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 that 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 said, downing a triple espresso at Urth Café. “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, for 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,” said 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.”
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? Sit in a cubicle cold-calling families to tell them that something had happened, you couldn’t say what, but that 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 political 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.
Cooper headed for the stairs. Behind him, a woman called his name. He ignored her and started up the stairs. Valerie West hurried after him. “Cooper!”
He turned his head but didn’t stop. “I’m busy.”
“No, listen, one of the taps turned something up. You’ve got to hear—”
“Later.”
“But—”
He whirled. “I said
later
, okay? I don’t know how much simpler I can make it.”
Valerie reacted as if slapped. “Yes, sir.”
Cooper hurried up the stairs, one hand trailing the railing. A balcony ringed the command center, executive offices, and conference rooms. Director Drew Peters’s office was mostly glass, allowing him to keep an eye on the video wall and the activity below. Now, however, the blinds were closed. His assistant, Maggie, a stylish woman in her early fifties with a pleasant smile and ice water in her veins, looked up as Cooper approached. She’d been with Peters for two decades, and her experience and security clearance made her more executive officer than secretary.
“I need to see him.”
“He’s on a call. Have a seat.”
“Now, Maggie. Please.” He let some of the turmoil show on his face.
She examined him calmly, then turned to her keyboard, typed something. A moment later there was a ding of the returned instant message. “Go ahead, Agent Cooper.”
The office was tidy and tastefully lit, small for a man of Peters’s standing. There was a couch in one corner under the de rigueur framed portrait of President Henry Walker. But it was the other photographs that always caught Cooper. Instead of the predictable dick-measuring images of Peters with world leaders, the walls were decorated with shots of active targets. Pride of place was given to a black-and-white photo of John Smith holding a microphone and addressing a crowd on the Mall, leaning into the microphone like an evangelist.
From behind the desk, Peters gestured at a chair and continued speaking into the phone. “I understand that, Senator.” A pause. “It means just that. I understand you.” Peters rolled his eyes. “Well, perhaps you shouldn’t have sold him half the state, should you?” Another pause. “Yes, well, you’re certainly welcome to do that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.” He hung up, pulled off the slender earpiece, and dropped it on his desk. “Our distinguished senator from Wyoming. Erik Epstein bought twenty-three thousand
miles
of his state, an area the size of West Virginia, and the good senator didn’t trouble himself to wonder why.” The director shook his head. “The world would be a better place if people stopped voting for folksy candidates they could have a beer with and started voting for people smarter than them.” Peters leaned back in his chair and looked at Cooper quizzically. “What’s on your mind?”