more.”
“Innocent people, taken from their homes, and carved on, poisoned, manipulated, drugged… I’ve seen similar experiments conducted in the Imperium.”
“And the Nipponese are wise to do so! We have entered an arms race. The first nation to fully harness magic to its fullest will rule the world. As long as people like you are running free, squandering your gifts, we will lag behind!”
“So what do you intend to do about it, Doctor?” Hammer asked.
“Me? Nothing. My job is done. The tipping point has been reached. The masses will speak, first with words, then with force. Actives will be regulated, studied, quantified, and organized. You will be commodities, resources, your skills going to where they are most needed for the greater good. Our way of life will be preserved. We will reach for the stars. We will-”
“And for those of us that don’t want to go along?”
“This is America. Everyone has a right to choose-”
Hammer was blunt. “He’s lying.”
“Fine! To the trash bin of history with you! Collect the troublemakers and use them as breeding stock. Take the children born with gifts and raise them to be obedient. The next generation will serve admirably. And for the very worst of the worst, like you”-Carr sneered-“we could learn a thing or two from the Imperium schools.”
The Actives were silent for a very long time. Hammer was unreadable. Garrett seemed angry. Perhaps he’d said too much? But it could not be helped, not with a Mouth pressing his thoughts and a Justice testing his every word.
“What happens next?” Garrett asked.
“Plans have been made. Big plans.”
“Who else knows about these plans?”
The door swung open. “That’ll be enough.” Two tall men in suits entered, then quickly stepped to the side. The Actives looked up, not surprised in the least by the interruption. One of the new arrivals shut off the recording device and deftly wound and removed the tapes. Another man entered the room behind them, and the Coordinator gasped in surprise when he recognized the round face.
“Director Hoover?”
J. Edgar Hoover tipped his hat. “Coordinator Carr…”
What was the Director of the Bureau of Investigation doing here? “These people kidnapped me! They’re Actives!”
“Yes, I am aware,” Hoover said. “I recently accepted Miss Hammer’s application to be a BI special agent. She will be working for me now.”
Hammer beamed with pride. “Thank you, Director. I suppose that makes it official.”
That news seemed to surprise Garrett. “Really? I didn’t think you hired women or Actives.”
“Times are changing, Mr. Garrett, and the BI stays at the forefront of change. Recently, I’ve decided to reexamine some of the applications that were rejected in the past. Perhaps if I had more gifted agents on the payroll, heinous plotters, such as our good Doctor here, would not prosper.”
“This one is a Mouth.” Carr knew he had to think fast. “He forced me to say all sorts of terrible lies.”
Garrett leaned back in his chair. “You know how we Mouths can be.”
Hoover nodded. “I’m familiar with Mr. Garrett’s tricks.” He reached into his suit coat, removed a small orange box, and opened the lid. The sphere in the center was spinning. The Dymaxion nullifier was placed in the center of the table for him to gawk at. “I believe this belonged to you.”
Carr felt all of the blood drain from his face. “No… It can’t be.”
“I was on the other side of that door. This device was running the entire time. However clever Mr. Garrett thinks he is”-Hoover explained as Garrett grinned and rested his hands on his ample belly-“there was no magical influence during the recording of your conversation.”
The Coordinator tried to respond, but couldn’t find his voice.
“In addition, we have some very questionable documents with your handwriting on them that were gathered up by a Traveler before your office was swallowed, not to mention several people who are willing to testify that you kidnapped and tortured them. We shall continue this discussion at BI headquarters.”
“But you can’t-”
“You made too many mistakes.” Hoover’s voice grew cold and dangerous, “But most of all, you shouldn’t have tried to embarrass me in the papers. Nobody gets away with that. Take him away, boys.”
Faye Spellbound
Epilogue
I hope your committee will not permit doubts as to constitutionality, however reasonable, to block the suggested legislation.
San Francisco, California
Three Months Later
The front page of the newspaper was just as frustrating as usual. Roosevelt’s Hundred Days were continuing, rolling out program after program. Only one of which really interested Jake Sullivan, and even though they knew about him, he’d be damned if he was going to obey any Active Registration Act on principle, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to wear an armband in public with the floating anvil logo that identified him as a Heavy.
In other news, the OCI hearings were still going on, despite Bradford Carr managing to hang himself to death with a shoelace in his jail cell. The Grimnoir were in the clear, but most of the Society was very uncomfortable being icons to a large section of the population. George Bolander’s legend had grown faster than the plant life in Oklahoma, and the now famous photograph of Heinrich Koenig bounding across the god of demons’ back wielding a pickax had helped catch the public’s imagination as well. Heinrich was rather proud of that photo. For a group that had fought in secrecy its entire existence, becoming public heroes took a bit of getting used to.
“Mr. Sullivan! Mr. Sullivan! A moment of your time, sir?”
He lowered the paper, scowling at the reporter. Sullivan wasn’t used to being well known either. Even though he’d only been Public Enemy Number One for a few days before the warrant had been rescinded, it was hard to shake off that level of infamy. Plus, he was one of only a handful of people who had been identified in the newspapers as a knight of the Grimnoir, which meant that no matter how much he hated the idea, or how uncomfortable it made him, he was now one of the public faces of the Society. Most of the others were lucky enough not to have been identified by the OCI, which meant that they didn’t have great big targets painted on them for the Imperium or any of the many other groups that the Grimnoir had pissed off over the years.
“Please, Mr. Sullivan, just a few words with you?”
There was no use beating around the bush. He had never been good at keeping a low profile anyway, and the reporter’s shrill voice had got the attention of everyone else sitting in the lobby of the UBF station. Now folks were looking at him. “What do you want?”
The reporter stood there with a notepad and a pencil. “A quote on what you think of the President’s latest proposal.”
“For the needs of a nation? Sounds like horseshit to me.”
“We can’t print that, Mr. Sullivan.”
He checked his watch. It was about time to go anyway. He had a flight to catch. Standing up, he towered over the reporter. “What do you want me to say?”
“Well, our readers want to know what the reaction to the ARA is-”
Sullivan held up one big hand. He didn’t like being seen as a spokesman. Nobody had voted him in. If they wanted somebody who could say something well reasoned and eloquent, they could talk to Dan who was serving as
