The problem began (as problems often did) when Tom (he/him) awoke with a hangover in medias res, or more precisely, in a sealed coffin.
Probably another crazy scheme by another crazy villain, thought Tom, and a moment later his guess was confirmed when the lid was yanked open by the world’s first (and last) superhero, Marshal Arthur (he/him).
“Why are you covered in glitter?” asked Tom when he sat up.
The coffin chose that moment to disgorge its other payload: a spring-loaded glitter bomb, accompanied by a fanfare from a piezoelectric speaker.
A voice from a louder speaker above said, “Fuck! That was fast. 17 seconds.”
Tom’s coffin was surrounded by dozens of other coffins laid out in a grid among the debris of a school gymnasium abandoned to ghosts.
Marshal spoke to the musty air. “While it was clever to use boxes shielded with lead to block my X-Ray Vision, I could still identify the correct box with my Bat-Eared Hearing.”
“Who is it this time?” asked Tom.
“Your kidnapper is The Cosmologist,” replied Marshal with audible capital letters.
“My name is Harold, you space alien, and my pronouns are he/him,” said the loudspeaker.
“Great,” said Tom. “Not happy to meet you. Please like and subscribe my vlog. Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait!” said Loudspeaker-Harold. “I bet you can’t find Tom’s wallet. It’s in one of the 126 other coffins.”
Tom groaned. “Are you serious? Let’s just go.”
Marshal said, “But your wallet contains the only photograph of the uncle who raised you until you were two, does it not?”
“I’ve got it scanned. Everything in my wallet is replaceable.”
“No, the photograph is special. This will not take long.” Marshal closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Tom wondered, Is that Dog-Nose Smell or whatever he calls it? He tried to brush off the glitter that had infiltrated his clothing and hair.
Marshal confidently strode to a nearby coffin, lifted the lid, and then threw the entire coffin off to the side when another glitter bomb pelted his face.
Five coffins later, the jumbled heap of empties had become a glittery monument to futility.
Tom asked, “What’s with all the glitter?”
“That is no ordinary glitter,” replied Loudspeaker-Harold. “It’s made from Agatronium, the only substance known to neutralize the space alien’s powers.”
Marshal said, “I do feel a slight headache.”
Tom shouted, “Of course it’s a trap.”
“I found your wallet,” said Marshal, amid another spray of glitter.
“158 seconds”, said Harold.
“Great,” said Tom. “Now fly us out of here.”
Marshal put his arms around Tom in a familiar embrace and said, “I apologize in advance.”
“For what?”
Marshal wrestled Tom to the ground and pulled an open coffin over them both, right before the gym exploded.
When Tom awoke, again, everything looked strange. Is this a concussion? he wondered.
Marshal’s voice said, “Remain calm. An ambulance will be here shortly.”
Tom’s skin felt sparkly. Heat was growling along his left arm. The cool air on his right suggested they were outside. His ears were ringing, and everything he looked at was pulsing and way too bright.
“Why aren’t we flying to the hospital?” asked Tom.
“Unfortunately the Agatronium damaged my flight capability, and it will take some time to repair it. So you need conventional transport.”
Marshal’s voice solidified in the chaos and became a wobbly figure that resembled a balloon-animal rendition of a flayed corpse.
“Are you all right?” asked Tom.
Marshal ignored the question. “We do not have much time. I must tell you a secret, and you must keep it a secret.”
Tom covered his eyes with a hand, which didn’t help. He could still see iridescent vibrations through his hand.
“What you are experiencing,” Marshal continued, “is the same thing I see. Our proximity to Agatronium in the explosion has given you a metastable resonance in curl space, and your retina is now intercepting photons that skew past the cardinal spatial dimensions.”
Tom felt fingers gently lift the hand he was using to cover his eyes. The fingers pulled his hand toward the source of the voice. His palm made contact with skin, dry and warm, more solid than the blobby cords that were writhing in Tom’s vision.
Tom felt the skin move as Marshal said, “I call it X-Ray Vision, but it has nothing to do with X-rays.”
And then, something clicked in Tom’s mind. I can see my fingers. Tom brought his palms together and clasped his hands like shy octopuses wanting to mate. He could see himself moving his fingers, could see the flex of his skin, colored red from the glow of the burning gym.
His hand looked solid, it was solid, but he could also see the bones within them, as if they were exposed to open air, hiding, but also visible, beneath layers of flesh.
Marshal said, “You may have trouble understanding the light field that is contacting your retina now, but the confusion is temporary. Human brains are proficient at mapping sensory input into a coherent model of the physical world. It is a remarkable gift, but also a burden. Be patient. Look at what you touch. Learn which things you see are surfaces, and which are not.”
A siren approached and then stopped, as an ambulance nosed its way to a safe position near the burning chaos.
Marshal murmured in Tom’s ear, “Do not tell anyone what you see. There are no good outcomes from that. Explain to the doctors only your ordinary injuries. We will talk more, after you are released from the hospital.”
And then the EMTs approached, and Tom let his confusion surrender to the methodical medical emergency script.
When the hospital discharged Tom the next day, he was a little surprised to see Marshal waiting for him in a brightly colored electric car-share that had six cases of cat food and a spatula in its frunk.
“Still can’t fly?” asked Tom as he fumbled with the passenger seatbelt.
“My flight capability is satisfactory now. But driving is less conspicuous, and it gives us a chance to talk.”
Tom didn’t respond. The silence expanded while the car traveled the crowded city grid.
As they entered the bridge before the highway, Marshal said, “You have questions.”
“They gave me a lead apron when they X-rayed my arm.”
“Ah,” said Marshal. A moment later, he continued. “Yes. We can see through lead. It is better that people do not know that.”
“Is that why I almost died? You pretended you couldn’t see inside the coffins, just to keep that secret?”
“No, the problem was the bombs. Two were not hidden in lead. The Cosmologist wanted me to see them. The bomb nearest the door had a timer that started when I entered the gym, and I do not know what other mechanisms might have activated the rest of the bombs.”
Marshal merged smoothly onto the highway. “The best option for rescuing you was to protect you when the bombs went off. I arranged some of the lead coffins to absorb part of the blast, and my Rock-Hard Body shielded you from the rest.”
Their car was passed by a delivery truck filled with assorted objects loosely suspended by plastic bubbles in tightly packed cardboard boxes.
Tom asked, “How did you know I have X-ray vision?”
“It has happened before. There is a process that uses Agatronium and myself, but without the bombs or coffins.” Marshal turned the car down a highway exit and did not elaborate. Tom tried to form a question, but he did not know what it was that he wanted to know.
When they stopped in the parking lot of Tom’s apartment. Marshal sighed. “I have often wished that you could see the beauty that I can see, but there was never a good time to discuss it. This accident may have been unfortunate, but I am glad it happened. Welcome to my world.”
He reached out to touch Tom’s shoulder.
Tom shied away, pawed at the door handle, and exited the car as quickly as he could.
He blurted out, “Why do you have a penis?”
As Marshal got out of the car himself, membranous wings spread out behind him. The wings were unlike anything Tom had ever seen before. They were not surface or interior. They were somehow elsewhere, but attached to Marshal’s body.
Marshal said, “I am as human as you are. I never claimed to be extraterrestrial.”
“You never denied it!”
Marshal nodded. “The misunderstanding is convenient. But now you know my secret. I want to show you more.”
Tom fled toward his apartment. “Stay away from me!”
Marshal’s penis was erect.
“Six of hearts.” The studio audience applauded. Tom put the “solid lead” glasses back on.
Sparroe (they/them) opened the sealed envelope to show the six-of-hearts card that the audience already knew was inside. “And you say that this isn’t a magic trick? You really can see inside the envelope?”
“Yes, I have X-ray vision, the same thing Marshal Arthur has. I can see inside anything.”
“Can you fly too?”
“No, I just have the vision.”
“That’s too bad.” Sparroe called out to the audience, “How many of you would trade X-ray vision for flying?” Most of the audience applauded. “And the other way around? Who wants to trade flying for X-ray vision?” There was scattered applause punctuated with laughter.
Tom smiled. “I didn’t get a choice. It just happened.”
“Well, I’m sure you can do great things with just X-ray vision, am I right?” The audience cheered.
Sparroe waited for the audience to quiet down. “So tell us why you’re revealing your secret ability today.”
This was it. Tom had rehearsed this moment, which he had not told the producer about.
“I’m here to show you that X-ray vision is not what you think it is. It’s not X-rays. I think it’s four-dimensional vision. It’s kind of like I’m tall enough to see over the wall that blocks everyone else’s view. You have no defense. These glasses I’m wearing are useless. Lead does not block my vision.”
Tom focused on the front row of the audience and pointed at one person. “You have a fetus inside you. Congratulations. Actually, it looks like twins.” He pointed at another. “Pierced nipples, and a tattoo of… is that Sparroe? On your thigh.” And another. “I see a badge inside your wallet. Are you a police officer?” Another. “Um, a metal butt plug? Really? Studio security didn’t find it?”
The audience was becoming an incoherent roar of laughter mixed with anger. Sparroe struggled to assert control, calling out, “We’ll be right back after these commercial messages!”
Sparroe’s lips had the ghost of a snarl. “We’re back with Tom Novak, the man with X-ray vision. You must be fun at parties. But isn’t seeing through people’s clothes and inside their bodies kind of creepy?”
“That’s the point! You should feel creeped out. Marshal Arthur is doing the same thing, all the time. X-ray vision can’t be stopped!”
“Okay, now, maybe we should get a second opinion on that. I think it’s time to bring out our mystery guest. People, please give a warm welcome to someone I’m sure you all already know.”
Marshal Arthur walked out from backstage. The producer had not told Tom about the mystery guest, but of course it wasn’t a surprise. Tom had seen Marshal as soon as he arrived.
The audience went wild, then quieted down quickly when Marshal sat down and made a gesture. He spoke softly, “Thank you.”
Sparroe made no effort to hide their awe of such a prestigious guest. Tom tuned out the soupy banter, until he heard Sparroe say his name.
“Tom here has said that your X-ray vision is always on. Is that true?”
“What you call X-Ray Vision is the way I naturally see the world. For a long time, I did not know that you could not see the same things I do. The day I finally understood that fact, many of your strange behaviors suddenly made more sense.”
Sparroe laughed. “I’m sure our fashion sense is a mystery to someone who can see right through clothes.”
“I have learned to appreciate your forms of beauty, and I do enjoy them, very much.”
“Oh come on,” Tom interjected. “Don’t believe that space alien act. Marshal is human. He has a human penis.”
“Hey now,” said Sparroe. “This is a family show. No one is going to flash any penis here.”
“As you wish,” said Marshal. “But I will say that my body is well-adapted to live on this planet.”
Sparroe leaned toward Marshal. “Maybe you can explain that in detail later, in my dressing room?”
“If you think that will be appropriate.”
Sparroe laughed. “I’d accuse you of undressing me with your eyes, but of course you don’t need to do that, do you?”
“Why are you letting him be a creep?” asked Tom.
The audience started booing Tom, but Sparroe quickly shut that down. “Hold up! That’s a fair question. Let’s unpack that a bit. Marshal, are you being a creep?”
“I understand that I can see things about you that nobody else can, but I assure you that I do not let this ability affect my judgment, and I have no desire to harm you. Any of you.”
Sparroe clapped. “That is a great answer.”
When the audience applause died down, Sparroe said, “We’re almost out of time. I understand you have a new book out?”
“Yes. As you may know, I enjoy painting, and the book is a collection of my paintings of people that I have saved.”
“And it’s called People Saved. I have a copy right here. Can we get a close-up of the strange, beautiful painting on the cover?”
Tom tried to leave right then, but Sparroe called out. “Wait! Before you go. Marshal, is there something you would like to say to Tom?”
“Yes.” Marshal turned toward Tom, and a cameraperson scrambled with a handheld to get a close-up of Marshal’s face. “I know this is a difficult time for you. You are now seeing things that you have never seen before. Your world has changed. Reality is different from what you thought it could be. But I want you to remember that I am always available to help you. And I want you to understand that you have a choice ahead of you. Will you use your power for good and join Marshal Arthur Rescues LLC, or will you become a villain I must fight? I hope you choose the path that is right.”
Tom was speechless for a long moment, then quickly continued his exit. The cameraperson did not react fast enough. Tom was out of frame when he called back, “Fuck that shit.”
The deliveryperson was new. When they saw who opened the door, they dropped the pizza box and fled. Tom sighed and called up the app to increase the tip. The first time it happened, he had removed the tip, but a day later he regretted it, and since then he always gave deliverypeople hazard pay for braving the den of the notorious X-ray pervert.
“Den” was the right word for it. His current home was a tiny basement unit that he suspected was illegally rented out by the house’s owner. Tom had chosen it because the owner pretended to be unaware of Tom and his ability, and two of the walls had nothing on the other side. Or rather, they had a lot of dirt, and no people.
Tom took a bite of lightly smashed pizza and resumed the movie projected on one of the dirt-only walls.
He paused again when the doorbell rang again. Was it the deliveryperson returning to apologize?
No, it wasn’t. Tom felt a rush of adrenaline when he realized he couldn’t see who it was. There was a fuzzy blob on the other side of the door. It looked like a person, but he couldn’t see them clearly.
He didn’t have any weapons more deadly than a folding chair. Should he answer? Should he hide?
Something pounded on the door, and a voice called out, “Tom! Are you home? It’s me, Harold! I have a gift for you!”
Tom grabbed the folding chair and shouted back, “I don’t know any Harold!”
“They call me The Cosmologist, but I hate that. Do you remember? I kidn–gack!”
Tom had rushed to open the door and was now assaulting Harold with the folding chair. As expected, the chair was a terrible weapon, but Harold made no effort to fight back. Instead, he curled up into a ball with his arms protecting his head and neck.
“You tried to kill me!” shouted Tom as he awkwardly bludgeoned the ball of Harold.
“That was an accident! The bombs were not supposed to explode!”
“What?”
Harold cautiously peeked out from his ball. “Can I explain? You can beat me up after, if you still want.”
“I’ll call the cops!”
Harold sighed, “Fine, if you must. But I think you’ll like what I’m going to show you. Is that pizza?”
Tom didn’t realize it at the time, but the main reason he listened was because he was freaked out by his inability to see the inside of Harold.
The explanation began through a mouth full of pizza. “You have to understand, I’m a scientist.”
“A scientist who put me in a death trap.”
“Completely by accident! The thing I’m trying to science is Marshal Arthur, and he’s not exactly a cooperative subject. The whole gym was set up to analyze his abilities, especially his X-ray vision. I wanted him to rescue you, but he needed motivation to rescue you. Therefore, time bombs.”
“You’re admitting it was a death trap.”
“No, the bombs were wired to not explode. They had to be realistic enough for Marshal to believe they would explode, but the wiring wasn’t fully connected. They weren’t supposed to explode.”
“Then why did they explode?”
“I didn’t expect Marshal to throw those coffins around. I think he must have shaken something enough to accidentally complete a circuit and set off the bombs. The timer had two seconds to go when the bombs exploded.”
“But you still kidnapped me!”
“Look, would you have volunteered for the experiment if I had asked you? I know you’ve been kidnapped several times already, and I’m sorry, I really didn’t expect it to be so traumatic this time. Like I said, you can beat me up if you need that. But I want to show you something first. I know how to fix your problem!”
Harold took off his jacket and pointed at the padded vest he was wearing underneath.
“This!” He removed the vest and handed it to Tom. “Put it on.”
Tom was wary, but he reasoned that Harold would not wear something that was dangerous, so he shrugged it on. The size was wrong, a little too large. Still, it was comfortable enough.
“Do you see?” asked Harold.
“See what?” As soon as Tom said that, he realized he didn’t see. Surfaces were still visible, but interiors had become an indistinct blur. This vest was the reason he hadn’t seen Harold clearly outside the door. Tom began wandering around his familiar apartment, looking at everything as if it were new.
“Awesome,” said Harold. “I’m guessing from your reaction that it works. It wasn’t easy, but the gym experiment gave me enough data to create that vest. It should neutralize any X-ray vision in its vicinity. This one’s yours. I’m in the process of making another. I’m just waiting for a shipment of materials that I used up while making this one.”
“Why are you giving this to me?”
“Like I said, I feel really bad about almost killing you. I have no beef with you. It’s Marshal that really bugs the fuck out of me. He’s somehow above the law and gets away with so much shit that never makes the news. I really wish people were more skeptical of their beloved superhero.”
“I tried to do that. It was a disaster.”
“Yeah, I saw that episode. Marshal is everyone’s perfect boyscout. The thing you need to understand: Everyone wants power for themselves, because the world is fucked up. They want the power to fix things. But they don’t like other people having power, because you know those people will be selfish and greedy and fuck things up more. So nobody gets to have real power, and that’s democracy for you.”
“What? What does that have to do with anything?”
“And then Marshal shows up. He has real power, and he’s benevolent. Everyone is thrilled that an uncontrollable alien superpower wants to help and not fuck things up more. So everyone loves him to death, and anyone who tries to scrutinize this perfect boyscout gets called a mean-spirited cynic.”
“Sure, whatever. You’re going to tell me now that you have some scheme to make people hate Marshal, and you need me to help?”
“Close. I have many schemes to make people think twice about Marshal, and some of them might actually work. I don’t need your help, but I thought you might want to help. Here, take my card. Think about it, and give me a call.”
Harold then removed his belt and handed it to Tom.
“Is this part of the vest?” asked Tom.
“No. You don’t seem to have anything to hit me with, and the belt will be easier for you than the chair. Try to stay away from my face, please?”
“You’re… you’re trying to make this weird, so I don’t beat you up?”
“Surviving an exploding coffin is already weird. Acquiring X-ray vision makes it weirder. There’s no avoiding the weird. What you do with the weird is up to you.”
It was very weird. Tom enjoyed it anyway.
Tom took several deep breaths and tapped the video chat button. He almost hoped that Marshal wouldn’t answer, but Marshal had sent a kitten meme a few minutes ago. Tom wondered how many kitten memes Marshal had been sending all the months he’d been blocked.
It only took five seconds. Marshal’s face was all smiles.
Tom didn’t wait for hello. He held the knife up to the camera. “I need help! I don’t know what to do!”
“Is that blood? Did you cut yourself?”
“It’s not my blood! He isn’t breathing!” Tom turned the phone to show the body of Harold (The Cosmologist) on the floor. Harold’s right hand was at his throat, where a large pool of red had spread.
Tom turned the phone back to his own face. “Should I call the police?”
Marshal’s face was serious. “Let me handle that. Are you at home?”
“I’m in his penthouse at Tenrec Tower. I don’t know how I got here.”
“Stay there and do not disturb anything. I will be there shortly. And remember, self-defense is not a crime.”
“It wasn’t self-defense, I was– Fuck! He hung up already.”
Harold let out the breath he was holding and said, “I told you. Marshal is extremely careful with what he says whenever he thinks he might be recorded. Which is why we need that hidden camera in your anti-X-ray vest.”
“Yeah, I just… I really don’t want to be in the same room with him.”
“You don’t have to get close. As soon as he says anything about covering up my murder, you can leave, and you’ll have a juicy video for your vlog.”
“My vlog is dead. Nobody trusts me anymore. I’ve tried telling people I can’t see through their clothes now, but they don’t believe me. I don’t know how to prove it.”
“Do you really have to chat with anyone in person these days? Believe me, an exposé on Marshal will bring you a bigger, better audience.”
“I guess.” Tom was not thrilled by that prospect. Fame felt as bad as infamy right then. He was planning on disappearing, but first he wanted people to understand.
Harold got up. “I really need to pee.”
“Wait, you’re spreading fake blood everywhere.”
“It’s fine. Arterial sprays are messy. And you have to keep Marshal from looking too closely anyway. I can’t stop my heart. Just keep him in the other room like we rehearsed, and make sure to stand over there, so that when he faces you, he can’t see me.”
Tom was not sure he could prevent Marshal from noticing the ruse, but Tom had a long list of grievances ready. He was confident he’d find some way to get Marshal to drop that boyscout act, on camera.
The room chosen for the confrontation was appropriately decorated with many of Marshal’s paintings. Tom suspected that Harold had an unhealthy obsession. Well, the paintings weren’t exactly rare or expensive. Marshal churned out several every day and handed them out like candy to anyone who visited the office of Marshal Arthur Rescues LLC. Most people refused politely, because the paintings were a disturbingly gory cubism that Tom now realized was an amateurish attempt at depicting what Marshal could see, and what Tom would be seeing without the vest.
Tom’s phone chimed. The message from Marshal said, I am here on the sidewalk near the east entrance. What floor are you on? Can you wave to me from a window?
Harold hadn’t returned yet. Tom messaged back, Don’t know I’ll check.
Tom called out, “He’s here! Where are you?” He headed in the direction Harold had gone, and opened the door that Harold had closed.
It looked for a moment like another of Marshal’s paintings. The body in the canopy bed was naked and bound spread-eagled with ropes. Blood had spread out from several wounds in the abdomen. More blood had sprayed out from a gash in the neck. The face was slashed, but still recognizable. It was Sparroe.
Tom dropped his phone in shock and confusion. Harold was nowhere to be seen.
A fist banged on the penthouse’s entryway door. “Building security! We’re responding to your silent alarm. Dr. Sparroe! Are you okay?”
Tom retrieved his phone and scuttled around for a place to hide. He thumbed the chat app’s voice call button and whispered to Marshal, “Shit! I’m an idiot. This is a trap. Get out of here.”
“What is happening? Are you safe?”
“No, I’m totally fucked, I’m going to need a good lawyer. You should leave.”
“I have rescued you many times before. I will not abandon you now. What floor are you on?”
“Fuck! Ok, fine.” The fist banged again on the entryway door. Tom could see only one other exit from the penthouse. “I’m going to the balcony on the north side of the building.”
He remembered to grab the knife on the way. Unfortunately, his face was probably captured by the building’s security cameras. Hopefully, The Cosmologist’s face was on there too.
The entryway door started to open. Tom climbed onto the balcony rail. The city streets were a speckled gray, far below. He hesitated a moment, but he had done this before. He spoke into his phone, “Catch me,” then jumped.
Marshal did catch him, of course. Marshal had shot up and around the corner of the building like a guided rocket. This time, Tom could see a fuzzy afterimage of Marshal’s flapping elsewhere wings, glowing brighter than the vest could suppress.
As they rose up in the twilit city, Tom said, “I’m still mad at you.”
Marshal replied, “Uh oh.”
“It’s fine, we just need to talk.”
“Your vest is filled with Agatronium.”
“What?”
“The aga-rays damage my wings.”
Tom realized the wings were burning. Their elsewhere brightness was turning into tatters that were disappearing.
“What do we do now?” asked Tom.
Their trajectory had taken them up along the side of Tenrec Tower, but the building was out of reach. As they neared the height of their arc, before they started to fall, Marshal said, “I will throw you at the building. Get ready to grab a ledge.”
“What? Ok, sure. What about you?”
Marshal smiled and said, “I love you.”
The throw was like a friendly shove. Tom got one arm and his other hand on a ledge. He struggled to keep that hold against the vectors of momentum and gravity.
There was a sound of a distant thump, like something heavy falling from a great height. A car alarm started screaming. And then, some people screamed as well.
Marshal is indestructible. He survived that fall, right?
Tom tried to see below. There was an irregular ripple of chaos surrounding a lump that did not move.
His mind barraged him with visions of everything that would happen next. The videos and reporters. More death threats and angry packages.
The lump below continued to not move.
Fuck, I loved him too, thought Tom, before he let go.
Later, it was estimated that about 8,000 people were within the effective radius of the world’s largest Agatronium explosion. Many of them were never identified.
A year later…
As Rina (she/her) adds up a check, one of the Dougs (he/him) of Dougs Diner (no apostrophe) taps her on the shoulder.
“They’re here again!” he whispers before he flees.
Rina doesn’t have to look. Doug had also hid in the back the first time the Visionary came in for lunch. Rina tried to tell him that the thin wall probably didn’t make it harder for a Visionary to peer at his privates, but Doug seems to feel at a primal level, What I can’t see, can’t hurt me, and the additional few meters of distance probably helps too.
The Visionary wants iced tea and a vegan Reuben with today’s soup (chicken corn chowder). Rina juggles that order along with the rest of the dwindling lunch crowd, without Doug’s help. It’s annoying, but Doug was pleasantly apologetic last time. So, whatev.
By the time Rina gives the Visionary their check, the diner is mostly empty.
They hold out a credit card and say, “You don’t seem afraid of me.”
Rina replies, “Should I be? I’m sure what I’ve got, you’ve seen a million times before.”
The Visionary smiles. “I wish more people understood that I’m not really interested in their body. My name is Ellen. Pronouns she/her.”
“I’m Rina, she/her. I’ll be right back with this.”
As she waits for the payment to go through, Rina uses the diner’s mirror wall to look at Ellen and the prominent symbol that surrounds her left eye. The symbol looks different in the mirror. It’s missing the other lines. Rina learned long ago the difference between front and other in her vision, but she still has a habit of checking in the mirror for what normal people can see.
When Rina returns the credit card, Ellen asks, “Do you know the person who just left?”
“They’ve been here a few times,” says Rina. It’s the mousy one who always orders just coffee and pays in cash. They dress kinda femme, but there’s a cock and balls in those pants. “I don’t know their name.” Last week, Doug complained they never order more, but Rina gently pointed out that they don’t disturb anyone and never stay long. She didn’t mention the bruises.
Ellen says, “Can you give them this card sometime? I can see they have bruises, and I suspect it isn’t consensual.”
The card has contact info for a domestic abuse group in the city. “Why don’t you give it to them yourself?” asks Rina.
Ellen gestures at her face. “This tends to scare people. It’s a tattoo. It doesn’t come off.”
“Wh–” Several questions in Rina’s mind fight for the chance to be voiced.
Ellen says, “Ask anything you like. I don’t mind.”
The question that wins is, “Aren’t you afraid of being attacked?”
Ellen smiles. “Whenever I tell people that I don’t have any special abilities other than aga-vision, they don’t believe me. Not many people really want to test that.”
“So the tattoo is like a gang sign.”
“I suppose it is. But it’s really because we decided we have an ethical duty to disclose that we have aga-vision, and the co-op members voted for the tattoo.”
Rina can’t imagine being so visible. “Do all Visionaries have the tattoo?”
“Well, that’s currently being debated. The original idea was that Visionary would be a title for people who have the tattoo, but most of our current members were not part of the vote about the tattoo. 14 people were at that vote. We have almost a hundred now.”
“You should change the name too. Visionary is super pretentious.”
Ellen laughs. “It is, isn’t it? That’s also being discussed.”
Rina waves the domestic abuse card. “Is this what you Visionaries do?”
“No, that’s just a personal hobby. It doesn’t pay the bills.”
“So what does pay the bills?”
“Well, I used to be a librarian.” Ellen pauses and takes a sip out of a glass that has more ice than tea.
“Last week, the police asked me to check on a man they picked up for causing a disturbance. He was at a corner market, using aga-vision to pick out scratch cards.”
“Does that work?” asks Rina. She knows it doesn’t work. She tried it once herself. The markings are as impossible to distinguish as the words inside a closed book.
“No. Scratch cards already had defenses against things like shining a light through them, and we’ve helped the lottery printers make scratch cards even harder for us to read. But the guy had some crystals he thought would help.”
“Why did the police need you?”
“I was there to confirm the man does have aga-vision. That’s what most of our paying work is like. We’re basically a type of security guard, and most of the time it’s for checking that nobody entering some place has aga-vision. Other than ourselves, of course.”
Rina feels light headed. “You can tell when someone has aga-vision?”
“Yes. People with aga-vision look to me more… solid, in a way that’s hard to describe.”
When Ellen says that, Rina realizes she can see it too. It’s subtle, but Ellen’s front is also a little bit other. It’s more noticeable with Ellen’s arm resting on the table surface that’s just a front without any other.
Rina feels like a coyote in headlights. She knows. Why hasn’t she said anything? Why is she here?
“Trevor,” continues Ellen. “That’s the man’s name. Trevor is currently paired with two Visionaries that are training him to become one too. Carl, my brother, doesn’t like these police pick-up recruits, because he says it’s not really a free choice. Carl thinks anyone who joins us out of expedience is also more likely to betray our values when convenient.”
Ellen shrugs. “He might be right. But does anyone really have a free choice in this world? Any system that requires perfect people will never work. I worry that our cooperative is too… privileged. Most of our members were living in Tenrec Tower during the Event, and while we do have diverse personalities, we’re not exactly a representative slice of everyone who was affected by the Event.”
She smiles and holds out another card. “So I’ve been on the lookout for people who might have been on the streets or shopping at Lucid Plaza during the Event. If you notice anyone trying to look inside scratch cards, please give me a call?”
Rina automatically takes the card and says, “Yeah, I will.” No, she won’t.
Another pair of customers comes in. Rina gestures them to a free table and starts to go grab menus, but Ellen interrupts by touching her arm.
“One more thing. We now have two members that were not anywhere near the Event. We’re still trying to figure that out. But if we know about two of them, there are probably more that we don’t know about.”
Ellen rises to leave. “I think the world is going to become a lot more complicated. Call me sometime. I’d like to be a friend.”
The next day, the mousy coffee-only person comes back.
Rina drops the domestic abuse card next to the coffee. “A friend said I should give you this.”
They stare at the card for a long moment, then make it disappear. When they leave, they’re a bit extra mousy.
At home, Rina restlessly swipes through thumbnails of videos on her phone. She had only watched one vid about Visionaries, and now the recommendations are filled with sludge like “Agatronic Cosmology - Is it a TRUE Conspiracy Theory?”
Ellen’s contact info is sitting alone on the kitchen counter. Rina had thrown out the card in the recycling bin, but dug it out again.
Rina wonders if mousy even has a phone they can use. But the domestic abuse group has an office not far from the diner. Rina is sure Ellen chose that group because of that.
Ellen wants to be Rina’s friend.
What about Rina’s friends now? If she tells them she’s going to be a Visionary, they’re all going to hide away like Doug. And they should, right?
The Visionary Cooperative bylaws are online. Rina reads the dry legal language. It doesn’t feel like it has anything to do with her. She doesn’t see how to fit herself into that structure.
Rina imagines herself in a room with a hundred Ellens. She’d drown.
A week later, Rina understands what she feels in the part of herself she can’t see in a mirror. Ever since the Event, she’s been walking on surfaces that feel too thin to support the weight of what only she knows.
She can see more about her friends than she ever could before, but that doesn’t tell her anything important, the things they think and feel. The only way to know that is to ask them.
Rina is tired of the uncertainty. She pulls up her contact list and starts at the top. Aaron. Well, he is a friend, but he’s also an endless disaster. It’s no big deal if he can’t deal. Perfect place to start.
Telling everyone takes longer than she expected. Most of them react better than she expected. All three Dougs are supportive. Her brother says she always could see through anything. Mom and Dad ask when she’s going to visit. Two people already knew. One friend also has aga-vision.
A month after the conversation in the diner, Rina messages Ellen. Ok, let’s talk.