Chương 46: The Twenty Minutes

"So it's like this. The judge rules on the case, but they also have to explain the ruling in public. Everyone can sit in and watch the trial as it happens. There's a defense lawyer for every case, not just in cases where The Authorities say there should be one."

"Didn't you also mention some kind of group decision before, Meili? I think the word started with a 'j.'""A jury, yeah. That's right. Even the banned books in Lingard mansion hardly mention it. But the argument goes that a larger group of normal people would make better verdicts, and there would be more trust in the legal system. As long as the accused wants, they get to have a 'trial by jury,' which means that ten or so randomly selected people would decide whether they're guilty or innocent."

"What do you mean by randomly selected? Like, actually randomly selected, or randomly but weighted by tier so that a few high-tiers always get in?"

"Like really random, Alicia. So the vast majority of every jury ends up being low-tiers and mid-tiers. And after both the prosecutor and defense lawyer make the arguments, the jury needs to come to a unanimous 'guilty' decision before they convict someone."

"Jeez… How in the world do people come up with this stuff? That sounds fucking amazing."

"There's a reason all the political theory books get banned." … On the TV in front of her, a news segment concluded. The newscaster woman on the screen transitioned with a bright and grating smile. Alicia was watching the programming from her torn-up couch. She sat just a few feet from the screen, to compensate for the low resolution, and rolled her eyes. It had been ten segments now, with no mention of Unordinary, no mention of the most popular novel of the decade.

It would have been an essentially perfect news story, dramatic and sensationalist, a record-breaking book by a mysterious author who millions of people were desperate to unmask… and yet there had been nothing. No mention of the author and collaborators who had just been put to death. The Authorities thought they had succeeded with that. They'd executed the fake scapegoat author Meili had set up, Alexander Penny, and four editors who'd been involved.

Alicia had seen this for herself, in the footage of the severed heads, and in the nauseatingly celebratory, circle-jerking memos passed between every agent who'd worked on the case. Celebrating because they'd killed a man. Alicia had mixed feelings about it, in that it was somehow both horrific and amazing that The Authorities could convict the wrong person. In a perfect fictional world, there would have been a trial. There would have been testimony and a jury and witness interrogation.

The prosecution would have laid out the case for guilt. The defense would have argued that this case had many flaws. The court proceedings would have been broadcast to the world through a dozen news channels, with an infinite selection of panelist commentators giving every possible take on the case. It would have been, after all, the trial that decided the fate of Unordinary's 'author' - an event the public deserved to be able to follow.

But the real world didn't offer independent news channels, or juries or really any of what she and Meili wanted. It offered the blonde puppet on Alicia's TV screen who was probably just as clueless as everyone else. The Authorities had decided that nobody was to know, for whatever reason, and that was that. Five people were dead and no one knew.

"Next up: a local university student grew by half a level in just four months?" The newscaster woman caricatured cartoon surprise onto her face.

"Stay tuned, because we'll be having him in the studio for an interview, right after the commercials." Alicia didn't stay tuned. The broken remote made changing channels a whole process, so she went somewhere else in her mind. In the rare moments when she and Meili weren't busy, they liked to talk about different ways the world could be. They usually discussed drastic departures from reality, like a hypothetical world where abilities were valued for their economic applications, and combat power was irrelevant.

Sometimes even an Unordinary-style world where abilities were fully nonexistent. After these conversations, Alicia would often slip into pleasurable daydream without meaning to, charmed by the prospect of a universe she actually liked. But more than with grandiose dreaming, Meili showed just how serious she was when she went into detail. She would talk about local and continent-level election systems, term limits for elected officials, a fairness-optimized court system, on and on and on.

Meili read about and thought about all of it, and often enough that nonexistent words like 'jury' emerged from her mouth like it was natural. It comforted Alicia to know that Meili's talk of a better world went beyond wishful thinking. She tried to be the same way.

"Is that really true?" squealed the newscaster.

"Training hours don't matter for growing your ability?"

"I'm sure that they're helpful on the margins," replied the teenager on the screen.

"But for me, it was really just an increase in fights, and a fortunate run where I didn't lose any of them too awfully. You know how badly a multi-day healing coma can kill your momentum."

"I do. Of course I do." The newscaster woman nodded vigorously, as though she were a growing college kid instead of an employed adult.

"And, for the audience at home: did you experience the classic moment where you thought, 'wow, this late spurt could transform my life'? We would love to hear what it was like."

"Well…" Alicia snorted. People in their late twenties sure love to pretend their growth windows are still open, she thought cynically, then felt her eyebrow twitch when she realized that the program had sucked her back into watching. She had meant to tune it out as a conscientious objection. It was actually quite the strange feeling, for something like television to induce her into grinding her teeth. She wasn't someone who threw a tantrum when things failed to go her way.

Then again, she was more used to being angry at the news for the way it presented events, not for missing a story altogether. Also, she thought, I know that better worlds exist now.

"…Thank you to our guest for the wonderful interview," the newscaster woman transitioned.

"In other news: masked high-tier 'superheroes' are invading low-tier districts? A panel of experts is here to discuss this very new phenomenon, and why the most probable explanation is addiction to illegal drugs." Oh, Alicia thought. So the sudden increase in high-tier vigilantes is the fault of drug-slinging low-tiers. That's the narrative they're going to push. She sat up from her creaking cushion, grabbed the busted remote, and powered the TV off before she could kick the screen.

Two batteries fell from the remote's open back with a clink....

"There are two ways we go back in time," Meili had explained a week before." Number one is that Seraphina evolves her ability into Time Control, we convince her to help us out, and everything works out perfectly.

"Number two is that Seraphina doesn't evolve, so we need to gather enough extracted aura to enhance her by an equivalent amount. The problem is that we could literally harvest John's dead body for aura and only get halfway there, so the logical conclusion is that we need to get our hands on Jane's extractions.

"Almost all of Jane's extractions are being used for the field-testing of enhancement drugs. The distribution plans say that 'operatives' have already started spreading enhancers in low-tier districts. My plan is to use the superhero vigilantes created by Unordinary to our advantage. A lot of them are already going to cosplay as drug cops, so we can co-opt them into collecting and storing the enhancement drugs. That's how we get enough of a supply to boost Seraphina with.

"… I see that look on your face, Alicia. I know I'm making some assumptions here - but just wait and see. Even in just the district you live in, I think you'll be able to confirm what I'm saying." … Aside from being too weak to help Meili and John with their New Boston operation, Alicia was also staying home because they needed a scout. In this case, 'home' referred generally to the consensus rank-eight district in Wellston City, which sounded alright if you didn't know there were only ten districts to rank.

She wasn't particularly enjoying her winter break, considering 'home's' shittiness, but then again this shittiness was what made it a desirable target for vigilantes and drug dispensation in the first place.

"I thought you'd be excited to work from home." John had joked about it in a comisserating, self-aware way. His family lived in a shitty district, too. The obvious difference was that he already had a ticket out. Alicia spent a few minutes fiddling with the plastic cover that was supposed to fit over the remote's battery compartment, failing to snap it in place. The remote had been bent out of shape.

She eventually gave up, and went to her room to pack her bag for a routine trip outside, but stopped when she heard the whirring noise of the garage door opening. She hid two containers of hair in a camouflaged drawer. The garage noises were her dad. It was dark outside, evening; he was coming home from work. He liked to use the car for commuting, despite complaining about the fuel costs and the fact that vehicles were a universally depreciating asset class.

Alicia's understanding was that their family had no access to appreciating asset classes, regardless, though she hadn't said this out loud. Anyway, it wasn't like the car had tons of value to depreciate. She took a handful of steps from her bedroom to watch the garage, and saw his compact hatchback roll into its spot. The car was black, the only color that let you skimp on car washes without seeming totally destitute. Her dad was a small man.

Short, thin in his midsection, with the only large things about him being his eyes and mouth. He emerged from the car wearing an orange construction safety vest that was around two sizes too large. Alicia realized that she was still holding her bag.

"I was just about to go out and train," she lied, projecting her voice a little.

"How was work?" He shrugged off the construction vest, placing it on the hanger he kept next to the car.

"It was fine," he answered.

"No catastrophe. I need you here for ten minutes or so, but after that you can go ahead.""'Catastrophe?'" she echoed when he didn't say more.

"No catastrophe," her father repeated, without any irony.

"It's an important thing to clarify, when you're shouting instructions at mid-tiers all day." Alicia squinted at him.

"Many of them are leveled in the mid twos, Alicia. Half a level higher than me.

'Foreman Moore' might as well be a nickname to half of them, and you know I'd look even weaker if I went crying to the site manager at every little challenge." He was plodding into the house, and slid by where she stood in their phone booth of a shoe room.

"Um." She pursed her lips.

"No, I get it. It's more like… you're not actually shouting the instructions, right, because that's the whole point?" She intended it as a statement but it came out like a question. She didn't know that much about her father's work, but she knew his Perfect Voice ability made his words equally loud to everyone within a radius. Distance or background noise didn't affect it. It was useful at a construction site because it removed the need to shout.

Of course, when it came to her dad's work, most of her attention went to the fact that his telepath colleagues made fifty percent more than he did. There was room for other details to have gotten mixed up.

"Just a little rhetorical device, Alicia," he said with a smile.

"The point is that low-tiers can stand to be cautious about giving orders to mid-tiers, no matter what their job title says… but congratulations. I know the advice doesn't quite apply anymore." He'd started grinning and positioning his arms like he was prepping for a hug. Alicia put her arms around his cold torso gingerly, blinked at him in confusion.

"Sorry if you meant to keep it a secret," he continued as they separated.

"I stopped at Agwin High after work to get your student evaluation. I saw the 2. 0 on your medical report."

"Oh," she said softly.

"That." Between government executions, superheroes, and enhancement drugs, she didn't quite know how to handle something mundanely important. But becoming a mid-tier was important, something she'd been working toward from age six, even if Meili and John hadn't found it worthy of comment.

"Yes, that," her dad said.

"I assume all the junior monsters at Agwin don't find a level two very impressive, but I know I do. Don't let a school you're out of place in minimize this achievement, Alicia. You're surpassing me at fifteen. That's something to be proud of." Alicia felt her face scrunch up. She angled it to the floor and hugged him again, his lean body slightly warmer from the heating.

"I remember," she mumbled.

"I know."

"Your mother is proud of you, too." He patted Alicia's shoulder.

"I had a call with her on the drive back. They need her even more for the year-end holidays, so she won't be home, but she has good news for you." If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Alicia separated.

"What is it?"

"An older member of the Lingard Clan has deteriorating eyesight." Her father's grin got even wider.

"They're looking for a domestic assistant with the Vision Sharing ability. The Lingards won't hire a low-tier, which is why your mother hasn't applied for the position - but it isn't a problem for our mid-tier daughter." The increased enthusiasm in his voice was jarring, and she had to mask her disappointment with a smile.

"So I'll have a job to take me through uni."

"Even better," he said, "You won't need college if you can get them to look at you as long-term staff in the next few years. They'll give you a fantastic education as part of your training. Your mother is connected to the chief of staff at Lingard Mansion, and she says they'll be perfectly happy to take you as an apprentice within the next few months." Alicia stared at him, experiencing an oddly intense horror.

"But don't I have to go to college?" she blurted. She scrambled for the reasoning her father tended to use, "You know, um, for the boosted future expected earnings and the wider range of employer options?" He chuckled.

"You'll be earning as much as your mom and I combined, the moment you get hired."

"God," she said by reflex.

"But, uh, if I end up wanting to go somewhere else, after a decade-""A recommendation from Lingard Mansion is worth much more than any degree you could realistically get, Alicia. As long as the plan is to follow an advanced version of your mother's career track." Her father pulled a yellow envelope from his work satchel, handing it to her. A paper job application.

For a flash Alicia scoffed at it, thinking, who the hell even uses physical applications anymore - but of course Lingard Mansion could simply be old-fashioned. Lingard Mansion. Her dad wore an optimistic, joyful look on his face, for him a total rarity, as if the cruel universe had undergone a character arc and given him a gift. In fairness, Alicia reasoned, that was likely exactly how this felt.

"My daughter the mid-tier, employed in service to the Lingard Clan." He shook his head, heading to the couch to sit down.

"I am so fucking proud of you, Alicia. God. What a day." Out of pure inertia, Alicia started reading through the application, like it was simply the thing to do. There was a job requirements section stapled to the front of the paper packet. One of the bullet points was that the Vision Sharing user had to be a master of vision-giving - that was, of course, a master of the technique that let you extend your vision to someone else.

Putting aside the obvious problems - like how she actually wanted to go to college, and already spent all her non-school hours working with Meili and John - she was far from a master of vision-giving. She was probably a master of vision-taking (seeing through other people's eyes), but when it came to the reverse… Her father hadn't forgotten about the fine print. He never did. But he was assuming, most likely, that her level growth had come from a mastery of vision-granting.

After all, the only other technique was vision-taking - and what practical or career purpose did vision-taking have, when you needed to make physical contact to do it? He didn't know about the long-distance tricks with hair. This is all secondary, Alicia reminded herself with force. Don't get sucked in. More important things need your attention.

"I… I still need to go walk," she eventually told him.

"We should definitely talk about this more, but I have training partners waiting." Training partners, that was the excuse she'd been using, when really she was going around scouting for superheroes and disbursements of ability-enhancing drugs. Her father nodded from the couch.

"That's right," he said.

"We shouldn't get in the way of your training. Not when we're seeing these results." He was smiling at the ceiling, limp against the couch, basking in some strange fusion afterglow of family-career-pride.

"I knew it," her father hissed as she left.

"I knew we made the right choice, buying our house in the better district. She can go out after dark to train whenever she wants." The house her father was so proud of looked like the house in a cartoon infographic. It looked like the designer had synthesized the five key elements that made a house a house, and applied those elements and nothing else. It was one of many identical prefabricated homes, assembled part-by-part in the same factories where trailers were made.

The thin strip of lawn in front collected not enough snow to build a two-foot snowman. Despite all this, it was true by technicality that Alicia lived in a suburb. It was true that there wasn't quite as much street activity, compared to the two worse districts, and that it was less risky to go out after dark. It was also true that the first, second, and third-worst districts were near enough that it hardly mattered.

They were all lumped in the same cramped quadrant of Wellston City, fenced off from the rest of it by twin rivers that cut the place into quarters. Starting from her driveway, Alicia jogged for twenty minutes to reach a border between districts, and it only took twenty because the snow slowed her down. The snowfall did an okay job of making things look better. Only a few glass bottles poked up above the white layers.

Without their caps, they seemed sort of like open-mouthed dolphins coming up for air, which was accurate when she considered the other bottles and trash beneath the surface. She took light strides to avoid impaling her feet on any junk, and as she moved forward, the rows of identical prefab homes faded out for columns of identical windows on brick. There was an unwritten rule, somewhere, that shitty apartment buildings had to be brick.

What was better, exactly, about living in a soulless clone on the ground, compared to a soulless clone in the sky? Alicia didn't know. Was a twenty-minute jog the final totality of her parents' work? Did her mom work as a domestic servant, as some high-tier kid's mom eleven months a year, just to move Alicia twenty minutes closer to the north-south river? Was this the point of her father's extensive career strategy and dispositional bootlicking, to move her twenty minutes further from the heat of the action?

If that was the end of it, it hadn't even worked well. In her jog she'd passed three potential dealers in extra-puffed jackets. Another, after passing the fuzzy border between districts, and from her place on the sidewalk she saw three men fighting on top of a snowbank. Like with most low-tiers, it was just generic body enhancement, probably 'Strong Arms' or 'Hard Fists' or whatever basic ability. One of them toppled down, bouncing limply to the pavement.

There was nothing flashy or interesting about the fight, only blood and flesh. Alicia didn't bother thinking about what they were fighting for. By minute thirty of her jog, she saw her destination. It was in the alley between two apartment complexes, a crater of misshapen ground, fenced off by strips of yellow caution tape. A crime scene. While digging for Wellston City superhero footage, Alicia had found a semi-viral video of a man landing in this exact spot after jumping from the roof.

The man had been wearing a stylized flame mask, and he'd used a showy fire control ability to land, so a few people were counting him among the first Unordinary-inspired 'superheroes.' … Someone had decided that high-tier vigilantes needed 'hero names,' and everyone else on the internet had shrugged and gone along. So mysterious fire guy's hero name was Flamefall. But this can't be right, can it? thought Alicia, trying to be discreet as she jogged past the crime scene. There's really not a single cop here?

Flamefall, and vigilantes in general, were so new that she hadn't expected any authority agents at the scene. A total lack of even regular police officers still caught her off guard. It's not like the officers in this area actually put in anything above bare minimum, she reasoned, making an inconspicuous turnaround back toward the scene. She had waited until sundown in hopes that they would go home for the night, but that was all, just a hope.

In the video of Flamefall jumping down, it looked like he'd cut his face on some kind of jutted metal balcony outcropping. After slowing down and studying the video, Alicia had determined that his face hadn't been cut, but that a thin clump of hair had. Typically, a high-tier's body enhancement made it so that they didn't shed random hairs just by moving around - not with their ability active. Being able to retrieve a superhero's hair was a unique chance.

After checking again for watchers and slipping on a facemask, Alicia activated her ability and ducked under the caution tape. She was thankful that her eyes were the sole body part genetics had deigned to enhance. She'd also brought a flashlight for the dark, and she swept the circular spotlight over the ground in a back-and-forth motion. There. An orange sweep of strands spread over a footlong patch of ground.

Alicia unzipped her backpack and fumbled for an empty container, the plastic suddenly slippery in the dark. Once she'd secured a few strands in the container, she stopped, ready to start running again- -but they'll definitely catch Flamefall if I leave the rest here, won't they? The hair of a dead vigilante had no value. And there couldn't be any more than twenty strands of hair, by her estimation, which would only take a minute at most… Alicia bent down again. She took a few deep breaths and started collecting.

There's no one around, she reminded herself. There's no one. There's no one around, and that's number eighteen, and you don't see any more hair, so-"Is someone there?" Hot light rushed over her back, pelting the side of her head. She fell to the ground holding her ear, stunned by the pain, and the plastic hair container tumbled from her grip. Alicia scrambled to the side just before a second beam struck.

"Hey!" a woman's voice shouted.

"I know you're there! What are you…? Put your hands behind your head!" Before she could think of anything else, she was already retrieving a syringe from her backpack, the emergency ability enhancer. There was no fumbling now. She jabbed it in a vein and injected. Five Alicias' worth of life rushed through her.

"Hello? Do you think I didn't see you?" More beams of greenish light, but now they were telegraphed and avoidable. Alicia had only tried their custom enhancer once before, but it had been so pleasurable she was scared of addiction. Injecting felt like she hadn't been born where she was born. She knew that high-rankers' lives were far from perfect, but she had fantasies of living with their kind of power, taking advantage and being grateful in a way they couldn't. The drug made her feel that imagined joy in reality.

"I'm … oh. … going to be closing your eyes for a moment." Pleasurable convulsions turned her voice into a warbled mess of pitch.

"Don't panic. I'm - I'm only doing this so we can peacefully disengage."

"I have no idea what the fuck that means! Put your hands behind your head and deactivate your ability, or-" Alicia closed the policewoman's eyes. The officer let out a string of curses in a panic. It turned out that the step beyond 'using someone else's eyes' was to literally 'use their eyes,' which included being able to close them. When enhanced to this point, Vision Sharing was actually useful in a fight, even more so because it could be used without contact." Shit.

I'm not going to touch you," she said, retrieving her hair container with shaky hands. It didn't look like there was any left on the ground.

"All I want… is to jog right out of this alley, and it'll be like none of this ever happened." The policewoman launched another laser. Randomly, in a random direction, without seeing what she was hitting - Alicia rolled all four of their eyes.

"You… vaporized eighteen inches of brick. Congratulations." The response was two more shots. Alicia toyed with the idea of strolling up to the policewoman and starting a fistfight, because in close quarters having eyes was probably more important than having lasers. It sounded amazing, pummeling a full-grown mid-tier with her bare hands. She finally decided against it - but also decided against keeping her word, because she would lose control of the policewoman's eyes with just a few more meters of distance.

Earlier on the ground, she'd seen a few pillow-sized concrete blocks… A few minutes and three bloodied slabs of concrete later, Alicia jogged out of the alley. Her mind steadied, and the winter air felt cold again as the artificial life faded from her. Without impaling herself on a broken bottle, without meeting a single person's eyes, her jog extended another twenty minutes as she made her way back home.... It's not even bad enough for dad to make a big deal over, Alicia thought, examining the wound on her ear.

And I'm probably the very last suspect for beating a police officer, of the thousand teen girls who live nearby. Everything seemed fine from a 'don't get caught' perspective. That was her conclusion as she unlocked her house door and let herself into the shoe room. The problem was that, when she moved on to the other issue of becoming a servant to the Lingard Clan, she was somehow struggling to muster the same strength of logical reasoning.

Alicia yawned as she slipped her shoes off, realizing just how tired she was. She could use the fact that she was tired to justify going straight to bed, and maybe in the morning she'd have answers, or some idea for how to approach the talk with her father. Awesome. That works. Her bedroom door was only a few steps away.

"Alicia?" Once she made it there, her dad called out to her from the couch.

"That's you, right?"

"…Mhm," she responded, not exaggerating the slur of fatigue in her voice.

"Perfect," he said.

"Great." Alicia stepped one foot into her room - and in that very instant, the word 'wait' escaped his mouth five times at maximum speed.

"Wait. Just a moment," he said.

"I don't want to keep you from recovery, but I took a closer look at the ability progress section in your medical report." He gestured with the packet of paper in the air.

"I think there must have been a mistake or something, so I'd like it if you could take a quick look right now."

"What's the mistake?" Alicia asked, already understanding that there wasn't one.

"Well." Her father gave a self-deprecating smile.

"It's just that your vision-taking is listed as having made some big improvements, and your vision-giving isn't mentioned. You know, giving your sight to other people. Having that mastered is important for the Lingard Mansion role, so I thought I'd just check to make sure-""That's right," Alicia said.

"There's no mistake." He looked at her for a second, blank-faced, like he didn't want to believe her. Then he ran a hand over his eyes.

"Shit," he muttered.

"Damn. I had just assumed… I mean - so where are you then, when it comes to giving your vision, Alicia? How long does it take to give it to someone?" There would be no point in lying now.

"On average it's twenty seconds," she answered.

"Twenty seconds?" he repeated, and suddenly he was off the couch and right in front of her.

"Alicia - God - I don't think we can make a god-tier wait for twenty fucking seconds."

"I can start training it now," she said.

"Fine," he said.

"Fine." He shook his head in disbelief.

"But I mean, look. You're a mid-tier now, and I know your mother's delay is five seconds - maybe I don't understand how it works, but shouldn't yours be less?"

"All I can say is that it's right in the medical report, Dad." She tried to ignore how seeing her father like this made her feel.

"I've been more focused on training other things." His eyes kept dancing around, and his body shifted awkwardly, like he didn't know how to be. His breathing was rapid enough to mistake for a nervous breakdown. Alicia assured herself that the job of Lingard servant #147 was in no way something to break down for, but she also knew why her father might really think it was. He closed his eyes. Finally, he inhaled a long breath through his nose. He tilted a little to lean against the wall.

"... Alright," her father said slowly.

"I - sorry, Alicia. It's no problem if you take a year of focused practice to get that twenty down to two. There's nothing wrong with applying in Junior year. You couldn't have known that there would be an opportunity like this for you… but you need to be practicing your vision-giving, alright? Vision-giving, not vision-taking, until you're at a lot less than twenty seconds."

"I get it." Alicia agreed instantly, if for nothing else but her father's state of mind. Then, almost by rote, she began describing an accelerated training plan that she didn't plan to follow. Meili's past mentions of aurology studies were reprocessed into believable half-truths. Her father listened, listened to this plan to optimize herself for god-tiers' pleasure, and the wounded quality to his face slowly faded away. That was the lie.

That was what she made happen, falsely, because she couldn't handle any more in one day. It's only twenty seconds, Alicia thought in truth. Just twenty seconds of waiting, a twenty-minute jog. … But we're crushed so small, she thought. We're crushed so small that these seem large.