Fix

by Ferrett Steinmetz

  The Morehead broach was comparatively stable. But the United States continued to freak out – as America was wont to do, on the rare occasions anything hurt it personally – so General Kanakia had offered to heal it as a PR gesture.

  As such, Aliyah felt SMASH treating this miniscule broach with an uncommon respect. Five thousand of her fellow Unimancers had juggled their schedules to ensure they’d be rested in case things got out of hand.

  It hadn’t looked much like the Morehead she’d left behind – the grass had died where the broach’s sputtering slow-light had bombarded it with alien radiations. The remaining area had been covered with pop-up science labs designed to monitor the broach.

  But only Washout Field had broached. There had been three other fields – and they teemed with reporters and curiosity-seekers and protestors.

  Most of the crowd was solemn. The protestors, however, shouted and waved signs: U NEED NO UNIMANCERS. SMASH SMASH. MAGIC MAKES MONSTERS. They pressed close to the boundary before the Unimancy crowd control squadrons courteously warned them away.

  Still, the protestors bumped chests, hoping to spur a nice ugly confrontation for the evening news.

  Ruth and Aliyah were stationed on Gold Field, the field with the biggest crowds. Mom had assigned them to be the Unimancers’ friendly face – two small girls on the front lines made SMASH look less like a military operation.

  Still, the protestors asked pointed questions about what Europe was really like. Wasn’t fiddling with reality dangerous? What had happened to the Unimancers at the start of the Reclamation?

  Aliyah gave her standard PR-friendly answers as to why she’d become a Unimancer, reassuring them they’d reclaimed over ninety square miles of European territory since the Reclamation; this broach would be trivial to stabilize.

  They’re terrified, Ruth said, amazed at the crowds. Yet they can’t look away.

  Well, this will be the first ’mancy most of them have seen, Aliyah reminded her.

  Why are they here, if they think it’ll blow up in their face?

  People used to camp out next to battlefields, Ruth’s mother told them. During the Civil War, they’d set up picnics and take bets.

  Thanks, Mom, Ruth said – and meant it.

  She’s more of a trivia engine these days, Aliyah thought. Daddy had disabled portions of the Mom-construct, relaxing its grip on Ruth.

  I kinda like that, Ruth thought back. I get to see what Mom thought was interesting.

  Did that guy offer us a beer? Aliyah thought.

  Creeper, Ruth shot back. We’re underage.

  Hey, we kicked the European broach in the nads. Maybe we should have a beer. But the thought of “beer” led to beermancers expressing dismay at the thought of drinking American swill, and brewmancers promising to brew up much tastier beverages if they wanted to experiment, and physicians…

  “…Rachel?”

  Aliyah was used to people recognizing her – she was the first of a new generation of Unimancers, or so the headlines said, and as such people treated her like they knew her.

  Yet this girl did know her.

  Savannah.

  The lanky redheaded kid she’d played soccer with, all those months ago, back at Washout Field.

  Aliyah almost rushed to hug her, but Savannah held her distance, looking terribly awkward.

  You sense that tension? Ruth asked. The crowd had gone silent. Everyone in Morehead must have known Savannah was the girl who’d made friends with the ’mancer who’d destroyed their town.

  Savannah looked worse for wear. Psychoanalysts in the hivemind kicked in to notice how Savannah’s head was bowed lower these days, how she was more reluctant to make eye contact, how the protestors scowled down at her.

  Aliyah opted for the gentlest approach. “You OK?”

  Savannah gave a half-hearted nod. “Are you OK?”

  With that, Aliyah realized Savannah had worried about her all these months. It must have been a whirlwind for the poor kid, having ’mancers infiltrate their soccer game, only to leave behind a smear in the sky and more questions than the government was willing to answer.

  She was actually your fucking friend, Ruth thought, amazed.

  “I’m doing good,” Aliyah said. “I hope I didn’t… you know…”

  “Hasn’t been easy,” Savannah shrugged; Aliyah saw the blame Savannah had weathered. “Fixing the broach will help. Oh, and thank your dad for the check.”

  “…check?” Aliyah thought – and she sensed her dad through the collective as he prepared to seal the broach. He had become the general’s second-in-command, expanding the European Safe Zones – and was expected to take up the mantle when the general retired after four decades of fine service.

  Not that he was allowed on American soil. The President hadn’t stopped the UN from giving Paul Tsabo a SMASH position, but she couldn’t afford to look soft on ’mancers by letting Paul back into the country. So Daddy had to work through the collective.

  Not that he minded – he and Mom seemed content to devote their lives to fixing Europe. The European Safe Zones were the best PR possible for individual ’mancers.

  Still, he looked up from the stream of Unimancer data to send an image of a $30,000 insurance check he’d cut Savannah’s family – to make up for the SUV Savannah’s father had given them to escape.

  “He says you’re welcome.”

  “Some people told me that, uh…” Savannah studied her sneakers. “Rumor was, they pretended to kidnap me to capture you. I didn’t like that. I told everyone this wasn’t your fault – you never meant to do magic.”

  “They did use you as bait.” Savannah blushed, realizing what she’d meant to Aliyah. “But I never blamed you for that.”

  She sighed. “Good.” She looked at Ruth. “Is that your girlfriend?”

  Aww, Jeez, this is like running into your ex at the mall, Ruth thought. And she’s a skinny redhead, too! You have a type.

  Be nice, Aliyah thought.

  Of course I will. I like this one. Ruth extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Ruth. And yeah. I am.”

  Savannah looked startled, but shook Ruth’s hand after a moment. “Sorry, Ruth. I wasn’t expecting you to… to, you know, say your name. Are you one of those Unimancers who got their personalities back after the broach healed?”

  “That’s what her father says, anyway,” Ruth said diplomatically.

  In truth, Mom had decided Unimancers shouldn’t have to act alike to stop freaking the mundanes… And so Dad had told everyone that fighting the Bastogne broach had altered the nature of Unimancy.

  Nobody really understood magic anyway, so people had bought the lie. Ruth was just grateful she didn’t have to pretend to be a brainburned zombie.

  “Anyway.” Savannah blushed. “It’s good to see you. I just… I wasn’t sure if that was you. And… I mean, it’s good to see you back. So… yeah. Thanks.”

  Savannah turned away to push through the wall of waving signs. Aliyah didn’t know what to say. There had been friendship there, once… but Savannah had gone one way, and Aliyah had gone the other. While Aliyah had gone off to link in with the collective, Savannah had become a reluctant advocate for ’mancer rights – in a small town where terror of ’mancy must have been at an all-time high.

  They were so different now.

  Aliyah was back in front of that Wendy’s, watching some scared kid try to connect – except back then, Savannah had welcomed her to Morehead. And Savannah had welcomed her back, only to find Aliyah changed beyond comprehension.

  You can’t let it end like this, Ruth thought.

  “Hey!” Aliyah’s voice was louder than she meant it to be, carrying across the Gold Field. News cameras focused in, broadcasting live.

  Aliyah wished she knew what to say. And the Unimancers pressed forward; the pickupmancers offered icebreakers and the relationshipmancers offered tailored approaches and biomancers offered to change her pheromones, and…

  Aliyah swept them aside to be her
self.

  “You still play soccer?” she asked.

  Savannah squinted, as though she hadn’t heard Aliyah properly – then gave a disgusted little head shake. “Haven’t played since. To be honest, I didn’t care for it that much.”

  “Neither did I,” Aliyah said. “I just did it to find friends.”

  Savannah bobbed her head in shy agreement.

  “But you know what I liked the idea of?” Aliyah asked.

  “What?”

  “The pizza you promised me after the game. So what do you say? One one-on-one match – no ’mancy, I promise – and we’ll see whose skills are rustier. Winner buys pizza.”

  Savannah’s smile was like the sun rising from behind clouds. “I’d like that.”

  “Clear the fuckin’ field!” Ruth bellowed. The Unimancers prepared to disperse the protestors, who lowered signs to block their way…

  But a greater cry came from behind them. “Let ’em play!”

  The protestors looked over their shoulder, found the rest of the crowd giving them stern glares.

  There will always be people who hate, Aliyah thought. They’ll always stand in the front, stirring trouble, making the world look worse than it is.

  But there’s always people behind the haters – strangers, waiting to get to know you.

  And these people want to see what happens when we play.

  The crowds cleared out a space for Aliyah and Savannah, shunting the protestors aside. Someone tossed them a soccer ball; someone else stepped into place to mark goal lines.

  Savannah and Aliyah grinned, stepping into a new world:

  A world where two kids could play soccer.

  Acknowledgments

  So I destroyed Europe with a shrug.

  I didn’t plan on annihilating an entire continent. Yet when I wrote Flex, I thought, “How can I make it clear that unauthorized magic has some really riotous consequences?” and went, “Awww, hell, let’s waste Europe. That’ll show ’em!”

  (Fun fact: When you destroy fictional continents, you will get hurt emails from your friends overseas, plaintively asking, “…what did we ever do to you?”)

  And you’d think that, as an author, I would understand that “wrecked continents” hold an allure for people. But no! I was completely shocked when the reviews for Flex came in and people confidently stated, “The Flux will clearly send them overseas to investigate Europe!” and I, with a completed manuscript for the sequel in hand, went, “Well, wouldn’t that have been a hell of a plan?”

  But really, I knew what the third book would be about. Flex was about creating a family. The Flux was about what happened when people tried to split that family apart for selfish reasons.

  Fix was about what happened when people split that family apart for altruistic reasons. And Europe was the biggest stick I had to hit them where it hurts.

  So anyway, to help confirm the details on my rampant Europe-destroying, I enlisted several wonderful folks:

  * * *

  Thanks to the members of the online group “Help Ferrett To Destroy Europe!” where several scientists (amateur and professional) discussed creative ways to break the laws of physics – which is surprisingly difficult to do and allow humans to survive! We are fragile, fragile little creatures. Anyway, I couldn’t have done it without Alice Durand, Ben Criger, Jonathan Pai, Juliane Tran, Mike Longley, Nathan Gundlach, and Sarah Heile.

  Thanks to Harold Overbay, who served on the USS Chicago and assures me that yes, Paul’s plan would work, but only with the correct kind of launching tubes installed. If I got the deets wrong, well, that’s on me.

  Thanks to my friends in Kentucky, who explained to me what their local soccer league was like so I could annihilate their state. I should add that there is no Washout Field in Kentucky, as the people there are far too kind to split up their players so cruelly. That’s all me. Everyone down in Kentucky I’ve ever met has been super-kind, and extremely generous with their delicious delicious bourbon. (Try the Blanton’s.)

  When I had zero idea how to fix the novel, a night of magical Velvet Tango Room drinks with my friend Catherine Kopytek – a partial inspiration for Valentine – helped straighten me out. If you liked the way Valentine smacked Paul down on the mountain, well, that was Catherine getting angry.

  Shakira Searles cried a lot when we were holed up in a hotel room for a week (long story), and their tears helped me think I was getting this draft in shape. (I promise, they didn’t cry for any other reason but the manuscript!)

  * * *

  And my critiquers, who helped me out:

  * * *

  Daniel Starr called the first draft of this manuscript “a fun ride,” which was the danger sign that whoa, I needed to add a little more emotional torment up in here.

  E Catherine Tobler said, “Aliyah sure complains about unfairness a lot,” and encouraged me to use that. Use it? Reader, I weaponized it.

  Graydancer has a lot of experience in high-protocol kink, so when he thanked me for including Butler I was pretty sure I hadn’t screwed up the details too badly.

  John Dale Beety and Miranda Suri pointed out that I really needed to flesh out the Valentine and Robert interactions to justify their existence. MOAR LOVE, MOAR BEATINGS,

  Carolyn VanEseltine wanted to know why the universe was so mean to Paul, and Christina Russell demanded to have the laws of flux fleshed out more. Good call, people.

  Grenacia hated the sunscreen scene. You don’t see the sunscreen scene because she was right.

  Ingvild B Husvik and Els van Vessem were positive in the final draft, and lemme tell you, by the time you’ve revised a damn book four times over, you need someone to tell you this mess of words is actually better than you think it is.

  Benjamin Wilson, superfan,wanted even crazier magic. I tried to make it wild for you, man! I really did.

  And lastly, Dr Phil Kaldon helped me out with the physics. Which is, sadly, the last interaction I had with Phil, one of Michigan’s convention stalwarts and a generous soul. In fact, if we could have a moment of silence to honor a great man’s passing…

  ∞ : The Chapter Midway Through the End Credits

  Valentine had never fucked on a beach before, but discovered sand got everywhere. Which, if your sex had a certain cruel edge, could be used creatively.

  She collapsed, watching the stars in the warm Caribbean sky, holding a freshly-bruised Robert as he fell asleep in post-coital bliss.

  Eventually, this would get boring. She wasn’t engineered for monotony. Neither was Robert. In time, one of them would itch for adventure, and they’d move on.

  They’d go back to Paul. Paul always had adventures.

  But for now, feeling Robert wriggle deeper next to her, feeling the ocean surf at their feet, she basked in contentment. The only thing that could make this better was…

  “Milkshake, ma’am?”

  “Thank you, Butler,” she said, and took the shake from Butler’s tray.

  Acknowledgments II

  Electric Boogaloo

  Thanks, Phil.

  And while we’re holding a moment of grief, as readers of the series will know, Aliyah was heavily inspired by my goddaughter, Rebecca Alison Meyer, who passed away of brain cancer on her sixth birthday. She was extraordinary. I don’t know that Rebecca would have become a magic-wielding lesbian commando at the age of thirteen, but I can’t say I would have ruled it out either.

  In the aftermath of the tragedy, Rebecca’s mother Kat Meyer and my friend Karla Winans have helped found a charity to help families who’ve survived losses like Rebecca. And if you have some spare cash, donating to Rebecca’s Gift at http://rebeccasgift.org/ would help make the world a little brighter in Little Spark’s name.

  And I’ve thanked a lot of people in past acknowledgments who I should thank again; everyone at Angry Robot, who have been really good about supporting this series, including Mike Underwood (the ’Mancer series’ #1 fan), Marc Gascoigne and Phil Jourdan, and Penny Reeve. Thanks
to my, er, best friend Angie, who never stopped believing in me. Thanks to Mom, Dad, and my daughters Amy and Erin – but heck, you’ve all made it in previous dedications, why am I thanking you here? Oh, right, ‘cause you’re awesome. Thanks to Aileen, who listened to me complain late in the evenings on far too many occasions.

  Thanks to every one of you who’s reading this. If you got here, I’m presuming you came with me on the past journey of the last two books, and God, that means so much to me. (And if not, you’ve got two books of prequel to consume, so get crackin’!) And a special thanks to anyone who reviewed or referenced or mentioned any of my books; remember, every time a reader tells other people about the book they just read, an author gets their wings.

  But if you’ve got this far, I’m sure some of you are asking one question: Are there any more adventures? And I hope there will be. I’ve got some vague ideas of what Valentine and Butler might get up to. But for right now, I think I’ve pushed the family as far as I can, and so if I’m gonna tell a new ’mancer story it’ll probably be with some different ’mancers.

  God willing, I’ll return to this crazy magical world someday.

  So keep up with me on my Twitter, @ferretthimself, or at my blog at www.theferrett.com. I’ll catch ya around.

  Oh! And if you’ve followed me thus far, you know damn well there’s one person who I always end my acknowledgments by thanking. When I was writing four hours a night to try to fix this damn novel, my wife quietly cleaned the house for me when I slacked on my chores. She went for long plot-walks with me as I angsted, “How do I make this work?” She read endless pages. And she’s always been brutally, gloriously honest when the words don’t work.

  She not only supports my dreams, she enables them. And man, I hope I lift her up half as high as she lifts me.