Ruth? – snapped out of their happy trance to shoot Valentine an angry glare. It was all too familiar: Valentine had seen the get your skanky ass away from my boyfriend death glare whenever she went out dancing.

  Valentine chucked a curt nod in redhead’s direction: She and me gotta talk. You know that, I know that, now shut the fuck up.

  Redhead’s lips went white as she swallowed back responses; Aliyah squirmed as a tide of insults flowed through her brain.

  Valentine chucked her Nintendo DS onto Aliyah’s lap.

  “You still play?” she asked.

  Aliyah turned the Nintendo over in her hands like an archaeologist examining some precious artifact. She smiled at the familiar dents and scratches, the faded Pokémon stickers.

  She touched it as though it had been years since she’d seen a videogame, not months.

  Aliyah peered into the screen as though hoping to conjure up some distant memory from it. Then she twitched, unsettled, placing the Nintendo on the floor between them.

  “That’s baby stuff,” Aliyah said.

  “Huh,” Valentine said. “I wondered when that’d happen.”

  Surprise spread across Aliyah’s face, cascaded over to Ruth’s. “Really?”

  “When I was a child, my future was full of astronauts, firemen, and archaeologists.” Valentine frowned. “Which would have been a much better world than the one I got. Seriously, you got to be a videogamemancer when you were, what? Five?”

  “Six.” Aliyah looked exuberant.

  “How many six year-old girl hobbies does a teenaged kid keep? I figured one day you’d change ’mancies.”

  “I like it better in here.”

  “Course you do. You can offload your bad luck to squadrons of flux-sponges who get bad colds and trip a lot.”

  Aliyah’s chest heaved with relief. “Precisely.”

  “You got friends.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve something to fight for.”

  Aliyah fought off tears. “Yes.”

  “So do you think fucking up your memories to be popular is a good thing?”

  The line hit Aliyah like a slap across a face. Which, you know, Valentine had planned, but that didn’t make it any easier.

  “Look.” Valentine softened. “Unimancy ain’t my thing, but I’m glad you got the friends you wanted.” She rolled her eye in Ruth’s direction. “But you’re forgetting parts of yourself to get along with them.”

  Aliyah cracked her knuckles, the inevitable sign the kid was getting het up. “What parts?”

  “Like forgetting how joining ’mancies involves two conflicting world views putting aside their ego? It’s not like your dad and I have a lot in common; our ’mancy didn’t happen through metaphysical arm-wrestling. It’s dancing. You remember how to dance with magic? Or are you too scared?”

  Ruth glowered. “She doesn’t need your help.”

  “She doesn’t need yours, either.” Valentine flicked her fingers, encompassing the Unimancer network. “After all, connecting through ’mancy was what Aliyah did before she met you.”

  Ruth leapt up. “You watch your mouth, sl–”

  The word had been about to be “slut.” A harsh look from Aliyah slammed Ruth’s lips together.

  “What?” Valentine arched her eyebrows in a mockery of innocence. “Don’t like me reminding you there were others before you?”

  Aliyah’s look was the panic
ked look of every girl who’d been asked to count up her previous lovers in front of her current partner – OK, well, not strictly true, as Valentine realized her personal look would have been a quizzical squint before reaching for a calculator. The principle remained.

  “Or maaaaaybe,” Valentine said slowly, “you don’t like me reminding you I can do things you can’t. I get this works for you, Aliyah, but you’re doing that Alcoholics Anonymous bullshit of believing your saving grace is universal–”

  Ruth stepped close. “I think you should go.”

  “I think Aliyah gets to tell me that.”

  Ruth clapped Valentine on the shoulder – right where the burning plastic in the Snow White Special had blistered her arm. “You’ve got no magic here. No Kanakia to protect you. I’d step carefully, because one accident and–”

  Valentine slapped Ruth hard enough that she spun once before hitting the ground.

  Aliyah, at least, had been horrified by Ruth’s threat – well, who knew whether it was actually the kid’s threat? The Unimancers hated her. Maybe they’d egged Ruth into it.

  Still, she had a point to make, so she towered over Ruth as the Unimancers surrounded her.

  “You think I’m afraid of death, you dotted dropping of chickenshits? Hey! You guys who tracked me back when I was on the run with Tyler – Robert, I mean – why don’t you tell me whether you thought you could take me alive? You couldn’t have. What about Payne? Rainbird? Anathema? Would any of them have joined hands to sing kum-bay-yah?”

  Valentine whirled on Aliyah.

  “These schmucks tell you they’re the best and the brightest, Aliyah. I say they’re ’mancer leftovers! Hell, I note two adolescent girls are riding roughshod over ’em – hey, I wonder why that is? Is it because mmmmmaybe the Great Unimancer hivemind consists of people weak enough to get caught?”

  Aliyah flushed with embarrassment. “The Unimancers made me strong!”

  “Paul’s magic made him strong! I’m telling you, the hivemind and your dad’s ’mancy will not mix.”

  Ruth wiped blood from her nose. “You’re just afraid of how lonely you’ll be once Paul doesn’t need you.”

  Ruth spoke, yet Aliyah clapped her hands guiltily over her own mouth.

  “That’s not true,” Valentine said.

  Ruth dropped to her knees, hugging Aliyah, who kept her mouth covered, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she whispered, pleading forgiveness. “I shouldn’t have spoken your thoughts, she made me so mad…”

  “I said, that’s not true!”

  Aliyah stepped out from Ruth’s embrace. “No. No, it’s… it’s OK, Ruth. Better the truth comes out.”

  “That’s a fucking lie, Aliyah, I’m here to take care of–”

  “You’re here to play hero, Aunt Valentine.”

  Her words were deadly as arrows.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” Valentine told her. “After what I did to keep your ungrateful ass free from your father–”

  “That’s really it, isn’t it? Grateful. You need to feel superior to someone, don’t you?”

  “Cut that Hannibal Lecter shit out. I’m not–”

  “Where’s Uncle Robert?”

  Valentine snatched the Nintendo DS off the ground, grabbing her gift back.

  “…Robert’s working with Project Mayhem. His location is classified.”

  “You’ve been in Bastogne for weeks, Aunt Valentine.” Aliyah spoke softly, a therapist talking a woman off a ledge. “You don’t have his engagement ring. You’ve never even tried to call him.”

  “Maybe we had an argument. So what–”

  “Did you break up with him before or after he proposed?”

  “You…” Valentine’s fingers curled around an imaginary controller.

  She heard the soft click of Ruth unsheathing a Magiquell injector-pack. “Don’t think about it.”

  If Aliyah had gone for her own taser, Valentine would have been OK. Valentine could shrug off endless cruelties, so if Aliyah’d showed the slightest hint of malice, Valentine would have let loose profanities to light people’s hair on fire…

  But instead, Aliyah spoke with pity.

  “I’ve got friends, Aunt Valentine. We make rational decisions. You can knock us, but… we’re sane.” She slipped her fingers through Ruth’s; Ruth shivered with forgiveness. “You can only connect with people more fucked-up than you are. You’re trying to break me down so I’ll need you again…”

  “That’s not why I’m doing this! You are about to unleash havoc! This – it isn’t about my abandonment–”

  “Then why didn’t you accept Uncle Robert’s proposal?”

  “Fuck you!” Valentine screamed. “Fuck you, you stupid brat! I’m here when people need me! And–”

  “That’s the problem, Aunt Valentine.” The Unimancers placed their fists over their hearts. “Nobody needs you anymore. Not like you are.”

  Valentine gaped.

  Aliyah reached out – they all reached out. “Join us,” they muttered, a chorus of affirmation. “We’re all heroes here.”

  Valentine spun in a circle; more Unimancers arrived, arms open. Valentine tried to imagine being with them – effortlessly dispersing her flux to professionals, knowing someone would remember her when she was gone.

  She turned the Nintendo DS over in her hands.

  “I’ll do it,” she said. “On one consideration.”

  Aliyah sighed in relief. “Anything.”

  Valentine extended the DS in Aliyah’s direction. “You play a game of Mario. Just you. None of this jiggly-eyeball shit. Enjoy one game of Super Mario the way you used to, and I’ll sign up. Show me you’re in there because you want to be, not because you’re afraid not to be.”

  The other Unimancers swiveled to look at Aliyah expectantly. She stepped away from the Nintendo. “Aunt Valentine, I… no. That’s dangerous.”

  “It’s also fun! Remember the joy of imagination, instead of coloring within someone else’s lines? Remember all those crazy ’mancies, watching people uncover new worlds within themselves?”

  Aliyah ran her fingers down her scars. “That’s… not what we do here.”

  Valentine bobbed the Nintendo up and down as if preparing to play Rock, Paper, Scissors with it.

  “It’s what I do,” she told them, and walked away.

  * * *

  A guard broke off, following her–

  “Keep your distance, pork chop.”

  A flicker of Aliyah’s concern ripped across the guard’s face; he dropped back. Valentine stormed into the woods – fuck it, if I get lost, let the all-powerful Unimancers lead me back–

  She’d been so tempted to join.

  She’d like to chalk her resistance up to strength of character – but the truth was, once she was in the Unimancers she’d never be with Robert again.

  All their support couldn’t add up to one-tenth the joy she felt hugging Robert as hard as she wanted, knowing he’d never break.

  She considered opening up a satellite feed – but the Unimancers would never let her call Robert. Robert was their enemy.

  She might get a call through if she begged Aliyah that she needed to hear her boyfriend’s voice, and fuck sounding like some jilted bride.

  Even if she got through, what would she say? “How are you doing?” She knew how he was doing. He was doing OK. She was falling apart, keeping going only by dint of being useful to someone, and Robert was karate-chopping FBI agents and politicking like a boss and safeguarding poor innocent ’mancers against this one-therapy-fits-all incursion the Unimancers peddled, and what would she say?

  I’m lonely.

  And the truth was, Robert would have left Project Mayhem to be with her. But she didn’t want him to give up anything; she’d wanted him happy, even if that meant he went to places she didn’t belong.

  How could he fix her complaints? She’d hidden her misery from him because she couldn’t stand for Robert to see her as anything other than the phoenix
queen – someone great and powerful and untouchable.

  Now she’d shoved him away. And if she called now, she knew what he’d say:

  I love you. But I won’t drop this important work and get my bruised heart used to having you in my life again, only to have you jet off when you find someone who needs you more. One word, and I’ll abandon everything to be with you. But if I leave all this behind, then… I need to know I’m more than this dude you fuck.

  Say you need me, Valentine. Say it, and I’ll be there before sunrise.

  She hugged herself. That is what he’d say, she was sure, word for word. She knew Robert so well. She knew even after she’d driven him away, they still stared up at the same stars at night: sleepless, restless, loveless.

  All she’d have to do would be to admit that she needed him.

  “Fuck you,” she whispered. “Fuck you for being right.” She didn’t know whether she meant Robert or Aliyah, but why was yes so fucking hard when quips came so easily?

  She curled up. Tomorrow, she’d be needed.

  She’d waited all her life for one chance to be useful. And as cold dew condensed on her skin, she knew she’d find it tomorrow.

  Thirty-Nine

  Let the Bodies Hit the Floor

  Valentine negotiated one last visit with Paul before the Unimancers hauled him out to seal the broach.

  She’d tried to talk the Unimancers into letting her see Imani, but no soap; five Unimancers kept Imani and General Kanakia in isolation. The kid knows who the real danger here is.

  Paul sat in a chair, hands dangling between his knees, an IV line corkscrewing from his chest. A single Unimancer guarded him: a skinny Pakistani grandmother with her thumb on the methohexital syringe. Two walked in behind her, stun batons out. Their eyeballs jittered, indicating every word spoken in their presence would be analyzed by battalions of psychomancers.

  Paul’s fingers drifted up to the scabs on his head where Valentine had whacked him with the branch; a wan salute.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  She squeezed his shoulder. “Any time.”