“Such extreme measures,” the agent arranger said, “are rarely indicated, when a simple—”
“Oh, you can drive yourself to distraction, tweaking their agents—and your own,” said the Vail with the orange hair (ve was a feed-skein meta-reactant and Father of four). “But why? With the band, you can just set—”
Fift’s hand gripped the railing above the docks; and in the apartment, ze felt behind zir for the railing of the stairs.
Shria was sending.
“For blessed Kumru’s sake!” barked the old Staid four seats over, the one whose lookup stats Fift had seen change from “proto-cohort of five” to “no cohort.” Burst capillaries made jagged red traceries across the whites of zir eyes. Ze waved a bony finger at the Vail with the orange hair, at the old Staid in front of them. “Stop inserting yourselves into this drama! We all know perfectly well you’re just trying to capture viewers—”
{Fif} Shria sent.
“All of you shut up!” the seven-hundred-year-old Vail with the feathers said. “The last thing any of us needs is all this audience! For Groon’s sake—”
{t}
The Vail with the nimbus of orange hair stood up. “You shut up! Do you think I’ll take this sort of insult lightly?”
{Shria, Shria, are you all right?}
The feathered Vail heaved vemself to vir feet, tottering slightly. “Oh? And do you think I have anything more to lose?”
{go} Shria sent.
There was a gentle bump as the skywhale came up against a dock. “This,” Pip said mildly, “is our stop.” Ze stood, and the two Vails backed up a step. Ze looked over at Fift.
{the f}
Fift opened zir mouth to speak. “I—”
Pip shook zir head and turned away.
{uck home}
A hand closed on Fift’s shoulder and ze jumped. It was Frill, on the stairway by the docks. Ve looked worn. The silver midges swarming around vir hair glinted in the purple of second evening.
“Come on, Fift,” ve said.
Fift got up and hurried after Pip, weaving around the screaming Vails and stepping from the bobbing skywhale onto the docks.
Six million viewers.
In the hallway at home, staring at Father Frill, Fift flushed hot. At the docks, ze looked away from Frill’s insistent eyes, and cold crawled along zir scalp.
Ze was making a fool of zirself. In front of the world. In front of Shria . . .
“Come on,” Frill said, more gently, and Fift followed vem back up the stairs.
Interlude
Excerpt from the CHAT LOGS of Meroc Ipithia of name registry Barking Undulation 12, Staid, 145 years old, apprentice splage coordinator:
Zetich: see the link I sent you?
Meroc: Is it important, Zetich? I need to get all these supplies ready for the splage tomorrow.
Zetich: It’s about Fift and Shria . . .
Meroc: Woah! Really? Uh . . . I probably shouldn’t, but . . .
Zetich: You won’t believe what’s happened.
Meroc: Really?
Zetich: Yeah. But if you’re not interested, I’ll just show Morinti . . .
Meroc: Morinti! Zet, Morinti only just found out about Fift and Shria! I’ve been following them longer than you—I saw them talk to Thavé live!
Zetich: Well, sure, but Morinti is interested now, and after all, Morinti’s third cousin is in . . .
Meroc: Trickster’s feet, give it a rest with Perjes already! Perjes is in that clip-op for all of six heartbeats, gaping like a slackwit from the other side of a clearing. The way Morinti goes on and on about it, you’d think . . . anyway, fine, I’m watching.
Meroc: Did you just see that . . . ? Oh fuck.
Zetich: Isn’t it just . . .
Meroc: Aw, those poor kids!
Zetich: I knew you’d get it. Everyone here says Shria got what ve deserved for rioting, but—
Meroc: That’s totally unfair. Ve didn’t mean to riot! Voids. Was vir cohort dissolved?
Zetich: No! They were evicted, fired from their jobs, derated—
Meroc: But not dissolved?
Zetich: No! Because Shria’s Mother, Sangh Tenrik Fnax of name registry Turquoise Fenugreek 5, challenged the neighborhood family reactancy coordinator to a duel!
Meroc: A duel? On the mats? But surely that alone wouldn’t—
Zetich: A duel to body loss.
Meroc: To body loss? Sweet sluiceblocking Trickster! I can’t even . . . And the challenge was accepted?
Zetich: The reactancy coordinator is apparently very vain.
Meroc: And the match was permitted?
Zetich: I guess some mats coordinator is a terrible romantic . . .
Meroc: You call that romantic? Being pummeled until . . .
Zetich: But ve’s doing it to save vir child and vir cohort!
Meroc: Fuck.
Zetich: I know!
Meroc: But Zetich, it won’t even work. Even if ve wins, it won’t stop them from forcing dissolution. At best, it will only delay . . .
Zetich: I know. It’s hardly sensible. But you have to admit, it’s pretty sluiceblocking vailish of vem. It’s so brave that it’s shored up vir ratings some. Enough to postpone the end for a moment . . .
Meroc: Wow. Voids. Those poor kids.
Zetich: Now aren’t you glad I showed you and not Morinti? I just keep thinking about the two of them. Sixteen years old and dealing with this squandering sluice-blockage. I haven’t been following them as long as you have, but . . . especially after that clip-opera . . . when I see them together . . . you know, I had a Vail friend when I was in First Childhood, until it got too hard to talk to each other. You know that age . . . and I just feel, when I look at them, maybe if I’d fought a little harder, if I hadn’t just bowed to consensus and immediately . . .
Meroc: Zetich, we should do something.
Zetich: Do something? Like what?
Meroc: Just do something. Talk to more people. We can’t let this . . . we can’t let this just happen.
Zetich: Oh Meroc. I know how you feel, but . . . who’s going to listen to us? And, I mean, not that I’m worried about ratings, but . . .
Meroc: How about your friend Morinti?
Zetich: Morinti . . . !
Meroc: Let’s ask zir. And I think there are others. You know, Thavé-watchers, Clown-followers—we can’t be the only ones who feel like this. We should start a club.
Zetich: A club.
Meroc: Yes, Zetich, a club. I can’t just sit here and do nothing!
Zetich: Well . . . maybe. But I do have to go soon, so . . .
Meroc: So connect me with Morinti. Send an introduction.
Zetich: An introduction? Now?
Meroc: Now.
Zetich: Well . . . okay. Sent. But I had no idea that you were even interested in . . . that the two of you . . .
Meroc: Thanks, Zet. I have to get back to the splage . . . right after I call Morinti.
Zetich: Oh, okay. Well . . . talk to you soon . . .
18
Fift had been home in all three bodies for twenty-eight hours, while the world outside fell apart.
There was no way ze could sleep. Ze sat on the edge of zir bed, sat in the supper garden, sat at the breakfast room table with zir Fathers arguing around zir. No one was talking to zir.
Arevio had left the supper garden, wordlessly, as soon as Fift came in. Wiped vir shears, hung them on a hook, and walked out.
“Settling down?” Frill exclaimed, at the other end of the breakfast room table. “Settling down? No, things are not settling down! Do you know that the Peaceables are using unvowed militias in Spunwonder?”
Fift pressed zir fingers against zir eyes.
“You think I don’t know that?” Father Nupolo said. “One of little Chalia Rigorosa’s Fathers is a Peaceable serving in Wallacomp! Without the help of those militias—”
“Well, I frankly don’t see the point,” Frill said. Ve dismissed a globe of tease-tea, sending it fl
ying back to the kitchen. It swerved around Fift’s head. “If they’re not vowed, not trained, not even publishing neural data . . . who is to say that they remain calm and . . . well . . . peaceful at all? This is no criticism of Chalia’s Father Ellix, mind you. It’s a criticism of the system—”
“Ellix—” Nupolo said.
“Ellix,” Frill said, “has years of preparation. But more to the point, ze’s vowed. Even if ze did get angry . . .”
In the large family meeting room on the first floor, Arevio and Smistria were already sitting at the table, waiting for what was coming. Neither spoke.
“Even if one of the rioters struck Ellix?” Frill said. “And Ellix had a moment of rage or—or hatred, or vengeance? Well, then, everyone would see it, wouldn’t they, and ze would be forced to retire to—”
“Ellix has never—” Nupolo’s velvet forehead squeezed into sharp, angry lines.
“That’s not the point, though. That’s not the point!” Frill threw up vir arms; a tinkling chorus of bells followed them. “Even if ze did, ze’d retire to contemplation until it was—”
{Please.} Fift sent zir context advisory agent. {I have a right to send. I have a right to use my own mind!}
{Sending at this time}, the social nuance agent sent, {poses a severe danger of exacerbating your instant-fame.}
It was just a one-word note from Shria—{Hey.}—sent several hours ago. Ve might be too exhausted and hurt to send anything else. But that word meant ve was talking to Fift again.
Dobroc had sent quite a bit more.
{It’s not going to pose any danger!} Fift sent. {I won’t do anything public. No one will know. But I have to write back to them.}
{It does pose a danger. And not only to you.} the social nuance agent sent.
{The issue is anyway one of local infrastructure.} the context advisory agent sent. {This house is governed by the consensus of Iraxis cohort, which is quite solid on the matter of your use of the send.}
Nupolo was still protesting. “You can’t expect—”
Smistria was pacing the hallway outside the supper garden. Ve paused in front of the door, then turned towards the breakfast room.
“I just don’t see what good it does!” Frill cried. “If they’re not vowed, they might as well just take Vails! Why not? Take some of these Vail . . . ‘emergent armies,’ adorned with their team-tags, as if they were at an impromptu sporting event! [Mothers against the Unraveling], or whomever! And give them the stoppergoo and the spidergear . . . !”
“Now you’re just being absurd,” Nupolo said wearily.
Watching the street in front of the apartment, Fift saw Father Grobbard emerge from a local tunnel, hurry to the door, and come in.
“Thank Kumru,” Smistria said, sauntering into the breakfast room. “I told Grobbard not to go anywhere! At least ze’s back now. Is Thurm going to make it?”
“Not in time,” Nupolo said.
“Miskisk?”
Frill snorted.
“Well, it’s not impossible,” Smistria snapped. “At a time like this, I would think even Miskisk—”
The supper garden smelled like spice-bees, and absence. The mud was scuffed, and the tendrils of the vestris vines were yellowing. Fift went out into the hallway to greet Grobbard.
Grobbard’s face was blank. Ze took a deep breath. And then ze came forward and embraced Fift. Fift stiffened. Ze couldn’t hug zir back—it felt too awkward and strange to see Grobbard overcome with overt emotion; the world had turned inside out, and Fift had no idea how to react—but ze wanted Grobbard to hold on, to keep holding on.
Grobbard sighed, patted Fift once, let go of zir, and stepped back.
“Father Grobbard,” Fift said. “I don’t understand why I can’t send.”
Father Grobbard rubbed zir face with zir hand. Behind zir, ze came in the front door in another of zir bodies. “Fift, my child, would it be all right with you if we postpone this discussion?”
“I’m not going to say anything public. I won’t draw any audience. I just want to . . . to talk to . . . Shria. Briefly.”
Grobbard put zir arm across Fift’s shoulders and guided zir towards the meeting room. In zir other body, no longer hurrying, ze proceeded to the breakfast room. “Fift, in a few minutes, we will welcome the Midwives who gendered you to our apartment.”
“But until they get here—”
“This is a crucial moment for our cohort. If things go very well, perhaps there will be no objection to an easing of restrictions. If they go poorly, you may no longer need to ask us for permission . . . because we may be relieved of the responsibility of raising you.”
A hard lump in Fift’s throat.
Father Frill passed them in a tinkling swoosh of bells as ve whipped into the meeting room. In the breakfast room, ve said, “For Kumru’s sake, I hope you behave yourself, Fift.”
“Maybe ze should come in two bodies?” Nupolo said. “Or all three?”
“Let’s try not to look too desperate, shall we,” Smistria said, smearing paste on a broibel. “Or like we have something to worry about.”
Nupolo scowled.
In the meeting room, Grobbard guided Fift to a seating harness. Arevio, across the table, avoided zir eyes. Smistria was tugging on vir beard, swinging back and forth.
“But Father Grobbard,” Fift said, “what if they don’t ease the restrictions? What if they want tighter restrictions? Wouldn’t it make sense to maybe just, quickly before they get here, just briefly—”
“For Kumru’s sake, Fift!” Frill said in the breakfast room, as ve glared at zir from across the meeting room table. “You are not sending anything! The doors and apertures and channels are sealed! The house has been told to keep you here, as invisible—as silent—as hidden as it can possibly make you! You’re not sending, you’re not leaving, and since you can’t seem to shut up about this, I, for one, am not sure you should even be viewing the rest of the world!”
Father Squell had come into the breakfast room, singlebodied, trembling, flushed, vir eyes red-rimmed. Ve walked slowly, kneading vir hands together. Nupolo glowered at vir elbow.
“Don’t be hard on zir,” Squell whispered. “It’s not zir fault—”
Frill rolled vir eyes.
After that, the breakfast room fell silent. The whole apartment was silent, save for the creaking of seating harnesses, the drowsing hum of spice-bees, the gentle lapping of waves in the bathing pool, Frill’s bells tinkling when ve shifted. In the bedroom, Fift put zir face in zir hands.
And then Mother Pip arrived, escorting the Midwives.
Umlum Canalepsis of name registry Punishing Tenderness 11 was a tall, gaunt Staid in wheat-colored robes. Miolasia Frin of name registry Purple Endless 5 was a muscular Vail with a mane of crimson hair glimmering with jewels and tiny mirrors. Matching crimson fur curled artfully over vir body.
Even without lookup, Fift would have recognized them. Ze’d watched the footage of zir gendering often enough.
“Revered Stalwart Umlum. Revered Expressive Miolasia,” Frill said, leaning forward over the meeting room table, steepling vir fingers so that vir bells tinkled and jingled as fetchingly as possible. “We just want you to know how sorry we are”—vir eyes darted between them—“for any distractions due to Fift’s well-intentioned but, ah, misguided—”
“It’s not zir fault,” Squell murmured in the breakfast room.
Fift felt zirself stiffen.
Frill put a hand on Squell’s shoulder. “We know that, Squelly; now please, don’t say anything in there, all right? Let us handle this.”
“Of course,” Nupolo said in the meeting room, vir posture erect, “we take full responsibility, as a cohort.”
“It’s such a difficult time right now,” Frill said. “And so we fully understand that minor lapses at the moment may have unfortunate impacts.”
The bedroom. The breakfast room. The meeting room. Fift didn’t look beyond them; didn’t watch Shria, still imprisoned in orange stopper
goo; didn’t look for Dobroc or riots. Zir parents were watching; they would be watching what ze watched.
Smistria chewed the end of vir beards.
“Take your beards out of your mouths, Smi,” Frill said in the breakfast room. “Kumru’s sake.”
“Which is why,” Pip said, “we have of course prepared a plan. Grobbard, my dear, would you elaborate?”
Miolasia sighed, a small, slightly irritated exhalation.
Grobbard looked to Umlum, who leaned back a little in zir chair.
“We believe,” Grobbard began, “that we erred in allowing Fift too much range, too much freedom. We placed too much responsibility on zir shoulders. First Childhood is a time—”
“Do you imagine,” Miolasia said, “that we have come here to critique your parenting?”
Glances around the breakfast room. Arevio swallowed. Squell stared at the table as if it were on fire.
In the meeting room, frozen expressions, and the tiny rustling music of Frill’s minutely shivering bells.
“Revered—revered guests,” Nupolo said, “we assure you, we can—”
“To be sure, there are questions,” Miolasia said in the meeting room, arching an eyebrow, half-smiling, “about your competence.”
In the breakfast room, Frill leapt up from vir seating harness. “Kumru! How I hate them! They’re going to take zir, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Oh, sit down!” Father Smistria said.
Frill fingered vir ceremonial dagger. “That void-splattered, smug Miolasia . . . what I wouldn’t give to be able to meet vem on the mats—”
“But that,” Umlum said, “is not why we are here.”
Fift swallowed.
“It’s . . . not?” Arevio said.
In the breakfast room, Smistria’s eyes darted to Fift, then back to Frill. “Frill, have some faith in the ordering parents of the world! We have done nothing wrong—”
Frill snorted. “Ordering parents. Blessed womb!”
The Unraveling Page 24