don’t mind, I need to go check on our newest recruit.”
“You mean the
Pied Piper? Is she really going to come and work here?” Birdie perked up, her
earlier distress forgotten in the face of something interesting that she could
focus on. “I’ve never met an actual Piper before. What’s she like?”
“She’s
confused as all hell,” I said, unable to keep the disapproval from my tone. No
one who isn’t on the ATI spectrum can really understand what it’s like to live
your life knowing that you’re halfway between unique individual and structured
story. Half of who we are was decided years before we were even born, shaped by
the narratives that we were intended to embody. Hell, I’m living proof of that:
both of my parents were brown-eyed brunettes. So how did they have a blue-eyed,
black-haired baby girl? Easy: the story made them do it. “She’s only been a
two-eighty for a few hours, and she has no idea what’s going on.”
Birdie looked
instantly contrite. “Oh, the poor thing. I guess it’s too bad that her story
couldn’t have been averted. She wouldn’t have to deal with us then.”
“No, but we’d
be dealing with a four-ten in the middle of downtown, so I’m going to call this
one a fair trade.”
“Isn’t it a
little strange that we’ve had so many Sleeping Beauties in the last few
decades?” Birdie’s hand twitched, like she was fighting the urge to reach for
her mouse. “Demographically speaking, it’s not that popular of a story, and—”
She gasped, hand twitching again before she used it to cover the perfect O
shape of her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Henrietta! I forgot!”
“Yeah, well. I
don’t like to make a big thing about it.” I smiled stiffly. “Now if you’ll
excuse me, I have a recruit to see to.” I turned quickly and walked on before
Birdie could start apologizing. If I let her reach the mindless platitudes
stage, I’d be here all night long.
It’s funny,
but most people forget that my mother was a Sleeping Beauty. They have better
things to worry about, like whether Sloane has poisoned the coffee, or whether
they’re going to find me sleeping in a big glass box one day. Working in a
building where half the people are living fairy tales and the other half are
memetically vulnerable makes for some interesting times, and I’m so clearly a
Snow White that people don’t associate the Sleeping Beauty story with me in any
way, unless they’ve read my file.
We all have
our tragedies. That’s part of what brings us all to work for the ATI Management
Bureau—and that brought me full circle back to Demi, whose story, like mine,
had been kick-started by proximity to a four-ten. In my case, the Sleeping
Beauty gave birth to me. In her case, the Sleeping Beauty forced us to activate
her story in order to save lives. I guess in a way, a Sleeping Beauty gave
birth to both of us. I just didn’t think the common ground would mean much to
Demi at the moment.
I just hoped
that once she came to better understand what we did here, she’d be able to
forgive us.
#
The break room door was closed
when I finally arrived. I paused outside, and decided that discretion was the
better part of valor. Rapping my knuckles gently against the wood, I called,
“Miss Santos, are you awake? It’s Agent Marchen.”
“That’s the
word for ‘fairy tale’ in German, isn’t it?” asked a voice behind me. I whirled
and found myself facing Demi Santos, who was standing in the hallway with a
paper cup of bad government coffee in her hand. “I mean ‘marchen.’ Doesn’t that
literally mean ‘fairy tale’? How do you people expect me to believe that this
isn’t a big prank when you’re literally named ‘Agent Fairy Tale’?”
“My parents
were drawn into a story like the one that we asked you to help us prevent
today,” I said. Normally, I tried to avoid discussing my past with the new
recruits. But this one was my fault. If she wanted to ask a few questions, I
didn’t
“You mean the
Pied Piper? Is she really going to come and work here?” Birdie perked up, her
earlier distress forgotten in the face of something interesting that she could
focus on. “I’ve never met an actual Piper before. What’s she like?”
“She’s
confused as all hell,” I said, unable to keep the disapproval from my tone. No
one who isn’t on the ATI spectrum can really understand what it’s like to live
your life knowing that you’re halfway between unique individual and structured
story. Half of who we are was decided years before we were even born, shaped by
the narratives that we were intended to embody. Hell, I’m living proof of that:
both of my parents were brown-eyed brunettes. So how did they have a blue-eyed,
black-haired baby girl? Easy: the story made them do it. “She’s only been a
two-eighty for a few hours, and she has no idea what’s going on.”
Birdie looked
instantly contrite. “Oh, the poor thing. I guess it’s too bad that her story
couldn’t have been averted. She wouldn’t have to deal with us then.”
“No, but we’d
be dealing with a four-ten in the middle of downtown, so I’m going to call this
one a fair trade.”
“Isn’t it a
little strange that we’ve had so many Sleeping Beauties in the last few
decades?” Birdie’s hand twitched, like she was fighting the urge to reach for
her mouse. “Demographically speaking, it’s not that popular of a story, and—”
She gasped, hand twitching again before she used it to cover the perfect O
shape of her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Henrietta! I forgot!”
“Yeah, well. I
don’t like to make a big thing about it.” I smiled stiffly. “Now if you’ll
excuse me, I have a recruit to see to.” I turned quickly and walked on before
Birdie could start apologizing. If I let her reach the mindless platitudes
stage, I’d be here all night long.
It’s funny,
but most people forget that my mother was a Sleeping Beauty. They have better
things to worry about, like whether Sloane has poisoned the coffee, or whether
they’re going to find me sleeping in a big glass box one day. Working in a
building where half the people are living fairy tales and the other half are
memetically vulnerable makes for some interesting times, and I’m so clearly a
Snow White that people don’t associate the Sleeping Beauty story with me in any
way, unless they’ve read my file.
We all have
our tragedies. That’s part of what brings us all to work for the ATI Management
Bureau—and that brought me full circle back to Demi, whose story, like mine,
had been kick-started by proximity to a four-ten. In my case, the Sleeping
Beauty gave birth to me. In her case, the Sleeping Beauty forced us to activate
her story in order to save lives. I guess in a way, a Sleeping Beauty gave
birth to both of us. I just didn’t think the common ground would mean much to
Demi at the moment.
I just hoped
that once she came to better understand what we did here, she’d be able to
forgive us.
#
The break room door was closed
when I finally arrived. I paused outside, and decided that discretion was the
better part of valor. Rapping my knuckles gently against the wood, I called,
“Miss Santos, are you awake? It’s Agent Marchen.”
“That’s the
word for ‘fairy tale’ in German, isn’t it?” asked a voice behind me. I whirled
and found myself facing Demi Santos, who was standing in the hallway with a
paper cup of bad government coffee in her hand. “I mean ‘marchen.’ Doesn’t that
literally mean ‘fairy tale’? How do you people expect me to believe that this
isn’t a big prank when you’re literally named ‘Agent Fairy Tale’?”
“My parents
were drawn into a story like the one that we asked you to help us prevent
today,” I said. Normally, I tried to avoid discussing my past with the new
recruits. But this one was my fault. If she wanted to ask a few questions, I
didn’t
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