Revisionary

by Jim C. Hines

  “Hundreds of thousands,” Talulah said. “Millions, if they calibrate the broadcast just right.”

  Jason raised a hand like a student in class. “Are you talking about sirens like Odysseus-tied-to-the-mast, songs-luring-sailors-to-their-death, and all that?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Their song creates a sense of longing and emptiness nothing can fill. It’s like reliving every loss and disappointment in your life all at once, and only the siren offers any hope of relief. That despair is what caused sailors to throw themselves overboard.”

  I wiped my hands on my pants. “I’ve heard it,” I continued. “A broken version a year ago, as well as the muted song when we tried to stop the Kagan. I can still hear it. I spent months working with my therapist, trying to learn how not to hear it, how to keep it from dragging me back down.”

  “What good would it do to broadcast a siren song?” asked Jeneta. “It’s not like most people can just hop overboard and drown themselves.”

  “No, they can’t.” I closed my eyes, remembering the desperation reaching through me. “Sailors sought out the sirens because they thought they could reach the source and stop the pain. There are other ways to end your pain.”

  “You’re talking about suicide,” said Nidhi.

  I nodded again. “Hundreds of thousands of suicides. Millions.”

  “They can target anyone they like,” said Talulah. “Worried about China’s magical program? Angry at North Korea? You could probably reach ninety-five percent of both countries with a single broadcast. This isn’t just a weapon of mass destruction. We’re talking about potential genocide.”

  “Aren’t there other Porters at New Millennium who would recognize Talulah’s project?” asked Angie. “They’d be able to stop it, or at least trace who stole her work.”

  “Charles and Vince both would, yah. Along with anyone from DHS or the board who’s been reviewing our research.”

  “So they’ll broadcast the song within New Millennium, too,” said Lena. “Claim Vanguard infiltrated the facility and launched the attack from there as a suicide mission. Once everyone’s dead, who’s to say someone from New Millennium wasn’t an extremist? Especially if Potts and his people are in charge of the investigation.”

  “As long as his people have those magic-dampening amulets, they’ll survive,” I said. “While everyone else dies in despair and hopelessness.”

  “When do the U.N. inspectors arrive at New Millennium?” asked Angie. “If McGinley is going for international outrage, wouldn’t it make sense to kill them too?”

  Talulah swore. “They’re supposed to begin this afternoon.”

  “Can we warn people?” Jason was as frightened as I’d ever seen him, his eyes big and his hands trembling in his lap. “Tell them to turn off their electronics, invest in earplugs, something like that?”

  “The spell will power things up remotely.” Talulah punched the floor. “We didn’t want to risk people sleeping through a warning, or missing it because they’d switched everything off. I never imagined . . .” She hit the floor again, then slashed her sleeve over her face, wiping away tears of rage.

  “Then we go public,” Jason pressed. “Tell the world McGinley is behind it. If we expose what he plans to do, he’ll have to call it off, right?”

  I shook my head. “He’d say it’s Vanguard trying to set him up. He’s spent months fueling people’s fear of magic. You’ve seen the poll numbers. Who do you think the people will believe?”

  “What about an electromagnetic pulse?” asked Lena.

  “All of New Millennium’s hardware servers are protected by nested faraday cages,” said Talulah. “EMP wouldn’t touch them, and Kiyoko is all wetware, not circuitry and hard drives.”

  “Does siren magic affect animals?” Jeneta was cradling her fire-spider in her lap.

  “Nothing in The Odyssey talked about gulls drowning themselves or fish flopping to their deaths,” said Jason.

  “He won’t limit the U.S. strike to New Millennium.” Nidhi looked around the room. “If the goal is to solidify alliances with the United States, we have to suffer as much or more than any other nation. McGinley needs that horror and sympathy for when he seizes control of New Millennium and starts talking about making the world safe again.”

  “There are close to two million people living in and around Las Vegas alone,” I said.

  “This is insane.” Jeneta sounded angry, but her eyes were damp. “They’re going to murder millions of people, and for what?”

  “For power and control.” I thought back to my exchanges with Gutenberg. “And because people are afraid. McGinley sees that fear as an opportunity.”

  “What’s going to happen?” asked Lex.

  I smiled for her sake. “That’s simple, kiddo. We’re going to stop them.”

  Summary: The National Terrorism Advisory System (NTAS) has issued an Imminent Threat Alert. The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) has received credible warning of a terrorist attack against United States targets.

  Duration: This alert will expire in one week. The alert may be extended if DHS acquires additional information.

  Details:

  • Members of the organization known as Vanguard are planning a large-scale magical attack against the United States, with possible coordinated attacks in other nations.

  • The precise nature of the attack is unknown, but appears to involve one or more television, radio, or cellphone broadcasting stations.

  • Vanguard traditionally targets nonmagical humans, particularly those who have spoken out publicly in support of regulation and security legislation regarding magic. Other targets may include magical humans and creatures who are perceived to sympathize with such efforts.

  • This attack is believed to be planned for some time within the next forty-eight hours.

  What To Do:

  • Government facilities, national and historical landmarks, core infrastructure facilities, and other potential targets are advised to increase security for the duration of this alert.

  • Avoid unnecessary travel, particularly to busy, crowded locations such as national parks, sports events, and major cities.

  • Families and businesses should refer to the DHS Emergency Preparedness Website for guidance on creating an emergency plan.

  • The fight against terror starts with you. If you see something suspicious, contact your local law enforcement office or call 911. Your vigilance could save lives.

  “I’m not ready for this.”

  “You never will be.”

  “Your faith is touching.”

  “It’s nothing to do with faith, Isaac. No one is ever truly ready for times like this. We prepare ourselves the best we can, and we march out to face the enemy.”

  “I’m not much of a marcher.”

  “It was a metaphor.”

  “I thought the world would welcome us. Instead, they’ve spent the past year trying to crush us.”

  “Never discount hope, Isaac. Especially your own. Your fear is all too human. Accept it, but as you walk this path, let your hope guide you.”

  “And what if hope guides me off the edge of a cliff?”

  “I said let hope guide you. I never said stop paying attention to where you’re going.”

  “YOU’RE OUT OF YOUR fucking mind,” said Deb. “Derek Vaughn was on the committee that passed the RAMPART Act. He’s part of the reason Nicola Pallas and who knows how many others have been rounded up like animals, and you want to ask him for help?”

  “Vaughn voted against RAMPART,” Jason pointed out.

  “He’s a politician. Isaac and Lena are wanted fugitives. Why the hell would you trust that weasel-dick?”

  “Because Nicola has been dating that weasel-dick for the past two months,” I said mildly.

  The rest of the room went silent.

  Talulah chuckled. “Good for her.”

  “Assuming he wasn’t using her to get to the Porters,” Deb said sullenly.

>   “It doesn’t matter.” I stood up and moved to the center of the living room. “We need Nicola’s help, and he’s the best lead we’ve got for reaching her. You’re right, though. We have to be careful. The less Vaughn knows, the better. Talulah, can you secure a phone line?”

  “In my sleep.”

  “I’ll make the call,” said Lena. “Derek knows me, and we don’t want to give away that you’re alive.”

  “Good.” I checked the list I’d put together over breakfast. “Potts said they were working with people in China, France, Britain, and Afghanistan. Talulah, can you get a message to Shin-Tsu Chang? Give him a heads-up about Kiyoko and McGinley. Who do we know in France, Britain, and Afghanistan?”

  “My mother is in Britain,” Jeneta said quietly.

  “Tell her to get out.”

  “You think McGinley will target his own allies?” asked Nidhi.

  “I don’t know! He might attack their enemies instead. China and Japan have been rattling sabers at each other. Maybe he’ll wipe out Tokyo as a favor.” There were too many potential targets, too many possibilities.

  “Let me talk to some friends,” said Deb. “Put them on McGinley’s trail. If we can get our claws on him, he’ll tell us everything we need to know.”

  “Kiyoko will be protecting him, and he’ll be shielded from magic,” said Lena.

  “Can he shield his scent? I know it’s a long shot, but Vanguard has people on the East Coast.”

  “Do it.” I picked up one of the disposable cellphones Talulah had bought. “Speaking of long shots . . .”

  I wasn’t surprised when a tinny voice said the number I was dialing had been disconnected. Getting Ponce de Leon’s help would have been like bringing an Abrams tank to the Revolutionary War. But the old sorcerer had always valued his privacy, and he’d gone deeper into seclusion after Gutenberg’s death. From what I knew, Ponce de Leon tended to sit back and let crises pass him by, like a squirrel hibernating through a harsh winter.

  I hung up and handed the phone to Lena. “We could use some additional help.”

  She grinned. “I’m way ahead of you.”

  I’d testified to the Joint Committee on Magical Security that I didn’t know the whereabouts of Bi Wei and her fellow students, and that much was true. I had no idea where they were currently located, nor did I have a reliable way of getting in touch with them.

  They’d asked Lena the same questions. The only difference was that Lena had lied.

  A half hour later, I sat with an untouched burger on my plate, watching as Talulah pulled up satellite imagery and military communications. She was working on a borrowed laptop, but had hooked the display up to the flat-screen television in the living room so everyone could see.

  New Millennium was nothing but a pixelated blob. One of many steps Babs had taken to protect our privacy was to shield us from overhead photography, including drones, satellites, helicopters, and so on.

  Jeneta plopped down beside me. Her smile held a hint of her old mischievousness. “I’ve been thinking. If this doesn’t work, maybe we ought to we have a fallback plan.”

  My lips quirked, matching her grin. “I’m listening.”

  “How would you feel about colonizing Mars?”

  “I’m listening very attentively.”

  “E-books aren’t as limited as your dusty old paper books. I can do libriomancy on a cellphone, a tablet, anything that can display electronic books.” She pointed to the television. “No more size limitations.”

  “I’d wondered about that,” I admitted. “We never got the chance to really test what you can do . . .” I trailed off, remembering why we’d been unable to finish exploring the possibilities of Jeneta’s power. I noticed her father watching us from the corner. He rarely let his daughter out of his sight these days.

  “When this is over, however it plays out, I want to break in—” She glanced at her father. “I mean, I want to rent an IMAX theater. Ms. Polk can work the projector. Put one of your science fiction books on the screen, and I’ll pull out a ship capable of transporting the first group to Mars. Add some terraforming technology, and we could be living there within a year.”

  “You’re talking about an awful lot of energy.” I tapped the corner of my eye to remind her of the permanent scarring I’d suffered from trying to channel more magic than my body could handle. “No way. Think about what that would do to you.”

  “I’d need help,” she admitted grudgingly. “But you’ve been working on that, right? Combining books for your Gateway Project. Why not combine libriomancers the same way, let them work together to reduce the strain on any one person?”

  In the old days, before libriomancy, sorcerers had occasionally done exactly that. It wasn’t something the Porters had ever really tried, in part because most libriomancers didn’t work directly with magical energy. We needed our books as an intermediary. You’d have to have multiple libriomancers reaching into the same book, and there wasn’t much benefit in having two people pull a magic sword from a story when one could do the same.

  But a screen the size of a movie theater . . . I sat back, mentally cataloging the books we’d need to create a viable colony on Mars. If things went to hell, Mars might be safer than remaining on Earth. If we retreated to another planet, it would take decades for the rest of humanity to catch us. By then, we could have moved on to other worlds. “I wonder if there’d be any degradation in magical resonance from the hundred and forty million miles between Mars and all the readers and books back on Earth.”

  It was tempting as hell, both for the relative safety—and what did it say when trying to terraform and survive on another planet was the safer option?—and for the sheer awesomeness of going to Mars. I’d used magic to visit the moon, and that had been one of the most thrilling experiences of my life.

  It had been immediately followed by one of the most terrifying experiences of my life, but still . . .

  I shook my head. “I’m not ready to give up on this planet yet.”

  “Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “So when do we leave for Vegas?”

  “We don’t,” I said firmly, before her father could answer. “You’re staying here with Jason.”

  She didn’t argue. That, more than anything else, told me she hadn’t fully recovered from everything she’d been through. A year ago, she would have argued with me on principle, secure in her teenage sense of immortality and invulnerability.

  Instead, she asked, “How old do you have to be to start working at New Millennium?”

  The question took me off guard. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, check into it, will you? It would be nice to have a place where Dad and I didn’t always have to watch our backs. After you kick McGinley’s goons out of there, I mean.”

  I looked past her to Mmadukaaku. He’d never been comfortable with magic, and from the stiffness in his posture and the way he muttered to himself whenever he passed Deb, that hadn’t changed.

  “My daughter deserves security.” He broke eye contact. “I’ve been trying to provide that for her.”

  “You’ve done great, Dad,” said Jeneta. “I don’t mean—”

  He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to hide.”

  “Neither should you,” she answered.

  “You’re both right.” I stood to go, feeling far wearier than when I’d sat down. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Nidhi found me out back a short time later. I sat on a squeaky wooden porch swing, an unopened book in my lap, looking out at a collection of bird feeders. They all bore metal shields to protect them from squirrels.

  She sat down beside me without saying a word. After a while, she sighed and put an arm around my shoulders.

  There was nothing romantic about it. Nidhi and I generally landed between friends and siblings on the relationship spectrum. But I found myself relaxing. Nidhi wasn’t here to ask questions or press me for miracles. She was here to remind me we were in this together.

  I handed her the
book I’d been reading.

  She opened the cover one-handed and flipped through the first pages. “There’s no title.”

  “That’s one of three copies of Johannes Gutenberg’s autobiography. Would you make sure it’s safe?”

  “Of course.”

  There were plenty of biographies of Gutenberg out there, and most were woefully incomplete. You could hardly blame the authors. Gutenberg had done an excellent job faking his death back in 1468. He’d even gone back later to destroy his alleged gravesite as well.

  Recent months had seen a surge in more “speculative” material on Gutenberg’s life, some of it little more than tabloid nonsense slapped together to cash in on current interest. One edition went so far as to speculate that Gutenberg and Elvis Presley were one and the same. Another claimed he was the second coming of Christ. My favorite was a paranormal romance describing in lurid detail Gutenberg’s affair with a vampiric Marilyn Monroe.

  A man of Gutenberg’s power, knowledge, and self-importance would never risk his story being lost to history and rumor. Nicola had discovered his autobiography a month after his death. She’d printed two copies for the Porters, then loaned me the original as part of an off-the-books research project.

  Three copies weren’t enough for traditional libriomancy, but there were other forms of book magic. I’d said once that all stories were magic. And all magic was story. This was Gutenberg’s story, in his own words.

  A million readers could imbue books with a great deal of power. A single reader . . . or writer . . . with enough power of their own might do the same.

  Gutenberg had poured himself into this book. I’d read and reread it, adding my own magic. Five months later, Johannes Gutenberg had stirred from within the pages.

  “Lena mentioned you’d been talking with him,” said Nidhi.

  “Sort of. It’s not really him, you know? It’s the collection of his experiences and impressions and emotions, as interpreted by the man himself. I think he tried to be as honest as he could, but he was also putting his best self forward for posterity. The end result . . . it might not be him, but it sounds like him. The same arrogance and experience. The same sadness. I’d left the book in my office in New Millennium. Babs or Kiyoko or whoever searched it must not have realized what it was.”