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.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
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.”