Sunset (Sunrise) Vol 1. Issue 11.

Sunset cover drawing of Alex laying awake in bed surrounded by psychometry ghosts of himself [https://64.media.tumblr.com/4aae67a8454c0d6fe75e250dbc828214/5cc1c297eca390ed-c3/s1280x1920/16f5f97f8d980156b78595690e06b86df327f329.pnj]

Los Angeles.

Fredericka climbed up on the stool as Penn raised a hand to catch the bartender’s attention. “A whiskey and coke, and one plain coke, please,” he called. He sat next to Fredericka.

“Why did you just order me a whiskey and coke?” she asked him, truly offended. She didn’t drink regularly, but he damn well knew her better than that.

“You’re not thirsty?”

She didn’t respond. He was too clean cut and sharp to pull off playing dumb.

Relenting, he gave her his kindest smile. “Because if you go as hard as you want to, I’m going to have to carry you home in an hour.”

The bartender handed them their drinks and Freddie sipped it with what she hoped was an impressive level of visible spite. “What if an hour is all I can stand of you?”

“I think you’ll make it.” He glanced around the noisy bar. Penn still did field work, so he hadn’t lost the instinct to be constantly alert. She didn’t really miss it.

“Thanks for taking me for drinks even though you don’t drink.” Fredericka didn’t say thanks or sorry for nothing. It didn’t come easy to her.

Penn held up his glass. “Hey, I’m drinking.”

She rolled her eyes. Besides the fact that he was driving, as a telepath, if Penn got to drinking, he would be in a world of hurt as his slowed brain function lost hold of its control on his knack. He was in charge of the Cleanup division of Neptune, so she knew he’d dealt with his share of telepaths who thought they’d be fine at just a beer or two, and then that’s where things got hairy.

He drank the soda. “It’s a helluva raw deal you’re getting.”

She cut a sip short to point at him “Thank you.” That one was more vindication than gratitude, so it didn’t count. “I certainly think so.”

“You are. It should have gone to you by all rights,” he nodded. “But—”

Her mouth went hard. “If you fucking justify it with, ‘they can’t find a single other person who could run Reintegration,’ your agents are going to be in here cleaning up your teeth.” She took a large swallow, willing the whiskey to concentrate at the top of the glass.

“I was going to say, you don’t want the job.” He said it lightly. His eyes flicked up and down watching her eyes and her fists.

That, Freddie didn’t understand. “The hell does that mean?”

“I know you want it,” he turned to focus on keeping his eyes on his glass, “but it’s swallowing a mountain and I don’t want to see that take its toll on you.”

Freddie put her drink down with a clunk. This whole de-stressing trip into the city was becoming less and less relaxing. “And what sort of toll is that? I feel like spending half my career in Reintegration has prepared me for tolls.” Reintegration was the only division in Sol that had a hard term-limit because the work was intensely psychologically taxing. She’d put in her full five years and stayed on in administration (management was conveniently exempt from that limit).

Penn attempted to lighten the mood with a smile. “Hey, maybe Rich was a perfectly somber, serious agent like you when he got the promotion, and look at what he’s become. That could be you in ten years.”

She looked into his eyes. “No, it couldn’t.”

“No, it couldn't,” he agreed. “Listen, I like you—”

“Don’t hit on me.” She knew he wasn’t.

“You know I’m not.” He turned in his chair, scanning the bar, keeping an eye on the door. “I like working with you. You’re one of the good ones. And you deserve it. But the person who holds that title is going to go through hell. It’s unavoidable.”

Freddie watched him, waiting for him to turn back around. Penn was not someone who woke up every morning and loved his job. He woke up and understood just how damn critical the job is and that it needed to be executed at the highest level to prevent harm. She was the same. The only difference was Penn was fatalistic about Cleanup and, to be fair, his job was akin to doing dishes—it has to get done but you know you’ll never really be done. When he turned to look at her, she lowered her voice.

“Why don’t we stick to the ‘I got screwed’ parts.” He nodded at her, tight lipped, and she sighed. “So how was your day?”

His face went dour. “Not as bad as yours, but not great. Have I ever told you how much I hate the internet?”

“Yes, and if you’re going to tell me again, I’m going to need a stronger drink.”

Penn scanned back to the door and his face brightened as he raised a hand to signal someone. Freddie shifted in her seat to try to see, but Penn turned around and shifted with her to block her line of sight.

His face was serious. “I had no choice.”

Freddie leaned just in time to see Mackenzie moving through the crowd to get to them, with Grace, Temple, and Dakota following behind. All of them except for Mackenzie were beaming. They were all still in their work clothes, but Grace had put on a stunning shade of lipstick and Dakota had shed her doctor’s coat and let her long hair down.

“Thank you, Penn,” Saturn called as she sauntered up to the bar. “Now get lost.”

Penn spared Freddie one more apologetic glance and stood up. “Yes, ma’am.” He did as he was told.

It left Fredericka, second in command of Neptune, the most intimidating woman in the most intimidating branch of Sol, sitting slack-jawed on a barstool holding a goddamn whiskey and coke.

Mackenzie smiled at her, as though her ridiculous puzzlement was charming. “Now, go with them. I have a table reserved in the corner. I’ll get us some real drinks.” She snatched the soda from her hand and put it on the bar.

Freddie wanted to speak but nothing came out. Grace took her by the arm and led her through the bar.

“She knew you’d never agree to an outing,” Grace explained. “So we had to kidnap you.”

It was clicking together. That was why Penn insisted on picking the bar, and why he didn’t want her to get shitfaced upon arrival. She wouldn’t have come out to a group gathering. She wasn’t as social as some of the others, but some of that came hand in hand with being in Neptune.

Grace took her into the back corner to a large booth partially obscured by a wooden partition. There was, in fact, a little reserved sign on it. Empty-headed with surprise, Freddie slid into the booth beside Grace, across from Dakota and Temple. Temple, she’d spent time with before, as the only female Seconds. But now, after all that had happened and Temple’s promotion, it was just her and Grace and three department heads. Three of the most powerful women in Sol.

Mackenzie appeared with a couple of empty, heavy-bottom glasses, each with a large spherical ice cube, and set down a bottle of Freddie’s favorite scotch. The expensive, special-occasion scotch.

“I called ahead to make sure they’d have it on hand,” she explained and sat down across from her. “Nancy sends her regards.”

Freddie managed to find her voice, finally. “What is this, ma’am?”

“You got robbed,” Mackenzie told her. The edge on the word fueled the rage Freddie had been trying to quench. “And I’m not ‘ma’am’ tonight. Right now, we’re all just pissed off women supporting each other and getting blitzed.”

“Don’t worry,” Dakota added, leaning forward across the table, almost conspiratorially. “Penn’s on call to drive us home when we’re ready.”

“I don’t think we’ll all fit,” Freddie said, shell-shocked. It was the only thing she could think to say. She was honestly touched that they’d been outraged enough on her behalf to organize this and that Penn would be sitting up waiting for their call.

Mackenzie gave her a mock-scowl. “If one of us isn’t happy to lay across our laps in the backseat, then we’re not not drunk enough to go home anyway.” She pulled the cork on the bottle and poured a glass each for Freddie and herself.

A server came with a tray full of drinks for the rest of them.

“It should be you. It’s bullshit,” Grace said once they’d left, “and we want you to know you’re not the only person who thinks it is.”

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Dakota announced, raising her Manhattan. “I don’t have a speech prepared, but...” She cleared her throat and, wiggling her drink, said, “It’s bullshit.” They repeated it together and toasted their drinks.

Looking around at their laughing faces, Freddie found herself cracking a smile too. It was the first time since she’d found out that she felt like a certain weight had been lifted. The scotch was good. No, it was perfect. It burned down her chest in just the right way.

“It’s almost worse because Sol has this deluded idea that we’re all above prejudice,” Grace said after taking a sip of her pink cocktail. She wrinkled her nose. “What is this garbage? Cranberry juice?”

“It is worse,” Temple agreed, ignoring her complaint. “Because they take it from you twice. The promotion and then your reaction to it. Invalidation is a classic tool.”

“Such a goddamn joke,” Grace muttered, craning her neck to spot a server and waving him over. “Nolite te Bastardes Carborundorum, am I right?” she said to the waiter, smiling her sweetest smile and wiggling her cocktail. “Honey, I’m going to need about 300% more gin in this. Be a darling, would you?” When he reached to take the glass from her, she shook her head and locked eyes with him before downing it in one gulp.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, in something of a shock as he walked back to the bar. Freddie could feel herself staring at Grace, and she wasn’t sure if she was horrified or in awe. Probably both. More laughter swelled from the table.

“But the prejudice is there,” Mackenzie continued without missing a beat. “And I will always say it to their faces. You have to. They’re too stupid to realize it on their own. I want them to have to taste my breath as I tell them exactly what shade of horseshit they look like.” She sat back, sipping her scotch.

The others laughed in shock, but Freddie just asked, “Did you?” She chuckled a little, herself. “To Neptune, I mean.” She had imagined telling Rich off. Of course she had. The fantasy was never as satisfying as she wanted it to be.

Mackenzie leaned forward again and clinked the bottom of her glass into Freddie’s, so she obediently picked it up and downed it along with her. Mackenzie didn’t answer until they had both set their empty glasses back down.

“No. I said it to Josh. I went over that little monkey’s silver head.” She poured another round, unfazed, as the rest of them sputtered.

“You brought it to Mercury?” Freddie asked, incredulously.

Mackenzie nodded, mouth a thin line. “My time is too valuable to waste on hot garbage. If Mercury is going to approve that kind of nonsense, then he needs to know exactly and directly where to stick it.”

“Nothing comes of it,” Grace said sourly. “They’re too scared of their dicks falling off. But maybe it’ll make them think twice the next time.”

She’d said it loudly and a few guys at the table nearest them looked over.

Freddie gave them her deadliest smile, then ignored them. “Have mercy on their souls if they think about coming over.” She paused, looking around the table. “Thank you. Really,” Freddie said it to the entire group, but her eyes landed on Mackenzie.

Mackenzie held her eyes for a moment amidst the table’s laughter. It seemed like nothing could ever make her flinch. “The reality is, there is no fairness,” she said. Her voice was rich and deep like velvet wrapped around a sharp knife. “No justice, no karma, no great equalizer. Not even death.” The table fell silent as she spoke. The woman knew how to command attention and respect. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my days, it’s that we’re not built to hold it in our fragile minds—this reality that no amount of integrity, righteousness, or fortitude will overcome the affliction of human nature.” She looked at each of them, straight in the eyes. “But if there’s another thing I’ve learned, it’s that those same fragile minds are a weapon. We’re not built to hold that knowledge because that knowledge is useless to us.” Her voice hardened. “This is a war of attrition. Our fragile minds may shatter like glass at that knowledge but shattered glass can slice a man’s throat. Even the tiniest shards can cut up your insides and kill you if you’re made to swallow them. Death may not equalize the world, but it can damn well make a man piss himself. So we let our minds block out the parts that hold us back and we’ll force-feed them the undoing they’ve sown. There have been days when I’ve known everything there is to know, and I can’t hold it all forever, but the one thing that I can’t un-know is that things change. They mutate because of some small itch or tiny displacement. Just look at us. Knacks. Mutations. Impossible changes. Motherfucking pearls.” She picked up the bottle of scotch and started pouring again. “So, Fredericka. You were robbed. They will try to make you thank them for it. Don’t give that to them. Instead, keep your head held high and make them choke on it.”

Freddie nodded, and the table sat in silence for a moment.

Temple cleared her throat and said, “Air resistance is the only thing preventing water molecules from falling through space at such high speeds that they’d kill everything in their wake. Just air. You can’t see it unless particles are suspended in it. Smoke is just a poof of dust that makes the invisible visible. And even once you see it, what you can’t see is just how heavy it is. Air weighs enough to scare the living daylights out of you. Resistance and invisible, imperceptible, impossibly heavy weight. That’s it. That’s the thing—the most important thing—that keeps us as organisms alive.” She looked around the bar. “Where the fuck is the waiter?”

Dakota balked. “That can’t be how you finish your thought, Temple.”

Grace laughed, but Freddie didn’t. Freddie said, “They don’t see us unless we kick up some dust.”

Temple nodded. “Exactly.”

“So,” Dakota said, pushing herself up and out of the booth. “Tonight is for kicking up as much dust around this place as we please, and then making Penn bring us to the next one. And tomorrow, Freddie,” she continued, “you’re going to go in there and make your new boss look so bad he quits.”

Grace whooped at that, raising her glass, downing it, and standing up to join Dakota. “I assume this means we’re storming the castle for Temple’s goddamn beer and then we’re dragging Fred onto the dance floor, right?”

Dakota nodded. “You’re damn right we are.”

Freddie blanched. “Haven’t I suffered enough already?” She gave Mackenzie a pleading look.

Mackenzie said, “Well, yes, but I’m certainly not going to try and stop these two.”

Dakota cackled and hauled Freddie up. “Come on, champ. We’re unstoppable.”

By the time they found themselves piled in the backseat of Penn’s car, Grace having volunteered to be the lap-layer, Freddie’s feet were sore. Grace was sleepy and way drunker than Freddie realized they’d let her go, and she was snuggling her face into Freddie’s stomach. Freddie didn’t really enjoy this much physical contact, but her face was aching from laughing more than she had in a while and she loved it anyway.

---

Beatty, NV.

Gareth had been watching tv when Reeve stuck his head into the room.

“Hey, you know where Alex is?”

Gareth shrugged. “Beats me. Why, is he late for a lesson again?”

“No.” Reeve held up one hand, holding several of Alex’s shirts. “These were under his bed, folded into a blanket. They’re dirty.”

“You going through his stuff now?”

“No,” Reeve snapped. “Nights are going to be getting colder soon, so I figured I’d put everyone’s thicker blankets through the wash so they’d be fresh. I know he knows where his clothes hamper is, so I don’t know what the hell this is about.”

Gareth switched off the tv and stood up. He was fairly certain Reeve hadn’t been able to speak teenager at any point in his time of being one. The guy was born a sixty-year-old man who read the laundry instructions on all the clothing tags. “Lemme see.”

Reeve tossed him the t-shirts and he looked them over. They were new, from the Vegas shopping spree, and each had a stain somewhere down the front, probably from coffee or food. He looked back up at Reeve. “Go wash your blankets. I got this.”

“Yeah?” Reeve looked dubious, which was pretty laughable.

“Yeah.”

Gareth checked downstairs first and then headed outside. He found Alex out by their firing range, standing underneath the small, cheap canopy they’d set up so Reeve wouldn’t fry to a crisp during long lessons. They’d given Alex a handgun with the firing pin removed so he could practice reloading at speed. But to start, he was practicing putting the safety on and off. He froze as Gareth got close enough that he could spot the shirts.

“Hey,” he said, stepping under the tent, his eyes grateful for the shade. He noticed that Alex was still wearing the gross tennis shoes he’d had on him when Reeve had brought him home.

“Hey,” Alex echoed, voice colder.

“So Reeve’s doing a winter-blanket round up.”

Alex’s lips were tight and he wasn’t looking at Gareth. “What? So you’re here to be my dad?” His voice was equal parts scorn and fear.

“No,” Gareth replied automatically, then paused. “Well, I guess a little.”

“Dude.” Alex rolled his eyes. “What is with you guys? You're like, basically nine years old or something.” He shrugged and stared at the dirt.

“Well, if the others are nine, that at least makes me ten,” Gareth offered. The joke didn't land. He couldn’t really argue with the kid. If they lived regular lives, they could all be in high school together, even if not the same classes. But you grew up fast in SolCorp. You grew up faster in Entropy. Looking back, his mind wandered to the many ways that manifested. It wasn't all violence, though mostly it was. His heart ached, thinking of Adler’s son Wyatt. Gareth had been as much a caregiver to him as anyone. Leaving Wyatt there had left him filled to bursting with guilt. Alex was nothing like Wyatt, but maybe he could get it right this time.

Gareth tried to soften his tone. “Look, I'm the closest thing you've got. I know you haven’t been with us long and no one expects you to trust us yet, but you’re not going to get in trouble if you ruin a few shirts. I’m guessing this is the kind of shit that didn’t go over too well before you got here?”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

He didn’t say anything, but Alex’s eyes got a hard, far away look to them.

“Listen, if you stain something, just throw it in the wash. If that doesn’t save it, fuck it, it’s fabric. We’ll replace it. It’s an accident.” He leaned down, trying to catch his eyes. “And if you decide you feel like being an ass and start pouring coffee on all your clothes for fun, no one’s going to hurt you then either. Although getting a lecture from Reeve might make that seem like the more pleasant option.”

Alex finally looked at him. It was a gamble of a thing to say, but as the other only person in their group who’d gotten their ass beaten for harmless mistakes, he hoped it would connect and not feel like a jab. He thought it did. The first time Gareth had fucked something up on his part of a Sol mission report, he’d thought his heart would beat right out of his chest, half-convinced they’d dump him back out on the streets. He thought about telling Alex that, tried to, but couldn’t get the words to leave his mouth. For all he knew, Alex had already Read that memory. He put it out of his mind.

“You’re not mad?” Alex asked finally. The words still sounded hard and defensive, out of place next to his fidgeting fingers. “I know they were expensive.”

“No one is mad. Is that why you’re still wearing those beat up shoes instead of your new ones?”

Alex looked down again and flushed. “I’ll get ‘em dirty out here.”

“So get ‘em dirty. That’s what shoes are for.”

Alex’s lips attempted a placating smile, longing for this conversation to be over, no doubt, but only managing to stretch his lips into a thin line. Me too, kid.

“Alright,” Gareth said with a breath, “you’ve got your whole knack thing, so you’ve got a sense of how much Reeve and I get along some days, right?”

Alex nodded, a bit reluctantly. There was even a hint of a smile.

Gareth held his breath for a beat. “And you also know a little bit of what it’s like where I came from.”

The smile vanished, which hurt Gareth’s heart to see. Alex nodded.

“So, don’t you think I would have already broken Reeve’s nose by now if that’s how things were handled in Sol?”

“...Yeah I guess so.” Alex’s eyes had brightened a bit and he didn’t look as scared.

“I’m going to go inside and get lunch. You want to come?”

Alex nodded.

“Alright, then.” He started back to the house.

“We’re good?” Alex asked as they made their way down the path.

“We’re good,” he echoed.

Alex sat at the table while Gareth threw together some cold cut sandwiches.

Hannah’s voice came at a shout from the living room, startling them both. “Found it!”

“Hannah,” Gareth burst out with a wince. “Found what?” He craned his neck to try to see into the living room.

Reeve appeared behind him. “My phone.” He gave Gareth a meaningful look and Gareth tried not to flinch at the tickle of telepathy.

It all settled?

It will be if you drop it and act normal, Gareth thought back.

Alex whistled, startling them both out of their exchange. “You’re looking spiffy.”

Reeve’s shirt and slacks, because the man actually wore slacks, were pressed with neat creases and he’d put some extra effort into his hair.

“He’s got a hot date with Julie,” Hannah teased, coming in from the living room, her hand extended to Reeve for him to take his phone.

“It’s coffee.”

“Who’s she again?” Gareth asked, passing a plate with a sandwich to Alex.

“She works at the corner store in town on Second Street,” Reeve said in a monotone.

“You know, the one we go to all the time? Brunette, little nose,” Hannah added as she plopped into the seat across from Alex.

“Oh, yeah.” Gareth leaned his back against the counter and took a bite of his own sandwich. “What the hell do you have in common with her?”

Reeve slipped his phone into his pocket and cocked his head. “Not sure if I should take relationship advice from someone who needs to check what county he’s in when going to meet a date.”

Alex turned to Gareth and quipped, “It’s really cute that he thinks you’re concerned about whether or not the sex worker is licensed.”

Gareth nearly choked. Psychometrists, telepaths, empaths, the fucking lot of them. But he was relieved to see some life returning to the kid, even if it was mostly bravado to cover up nerves.

“Alex,” Reeve started, but was cut off.

“Who does she think I am?” Alex asked. Explaining the strange set of roommates with no discernible jobs was part of why Gareth found it easier not to deal with the whole dating scene.

Hannah smirked. “My half-brother.” Alex rolled his eyes at her, but she gave Reeve a kind look. “I think it’s nice. She’s pretty.”

“She’s not that cute,” Alex muttered.

Reeve crossed his arms. “Yes, well, you’re the only person in this house not at least a little attracted to women, so I hope you won't mind too much if I ignore your opinion.”

Gareth watched Hannah’s eyebrows attempt to make an escape off the top of her head as she dropped her jaw and looked at him. Gareth wrinkled his nose at her in response. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Je-sus-Christ,” Alex snapped. “Touchy much?” He looked annoyed, but any fear or vulnerability he’d shown earlier by the shooting range was nowhere to be found.

Reeve closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I can get reactive when people are purposefully embarrassing me.”

Which was an extremely Reeve thing to say.

Alex processed that for a moment. “Oh my god, you’re such a robotic nerd.”

Reeve gave an unamused frown.

Gareth shook his head then smiled pointedly at Alex. “You’ll learn to ignore Reeve. He’s just got a nasty case of T.L.S.”

Reeve’s head snapped back. “Where the hell did you hear about that?”

Hannah put her fist over her mouth as she choked on a laugh. “That was me.”

Reeve made a face. “You grew up in a Mars foster, why the hell did that ever—”

“Hey,” Alex interrupted, his face flushed. “What the fuck is T.L.S.?”

Gareth did his best to keep from laughing long enough to speak. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

“It stands for Team Leader Syndrome,” Hannah explained.

Alex’s brow furrowed. “So it’s the big head you get from being in charge?”

“That’s not accurate,” Reeve replied from between his teeth.

“Sounds right to me,” Gareth shrugged.

Reeve let out one of his long-suffering sighs. “It’s a set of personality traits that result in being tapped to lead.”

“Like what?”

“Like being organized, detail-oriented, decisive…”

Hannah continued counting off on her fingers, “Practical to the point of ignoring social graces, a buzzkill, a know-it-all…”

“Sounding like a robotic nerd?” Gareth added.

“Okay, okay.” Reeve glared at him. “He gets the idea.” He turned to Alex. “I apologize.”

“It’s cool,” Alex said, all straight faced. “You can’t help it. It’s part of your condition and I’d be a real ass holding that against you.”

Hannah and Gareth lost it.

“Are you happy now?” Reeve asked Gareth.

He nodded, trying to rein in his chuckling, and failed.

---

LAHQ. Uranus Event Hall.

Sage was doing his best to breathe through the panic. The food Uranus had catered for the occasion, Rich’s final evening with Sol, looked beautiful, although Sage hadn’t tasted whatever small amounts he’d managed to get between his teeth. He’d disassociated through most of Neptune’s farewell speech before realizing it. Rich’s speech. Sage’s brain wouldn’t allow him to accept that this man, who had so much more experience and gravitas than he did (and maybe ever would), no longer held one of the top offices in the entire company. He did. He tried and tried to make it sink in, but it wouldn’t stick.

The dining hall around him laughed at something Rich said and Sage smiled along, vowing to pay closer attention. Rich was funny—and not in the way that he made jokes and people laughed because he was the boss and that’s what you do. He was genuinely good-humored and that wasn’t something anyone had ever accused Sage of being at any time in his life. Too serious? Sure. But playful? Never.

“Now I know as a company we have gone through a few low points recently,” Rich was saying. “But our low points are not what define us. What does define us are the ways we stand back up, the ways we right wrongs, and all the ways in which we do what has to be done in the face of adversity and doubt.”

Rich’s eyes lingered on Sage long enough that it was clearly intentional. That had been meant for Sage.

I am trying, he thought automatically. His mind drifted back to his first few sessions he’d had with his new therapist, Jordan—who, by the way, was the head of all of Sol’s mental healthcare—an intimidating fact that had been enough to make Sage nearly chicken out the first two appointments. ‘Trying is all there is,’ Jordan kept telling him. ‘When someone succeeds at something, we don’t think of it as trying, but it is. It isn’t only trying when we fall short or think we will. When we’re confident something will work, we’re still just trying. It’s all any of us do, so it has to be enough.’ It didn’t feel like nearly enough to Sage. With their job? With what was riding on Sage’s shoulders and how many people were convinced he shouldn’t have gotten the promotion, trying couldn’t cut it.

“Another thing that does not yet define us as knacked people,” Rich went on, turning back to the rest of the room, “is the dictionary. And I’m often convinced that is entirely thanks to Penn’s sheer, embittered willpower.” He raised his glass of soda water and the room laughed. A few seats down from Sage, Penn raised his own glass in return with a good-natured smile. Sage did his best to chuckle convincingly.

“Well,” he continued, “I’ve kept you all long enough. And Sol has kept me long enough. It’s been an honor to serve as Neptune for all these years and an honor to leave it in such capable, young hands.” Sage strained his ears to tell if anyone would laugh at that, but no one did, as far as he could tell. “So enjoy the food, enjoy the drinks—those of you that can, anyway. And this old man is going to enjoy the most stressful part of my days from now on being worried I might run out of sudoku puzzles.” He raised his glass again to applause and laughter. Beside him, Casper whistled through his fingers, which made Rich’s face split in a grin. Sage tried to imagine being a person who would genuinely be amused by someone whistling at him and felt ill at even the prospect.

What the hell am I even doing here?

Rich was grinning as he returned to the head table, where Sage was seated along with the rest of the Neptune officers and department heads. Uranus intercepted to hug Rich as he arrived, and Sage belatedly realized that the rest of the table had begun to stand up.

“Are you alright?”

Despite himself, Sage startled as a hand touched his shoulder. Penn had come over to stand beside him, giving him a mildly concerned look.

Sage nodded. “Of course.” He wished badly that he drank.

Penn gave him a fortifying look. It only made Sage deflate more.

As Rich worked his way down the table, he embraced Fredericka next, a sight that struck Sage as significant. She didn’t seem like the hugging type, but it was clear from her face that the night was an emotional one for her. They were standing close enough that Sage could overhear.

“I hate you a little bit for leaving at all,” she said, which made Sage’s stomach clench.

“I’m going to miss you too,” Rich replied. “You’re basically my daughter, you know?” He held her face between his hands and smiled, tears in his eyes. “My terrifying daughter.”

Sage was nervous they would both begin to openly cry and then Sage would be next in line to speak to Rich and Rich would be teary and Sage would be sweaty and, oh god, that would be so painfully awkward.

Then, Sage was up. Rich’s smile didn’t slip as he shook Sage’s hand and then clapped him on the back. Rich leaned in close to his ear, as Sage had seen him do with several people that night.

“Just breathe, sir.”

Sage thought he might choke. Rich stayed leaned in, as if waiting for Sage to respond, so, with no other recourse in sight, he said the first things that came to mind. "You only do that to upset me, and I wish you wouldn’t.”

Rich pulled back with an unreadable expression.

“Walk with me,” he told Sage.

Sage nearly did choke at that as his heart leapt into his throat. He should have just kept his mouth shut. He should have stuck to what he knew and been awkwardly silent until he couldn’t any more and then resort to apologizing. Rich was already walking and he didn’t know what to do other than follow him. Part of him wondered if he’d upset Rich enough that he was bringing him some place private to inform him that Sage wasn’t becoming Neptune after all. He expected that thought to bring exclusively relief, but there was a sense of anxiety there as well. Maybe he did want this job, just maybe when he was closer to fifty years old.

Rich led him through the crowd, smiling and shaking hands as he went, until they reached the door and slipped out into the empty hallway. The shutting doors sealed in the majority of the loud party babble and the sudden decrease in decibels made Sage feel like he could suddenly see straight. And what he saw was Rich turning back to face him with a stern expression.

Sage opened his mouth to apologize but only got out the, “I’m,” before Rich’s hand shot out to point a finger at him, his eyebrows raised to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to be saying that. Sage bit back an, “I’m sorry,” in response.

“Don’t fuck it up now, Sage,” he warned. “It’s about damn time.”

Sage narrowed his eyes. “For what?”

“For you to figure out how to talk back to me. I’m leaving on my first ever cross-country drive tomorrow morning and I thought I was going to have to postpone until you found your spine.”

He felt his lip curl despite himself. There was a feeling of betrayal that threw him back to his days in Academy, when kids would pretend to be his friend only to lay him out with the truth later.

“You’ve been antagonizing me to try to get me to snap?”

“Well, I’d hardly call that snapping, but yeah.” His face softened slightly and lost its characteristic sarcastic lilt. “You need to be able to talk back to people who intimidate you, because you and Josh, as a team, are going to be keeping this whole damn company in line. There are going to be times when you have to not back down from people you want to defer to. There are going to be times when you have to tell Freddie to fuck off and that’s no small task.”

Sage stared at him. “You’re completely serious right now, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. I’m out of here in eleven hours, so you should know that Will will always be three days late on his reports and paperwork. Cut him some slack. He’s banged that telekinetic head of his on enough things out there, chasing down Icarus in South America when he was younger, to have earned the right to coast through his last few years. He’ll follow me out to pasture when he’s ready.” Rich began to touch his fingers one at a time, naming them off. “On the other hand, you’ll never have to worry about Penn’s paperwork. He’s obsessively on the ball, but that’s what Cleanup needs. You’re going to have to tell Casper to let some cases go and make him move on. He’ll get an idea in his head and hold onto it like a dog with a bone.” He hesitated and went on. “If Josh asks for your input, the last thing he wants is a yes-man. He deals with enough people who are too intimidated to disagree with him. You’ll have that in common now. And Freddie…”

“Hates me,” Sage finished, sparing a glance back at the door, giving himself a break from Rich’s eye contact. He was doing his best to ignore the quiver in his stomach and focus on his breathing. Exhale for longer than you inhale, he reminded himself.

“Don’t take it too personally.”

“She’s got every right to,” Sage commented.

Rich frowned deeply. “She’ll cope. All the Neptune offices take a helluva bite out of you in a different way, and each officer has to find their own way to square with that. The thing about Freddie is that she’s accepted and, to an extent, absorbed her perception as someone who is fearsome and joyless. Icy. So now everyone she likes, she likes begrudgingly, and considers it something of a personal failing. She’s going to resist befriending you. Give her time. The frosty exterior is just an exterior, and you’ll need each other too much to let stubbornness bring down the department. There are very few people who are actually born leaders and she’s one of them.”

“So why not give it to her?” Sage had never phrased it so directly. He figured he was already on a roll and he wasn’t going to get another chance.

“I’m done answering that.” Rich’s voice was stern but rough. “I’m off the clock.” His eyes drifted from Sage to the doors behind him. “If you were planning on staging an early escape, now’s the time. I need to get back. I’m being missed.”

He stuck out his hand and after a beat, Sage shook it, doing his best to match his firmness. Sage nodded to him, a strange unexpected lump in his throat. “You’re going to be missed for a long time, sir.”

A smile pulled at one side of Rich’s mouth. “Thank you, sir.” He’d matched Sage’s tone of voice; there was no mockery or malice in the word that time.

Rich returned to the party. Sage began his long walk home, confident that he wouldn’t be missed that night.

---

Beatty, NV.

As he tried to fall asleep, the Story wrapped its tentacles around Alex and began to drag him down. Moments from the past closed in around him, came up over the top of his head, and pummeled his chest. He hated nights like this. There was so much at once, he couldn’t even understand what he was seeing, hearing, feeling. The memories were so layered up on each other, they felt like hearing hundreds of stories spoken aloud from every direction.

But tonight, no matter what he did, he couldn’t get it to stop. His normal tricks, like music or pinching his arms, didn’t work. The strange new things that Reeve was teaching him in order to control it did jackshit, too. It was like standing in a crowd where everyone was talking, but there was so much noise that the sounds weren’t even words anymore, just an oppressive garbled rush taking over his senses.

He kicked off the blanket so he could maybe stop seeing its story, seeing it spinning in the washing machine where the colors had gone dark with water, seeing it folded up, being folded, sitting inside a bag having just been bought as the crinkling of the plastic assaulted his ears, sitting on the store shelf, being in the dark, constant movement of boxes in freight trucks. Too much.

He looked at the clock (two-fifteen in the morning) and sat up. The bed and sheets were new, which was a luxury of both comfort and fewer memories that he wasn’t even sure what to do with yet. But still, even images of himself sleeping were crowding around him, making it feel like he was laying in bed with a dozen clones. Carefully, he actually bothered to put on the slippers they’d gotten for him because they were newer than the floor. He paced the room, disoriented, walking around furniture that wasn’t there and bumping into furniture where he was sure it wasn’t. He was buried in old layouts of furniture from when Reeve used it as an office, and the woman before that had used it as a bedroom, and there was a family before that as well.

Alex shook his head and muttered, “Screw this.” He was walking down the hallway when a voice cut through the babble.

“Where are you going?”

It made Alex stumble and turn his head toward the sound. It was Reeve’s voice coming from behind his closed door. He waited to see if it would happen again or if it had been a particularly loud Story. He was about to give up on it and keep going when the door opened and Reeve looked at him from the doorway. He’d turned on the lamp on his bedside table and the light made Alex squint.

"Are you now?" If he responded, Alex would know.

"Yes, I'm from now. Alex, where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked again, voice floating atop the ocean of other sounds.

“Outside.” His lips felt strange. “It’s quieter.”

Reeve looked him up and down. “It’s thirty degrees out there tonight. You’ll freeze.”

That pricked at him and he fought to react without too much lag. “Maybe you would, but I’ve done it before in Reno.”

Reeve sighed and stepped back. “Alright, listen, getting your knack under control is going to take time and practice, but you’re not going to be able to do that if you’re running on no sleep. Come here. I’ll help make it quiet.”

Alex stared at him hard, trying to block out everything else in his vision. It was amazing how this scrawny, freckle-covered guy in a t-shirt and boxer-briefs could sound so sure of himself.

“Just give trusting me a shot, okay?”

Alex followed him into his bedroom. “Why are you awake anyway?” He swallowed, motion-sick from the shift of histories from the hallway to the bedroom.

“I was up finishing paperwork and then your head was so loud it was hard to ignore. I haven’t ever felt exactly the same thing, but telepaths have loud days too. Here, sit down.” He patted the bed beside him but Alex didn’t sit. More fabric, more blankets, more Story. “It’s okay. I’m going to go into your head and filter it out, but it might make you dizzy, so I don’t want you to be standing up when I do it.”

Alex sat and felt the Story shift and swell again.

"How can you not tell I'm real when everything else is blue?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "It all looks blue, but I know what the blue means. Like, it's in there, all the real colors of everything, and I can just feel it. I don't know how to explain better than that. But when there's too much, it's easy for everything to get all jumbled up. And anyway, Freckles, you think you're choking for no reason when you use your knack, so you can shut the hell up."

"Alright, okay." Reeve sighed. “Now Read me and try to focus on one boring Story.”

As if he hadn’t been trying that for hours, but fine. He fell into the current, but couldn’t find his grip. At the same time, he felt that odd pressure behind his eyes that signaled that Reeve was in his head. He tried again to hold the boundaries of one memory but, just like it seemed with so many of the tasks they were putting him to these days, he just couldn’t do it. A lump of frustration gathered at his throat and his cheeks flushed with shame.

“I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Reeve said gently. “I’m going to touch your hand and try to help you narrow in.”

Alex braced himself, unsure, but nodded. He watched Reeve touch the back of his hand, limp on the bed beside him, with the back of one finger. With a jolt, the Story exploded worse than before, with all the history a person carried, and Alex flinched. There was no way he was going to be able to isolate an image to understand what the memories even were, but suddenly the din in his head began to quiet. He closed his eyes as his vision blurred and he was glad, after all, to be sitting down.

“I've got you,” Reeve said, as the world fell silent except for the sound of rustling.

When Alex opened his eyes, he was Reading, but just the one Story. Things are clear and crisp. It’s daytime and he is in the kitchen with Hannah and Reeve. Hannah is messing with their electric hand mixer, her brow all furrowed, and Reeve is squinting at the back of a box. Their table is covered in egg shells, vegetable oil, a large bowl, and measuring cups. Alex leans slightly to read the front of the box and sees that it is cake mix.

They look up as Gareth steps out of the door to the basement. His shirt is dark with sweat in spots.

“Is he coming up?” Hannah hisses, eyebrows high.

“I’m letting him take five while I grab some water. What the fuck are you doing?” Gareth says.

“It’s his birthday,” Reeve replies with a tone meant to convey that Gareth is the idiot here.

“Yeah I know that.” Gareth rolls his eyes and goes to the fridge. “Not that he knew that until a few days ago so that makes it a little weird.”

Hannah blows the hair from her face, and sets the mixer down, looking satisfied. “We wanted to surprise him with a cake, since your hand-to-hand lessons always run for, like, ever.”

Gareth shuts the fridge, two bottles of water in one hand and stares at them. “Are you serious right now?” Hannah and Reeve glance at each other and he continues. “You think you’re going to get it done to surprise him? Do you have any idea how long it takes to make a cake?”

Reeve turns the back of the box in Gareth’s direction. “Thirty-five minutes-ish.”

Gareth drops his head in his free hand. “You can’t frost a fucking cake right out of the oven. I know you’re both basically parent-less homeschool disasters, but haven’t you ever seen a damn cooking show?”

Hannah huffs and pushes the mixer toward Reeve so she can shoo Gareth back downstairs. “So go stall and let us get to work.”

Reeve sticks the mixer into the bowl on the table and turns it on high with a loud whirr, causing an eruption of chocolate powder. One of the whisks hasn’t been set in properly and it flies off the mixer with a loud clatter. Reeve switches the mixer off, but the damage is already done and there's nothing to do except watch as the cake mix powder settles like dust on his hair, face, and covers the white fabric of his shirt.

Gareth laughs first, and then Hannah, and then finally Reeve joins in half-heartedly, rubbing at his face.

The story fades and then repeats. Alex felt his mouth tug in a grin.

“Yeah, I thought you might enjoy laughing at me,” Reeve said dryly.

Alex is still seeing the kitchen. “You’re taking the rest of the Stories out of my head?”

“Mmhm.”

“How long can you do this?”

“Until you fall asleep.”

“So not, like, the rest of my life then?”

Reeve opted to not address that. “You’ll be able to do it yourself soon enough. Here, let’s get you back to your room.”

He felt Reeve move his hand away as Alex tried to stand, but a wave of vertigo rocked him. Alex swore and reached out blindly to grab hold of Reeve’s arm, solidifying his connection to that one Story.

They sat in silence for a moment while Alex focused on just breathing.

“Or you can just crash here if that's easier,” Reeve offered.

Alex nodded. If it meant that he didn’t feel like he was being put through a woodchipper made of memories, he would have slept in an actual woodchipper.

“Alright, scooch back, then.” Reeve got him settled, all while keeping hold of his arm, and Alex was vaguely aware of him switching off the light.

The cake mix explodes in Reeve’s face again and he smirks. He remembered coming up after that brutal combat lesson with Gareth, sweaty and wanting nothing more than a shower and a nap, to see the two of them in the kitchen. Two plates with cooling layers of cake sat on the table and above one of them, Hannah, with a big grin, was holding up an open can of frosting with a few lit birthday candles stuck in it. It looked ridiculous and a mess and had left him equal parts confused, shocked, and moved by the gesture of it. No one had even mentioned his birthday (or found-day really) since Nicolette had died. He’d been too young to really understand the date of when it was and the one time he’d asked Rick when his birthday was, it hadn’t gone well.

Alex cleared his throat to push away the thought. “I’m surprised there was enough mix left to make a full cake.”

“Just barely,” Reeve joked, settling in next to him, adjusting to hold his hand. “I’m just glad it was edible.”

Alex smirked. “Just barely.” The Story repeated. In the absence left by the stampede of Stories, sleep rushed in.

***