by SM Reine
He pushed me to learn not one, but several languages, mainly the seer tongue, Prexci, and basic Mandarin. He also wanted me to learn Russian, Hindi and Sanskrit, but apparently wasn’t enough of a masochist to start me on those until I’d made some headway with the other two.
He lectured me on seer history, politics, culture, mythology, biology, law...especially law; he was big on law.
He obtained recordings for when he might be absent or asleep, covering subjects like the entire Sark Codes, a sort of bible for his people. He described the evolution of controls following the death of Syrimne, the only documented telekinetic seer...and let’s just say, Revik’s version differed substantially from what I’d learned in school. He explained how laws for seers under the Human Protection Act evolved to include mandatory registration, travel, employment and residency restrictions, forced implantation, sight slavery and how Seer Containment, or SCARB, grew out of a branch of the World Court.
He tested me, trying to gauge what I could do with my light. He didn’t pull any punches, either, pronouncing me worthless at blocking and not much better at reading, what he called “the basics.” He said my concentration had to improve about a hundredfold before I could do anything in the Barrier alone.
To teach me blocking, he’d taken to hitting out at me with his light when I wasn’t expecting it. A few times, he caught me off guard enough...and hit me hard enough...that I got a nosebleed, like he had in the car.
He also obtained permission to have Eliah, one of the Seven’s Guard, teach me mulei, the seer martial art. When I asked why he couldn’t just teach me himself, he mumbled something about how he wasn’t allowed. I heard the word “penance” muttered somewhere in that speech, but he didn’t explain to me what it meant.
The Seven’s Guard kept regular passengers and crew out of our part of the ship, which also meant seers performed all housekeeping and food delivery. They stripped one of the larger rooms of furniture to make an exercise arena where Eliah could train me in sparring, too. The sparring itself was damned hard—seers had faster reflexes, better hearing and vision, more intolerance to pain because they could detach their light from their physical bodies, and they mixed sight skills in with their physical fighting.
So basically, no matter how much I absorbed, I earned new bruises daily.
Revik taught me “normal” things, too.
Before I was fully awake that morning, he sat on the end of the bed, explaining semi-organic machines to me, and the basics on how they worked. Laying Barrier images over virtual, he also showed me the primary theoretical models or “breeds” of living machine. He explained how they arose from Barrier experiments by seers during that brief period of integration with humans in the early twentieth century, and how seers were banned from scientific research in the forties partly because a handful of renegade seers took to “persuading” the more intelligent organics to turn on their human masters.
He said Syrimne basically invented the wires, too, while experimenting with ways to both enhance and control seer powers using organics and semi-organics.
I’d never heard that version of history before, either.
Some of what Revik taught me was blatantly illegal.
Like how to break keypads and access locked computer networks, pulling passwords and bypassing firewalls with my sight. How to avoid racial tagging systems and blood monitors as well as closed-circuit cameras and other security surveillance. How and when to push humans into giving me things I needed. How to feel facial recognition software and other external scans with my aleimi, and how to fool a DNA, fingerprint or iris scanner into a false positive for human, or a false negative on an ID by my DNA, if I was wanted by SCARB or Interpol.
Others were relatively benign.
Like how to greet strange seers and the rules on asking other seers for help. Legal loopholes such as when and how to claim clan status to avoid certain searches and seizures. Etiquette in seer temples and homes. How to act towards older seers, especially family members or any other category of seer to whom respect or deference was owed.
Revik informed me I would get a new identity and a clan tattoo once we made it to Asia. The Seven would reclassify a dead seer with my stats, and presto...Alyson May Taylor would cease to exist.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Revik further explained how I could claim proportional citizenship if they set me up with a human sponsor. Meaning, if I gave up some rights of movement and association, including sexual rights, depending on the contract, I would get limited citizenship rights proportionally related to the contractual agreements with whomever I worked.
“Your world is terrifying,” I told him.
“We didn’t make it so,” was his response. He paused then, thinking. “Well. Mostly.”
He went on to explain that contractual citizenship was just one way humans pressured seers to work for the military and in other quasi-legal occupations. Civilian contracts could only grant rudimentary rights...rights which generally didn’t include travel or association beyond specified categories...”entertainment,” including prostitution, being one of those most easily granted.
The military offered, among other things, nearly unlimited freedom of movement when not on the job, coupled with moderate rights of association without the need to sell sex.
Not surprisingly, a big market for seer contracts also existed in organized crime syndicates. But, Revik noted wryly, the life spans of those seers tended to be shorter, and Rooks dominated that market almost exclusively. Even the mafia didn’t make a habit of killing seers indiscriminately, however; trained seers with high sight-ranks were far too valuable.
Seer mafias existed as well, according to Revik, mainly dealing in seer children and organic material, including blood.
I got flickers as he spoke, glimpses of Asian seers on donkeys, leading dirty, barefoot children with dark eyes across the snow, metal collars around their necks like those I’d seen on the prostitutes and other owned seers in San Francisco.
He’d also mentioned casually,
...Even if you are able to legally change identity, you should know that Sark females like you are not legally sentient to the seers, either. If your race were made public by the Council, I would officially be your owner. And if I forbid it, you cannot consent.
We’d been eating on the balcony, and he paused at this, taking a bite of apple as he waved his hand vaguely.
It can be good for us, for they cannot lie and say you have consented where duress was involved. Providing you trust me with this, of course.
I’d stared at that particular mouthful, not sure where to begin.
“Not sentient?” I said. “As in lacks sentience?”
He’d shrugged. “It is a legal fiction, to require ownership.”
“But why females, exactly?” I’d said.
“Not females,” he said, looking at me. You misunderstand. These laws are to control seers with telekinetic powers.
That took me another few seconds to process. Even so, I had to admit it made sense, given the Syrimne thing.
Finally, I shrugged. “So I’m a different race now?”
Revik had startled me, gesturing in the affirmative.
“Well,” he amended, glancing at my expression. “Not really...your blood is somewhat different, but other seers have this genetic anomaly who are not telekinetic. You can reproduce with us...as far as I know.”
He hesitated, looking up at me where I stood by the balcony. He seemed to pick up on the fact that I knew he wasn’t telling me something.
He added, Telekinesis is believed to be at least partly genetic...so with females it could potentially be passed to offspring. It makes you very valuable, Alyson, and in a way that is more real to those who may not care about your significance as the Bridge. It is unclear to me how superstitious some of the higher ranking Rooks are. Although it is believed that Galaith himself is religious...
“Galaith? That’s their leader, right?”
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br /> “Yes.” At my continued stare, his colorless eyes had grown impatient. “You must have known they would have recorded what you did in the diner...with Jon. You have no one to blame but yourself, Allie.”
But I’d been remembering something else. The bridge over Lake Washington. The way the guardrail seemed to fold into itself just before we hit. It occurred to me that I must have done that, too...and that the Rooks chasing us must have seen me do it.
When I glanced at him next, Revik’s stare had grown irritated once more. More than that, I got a flavor of angry puzzlement underneath.
“Allie,” he said. “You should not have done that...not while they had access to your light. That was extremely foolish.”
“Excuse me,” I said, giving an outraged laugh. “I believe I saved your ass during that little screw up...Dehgoies.”
“Never do it again,” he said. The anger grew more prominent in his eyes. “Not for me or anyone else. I mean it, Allie.”
Feeling my anger turn real, he clicked at me sharply.
...Whatever story the human media gives, be sure that if the Rooks know you are telekinetic, then SCARB knows what you are, as well. Even if we change your identity to the humans, the seers will want assurances that you will remain docile. And some will want to breed you...consensually or not.
“Docile?” I said, barely containing my fury. “Breed me?”
Focusing back on his food, Revik shrugged, rearranging a cloth napkin on his lap as he looked out over the sunlit ocean.
“We’ll deal with it when we have to. You have protection for now. Vash will do his best...as will I.” He didn’t look up from where he was cutting a piece of meat.
“I won’t leave you in a bad position,” he added, gruff. “And I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful. I’m not. I just don’t understand how you can do these things, Allie...or why you don’t seem to understand how serious it is.”
I thought about pursuing that, as well. But at his warning look, I left off.
Sometimes our minds were way too entwined.
Now we stood in a cluster of virtual stars, and he’d promised to take me somewhere.
In Revik-world, this was probably the closest to a date I’d get.
“Where first?” I said in Prexci.
“Balixe,” he said. “It is a seer city.”
Balixe means water in the seer tongue... my mind recited.
“Yes.” Surprise wafted off him. You know of it?
“Only by name,” I joked. At his flat look, I sighed, thinking loudly that I’d watched a history program on ancient seer culture in one of the vids he’d given me. In that particular program, it said Balixe housed the ruins of the last Elaerian city.
Revik nodded. “That is correct.”
“I know,” I said. I tugged on his shirt. “Can we go?”
He caught hold of my wrist. I barely had time to take a breath when...
...I’m not breathing.
A horizon forms as I watch, framed by distant mountains, and I see currents, streams of swift-moving lights of all colors pertaining to dark. The currents flow like water or liquid starlight, level after level, hundreds of miles above and below where I am, and once again, I am forced to fight feelings of insignificance, of being swallowed in the vastness of how little everything about me truly matters.
Beauty overcomes those feelings of smallness, however. Dark clouds hang heavy in the distance, shot through with even more subtle frequencies of light, making me long for a sunrise, for stronger beams of illumination in the churning aliveness of the night.
Then I am looking at him, and I forget all the rest.
Geometrical patterns flow around Revik’s hyper-detailed form, sparking out in small, colorful arcs of current and light. I reach out, touching one of the shapes, and from his reaction, it isn’t dissimilar to poking him in the eye.
Cut it out, he says. Look for the track, Allie.
At my blank reaction, he sighs, sending up more plumes of light and feeling.
You know the theory, he says, patient now, if barely. If you don’t know the thing you want to resonate with, find another way in...
When my confusion doesn’t lessen, he prods me again.
There are three ways seers track, Allie. The first is imprinting...it is what I am doing now, using an imprint given to me by Vash.
He flashes a multi-dimensional image, too quick for me to take in.
...I could also use a personal object, audio or visual recording, blood, fingerprints, urine, hair, even a smell...all of these are imprints. Imprinting is the most common track, as imprints are everywhere. Imprinting is the reason for the image ban, Allie...and the ban on trade in biological artifacts...
...The second way is location track, he continues evenly. This is based on the principles of spatial intersection. In simple terms, if you know the location of something in the physical realm, you can track it in the Barrier. To do so, however, your knowledge must be very precise. It also does not work so well for time jumps, or Barrier echoes...
I have no idea what these are.
The third way, he says, ignoring my implicit question. Is a line track. It denotes having a personal connection with, or “direct line” to the thing you are tracking. Or in this case, something that is resonating with the thing you are tracking...which is me.
He waits for me to follow this train of thought.
Use the opportunity to feel me under a track, Allie.
I am following his logic now. If I resonate with him, and he resonates with the target, I will resonate with the target, too. Simple.
I focus on a current of light I don’t recognize in one of his hands. The vibration immediately changes my own.
...Resonance does not have a spatial or interconnectivity limit, he adds as I play with his light. If you resonate with something that resonates with something that resonates with something...you can track any part of the chain. Distance can muddle the imprint, but it doesn’t have to. The military, of necessity, depends mainly on secondary or tertiary links...sometimes those of much greater distances from the target. Most of the work of infiltration is this. Uncovering lines or “taps,” which can be complex...even tedious. Infiltrating the target’s life, hunting them to get close to their light...
I am fascinated, picking up images from him.
You still do this? Professionally?
Yes, he sends.
For who?
His light sparks in irritation. Try to match my light...or go back and wait for me in the room, Allie.
Touchy, touchy, I send softly.
But I am trying to do what he says, so his thoughts grow slightly less grumpy.
When you track, it is better if the target does not feel you, he advises. He waits for me to adjust, based on his words. When I don’t, he sighs again. This is not subtle, Allie. If I were a target, I would know I was being tapped.
I heard you. Just let me get the hang of it, okay?
He gives in, letting me openly examine his light.
He is cranky today, though. I have no idea if it has anything to do with me, but I decide to do as he says...until I am distracted again by the mechanics of our lights’ interaction. My aleimi really wants to resonate with his. It is less a matter of trying, more a matter of letting it. So I relax, unfurling a fist that I hadn’t known I clenched. My vibration changes.
I feel Revik’s approval.
Good, he sends.
He is closer to me now, and suddenly I am fighting the other thing. The pulling-nausea-pain feeling I get around him is stronger without my body, carries more of an imperative. It occurs to me that pain is likely how my body translates that imperative, like converting electrical signals...then it occurs to me that I’m embarrassed, trying to make it scientific.
Revik politely withdraws his light.
Are you ready? he sends.
I consider, for the hundredth or so time, asking him about that pull, then decide to leave it for when he’s in a better mood.
He releases whatever he uses to keep us in place and we shoot across the night sky. There are no vortices this time, and the movement from one place to the next happens fast, almost instantaneously, without a breath between states.
A city bursts out of the dark.
Its many windows reflect the morning rays of a bloated sun peeking over the horizon. I recognize the skyline from my dreams. I see the jagged steel and glass squares sticking out of the ground, the older city beside them, the dense layer of smog over the honking cars and bicycles and auto-rickshaws on the street. People walk down the sidewalk in ragged patterns and stand by coffee shops and older-looking buildings with red and gold facades. I see flickers of the city from all sides...from the ground to a vantage point somewhere in the clouds.
I am afraid, focusing on the enormous metal and glass squares looming out of the dust of a predawn sky, the watery structure squatting closer to the ground.
I see more cars and bicycles and the light brightens, when...
...I am hovering over a different square, filled with people.
The sky in this new place is the opposite of the one over modern-day Beijing.
The curve of the atmosphere looms so high and clear I think it must belong to a different planet. The sun shines hotter here, too, but gentler somehow; it hangs in the sky, a near gold-white, so small and bright I can’t look at it for long, even from inside the Barrier.
The city’s buildings have rounded corners instead of square ones. They crouch around one another, yet have a kind of regal elegance, covered in greenery that makes them appear almost alive under the dense shadows of dark stone. Cut windows without glass overlook the center of town behind balconies covered in moss and dripping sprays of purple flowers. A fountain marks the center of the square itself, and watery creatures decorate the basin, foaming more of that crystal blue water from mouths and fingers.
Black volcanic tiles pave the center of the square, too. The streets radiating outward from that same square are of large cobblestones, but those stones look new, or as if someone polishes them daily. Statues mark the passage into arterial roads that spiral out from the center like spokes in a wheel. Flags ripple in a light breeze like silken snakes.