They turned back to Peter, who, if anything, looked even more inclined to run.
“Cool,” Decon said. “So you’re showing us around?”
Peter’s eyes flicked up for only a moment. “I… I guess? W-what do you want to do?”
Seth spoke before Decon could turn their entire fate over to this kid out of an intense and likely futile desire to make him more comfortable.
“We want to see Firmament.”
“Oh,” Peter said, the first somewhat confident noise that he had yet made. “I can help with that.”
He swayed, as if to lead them, then stopped, checking both of their faces with another quick glance. They nodded, and he turned to lead them.
“You know him?” Decon asked.
Peter gave a little one-shoulder shrug, almost more like a wince. He walked some ways in front of them, off towards the hallway wall and almost backwards, to keep them in his sight without having to look directly at them.
“I guess that’s a dumb question,” Decon said, chuckling, “since he doesn’t really talk, right?”
“Not dumb,” Peter said quickly. “Not d-dumb. I guess I do – know him, I guess. Sort of. Like you can.”
“Dr. Hardwell seemed really confident,” Seth said, only applying a sarcastic tone in her head. “Anyway, it’s good to talk to someone who knows him, because we’re going to try to get to know him, too.”
Peter’s eyes widened, and he looked at both of them for a full second. “Are… are you… then? Like…” he gestured out ahead, where there was what looked like a common area. Plants, a TV, some bookcases packed with games, reading material, soft-looking toys.
And Islanders – but, like, real Islanders. The statistical majority. The part of the statistical majority that lived. Seth worked hard not to stare, to look straight down the hallway, not sure whether the anger she was feeling was at herself, for herself, or for them.
It was a room full of people, but not. That is, the pundits for whom the Islander situation was just a story on the news would prefer not to acknowledge rooms could be filled by people like this. The public liked to imagine Islanders like Seth – it was easy to talk about the threat she posed, and the protection they needed from her, and the limits she could live within, and that justified their fear and resentment, and tyranny. It was hard to talk that same game looking at a girl with hands twisted up by her chin, issuing loud and seemingly random guttural grunts while she intermittently glowed. She was far more typical than Seth, though; glowing was one of the most common Islander traits.
Electric effects, the second most common, plagued the one in the corner, moving jerkily as if trying to avoid the roll of static fields traveling continually up her body, lifting her hair, sparking off the metal window frames, her one and only hand holding down her shirt tail.
Unique traits had no better comorbidities than common ones, as in the wasted figure, sat in custom plastic chair built to catch the constant streams of what looked like honey that beaded up and rolled off her skin. The smell – dampened both by the fumes of what was a clearly strict and regular sanitation schedule and those of the sundry other pools of damp and drool and sweat, and the singeing of special industrial plastics – was still sweet and atrocious.
Life was not life, as Seth thought of it, fighting this great battle against social stigma, but just a battle against the body, against the self, constant and wearying and more than enough reason, she thought, to leave them the fuck alone.
But that was not how things worked.
Gratefulness washed over her, for her security, and guilt, for that gratefulness, and fury – fury just because. When they talked about untrustworthy Islanders, and reporting and limiting and monitoring and tagging, they meant these people, too, though they didn’t think they did. Tag them like wild wolves but don’t help them, their families – pretend they burned down buildings, too, instead of just tried to live their lives.
Briefly, in the nineties, killing Islander children could be excused based on the idea that their glowing, or shocking, or lifting – the unexpected manifestations of their traits – raised a lizard-brain, survival-instinct-based, urge to purge the unfit. Except in rare cases – like hers, and even more rarely, like Firmament’s – Islander traits manifested late; people turned on their fifth graders, on the teens they struggled to raise. People were acquitted of murdering children who glowed because it was done in a fit of primal panic.
Those acquittals were still on the books.
The world around Seth got very hot for a minute.
Decon, on the other hand – he looked, but he had that gift, didn’t he? That way of looking – friendly, interested – that it never seemed rude. He smiled, and most of the ones that could, smiled back. He was comfortable; she was not. And it was her failing.
The nurses nodded to Peter, but he shied away from looking at them. A few gave them curious looks, but other than keeping their charges from overreacting to unexpected guests, seemed content to let them pass.
“So, dude – you’re not an Islander?” Decon asked, once they had passed the commons.
Peter shook his head, once slowly, twice quickly. “I just… I visit this wing. Sometimes. When it’s allowed. I just… I heard Dr. Hardwell and came out to say hi.”
He was pointing at the commons area, as if assuring them he had only been where he was supposed to be.
“I didn’t know they had people who weren’t Islanders here,” Seth said, and Decon glanced at her for her patent lie. She had read – and then summarized aloud for him – the institution’s entire history, which predated the Island.
“Some,” Peter said, his voice a whisper.
The lights flickered.
This time, Peter was the only one who didn’t flinch.
“That’s Fred,” he said, his voice surprisingly strong. He directed them with a furtive glance towards a door, where they could just see the top of a bald head and two dark eyes peeking over. “They gave her a switch to play with because she likes spooking people.”
They had stopped walking. Seth smiled at the window, but the head disappeared. She turned her smiled pointedly to Peter.
“That’s nice. And I think it’s cool you’re not, like, freaked out about Islanders. Really nice of you.”
He looked at her – like actually looked – and Decon felt himself smiling. Dr. Hardwell had thrown her off, but she seemed to have gotten her feet again. Seth worked too hard at it, but she was a good person, and people responded to that.
Peter looked away and mumbled something, might have been a ‘thanks,’ but he was still focused on Seth, if only out of the corner of his eye.
“You want to know what I can do?”
Peter again looked up, holding his gaze on Seth for a moment.
“Watch my hand, but don’t touch it.”
Touching anyone seemed like the last thing that he would do, but Decon had to admit, as Peter’s head cocked, curiosity seemed to have overwhelmed his natural timidity.
Putting her hand out low, palm up, between them, Seth pressed her lips together, and built up a gentle glow. Two huge windows were letting in a lot of light, so it took a moment for her to get the luminosity right, but soon the little conjured flame could be seen even despite the sunlight.
“Cool,” Peter said, in a low voice.
“I’m not afraid of flickering lights,” Seth replied, shaking her hand as if to dry it, and grinning.
Peter glanced at Decon, who took a second to catch on – it was only natural it was his turn. But what could he do?
Peter had started to look away, shame bowing his hunched shoulders even more, when Seth pointed ahead, raising her brows at Decon significantly.
“Oh, hey, I can show you on that.”
Decon broke into a short jog to get to a TV standing on a small table next to a plush chair in the hall. He felt around the table for where a remote – or anything less important than the TV itself – but didn’t find anything before the other two reached him. He smiled anyway; Seth had managed to get into a less-than- six foot radius of Peter.
“Um, lemme try something,” Decon said. He put his hand on the top of the television. There was nothing particularly complex about the antennae, but maybe it would work.
“Grab that,” Decon said, stepping well back. Peter hesitated, then reached forward and touched the antenna, one ear of which immediately clattered to the floor. He caught the other one, turned it in his hand, and it fell apart, extendable pieces sliding out.
Peter dropped the part he was holding. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack, so Decon swept down to pick everything up, sticking it into his back pocket as if it was to coolest thing in the world to have there, and not a sitting hazard.
“I’ll get Mr. Tenor to send a replacement,” Decon said, keeping his voice confident.
He glanced at Seth and she shrugged and nodded. “That’s what I do – I can take things apart. Mechanical, electric, whatever. Machines and structures make sense to me, and sometimes I can convince them to go to pieces. Maybe not the most useful thing,” Decon chuckled, “but it’s made me pretty good at putting most things back together.”
It took a moment, but Peter, after much nervous glancing, finally muttered, “C-cool.”
He said it like he was asking permission – which made sense to Seth. Islander abilities weren’t things people generally bragged about, or showed off, or acknowledged at all, if they could hide them. Admiring them was almost equally as weird. Even for people whose abilities were relatively powerful, like hers and Decon’s – every display was a gamble.
“Thanks,” Decon said, and was rewarded with a twitch that might even have been a smile.
“Th-there,” Peter said, pointing to the door just down the hall from the chair. It stood open. “That’s his room.”
Decon and Seth exchanged glances. They had swapped again: Decon uncertain and Seth at ease.
“Thanks, Peter,” Seth said, and started forward, her momentum dragging Decon along in her wake.
They stopped in the doorway. Seth didn’t know what she had been expecting. Decon was still wondering if they should knock, somehow.
Firmament sat on the edge of the bed, straight-backed, feet on the floor, facing the doorway. Hard to tell his height, but he was brown-haired, but for an occasional far-too-early gray one. Otherwise, he was unremarkable looking – almost nondescript, but for the occasional light scar interrupting a feature. There was a small television on the dresser to his left, and images flickered across it, but the sound was almost inaudible. A large, wire-glass window behind him backlit the scene.
“Hi,” Decon said, faintly. Seth jumped a little, and scowled at him. He shrugged.
Firmament did absolutely nothing.
“Why did we do this this way?” Decon asked in a whisper. “What’s supposed to happen now?”
“I don’t know,” Seth hissed. “I… it all went too fast.”
She folded her arms, heat rising as she stewed in anger at herself. “Should… maybe we should shake hands?”
Decon’s turn to look at her, brows raised.
“Well, Dr. Hardwell said he follows instructions, generally,” Seth said, gaining confidence. “And that group interactions were good. So we should… try to be normal. So we normally shake hands, right?”
“More like a,” and Decon performed a little fist-bump-hand-slap gesture straight from an exploitations film and Seth’s withering glare indicated how helpful she thought this levity was.
She stepped forward and put her hand out. “Hello Firmament, I’m Seth. It’s nice to meet you.”
They waited a moment.
“Is it rude, or does it, like, not count as a greeting, if we tell him to shake hands?” Decon asked. “Like, you’re not supposed to instruct people to do that.”
Seth put her hand down, fists bunched at her sides, and Decon felt the wave of disturbance in the air that was her powers shifting with her frustration. She was, he ventured, more unhappy with this situation than even her short-temperedness on the train had indicated. He thought about taking the file, still clutched under her arm – it was paper, after all – but didn’t think it was a good idea to disturb her.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, voice tight. “It doesn’t matter what we do – we just need to plant him.”
She looked back at him, burning in her eyes dimming along with the pressure in the room.
“Food. Water. Sunshine.”
“Company,” Decon said.
“Company,” she nodded. She looked back at the totally still figure on the bed. “He’s as much a person as those people in there,” though she made no sign, he had seen how much the common room had upset her.
“We just need to treat him like a person and do what we can to help.”
“A really still person,” Decon said, and was rewarded with her grateful smile. “Like a pond. Best roommate ever.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I hope Mr. Tenor budgeted for a nurse, because I’m not bathing him, or whatever. But, you’re right – what are we supposed to do right now?”
“Stand him up,” said a voice from the door.
“Ah, crud!” Decon put a hand over his heart, glancing back. “Peter! I forgot you were there.”
“That’s not great,” he said, but his voice was not like his voice had been before – still soft, but so uniform it was hardly the same at all. And he seemed… taller. Certainly bigger. He stood leaning against the door frame, hands folded over his chest, neither hunch nor stutter in evidence.
“You should really be aware of what’s around you at all times.”
“Uh,” Decon said, “Why?”
But Seth had turned, matching his crossed arms with hers, “What’s this about?”
“Stand him up,” Peter said again, focus shifting with some reluctance from the girl who could set things on fire at will to Firmament, sitting stone still on the bed. “If you can’t, there’s no point being here.”
Seth seemed disinclined to be deterred, but finally and with narrowed eyes turned away from Peter.
“Firmament,” she said, gently – but nothing happened. She pressed her lips together, cleared her throat, tried again:
“Firmament,” she said, command in her voice, “Look at me.”
This didn’t seem to work, either – until, slowly, but smoothly, he turned his head to look up at her face. It was hard to say, though, what exactly he looked at it; his eyes were gray, they pointed towards her own, she couldn’t help but feel watched, but watched like a child watches any one ant out of a million-strong swarm. She shifted her feet, had to clear her throat again, casting a nervous glance at Decon, whose second question for Peter still pursed his lips even as he watched the dead come to life.
“Please,” Seth said, voice having to regain its certainty, “stand up.”
He did, and it was, even in Seth’s usually polite thoughts, eerie as fuck. A normal person might shift their weight, lean forward, put their hands down – whatever – but it didn’t seem as if his legs were connected to his body at all. They just lifted him straight, and now he was standing as rigidly as he had been sitting. He was taller than Seth – taller than Decon, actually, too, but she was the one now being stared down at from less than a foot away by a real-life zombie.
“That’s good,” Peter said, and both Decon and Seth turned to look at him only to snap back to staring at Firmament, who had also turned to look at Peter.
“Cripes,” Decon said.
“What’s going on,” Seth asked, but she had to work to get the words to come out less nervous than demanding. “Peter – what’s going on?”
“It’s hard to say,” Peter said. He narrowed his eyes speculatively at Firmament. “He recognizes my voice pretty well, but not everybody can get him to move just by talking to him. We’re not sure why. I don’t think he likes a lot of people, though.”
“’Likes’?” Decon said.
“I mean, what’s going on with you?” Seth said, again rounding on him.
“That’s a good question,” Peter said in a frank, evaluative assessment. “And probably more pressing. But it is good he responds to you.”
“Why?” Decon asked, and for a moment it seemed Seth would overrule him, but on second thought, she nodded to Peter to reassert Decon’s question.
“Why is it a good question or why is it good he responds to you?” Peter asked – then, for just a moment, the insecure person they met bubbled up to the surface again, as he reddened, looking down at his feet. “Of course, it’s obvious why it’s good he responds to you. Sorry, I don’t… I don’t get to practice conversation with new people… very often.”
He looked up again, but didn’t seem to notice Decon’s frowning concern or Seth’s calamitously gathered eyebrows. “It’s a good question because while Firmament is obviously the more powerful individual, I am potentially a greater threat because I am more unknown. So your question indicated good threat evaluation, which is good to have.”
“What?” Decon said.
“Why?” Seth added.
He looked between them, as if genuinely surprised by their confusion. “You’re starting a team, like Firmament’s old team.”
Scoffing, Seth held up a hand, “That’s not what’s going on at all.”
“I know it’s very illegal,” Peter said. “Don’t worry.”
“But, I mean, that’s really not…”
“Yeah,” Decon joined on, only belatedly realizing his silence was potentially giving them away, “no way, man…”
“It’s really obvious,” Peter said, in the same flat tone he had said almost everything else since reappearing in the doorway. “You’re not hiding it well.”
“These sorts of accusations are really unfair, and just go to show the sort of prejudices…”
“I was a vigilante for a while,” Peter said, stopping Seth in her tracks. He looked at Firmament a moment, before turning back to them. “It didn’t go well. I’m here instead of prison. Probably because I’m not an Islander. And people were… uncomfortable with me.”
They passed a moment in silence.
“So,” Decon said. Then, “Yeah.”
“I want to help,” Peter said.
Seth opened her mouth, took a deep breath, shut it, looking hard at him. Decon cocked his head, looked back at Seth, then at Peter, then back at Seth. Decon raised open hands.
“I have a lot of training,” Peter said, and something flashed across his face – hard to tell what it was, but it was something other than devastating evenness or equally-devastating embarrassment that had been his only two expressions thus far.
“And I’ve been working with Firmament for the past few years, so I’m well qualified to help you look after him. Dr. Hardwell also thinks it would be good for me.”
Decon and Seth exchanged a glance.
“She knows, too,” Peter said, “but that’s because she’s really smart, I think, not because it’s so obvious. I don’t think she agrees with the vigilantism, but she does think I can help Firmament, and maybe he can help me – and both of us could be useful to you, hopefully in other ways.”
He didn’t seem exactly comfortable talking, but every time he stopped, they just stared.
“I’m very qualified,” he added.
“You’re not an Islander,” Seth said, finally. She sighed. “I don’t know that it’ll fit our mandate. Mr. Tenor has to approve.”
“I’m qualified to care for Firmament,” Peter said. “Dr. Hardwell has suggested I speak to you about my other qualifications, but from a paperwork standpoint she can also recommend me as therapeutic aid.”
“Like a service dog?” Decon said.
“HOME CARE AID,” Seth said loudly over him.
Peter nodded. To one, the other, or both, it wasn’t clear.
“What do you mean about your ‘other qualifications’ then?” Seth asked.
“If he acts up, I can kill him,” Peter said.
Then, into the frozen silence. “I can also help train you to defend yourselves, evaluate threats, act covertly, that sort of thing.”
The silence continued.
“I have a lot of training,” Peter repeated.