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Vanessa and her Uncle Bo had a corner block bench to themselves after a practice run in the mek suits. The action was seamless now for the entire team, even though they were only planning to launch three. She was doing some post-stretching in her suit. Uncle Bo was still wearing his knee brace. “You’re amazing at this. Too bad it won’t go towards your sporting record in track.”

“No… but it might go on some other record that’ll count for me or against me,” Vanessa joked, grinning lopsidedly.

“Hey, it works for you in our books. The rest of the world will know someday.”

“Or they won’t know, but they’ll still be safer.”

“Damn, kid.” Uncle Bo laughed helplessly.

Bassel, the puzzle engineer kid, drifted over to the two. He’d been watching the practice from the bridges. “There’s going to be another ice cream social in Oven Cleaner’s living room.”

“Oh, I would love that,” said Uncle Bo.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Vanessa seconded. They joined the loose straggle of kids and guardians leaving the locker room chamber.

WFC 2021 Montreal Wrap-up

This was a sweet return to in-person conventions. It was my first since the pandemic! The hybrid nature of it kept the numbers small, and Covid continues to present challenges that must be met for public safety, but it was so good to keep in touch with each other.

I made a presence in a few different corners of the halls, like the door-switching multitasker from The Phantom Tollbooth: dealer’s table, author’s alley table, mass autographing spot, open mic reading, book bag surprise drop.

I wrote one-line fantasy-style personal depictions for people at the dealer’s table, and at the mass autographing I made three-liner random abstractions from any book in hand (including Joe Haldeman’s journal). A sampling:

I also brought out some rare garb and wore it in interesting places with interesting people – hanging with Artist Guest of Honor John Picacio, sitting in the onstage couches at The Wiggle Room with Liz & Jacob for a birthplace-of-burlesque show (where I was called forth to be showcased), mermaiding the heated rooftop garden pool at Hotel Bonaventure, and at the awards banquet near Shirley Meier in rainbow tie-dye.

Thanks again to WFC for having me in! A beautiful first visit to Montreal & Quebec.

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Taking a seat at this decked-out desk, Navann worked with all the static borders from the pictures that Isten had sent her via his mother. She hand-tesselated as many areas with regular central polygons as she could make from the set. She ended up with seven triangles, five hexagons, and three squares, spliced together with folded sections.

The idea she’d had was to use transparent layers instead to tesselate the areas with central polygons, which might combine more information. She got those images loaded onto her screen, and started manipulating them. It took some time, but she got the layers of static to line up again to form the polygons. This method yielded a richer field of information.

These new tile zones got printed, but they didn’t scan either. Heating the soup again, she saw the contents thickening, and had a moment’s realization. She could get a denser field of information by layering all the tiles with matching polygons. She went for the biggest set first, the triangles. When that was done, a while later, the image was starting to look orderly and purposeful. She produced a printout, and this one scanned.

At this, Navann’s computer did something as though it already knew how. Something popped up that looked like a simple program, though she grimaced with the sudden realization that she may have hacked herself. This was beyond interesting though, and part of her decided she was willing to possibly sacrifice this computer for the sake of intense curiosity. In the corner of a small voidtext window was a kind of micro-camera tile. The tiny sketch scenes in that corner matched the mystery signal window outside in real time. Navann checked to confirm, and yes, it sure looked like a live signal. An actual live signal!

The simple voidtext read: Please Wait… The ellipsis flashed one dot at a time. That was at least some effort to be polite; they must know how to use the human word please. This was exhilarating. It felt dangerous. Navann didn’t mess with the new live program, deciding, cooperatively, to watch and wait.

75 \ 257

The Human adults had been given one of the soft meeting rooms to discuss their part of strategy. They had strong feelings about their young activists going into a threatening situation, and they decided to express their desire to protect by brainstorming additional sources of social support. It may be that a mass of citizens with the right amount of political protection could create targeting hesitation. Somehow, if there were enough willing. Vedani strategists accepted their initiative, remaining open to request, providing space, and being communicative with relevancies.

It was a large room with a plush floor, suited to the Vedani manner of collaboration where they could sit or lay down while working together in the aetherscape. The Human adults here also gained the habit of laying down to think.

Mirya Ayo was the one who had been collecting ideas on how best to talk to other humans about their motivations and situation. How to explain that children in giant mek suits might need an additional level of citizen protection from Pan-Galactic forces? What would people want to know and need to know? Many felt certain that people would be ready to join them. “What I have here isn’t a dialogue script,” she said, standing to address the room, “but a collection of things you’ve all said that you’d like to say to people. Oibhn was telling me we may have a chance to communicate with some who are more motivated, sympathetic, curious, and understanding, and also uneasy with the current state of government control. People who may be willing to take a risk.”

One of them accepted a chip from her, which contained a key code that would give them access to this document at an aetherscape terminal. “We don’t yet know who we’ll be talking to, though.”

“No,” replied Mirya, “but they might be better than who we would choose.”

“So we might really be able to have a volunteer buffer. How desperate is Vario? Is he ready to shed civilian blood to keep covering his ass?”

“He already nearly did, remember. Ours and our kids’. They could have had the counteragent out right away, but they delayed precious days until they had a cover story, which Sturlusson generously offered.”

“Well Sturlusson actually did have a backup ampoule stashed in his arm. And they could have just taken it out, but either Vario thought bloody vengeance was a good look – and at the time, I might have agreed – or, he was that unhinged under pressure. So, that’s who we’re dealing with.”

“The way I’ve heard it explained by Hirylienites, in this edition of the Affliction, the terminal point was changed into a turnaround point, which we registered as a vision which could bring people to face the truth of what happened on Hirylien. It was never going to kill us in the first place, it was supposed to communicate the survivors’ viewpoint and make the dynasty cough up the counteragent and confess that they had it and chose to let a planet die. But they didn’t and still haven’t given up their dirty secret, so here we are, ready to right some of their wrongs. Led here by our kids.” This was from Daniel, Chrysanthe’s father.

“But just in case, Sturlusson had a real failsafe. And lost his arm delivering it.”

“He’s not guiltless, his own people admit.”

“No.”

“But our kids are.”

“Mostly,” Mirya said with a small smile, “Like you said, they got us here. So figure out what you want to say to someone halfway ready, and let’s hope some people come through.”