The Flux

by Ferrett Steinmetz

  So Paul’s refuge had become a house arrest. All the hothouse ’mancers blamed him for the sex-induced earthquake. They were too socially awkward to confront him; they simply avoided him like a bad luck charm. Payne showed up with the morning paperwork for Paul to look through, hunting through atypical patterns in the claims reports for evidence of ’mancy – but he dumped the files onto Paul’s desk, told Paul what to hunt for, and left.

  Rainbird peering through Paul’s door, a smirk curled around his cigar.

  Paul endured this, because Aliyah seemed happier than ever. Something had changed; whereas before, she’d been reticent to use her ’mancy lest she hurt someone with it, now she practiced in great gouts in the lobby, leaving the ever-beleaguered cleanup crews to fix her work. She was more comfortable in her ’mancy, having left some nebulous worry behind.

  He thought about showing Aliyah’s newfound comfort with ’mancy to Valentine, to demonstrate the correctness of staying, then remembered he wasn’t talking to Valentine any more.

  “I don’t like seeing Mommy,” Aliyah said. “It’s not safe.”

  Paul started to answer – but Payne spoke first, as though he’d forgotten Paul might have a worthwhile opinion.

  “We need your mother on our side, Aliyah.” He indulged her whininess with a patriarchal air. “So you must be nice. If she wants to visit you twice a week, well, that’s a small price to pay to stay in such a wonderful land as the Institute.”

  “But she could find the Institute,” Aliyah fretted. “I could just call her.”

  “We’ve built a separate school for her to visit, it’s forty minutes away. And she must see you in person, Aliyah; it’s only right that a mother spend time with her daughter.”

  “I thought you said it would be easier if Imani left us alone.”

  Paul’s words were like a small bomb detonating in the confines of the car. Aliyah whirled on him, aghast that her stupid father had dared to speak up again. Rainbird made a clucking noise with his tongue, and when he caught Aliyah’s gaze he rolled his eyes.

  Paul felt a clammy chill.

  Payne took a long time to form his reply.

  “In the wake of all the disastrous events that have befallen us as of late,” Payne opined, the weight he placed on the word “disastrous” leaving no doubt as to whom he blamed, “I have decided the wisest approach is diplomacy, for the time being. Our best bet is to be so kind to Aliyah’s mother that she will do anything to keep her daughter with us.”

  Payne sipped at a cut crystal glass, contemplating whether to continue talking to Paul. Then he added: “This is why I have decided you will, in fact, brew Flex for Mr Gargunza. We may deal with his ilk later on, but with so much upheaval, it is best to calm whatever waters we have at our disposal.”

  He glared at Paul with barely concealed rage. Paul cringed, feeling the pressure to say something:

  “It’s quite kind,” Paul offered, “to spend so much money on a false school for Aliyah.”

  Payne gave a miniscule headshake. “Aliyah is the Institute’s crown jewel. She makes our ’mancers stronger. She learns the correct lessons about harmony. She is our future.”

  Left unsaid: And you are not. But that was all right: Aliyah was happy. She unwrapped more videogames, squealing with joy as she held the wrapping paper up to the window and watched the highway winds suck them out.

  She shouldn’t toss wrapping paper out the window.

  He’d discuss it later with her. In private.

  The limo pulled up in front of the LisAnna Foundation. Aliyah leapt out.

  “My bought friends are here!” she squealed. “I’m gonna make ’em play dodgeball!”

  That terminology was concerning. He’d talk to her about that, too. But it was a relief, at least, to see Aliyah so eager to have friends to play with – even if they were, as Aliyah correctly noted, paid actors.

  But actors could still enjoy themselves, couldn’t they? Valentine had read him articles on sex workers, whether Paul had wanted to hear them or not – Valentine read whatever she found interesting out loud. And Valentine had known an ungodly amount of sex workers; she said they often enjoyed time with their clients. Maybe that’s how kid actors worked. Maybe these kids liked spending time with Aliyah, and this was in some way a healthy relationship.

  God, he missed Valentine.

  They went into the lobby to wait for Imani. Rainbird cornered him, squeezing Paul’s shoulder perhaps a bit too hard.

  “Mr Payne will be taking the lead in today’s interaction,” Rainbird told him, blowing smoke in Paul’s face. “Don’t interrupt.”

  “I won’t.”

  “That would be a surprising behavioral change.”

  Rainbird bared his teeth at him, then breathed flame until his gums sizzled.

  Paul looked away.

  He was looking forward to at least seeing Imani, stalkery as that felt. She was the closest thing he had left to a friend these days. Asking her to lunch was out of the question, at least not until he was out of Payne’s doghouse, but… seeing her would make him feel better.

  Though his anticipation at how much better he’d feel highlighted how lonely he was.

  Her Tesla pulled into the parking lot.

  Two people were in it.

  David had come along.

  Paul fought back terror – he knows! – which wasn’t helped by the tense-shouldered way Imani got out of the car without looking back. But then Paul realized:

  If David had come all the way out here with Imani, that must mean Imani and David were reconciling.

  Paul leaned against the wall, smiling.

  He supposed their renewed relationship should have saddened him, given the torch he still carried for Imani, but… he’d never wanted company in misery. No matter how terrible things got for Paul, it always made him buck up to see someone else thriving.

  And if Imani could rekindle her relationship with David… He’d been too busy to think about her marital woes, but the idea that maybe Imani might salvage her marriage with David was a balm to him. She’d hated the idea of her first divorce: Imani prided herself on executing Great Plans perfectly, and so for her their divorce had been a humiliating display. Her second marriage tanking must have felt like a needle to her eye.

  But David had accompanied her, lending support on what had to have been a grueling trip – off to have her psychologically imbalanced daughter yell at her – which meant things were going all right for someone.

  He moved to greet her. Rainbird yanked him back, heating up his fingertips until Paul yelped.

  “Not your show, little man.”

  Imani stormed in through the door. Paul was glad to see she’d left David in the car – she doubtlessly remembered how deeply Aliyah loathed David, and how much it would upset Aliyah to see him here.

  Payne moved to intercept her. He must have used Mrs Vinere’s masqueromancy, because instead of being a septuagenarian ex-Marine with a buzz-cut, he was instead a late-fifties Hispanic man with tight black curls. But he still moved with Payne’s titan-of-the-industry cocksurety.

  Imani cocked her head, trying to recall where they’d met.

  “Ms Dawson,” Payne said, cheerfully. “I’m Mr Jimenez, principal of the LisAnna Foundation For Children’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s time to consult over Aliyah’s progress. Do you have a few moments before you spend some time with your daughter?”

  “You’re not Jimenez.” Imani looked troubled. “That’s not your name.”

  “I’m afraid it is.” Payne tapped his badge with forced jollity. “Look me up. I’ve worked here for years, Ms Dawson.”

  She took a step back, scanning him from head to toe. “I know we’ve met.” Buried in her voice was the clear implication she hadn’t enjoyed it much, either.

  “I apologize for not meeting with you before, but… there’s no need for hostility. We here at the LisAnna Foundation want what’s best for Aliyah. May we discuss her recent breakthroughs?”
/>   She turned to Paul. “We can, sure. Paul is Aliyah’s parent, too. We should both be in that meeting.”

  It was a rallying cry Paul hadn’t expected to hear. Imani had tried to parent separately, after the divorce, blaming Paul for the way Aliyah had nearly burned to death in his apartment. She’d taken Aliyah aside and raised her according to separate rules in the weeks she had custody, as though parenting was a sport and she would beat her ex-husband.

  They’d treated their two houses as separate armed camps – furtively trading notes, but never allowing access to how they treated Aliyah when they were alone. Paul couldn’t share Aliyah’s ’mancy, of course. But Imani had enabled his secrecy by letting her nights with Aliyah become black boxes, where currying gossip from Aliyah became the only communication method.

  For the first time, Imani had acknowledged they had to help Aliyah together.

  “Yes,” Paul said. “I–”

  Payne/Jimenez cleared his throat.

  Not your show, little man, Rainbird had said.

  Paul clenched his fists so hard his fingernails dug furrows into his palm.

  “….I’ve already had my meeting with Mr Jimenez,” Paul said.

  Imani drummed her fingertips on her hip, looking as though Paul had let her down once again. “Fine,” she huffed. “Let’s discuss how to make my girl’s life easier.”

  Payne escorted her down the hall, attempting to take her arm; she shook him off. She vanished from view, along with the chance at a more cooperative form of parenting.

  “Good boy.” Rainbird patted Paul on the head and moved away.

  Aliyah, Paul reminded himself. You’re doing this for Aliyah.

  He could have gone to the security room to watch Payne try to charm Imani, he supposed, but it would have made him mad regardless whether Imani reacted well or poorly. So he paced in the school’s entryway, burning off his anger.

  His phone rang. He picked up.

  “Hey, Mr ’Mancer Killer!” Lenny sounded three beers to the wind. “You hear anything about the Task Force?”

  “What about it?”

  “Am I gonna have a job next week?”

  Paul looked out at David, still sitting in the passenger seat, smoking a cigarette. “…what?”

  “Rumor is we’re gonna get shitcanned, Paul. Mayor’s bringing the federal troops in again. I figured if anyone had any inside information, it’s you.”

  Lenny’s hero worship grated on Paul more than ever. “Sorry, Lenny, I got nothing. I’ve been concentrating on Aliyah.”

  “Sure, sure,” Lenny said, distracted. “Listen, that’s… not why I called. You know about ’mancers, right?”

  Paul choked back a bitter laugh. “A little.”

  “Can they be… nice?”

  David got out of the car, looking around anxiously.

  “Of course they can, Lenny,” Paul said. “They’re people.”

  “I thought they were all obsessed. Crazy focused.”

  Paul peered out of the double-glass doorway, trying to listen to Lenny and pay attention to David as David sauntered around the grounds. David’s suit was rumpled, his hair half combed. His fresh young model’s face had dark rings under the eyes.

  Why was David sneaking around?

  “Obsession’s tricky, Lenny. You can be obsessed with good things, too. Why are you asking?”

  Lenny took an infuriatingly long time to answer, but Paul didn’t feel comfortable hanging up on him yet. Even though David walked around the parking lot’s perimeter, shielding his eyes to look through the school’s windows.

  Paul heard Lenny pound down another can of beer.

  “…I think the King of New York saved my life.”

  Paul almost snapped back, The King didn’t save your life, Lenny. I did. But then he remembered he’d claimed to be the King of New York, back when he was trying to get Lenny to free him.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “The same old Polish dude was there at the showdown last week, and I swear to God, Paul – he argued not to kill us. Just like I swear he’d talked the videogamemancer out of swallowing us up with black holes. And it’s not just me, I’ve... I’ve talked with the other boys. They heard it, too. Is it…” Lenny swigged more beer. “You know ’mancers better than anyone. Is it possible one is on our side?”

  David crept up the pathway to the front doors, looking furtive.

  “Gotta go, Lenny. I’ll call you later.” Paul hung up, then stepped out before David could investigate further. “Anything I can help you with, David?”

  David’s expression twitched between uncertainty and a welcoming smile, like a neon sign flickering on. Eventually the old charm plastered itself across David’s face – but something wheedlingly desperate remained.

  “Paul!” He grasped Paul’s hand and pumped it. “Good to see you. Who’d have thought I’d run into you here?”

  “…where else would you run into me?”

  “Of course, of course.” He chuckled, a high-pitched keen. “Listen, Paul, I just… there were no hard feelings. You know. About… that.”

  Paul almost said, There were absolutely hard feelings. You shot rubber bullets at me. But then he realized David must be referring to firing him from the Task Force.

  “I guess,” Paul said.

  “The thing is, you did a hell of a job setting that up. And it was… necessary, don’t you think? Creating something a little more tailored for New York’s needs than SMASH?”

  “I don’t want to reminisce about the good old days, David.”

  “Sure, sure.” David was suspiciously agreeable. “I thought you might be proud of your legacy, is all. You having started up the team and all.”

  “What’s going on here, David?”

  David ran his hand through his thick black hair. “…listen, Paul. I need a favor.”

  “A favor?”

  “Things are… well, the mayor’s sunk massive funds into the Task Force, and the results? Hell, you’ve seen the headlines. Our equipment is wrecked. But we’ve got one lead. I think the guy who rented that garage for Psycho Mantis, well… I think he’s a paperwork-mancer.”

  Paul’s blood froze. David registered Paul’s shock and nodded, as though everything was going to plan.

  “Oh, yeah. I knew that would get your attention, Paul. Knowing how much you hate ’mancers. And I can’t think of anyone better suited to track this motherfucker than you. Except I’ve been following it, and the paper trail leads all the way back to SMASH, and... well, if SMASH figures out they’ve got a paperwork-mancer hiding in their midst, then they get the credit, and everything we’ve worked for gets shut down. We need to show SMASH they’re compromised, so we can keep it going. So what do you say? Can you help do what you do best?”

  “…you didn’t come here to support Imani.”

  “What?” David laughed, a little too uproariously.

  Paul pushed closer to David. “You tagged along in the sole hopes of catching me. You don’t give a shit about Imani or Aliyah.”

  When Paul heard his words echoing back at him from the courtyard, he realized he was screaming. Windows flew open. David backed away.

  “I’m not stopping her from wasting her time on some crazy kid, Paul.” He looked baffled. “But New York’s safety is at stake. You trust those schmucks to do a better job than us?”

  “You have a wife! You have a wonderful fucking wife who you’re alienating, who is doing her damnedest to try to support your pathetic ass and her troubled daughter at the same time, and you… you ride with her to a stressful counseling session to play politics?”

  David looked baffled. “Some things are more important than family, Paul.”

  Paul decked him.

  Or tried to, anyway. Paul had always been scrawny. He let loose in a wild swing that clipped David’s chin.

  David clutched his face, astonished. Paul stared down at his fist, stunned to be so out of control.

  But Imani – he’d been so happy for he
r….

  David’s face reddened, and struck back – a hard blow to Paul’s gut that took the wind out of him. Paul tumbled forward; David kneed him in the face.

  “You stupid fuck!” David cried, punching Paul’s neck. “You gave me a useless fucking department to work with, asshole!” Paul struggled to fight back but David grabbed him in a headlock, dragged him back to the parking lot…

  Then Rainbird tackled David to the ground, hauled him away. Paul’s blurred vision could just make out Aliyah, watching him with a funereal solemnity, shaking her head as once again, someone needed to rescue him.

  It would have been easier for Paul to black out. But he had to shuffle back into the school.

  “Don’t look at me,” he murmured through swollen lips. Aliyah didn’t take her eyes off him. Nor did Payne, who glared with dripping malice.

  Only Imani had the decency to look away.

  Thirty-Eight

  Shattered Servants

  “Mr Payne has a mission for you, Aliyah,” Rainbird said. Aliyah thumbed the “pause” button on her game so he wouldn’t see.

  “Gimme a minute. I gotta save.”

  “Pause it. This is important.”

  “I gotta save!” she yelled. “Get out!”

  Rainbird gave her that maddening smirk and exited.

  Aliyah relaxed. She didn’t need to save; she just didn’t want Rainbird to see what she was playing. She took the card off her lap, the one she always put there when she played Watch Dogs:

  Don’t let your yesterdays make your tomorrows, kid.

  – Valentine

  She stashed the card in a My Little Pony game box, then slid the Watch Dogs disc in with it, hiding the game among the hundreds of kid-friendly games lined up in her room. And as she did, she had a thought – a thought that, in her head, sounded like a much older version of herself, someone as old as Valentine, speaking kindly but without mercy:

  You hide Valentine from Rainbird. You hide Rainbird from Daddy. You hide everything from Mommy.

  Maybe you should talk to someone.

  Aliyah felt a wild urge to talk to Daddy, to tell Daddy how she was scared to kill again and how she didn’t want to be the person who does all the killing, and all the sick guilt she felt over hitting Rainbird all the time…