90 — The Circle

The low hum and energy of the open market was just shy of overwhelming. In small doses, this level of ambient hustle and bustle was honestly slightly comforting.

I navigated between the various ware-stacked stalls while dodging other customers — both those who slowly perused and those who rushed from vendor to vendor, busily filling their orders.

I, on the other hand, wasn’t visiting one of the street stalls, but a small shop that was nestled tightly between addresses in one of the tall, old structures of central Rivton. The door could easily be missed between the colorful awnings and displays of the market. A small bell chimed to betray my entry. Not a soul stirred within.

 

— the shopping trip

I moved through the tightly packed space with familiar ease, navigating directly to the shelf I needed to visit. It bore a selection of some several dozen varieties of graphite — each a different level of hardness. The hardness determined line quality.

Without hesitation, I chose three from among the many, many options. Each came in a package of six sticks. It would last me several months, at least.

I briefly considered a fresh supply of ink, but thought better of it. While money was far less tight these days, ink could be made from ingredients easily enough, and I knew a few people who would enjoy the process.

I did, however, make one detour before moving to the counter. A roll of paper so thin that the lines beneath it could easily be seen and traced over — a valuable tool for iteration — was plucked from the top of a stack and nestled under one arm.

I tapped the counter bell. A clerk with a long, graying beard came to the till. With a wordless exchange, the items were purchased, and I was on my way.

My shopping complete, I quickly navigated through the open market to the open street, and down it.

As I walked I took off my hat, and wiped away the sweat. Months of rain and then blooming flowers had passed. Soon it would be too hot for my formal attire. Maybe this summer I’d come up with an entirely different look.

I tap-click-clacked my way up the street, the sound of my boots in concert with the tap of a cane. Some days I scarcely needed it, while others I could barely move three meters without it. Today was a sort of in-between day. 

In spite of the variable need, I kept my cane with me even on my best of days. It was new; an early crossing-over anniversary gift, hand-crafted by Kaite. The grip bore a depiction of a sleek creature born of our combined imaginations. I liked the feeling of having it close, like she was there to support me, no matter where she and I both were.

 

— the day manager

The Circle was not far from the market. As I stepped into its shadow I felt that the morning air was still cool. It was not just a relief — it told me that fashion would win over practicality for at least one more day.

I approached the recently opened additional entrance that we had carefully carved into the ancient stonework. It led directly into the library wing. Not only was it appreciated by guests who came only for the books, but more entryways meant better accessibility for those with limited mobility. I was slightly embarrassed that it took me having my own mobility limited to understand that, but the lesson was learned, and acted on.

As had recently become the routine, someone was waiting for me by the entrance.

The twenty-six year old was two heads shorter than me — and a smidge shorter still today, accounting for the heels of my boots. Her face was overwhelmed by the large, round, saucer-like spectacles that sat atop a button nose and was framed by thick brown locks. She wore a vest that fastened with many small clasps, all the way up to the top of her throat, but left large round openings that kept her shoulders and the sides of her ribs bare.

“Morning, ma’am,” she said crisply, and hugged the bundle of binders and dossiers slightly more tightly to her chest. I detected the faintest of hints of a nod.

“Morning, Tamara,” I said much less crisply, with a sleepy smile and a generous nod of my head. My curly hair bounced. “You don’t need to wait out here for me every morning,” I said as I moved closer. “Your training period is long over. You can begin the opening tour without me. Also, now I feel rude for having gone shopping before coming in today.”

I detected the faintest hint of a smile. “They aren’t quite the same, without you. You unlock a certain… quality… to the experience.”

As with the nod, I smiled much more generously. “Ah, I know what you mean. All of the… abruptly volunteered news and business?”

“Correct,” she replied simply.

“That’ll come, with time. Shall we begin?”

“Let’s.” Her eyes darted to my cane so quickly that a blink of the eye would have obscured it. “May I get anything for you, ma’am? Your shopping bag, your hat? The door?”

“I’m good with the bag,” I said simply as I offered my shopping bag to a small hand that I manifested to my side. “I appreciate the offer for the door, on the other hand.”

I could faintly see her eyes growing slightly larger behind her glasses, but she returned to her usual nonplussed expression in a flash. We had told her about entourage, and our various ways of using the abilities during the later stages of her hiring process. Incredulity gave way to astonishment, that turned to intrigue and acceptance. She had had many questions. We tried to answer most.

Most citizens of Rivton scarcely remembered our attempt, after the assassination of Beckett, to reveal the existence of entourage to the world. There were almost no records of our pirate broadcast, and those who heard it with their own ears felt Delphiné’s subsequent announcement eclipse it in their memory.

Tamara Riley remembered, though. She brought it up herself after Flo had laid out, in detail, what it was like to be a self-projecting manifestation.

Tamara had a shockingly good memory.

She opened the door, just as she had offered, saying, “After you, ma’am.” 

I tucked my hat under one arm, and entered.

 

— the matching pair

Inside, the library was overflowing.

It wasn’t out of shelf space — there was still a bit here and there. No, both it and the reading wing were full of people.

In the last year we had worked not just to translate the tablets, but transcribe some of what was inside into volumes that anyone could pick up and read. Our Circle had managed to make contact with translators the world over, and they had worked magic. What was on the shelves was not yet ten percent of the knowledge that was held in our treasured archive. More would be coming.

A centerpiece of the library, preserved in a glass cabinet, worn and dog-eared and marred with coffee stains, was my precious banned book; Randall’s journal. It was the record of his process with Jaegré which I had studied back when I was still struggling to become myself. Like the tablets, it too was copied into a volume which any library guest could read. Most would see it as a curious work of fiction. We all thought of it as an introduction to a new world. Steps were being taken to educate the city about entourage, and this was a small part of that.

Most of the other books were donated by the people of Rivton, or recovered from Jossimer’s collections. A small subset of rare volumes came from Nat and Tony’s various travels abroad.

Speaking of the devils, I spied Nat — now Natalie Carmichael — in the reading wing comparing two editions of the same text, looking perplexed. They were in a golden sun dress, and had long abandoned their pince-nez for more of a tortoise-shell cat-eye affair. It complimented their finely curled mustache, which had made its return shortly after the wedding. Their messy ginger hair was up in a bun, completing the picture.

“There’s my husband,” Tony proclaimed as he strolled in, taking Nat in his big arms from behind, kissing their shoulder. Nat immediately began to complain that some of the so-called corrections in the fifth edition actually made the grammar worse. 

I approached and clasped Tony on the shoulder. “How’s the fort?” I asked simply.

“Ship-shape, captain,” he said, mixing metaphors in a way that made Nat immediately bristle. “And good morning to you, Miss Riley. How is our new day manager?”

“Hello, Mister-and-Natalie Carmichael. Rested. Ready,” Tamara simply said. She was already brandishing an open notepad, supported by the large binder that she hugged to herself. A pen was uncapped, and ready.

“Hello to you both — Oh, Sheam,” Nat said quickly, no doubt to keep themselves from succumbing to their pedantry, “Let’s be sure that any requests from the South Chamber Review Society are to be sent directly to me. It’s a scam, but I want to know that their game is. They are worthy of study.”

I shot Tony a knowing look, and gripped his shoulder even more firmly. We then both turned to Tamara. “Got all of that?” I asked her.

With a dot and a dash, her note was completed. She simply nodded.

I looked back at Nat and silently gave my head a little tilt in the direction of Tamara while gesturing with my eyes. My hands were full, and I was trying to be subtle. Unfortunately, Nat’s gaze had returned to the books.

Tony laughed. “Nat’s still getting used to the changes around here. Aren’t you, darling?”

Nat looked up with the look in their eyes that often preceded a contrarian turn. “Well, Tamara is Sheam’s trainee, and still is as far as I am aware. It’s only proper that the request begin with the trainer. I stand by this delegation of duties.”

I laughed, then kissed Nat’s cheek. “How dare we even hint that you are not correct,” I said teasingly, but then cleared my throat, much more obviously gesturing to Tamara with my head.

Finally, they understood. “Oh, Miss Riley, I suppose in due time such tasks should be conveyed directly to you,” Nat said quickly.

Tamara and I exchanged glances. I could see her stiffen, which was a considerable feat considering her usual rigid posture. “The task arrives at my desk, either way,” she said plainly while recapping her pen with one hand — a dexterous flourish which I always admired.

“Yes, well, I am sure you will perform adequately when that moment arrives,” Nat replied with a nod.

“For you, Natalie Carmichael, adequacy shall be my aim.”

“I shall be observing and providing notes,” they said with a slightly raised brow.

“I shall note your notes and if they provide anything useful, you shall be the first to know.”

My eyes darted between them, anxiously waiting to see which would crack a smile first, but both remained poked-faced. “See you in the curator’s office?” I then asked Tony.

He nodded. “Just as soon as I am done here. See you both soon!”

Nat then resumed their tirade about a drop in quality in more recent editions in general. Tamara and I left them to it.

I kept an eye on her as we departed. Reading her moods was like studying a specimen in a lab, but I felt I was gaining a knack for it. She and Nat had developed a surprising relationship that played out in quick banter. Nat was very reluctant to dole out approval or praise, while Tamara disliked praise she felt she hadn’t earned. This had created a powder keg. I was very anxious to see what would happen if a compliment was both given, and accepted.

 

— the labor of love

The next stop on our morning tour brought us to the maps wing. The room was now filled with charts and city plans from all around the world. Like the books in the library, some were collected by Nat and Tony during their travels. The people of Rivton — of Annulia — could finally see the true context their community existed in.

We had constructed an upper level, both to allow guests to peer down at the vast map that sprawled across the floor, and offer more room for more maps. My heart rose with joy at the sight of so many people standing up above, heads tilted downward, gazing and pointing, eyes wide, at the creation spread out before them.

The old torn, blood-soaked map of Rivton had been safely preserved as a piece of our history. The totally new, painstakingly crafted map, was still only partially complete. We often said it was finally approaching the last ninety-percent of the work. It also wasn’t merely a map anymore — it had become a model. 

Each building was crafted by hand from wood and paper. It was taking a while, but it was a creative activity I could sink myself into when I needed a break from more mentally intensive tasks. It was meditative. It was blissful. While doing it, I felt like I could just breathe.

However, it wasn’t just serving as a novelty. As I built it, I went out into Rivton, exploring, and meeting the people who lived in the districts and apartment blocks. I learned what was true, what was needed, and what hopes for the future the people held.

Seeing that nothing was amiss, we silently proceeded to the art gallery. I paused briefly, a light smile on my lips, as I noticed that another original Jaer piece had been freshly hung. The pieces were messy. They were raw. The boy was brilliant, and his work fit right in next to the eclectic and risky section of images donated by our guests. 

Beside each piece was a small plaque, written in the artist’s own words, saying whatever it was they wished. Some described their process. Some talked about what the piece meant to them, or what inspired it. Other artists simply wrote what was on their mind. We proofread, but we didn’t revise.

We suddenly heard a commotion from deeper within the gallery wing. Tamara looked knowingly up at me. I grinned as I said, “I’ll see what’s up. Mind waiting here? It will only be a moment.”

She nodded. “I shall review the newest paintings as you do.”

I walked briskly down the large hall into a partitioned chamber, and saw her. Or rather, I saw her impressively muscular back.

Kaite had partially disassembled one of her sculptures — one of the more recent ones — and was in the process of welding it back together. Or, rather, at the moment, she was trying to undo one of her welds with a grinder. “This fucking thing—”

“I can have it taken back to our workshop if—”

“No!” she said, harshly. “Also, hey captain. It’s not working because I made it in the workshop. It’s going to live here so it needs to work here. And it doesn’t work. Something is off. Something doesn’t feel right.”

I curled both of my arms around her thick upper arm, even if it got a bit of the grease and her sweat onto me. I didn’t mind. 

She winced.

“Lorne?” I asked, holding back a laugh.

“Yeah, sparring this morning. I’ll be fine. Fuck, she hits hard. I’m going to have to find her other training partners for when I’m too beat up. Maybe I’ll have her give Rémi a run for her money.” Kaite then relaxed slightly, and kissed the top of my head. “She’s with Emmett, by the way.”

I sucked air through my teeth, and nodded. “This a good morning to say hi, or leave her be?”

Kaite shrugged. “Changes from moment to moment.”

I sighed and leaned close to her, and just took a moment to look around. Her sculptures were stunning, evocative pieces of wood and metal. Each one looked as if it was in motion somehow, like a tree in a storm, or a wave crashing onto a stone. At first she had just thrown them together, said, ‘whatever, it looks fine, who cares,’ and had it displayed. Months later and she was obsessing over the balance of the composition from every angle and how it fit into the context of the display area. 

She and I would spend hours together, just talking about it. I loved it. She loved it. I hadn’t realized that we could grow even closer, but our mutual love of creativity had added so many new layers to our romance.

One thing that hadn’t changed though, was her approach to the plaques. She didn’t use any — said that the guests didn’t need to know the fucked up ideas in her head about each one.

That was for my ears only.

She broke the silence. “Sarah’s first day, right? I mean for real.”

I nodded.

Kaite slowly let a sardonic grin spread over her face. “Let her know that if she doesn’t meet my standards she’ll never get on my good side.” She winked.

I scoffed. “She’s already on your good side,” I insisted. “Big softy.”

“No doting,” She insisted. “Okay, maybe a little doting. We can ration out doting. I’ll let you know if you’ve hit your limit for the day.” She then kissed my head a second time.

I laughed. “Well, Tamara dislikes it when I dote, so that means more for Sarah. Oh, speaking of overabundances of sweetness, seen our princess?” I asked, returning the kiss to her neck. “Or is she with a client today?”

“Yeah, she’s in the education wing. Teaching — no, wait, I think she’s in class? Honestly, with her, is there a difference?”

I grinned joyfully. “I’ll find her. Good luck, Kaite. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she said absently, mind already back to her art.

I tore myself away from my view of Kaite’s sweaty and greasy body, and returned to Tamara. 

When I found her I saw that she had filled an entire page of her notepad with her thoughts on the gallery. When she saw me approach she silently flipped the cover closed and re-capped her pen. She would keep her thoughts private until she felt they were ready to share.

Without a word, we resumed walking together. We had a few more stops before our morning tour was over.

 

— the ancients

We found Greg, as always, in the archeology wing. Ever the tour guide, he was explaining a display to a group of guests. It was a recreation of the setup we had used to steer the Giant back to the army that had launched it, a year ago. 

It was now much tidier, and made with the donated cables that Emmett had once promised. It wasn’t live, but also with no functioning control platform to patch it into, it had resumed being merely an archaeological exhibit.

Nearby was a small selection of chem-plate images. They were sightings of the Giant, captured by Jaegré during his expeditions. It would sometimes re-appear out in the Annulia countryside, but then vanish for months at a time. Sometimes it stayed still for weeks. Other times it rushed with the wind, and vanished. It was doing its own thing, living its version of life.

What's more, new things began to appear out in the world; a new forest in the distinct size and shape of the Giant, strange sculpture-like formations made of stone and metal, and even a new city, completely uninhabited, that hadn't been there a day before. Jaegré's chem-plates cataloged it all.

Two of Tony’s com’asks were on display on a pedestal. They were out in the open, not sealed in a case, and untethered. Anyone could try them on and experiment talking at a distance without a wire. Children loved it, so they broke very often. Tony just used that as an excuse to build newer, more advanced models.

Finally, there was the artifact — the ancient tablet once dug up on a distant archipelago. It was still on display, still defiant against the delegation. No new lost tablets had turned up, but now that we knew what to look for, it was only a matter of time.

Before we could move to the next wing, we heard Greg chasing after us. “Oh ho, just,” he huffed for breath, “one second.”

“What’s up, Greg?” I asked.

“Hello, Sheam. Tamara, when you see Tony, can you please let him know that I found something in the archives I think could interest him. I had passed over it so many times, but I was just below this morning, and I think it may be part of a device that uses waves similar to the com’asks — but to cook food.”

I blinked, suddenly worried about a com’ask cooking someone’s head. When I glanced at Tamara, I saw that she had already finished writing it down. “That is interesting, Mister Layne. Please, for clarity, is this for museum business or personal interest?”

“Oh, both? Both,” he said with an anxious smile. “Possibly for the good of all society! Cooking without need for flame or gas — simple electricity could do the job!”

Tamara, having no history with Greg, good or bad, represented a fresh start for him. As with the entourage ability, we had briefed her about the delegation and the Benefactors. She had taken it all in with quiet curiosity, but also skepticism. I remembered her reaction at learning Greg’s age. ‘I thought he would be wiser.’ Not a criticism — just an observation, she insisted. In the end, the two got along rather well.

He honestly had grown in both wisdom, care, and grace in the year since he and I renewed our friendship. We were providing him with motivation to gain that wisdom that Tamara had expected him to hold, but it was still his steps to take.

Our business with Greg concluded, we moved on.

 

— the polymath

The teaching wing had been the slowest to get started, but once it did, it had become incredibly popular. It was bustling. We were almost out of room. The space had been divided up into temporary partitions that could be rearranged depending on what was going on at any given day. 

We heard a thud almost immediately on entering, followed by the unmistakable sound of Flo crying out. She had fallen off her pole again.

She saw us, asked her instructor to wait a moment, and ran to me, wearing an outfit made entirely of straps. It left nothing to the imagination, but also wasn’t an uncommon sight. On the first day of the week Flo posed nude for figure drawing, so by now all of the regulars were used to the gorgeous sight of her body.

Tamara appeared to be unfazed by the display — her favorite and most well-rehearsed expression.

“Hey Ephie baby,” I said as she smashed into me, a tangle of arms as we hugged. It was as if we hadn’t just seen one another a few hours ago. “Learning curve?”

“Yeah — hi Tamara! — the shapes we're learning today are really hard, but the teacher is good. Sometimes I forget where my limbs are. At least I wasn’t upside down this time. Tamara, how are you?” Flo released me and skipped closer to the small woman. Tamara no longer seemed entirely unfazed.

“I am well, thank you, Miss Starshine,” Tamara said politely.

“Oh, heck! Sweetie you know you can call me Flo. Gosh, you can call me Ephie if you want. I am always so happy to see you! Are you enjoying the work? It’s amazing, right? So much interesting stuff happens here!”

“I… yes, Flo. I enjoy the work very much.” Tamara gave the slightest hint of a smile. “Your girlfriend is a very good mentor.”

“Ah, heck,” I said, leaning into the sensation of bashfulness. There was something about Flo that heightened my emotions, no matter what I was feeling. “Well, you’re a fantastic manager. Twice as good as I ever was.”

She nodded. “I hope one day to feel worthy of accepting that compliment.”

Flo snorted and laughed. “Gosh, dear, you are worthy. Goodness, you’re like a mini-Sheam.” I could tell that Flo wanted to wrap Tamara up in a hug. She had tried that once and Tamara hadn’t liked it, so she contented herself with smiles and compliments.

 Flo’s eyes then flashed, indicating an impending topic change. “Oh, oh, I have two new clients! That makes three now. And they’re so sweet too! I’d ask you to meet them but it’s all very private. So, I guess I can’t ask you to meet them.”

I laughed. “Are they your clients as Mistress Ephemeral, or Doctor Starshine?”

She grinned. “Both? It can be both, right?”

I gave her a skeptical look, but that faded into playfulness. “I mean, I guess it’s all therapy, right?”

She nodded sternly. “Yes, that is true! However, formalized psychological therapy, while available, must be specifically asked for, just like all of my services.” 

It wasn’t a joke. Following her breakthrough with me, Flo had taken a serious interest in psychology. She was studying hard. She wasn’t quite ready for patients yet, but was determined to see mental healthcare as a part of her future — as was, it now seemed, pole dancing.

I smiled, feeling so warm whenever I was close to her. “Don’t hurt yourself too bad on the pole, okay Ephie? Having fun?”

“Oh heck, yeah, a lot of fun! Wait, gosh, your fifth crossing-over-versery is in a few weeks, right? I have to figure out a special dance to do for you that day. We’ll do a party, right?”

“Yes, of course, my love,” I responded, laughing.

“You’ll come, Tamara?” Flo insisted, eyes bright and wide with hope. “You can meet Violet! You’ll love her — you two have so much in common! Gosh, I am so excited that she’s finally ready for other people to meet the her that she’s become. I am so proud of her!”

“If I am invited,” Tamara said, pushing her glasses more tightly against her face, with her chin tipped downward. For her, that was a fairly strong display of emotions.

“Tamara, would you like to come to my anniversary party?” I simply asked. Formality made her happy.

She nodded. “I accept. However I will need to know details. Is it traditional to bring a gift?”

“We don’t really have traditions yet — actually I’ll let Flo fill you in,” I said, and then kissed my love soundly. “The party is her idea, after all. Okay, Flo, we gotta get back to it.”

She nodded. “Yeah, me too! Only ten minutes left of pole class but I want to practice on my own. See you for lunch? Oh, fuck, Sheam, Sarah is here. It’s her first official work day, right? Invite her too! She needs practice. Number-nine must dine!”

“I will! Have fun, babe!” I knew I wouldn’t need to. Tamara had written it down. She had all of this handled.

I remembered Flo growing conflicted about the fanciful way she kept count of the members of our extended group. Tamara was among us, clearly, but wasn’t Lorne also part of our cadre now? What about Roth? Or Rémi? What about Jaer? That would bring us to thirteen, which would have made Sarah number fourteen. Flo thought that was too distant, though. Sarah was family.

I told her the numbers were her idea, so she got to make the rules. So, Sarah skipped the queue, and was officially number nine.

A breath before we turned to leave, Flo called after me. “Oh, hang on, wait! This is dangling too much. The teacher yelled at me about it. Catch!” She then threw our key and its chain to me. 

My hands were full with my hat and cane, not to mention a third for the shopping bag, but it was no matter. I caught it with a hand I manifested instantly before me. Tamara jumped a little. I shot her a smile as the manifested hand was joined by a third, which fastened the chain behind my neck. One of my hands then assisted me in blowing Flo a kiss, before vanishing.

 

— the debate

Our last stop before greeting the newest member of our team was the community wing. Emmett was holding a session — a shocking large one for this early in the day — in the central chamber. He was sitting on one of the benches, eschewing the podium, bent forward, leaning on his crutch, hound by his side and raven on his shoulder.

His organizing had helped Phaeros lose the last mayoral election. Unfortunately his replacement — though not a delegate — wasn’t much better. In fact, in some ways, he was worse. Emmett was now running for a seat on the national council, hence the daily meetings. I paused to listen, Tamara patiently by my side.

Larry Maxwell, a large, sturdy-looking man, was speaking. “I just don't think it's possible to win an election with entourage-rights on the platform. No one knows what that means, which makes it frightening. They'll think, ‘if an entourage, whatever that is, gains rights, what rights do I lose to make room for them?’ I say we focus on what's achievable. Win this election. Then we can start to think about introducing special, unpopular topics.”

It tried my patience to have Larry as part of Emmett's coalition, but he was part of his diversity of tactics ideology. He was a delegate, and a member of the city council. Though ostensibly on our side in the campaign to elect Emmett to the national council, his conservatism made Grégoire look like Flo in comparison. Emmett said this gave him insight into how the opposition thought.

“We educate them,” Emmett said. “We give them the opportunity to know. I introduce myself as an entourage. We all are after all, Larry. Even if you don't remember it, we delegates came into this world as projections of a Benefactor. The process was different — we skipped a few steps, we arrived with certain privileges, but we're every bit as entourage as Flo, as Jaegré — as Sarah.”

Over time and through collaboration, Emmett and I had grown into the closest of friends, our bond as tight as any of us in the original cadre. I relied on his experience and wisdom, and trusted in his faith in me through any disagreements that arose between us. We didn’t always see eye to eye on the details of the road in front of us, but we knew we were both going in the same direction, towards the same destination.

“I'm all for it, honestly I am.” Roth Xavier volunteered. “Goodness knows I've been thinking of following in Sheam and Jaegré footsteps myself. But then, what kind of world would I be bringing a self-actualized entourage into? I'm just worried about creating a new under-class. In secret, we can go about our lives in relative peace. If we campaign on a controversial platform that involves outing us all, I fear things will only get worse.”

I wanted to speak up. I wanted to talk about how important it was for me and my family to not have to hide who we are, but I also understood that it would be easiest for people like me. We suspected there were other self-projecting entourage out there. There had to be. Some could even be like me — using the ability to become our true selves. We also knew that there must be those with the natural-born ability somewhere in the world who had nothing to do with the delegation or Rivton.

Jaegré had taken to calling them Population Two. We wanted to find them, but we also wanted to give them a world that accepted them rather than one that they needed to hide from, or would fear what they represented.

I had to acknowledge that due to our previous lives as parts of the delegation, we were all tremendously privileged. Emmett’s deep connections in the government had helped us finally legally claim ownership of the Circle. The title was split between myself, Emmett, Tony, and much to our delight at her interest, Kaite. It was no longer a public work, but a privately owned and operated establishment, registered as a cooperative. Without that work provided by those connections, the Circle in its current form couldn't exist.

None of what we were building could have been possible without the power the delegation held, serving each of our roles in society to us on platters. We, Emmett and I both, felt it was our duty to use that privilege in any way we could to make the world a better place.

Unfortunately, it looked as if I wasn’t going to be allowed to merely observe peacefully with my thoughts. Larry Maxwell had noticed me. After a quick glance, he stood, and addressed Emmett. “Isn’t it risky for us to claim a position representing personal rights for entourage, when we count those such as Sheam Luxexumbra and Grégoire Layne as members of our party? They are Benefactors — they consume entourage to gain eternal life. What kind of message does it send to claim support for these rights when from the other side of our mouths we support such barbarism? Why, it doesn’t just add to the potential confusion, it ensures it. It ensures division! This is division which our adversaries do not have.” He spoke without looking at me.

It felt that the air in the room grew cold and sharp. Tamara grew even more still than she usually did. A murmur passed through the rest of those assembled, with glances towards me.

I could sense Emmett gathering himself together to answer, but I saved him the trouble. “Until you yourself can understand the journey that I undertook to be able to inhabit this body as my own, I wouldn’t say such things. Mister Maxwell, speak of things you understand, or not at all.”

Finally he turned to me. “So you deny that the body you inhabit — an entourage of your own creation — was worthy of personhood? To claim such things is to deny personhood to all entourage, is it not? To your dear Florence as well, no?”

I kept my tone steady. “You’re arguing in poor faith. You, as a delegate, know with absolute certainty that an entourage projection does not self-actualize spontaneously. The intention behind the projection must be specific. Time is needed for development. It is not instan—”

He cut in. “And yet, the one named Sarah seems to be remarkably like a person after what, mere months? Has it even been a month?”

I could almost hear Tamara’s teeth clench. I wanted to reach out to comfort her, but knew that such a gesture would just embarrass her. Instead, I pushed forward. “Sarah is the entourage of Jaegré, himself a self-actualized entourage who won that actualization slowly and through sheer force of will. It is only natural that a being imagined into life by Jaegré, of all people, would be able to make such a journey remarkably quick—”

“So you admit that an entourage can self-actualize through force of will. How curious! Before I could have sworn you said that such things must be the intention of the progenitor. How can it be both—”

A young woman, not yet twenty, suddenly stood up. She seemed intent on making as much noise as possible as she did so. She wanted everyone to hear her irritation.

Lorne Swann was still dressed from her sparring match with Kaite. Her raven-black hair was pulled back tightly in a pony-tail. Her body was all lean muscle and sinew. She was nowhere near Kaite's size, but we all knew that the girl could punch through a brick wall when she was angry. Today, she was angry. 

“You may speak your mind, Lorne,” Emmett said with kindness.

I braced myself. 

I could hear the thin young woman inhale sharply. She then looked me in the eyes. “I don’t know why you waste your breath on this bullshit.” Her face then grew even more harsh, turning to glare at Emmett. “And I do not fucking understand why you're so ready to… to just pile in and join the gallery of power-mad politicians. What is the fucking point of winning an election? Fuck elections! You take that office, Emmett, and I swear on my father's grave you'll be as bad as those fuckers within the week.”

She stopped cold for a moment, glaring at the ground. “I don't fucking care what our fucking platform is. Fuck platforms. We don't end the oppression of entourage by… by debating in a fucking community center! You don't do it by writing fucking laws!”

Red in the face, and shaking with fury, she began to address the entire assembly. “Let me get the fuck back out there! I'll take the government complex by myself if I have to but I know… I know there's people out there hungry for blood and I'm ready, I'm so fucking ready to help them get it.”

She once made eye contact with me. “That's how we used to do it, didn't we?”

I felt my hair stand on end.

I yearned to agree with her. The two remaining known Benefactors, Reginald Coolish and Adrien Blanc, were still out there, going about their business. At Emmett’s advice, we never did end up pursuing them. There were always far more pressing matters, and they were far from being the only forces of authoritarianism within the country. There was, as Emmett put it, bigger fish to fry. Emmett wanted to take things slow — build a foundation. Dismantle the systems of power that allowed the delegation to thrive.

The lodge, and whoever had piloted it to parts unknown, was still out there. Would it return soon? All we could do was work every day to ensure that when they did return, or even tried to exert influence from afar, they’d find a changed society — one that was not so easily tempted by the apparent safety of stability and uniformity.

Part of me understood Emmett’s plan and agreed with it. The rest of me wanted to join Lorne in the streets, blade and firebomb in hand.

Some of the first words Emmett had said to me echoed in my mind. We wouldn’t know when we had won, nor would we know what to do when we had. Every step of the way, come victory or the advent of our next fight, we'd all disagree bitterly over the right way to do things. All we could do was stay true to our values and never stop trying to make the world a better place.

I knew Lorne was expecting me to answer. I could also feel Emmett and Tamara's eyes on me. 

“Emmett always says, a diversity of tactics. His election and council seat is one of them. I trust him to remain true to himself. But Lorne, I'll keep my knives sharp, and I know you will too. We won't wait until we feel their hands at our throats to cut theirs.” 

I then looked at Larry Maxwell. “We relinquish nothing. We tell the world that entourage are people with the right to exist as people. We dare anyone to contradict us. That's what we stand for and we don't give any ground — not a single breath in compromise.”

“It won't be enough,” Lorne said, her eyes hard. She resumed gathering her things, and stormed out. 

I looked apologetically at Emmett. He offered back an understanding smile. I expected him to look tired or worn down, but he seemed calm, and contented. This was his world. He thrived in it. To him, this intense exchange was just ordinary business.

Tamara cleared her throat by my side.

“Good luck,” I just said to Emmett with a nod, and continued on my way.

As we walked away, I felt that Tamara had a great shadow cast over her. She was walking a step more slowly than usual, with her head tilted uncharacteristically downward. When she saw me noticing, she didn’t wait for me to ask. “I don’t know how you can endure things like that,” she said. “I’d lose my mind at the accusations. He has to know that it wasn’t like that with you… with you and your body.”

I shook my head. “He’s taking that position just to have one. If my situation was different, he’d take a position to oppose that, too. That’s the only way he knows how to be himself. He finds who he thinks is the biggest threat to him being the most important voice in the room, and he attacks that person. He knows I have Emmett’s ear, so he needs to be against me. He doesn’t actually care about what he’s saying.”

She sighed. “Still, I don’t know why we keep him around. I suppose it’s important to have dissenting points of view and hear them out.”

“Nah,” I said to her, a twinkle in his eye. “We don’t hear him out. We wind him up, and then send him after our real enemies. You should have seen him go after Phaeros — he was a menace. Throw him into an assembly and he’ll waste everyone’s time for hours. That’s doubly true if we’ve already gotten him frustrated.”

I could hear her snort. The sound of it made me smile.

 

— the family

As we approached the café, the sounds of the debate growing faint, Tamara picked up speed. In fact, she seemed to move a step more quickly than usual. I felt like I knew why. 

The small café kitchen was nestled in the back of the community wing, where our newest staff member, number nine — the famous Sarah herself, was being given some last minute additional training on her first official day as Circle barista.

Specifically, Jaegré was instructing her in the fine art of coffee making with the level of detail and nuance that was required to keep Kaite happy.

“You’ve got to time it for exactly one minute,” he said.

“Yes bro, I have it! I know this!” she responded.

“And then you break the bloom, so the grounds can sink to the bottom. Next, turn the hourglass over, and wait—”

“Jaeg, I have it! — okay wait, why is it called a bloom? It is not a flower.”

“Oh, I guess it sort of looks and acts like one? Like the way a flower unfolds from a bud?”

“I see. A thing can be called by the way it resembles another thing. Yes — like Florence Starshine. Very good. I will use this trick of words.”

Sarah had ragged, short, platinum-blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. She appeared to be twenty-one, at least until she began speaking. Sarah wore a long coat of coarse fabric that she kept buttoned and buckled, much like the one Jaegré himself wore before he developed a taste for robes.

She was as tall as him, so above-average even for a man. It was really the only thing their appearances had in common. Still, she had taken to calling him big brother all on her own, without prompting, and he had responded in turn.

Jaegré had left on his first expedition to observe the Giant not long after Nat and Tony’s wedding. He returned within a month and a half. He had seemed lighter on his feet after his time away, but also, preoccupied. He didn’t talk about communicating with it, but there was something about the way he talked about the mysterious intelligence that made us all suspect that he had.

He was barely with us for a week before he set out again.

Kaite took his second departure more easily than his first, though she was definitely not pleased that it was so soon.

That time, though, he was away for over three months.

When he returned, he wasn't alone. That's when he introduced us all to Sarah.

Even just a few weeks old, Sarah already seemed so clear-headed and fully self-actualized. Even more impressive was that she was already self-projecting.

I wasn’t at all surprised.

In the days following her arrival, Jaegré and I had many long talks about my first months with Flo. I recounted how she had started out as my mirror image, and slowly came into herself, her personality growing distinct. As with Flo, Sarah developed thoughts and feelings all her own, and then became a person so unique and vibrant that it felt impossible that she had once come from the mind of another.

As we approached I could hear the collection of binders and dossiers that Tamara was cradling to her torso groaning from the intensity of her grip. She was anxious.

I spoke up. “Good morning, Sarah. Hey there, big guy. Still not happy with your little sister’s coffee?” I personally felt that Sarah was far too young to begin working, but Jaegré insisted that this wasn’t work for her. This was play. Further, Sarah was constantly asking to meet more people, so this was a way to bring people to her.

“Hey captain,” Jaegré began, but was then overwhelmed as Sarah began to bounce.

“Oh! Hello Sheam!” Sarah said loudly. “And hello Tam! I am very happy to see you.”

Tamara tilted her head up to look at the much, much taller woman. She lifted a hand to move a lock of hair behind one ear as she responded. “Hello, Sarah. I am also glad to see you. How is the coffee-making training going?”

“It is very good!” Sarah said, beaming. “I am expert-level, naturally. I shall make you a coffee. I have memorized your favorite! Do not wait long, it is happening soon — right now! To the beans!”

Tamara smiled — an actual smile. I could see teeth. She silently nodded with a quick jerk of her head.

I grinned as Jaegré, also took in the exchange. He moved to my side, eyeing the hourglass as it slowly drained. “I could see a look in Kaite’s eye earlier when she tried Sarah’s coffee. I knew something was off. We’re trying again.”

“You realize making her happy even some of the time, let alone all of the time, is impossible, right?”

He gave a little laugh. “Meanwhile it seems like no matter how Sarah makes the coffee, Tamara is happy.”

I grinned, but didn’t take the bait. I had other things on my mind. “How long until you set out again?” I asked, curious, but always a little sad to see him go. 

“Oh, not for another few weeks. Rémi needs more time to organize the whole thing. The response and outpouring was much more than we expected. We’re doubling the size of the caravan.”

I nodded. Even after a year, the neighboring countries that Jossimer and his army had terrorized were still struggling. Rémi Meribor was spearheading an effort to help out, and Jaegré was pitching in. “It’s incredible that you’re doing this,” was all I could think to say.

He shrugged. “Needs doing. By the way, I’m also tagging along with Tony when he goes to visit your old home town. That’s a few months from now — things should be pretty calm around here by then, no? Sure you won’t come along? Feels odd to root around in the place you were born for potential Population Two without you.”

I thought for a moment, but gave the same answer I always did. “I’m still thinking, but still leaning towards no. I am not sure I am ready to go back there. Not yet. Besides — it was a thousand years. I won’t recognize it.”

He nodded. “Places change. So can minds. I’ll ask again when we’re closer to going. Sure you're okay watching Sarah while I'm gone? I'm not sure refugee camps are a thing she's ready for.”

I nodded. “Flo is going to love looking after her little sister. Don't worry.”

Jaegré smiled. “She's changing so fast. I'm not sure what she'll be like when I'm back. But… she'll be in good hands. Oh, hey, Sarah, the hourglass — Kaite’s coffee.”

We were ignored. The two girls were deep in conversation.

Tamara was telling a story and emoting with far more expressiveness than usual. “We also have someone who wants to display their frog collection. So I ask Sheam, do we do that? Do we do frogs? Are they still alive? Poor little guys!”

“Yeah!” Sarah said emphatically. “Poor… little guys?”

Tamara continued, “Thankfully, yes, they were all very much alive. So Sheam said, if they’re already in a terrarium then maybe we can find room for it, but none of the existing wings are a good fit. Where would we keep them?”

“Maybe,” Sarah said, thinking. “If frogs are books, or art, or archeology? If they are… uh, Okay, Tam-tam, I was afraid to ask — what is a frog?”

“Oh!” Tamara cried out. “So, it’s this cute little green guy that lives in ponds and streams. They have big eyes, big mouth, big back legs… Only sometimes they’re brown, or yellow… or blue? Sarah, I bet we can get you a book about it.”

Tony suddenly appeared in the entryway. “Oh, we absolutely have information on and illustrations of frogs,” he said joyfully. “Hello, Sarah my dear!”

Sarah vibrated with excitement. “Hello there, dear Tony! Yes, please with the frog book. I expect it on my desk, stat!”

Tony laughed, “Already ready for my job?”

“Hello again, Mister Carmichael,” Tamara began. “Mister Layne wished for you to know, with some urgency, about an electric cooking device he discovered in the Circle’s archives.”

“Ah, yes, he already told me about it — hence my delay! But thank you for the report, Tamara. I appreciate the diligence.”

“It is nothing,” she replied, sounding slightly bored.

“Alright,” I said, stepping close to Tamara. “Sarah dear I think your brother is going to make you start over from scratch on Kaite’s coffee. It’s time for Tamara to start her work day.”

“No!” Sarah shouted, but then added, “Yes! I mean, yes, Kaite coffee from scratch, but first, coffee for Tamara for her work day! Do not worry, little Tam-tam, it shall be cooked in no time!”

Tamara’s blush was almost audible. “I look forward to it,” she said, and tore herself away.

 

— the hand-off 

Tamara walked with Tony and me into the day manager’s office. Without skipping a beat, Tamara swung into her chair — my old chair — and cracked open the scheduling book. She suddenly seemed so at ease. She had no idea how hard-won everything that surrounded her had been. We told her the stories, but it wasn’t the same as living it.

I was glad. She needed to know it, but she didn’t need to feel it. I hoped that many who came after her would know, but would not have to endure what we had.

“Got it from here? You can still call me if anything looks odd, or makes no sense. Intercom also connects to the workshop now, right Tony?”

Tony nodded. “And downstairs to Kaite’s security desk, and of course, I’ll be just a door away.”

Tamara nodded. “I am sure I will be able to deal with whatever today throws at me. Thank you for the very interesting morning, as always, ma’am.”

I nodded to her, and turned to Tony. “A minute with you in your office, mister curator?” I asked with an affectionate pat on his back.

“After you, magistra!” he said with a dramatic bow.

Tony eased himself into the second of my old chairs — he had finally gotten comfortable sitting in it — and was immediately distracted by how much larger the to-do stack had gotten during his brief absence. “Mercy,” he huffed. “It really never does end.” He then removed his reading glasses from a small velvet case.

“Reconsidering your promotion?” I teased.

“Never!” he said with enthusiasm. “Though, you will still fill in for me during my expeditions? You can’t keep an archeologist from his field work!”

“At this rate, I think Tamara will be ready to fill in for you by the time you head out. Jaegré said it’s a few months away? Have a lead, or just…” I felt myself hesitating.

Tony didn’t wait for me to finish the thought. “No, not directly. He and I just figured that between your notes on the city and, well, I figured it would be wise to first explore if the ability is hereditary.”

After Tony and Nat’s wedding, I had finally given in to curiosity. I was able to find the city that was once my old home town on a map. It wasn’t in Annulia, but it wasn’t terribly far. 

There hadn’t been many who bore the family name Thresh back in those days. It was equally uncommon today, and that was the crux of it — there were still Threshes living there. They were possibly the descendants of my brother, or sister. Records had been lost. It had been centuries. There was no way to know for sure. But, if Tony and Jaegré were going to find a member of Population Two, it was as good a lead as any.

Tony was smiling at me. “You seem happy,” he just said.

My smile came easily. I didn’t need to say anything to confirm it. “The place feels good to be in, even if sometimes Emmett invites shitheels.”

“Goodness, they are such shitheels!” Tony cried. “Did you know Larry was getting on Nat’s case for still using entourage as automatons? Larry does the same thing!”

I shook my head. “Let Nat know they can talk with me about that, if it’s getting under their skin. I feel like they’ve been avoiding the topic.”

“I will tell them, of course,” Tony said. “Was that all you wanted to talk about, or…?”

“Oh, right, did you get the request from The Circle of Performing Arts? They are asking us if they have our blessings to use the name. I feel…”

Tony looked skeptical.

“It’s weird, right?” I admitted.

“A bit weird.”

“They can get their own name!” I said with a laugh.

“They can indeed! They could be the Octagon of the Performing Arts!”

I laughed even more. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought I was being a bitch for being weird about it. Like, I thought, what can it hurt? But then…”

“They ride our coattails and the next thing we know, our fates are bound together.”

“Yeah!” I insisted. “Okay, thank you. I’m off — let’s see if I can get out without getting pulled back into some Larry bullshit.”

I left the room that had once been my office. I tried to say goodbye to Tamara, but she was deeply absorbed in her work, cradling a mug of coffee as if it were the most precious object in her world.

As I passed through the café I happened to catch Sarah carrying four large sacks of flour. They were so large that I wasn’t sure if Kaite would have been able to lift two at once. I guessed it was time to practice preparing the pastries.

I slipped discretely through the staff exit, peeking into the community center just enough to note that Emmett was now deep in debate with a member of their election team — thankfully not Larry this time.

I exited the Circle, and slipped out into the street.

 

— the fresh page

My intended destination was in the same building I used to live in, back when my body was just an entourage projection. That flat had been rented again — we converted it into a quiet office space — but it was not where I was headed. Emmett’s connections had allowed the cooperative a bit of money to throw around, so we had splurged.

I ascended to what had once been a loft space. We had removed half of the roof, and had it remade. Construction had only been completed a month and a half ago, but the space already looked like we had been living in it for years.

It was our workshop.

I crossed through the colossal mess that Kaite’s sculpture work often left, to the lone figure who was so absorbed in his painting he hadn’t noticed my approach.

“Hi Jaer. Going well?”

“No,” he said, not looking up at me. He clenched his teeth around a paintbrush. He held three others in his left hand. The one clutched in his right was wielded like a murder weapon. He plucked the brush from his teeth. “But that’s good. I’d rather it’s hard. It doesn’t feel real if it’s not hard.”

I let out a breath. “I know what you mean.”

He didn’t seem to be in a talking mood, so I didn’t impose. Instead, I moved to the far end of the space, where the removed roof had been replaced by a tall, multi-faceted window that curved over our heads.

Unlike my old studio flat, which looked out into a wall of the Circle, the new workshop looked out above it. We could see the entire structure laid out from here, with the Rivton skyline beyond, and the glowing sky above.

My hat and cane went into their places on a tall rack standing in the back corner of the space. I slid into the slightly squeaky chair that sat before my drafting table. The entourage hand that had been tailing me so closely that it could have been mistaken for an ornate loop on my belt sprung to life. It was joined by a second as it unpacked my purchases and sorted them all neatly into their places.

My last project, completed yesterday, was pinned to the wall. The work on it was far from over, but it was time I stopped noodling and began the next part of the process — actually getting it built. The roll of tracing paper would come in handy when making slight adjustments that were inevitably needed when a design was slowly converted into building schematics.

With the help of Lorne, I had found several others from the neighborhood that had been destroyed by the Giant who had some knowledge of design and construction. Together, we became focused on refilling the gap. It remained a scar on the city, even a year later. 

Many new constructions had been proposed. Many of them were mine. I felt like my latest design was the best yet, but it would be okay if others were chosen. I had enjoyed drafting it, all the same.

Today though, I wouldn’t worry about that. A large, fresh sheet of paper had already been taped into position on the drafting table — a gift from yesterday-me to today-me.

Let’s not work on anything important, or even necessary. Let’s just create something — a design no-one had imagined until this moment.

“Okay,” I said to myself, letting out a long breath.

“What's next?”

 

— the end