Marcus Sakey - Brilliance

“Social conscience is boring, darling,” Vivid said, downing a triple espresso at Urth Café. “F–k political correctness. I’m here to entertain.”

If ratings are any proof, his latest show (Ab)Normal is precisely the entertainment America is looking for. The reality show, which pits gifted individuals against teams of normals in competitions that include mock-assassinations, daring robberies, and even hand-to-hand combat, regularly draws 45 million viewers a week.

It also garners criticism for at best exacerbating social tensions—and at worst, for being explicitly racist.

“In Rome they watched slaves fight lions. Entertainment’s a blood sport, baby,” Vivid responds. “Besides, how can it be racist? We’re all the same race, f–ktard.”

It’s a typical comment from the inflammatory host, who revels in insulting detractors and fans alike. Nor does he stray from controversy. In this season’s most infamous (Ab)Normal episode, three gifted contestants were tasked with infiltrating the Library of Congress and planting explosives. While the bombs were fake, the security was genuine—and failed to protect the library from the television terrorists.

It was a shocking display in an age when domestic terrorism is a very real threat, and neither the FCC nor the FBI was amused. The former has levied extensive fines against the network, while the latter has opened an active investigation to determine whether criminal charges should apply.

“I think of it as a public service,” said Vivid. “I’m pointing out the weaknesses in the system. But bring ’em on. I’ve got a 42 share. I can afford all the lawyers in the world.”

Cooper used the drive to work to run scenarios. He got no small amount of grim pleasure from the one in which he tracked down the gutless bureaucrat who had called Natalie this morning and beat him bloody with the handset of his desk phone. Unbelievable. What kind of a job was that? Sit in a cubicle cold-calling families to tell them that something had happened, you couldn’t say what, but that their son or daughter needed to take the Treffert-Down Scale Assessment the following day. Hiding behind a call sheet and a flowchart of responses. Sorry, sir, sorry, ma’am, it’s just policy.

Drew Peters will be able to help. There had to be some advantage to being the best that the best of the DAR had to offer. Seven years of dedication, of brutal hours and relentless travel and blood on his hands. It had to count for something.

He remembered a conversation he’d had with Natalie back when Peters first recruited him. He’d already been with the department, first as a military liaison, then, when his term with the army was up, full-time. But Equitable Services was a whole new world. Instead of just tracking and analyzing brilliants, he would be actively pursuing some of them.

“Our task,” said the neat, calm man with steel in his eyes, “will be to preserve balance. To ensure that those who would upset the order of things are held in check. In certain cases, preemptively.”

“Preemptively? You mean—”

“I mean that when the evidence is clear and the danger is real, we will act before they do. I mean that instead of waiting for terrorists to attack our way of life, instead of allowing them to push this country toward a war against its own children, we will act to prevent one.”

To the average person, it might have been a stunning statement. But Cooper was a soldier, and to a soldier it was simple logic. Turning the other cheek was a lovely sentiment, but in the real world, it mostly resulted in matching bruises. Better still, why wait until after you’re hit to hit back? Neutralize the threat before it hurt you. “Will we have authorization to do that? Terminate citizens?”

“We have support at the highest levels. Our team will be protected. But what we will do will require the sharpest mind, the clearest moral sense. I need men and women who understand that. Who have the strength and intelligence and conviction to do difficult things in service of their country. I need,” Director Drew Peters had said, “believers.”

“He needs,” Natalie had said, when he recounted the conversation later, “killers.”

“Sometimes,” Cooper had said. “Yes. But it’s more than that. This isn’t some evil CIA spinoff group whacking political rivals. We’ll be protecting people.”

“By killing gifteds.”

“By hunting terrorists and murderers. Some—okay, most—of which will be brilliants, yes. But that’s not the point.”

“What is?”

He’d paused a long moment. A beam of dusty sun tracked across the scuffed hardwood of their apartment. “You know that moment in a movie when the good guys stand together? Against incredible odds, and for something important, and with total faith that their brothers will stand with them?”

“You mean like at the end of a rom-com, when the best friend rushes the guy to the airport to catch the girl?”

He’d mock-pushed her, and she’d laughed. “Yeah, I know the scenes. You get all teary. You play it off, but I can always tell. It’s cute.”

“I get teary because I believe in it. In heroism and duty, in sacrifice for justice and equality. All that good stuff. That’s why I became a soldier in the first place.”

“But now you’ll be fighting against other gifteds. People like you.”

“I realize it’s weird.” He’d taken her hands. “Twists—”

“Would you stop it with that word?”

“Okay, abnorms , they’ll think I’m a traitor, and some of my new straight colleagues won’t trust me. I get it.”

“So why—”

“Because we have a son.”

Natalie had been about to respond, but his answer threw her. She looked down at her hands in his. “I just—I don’t want you to end up hating yourself.”

“I won’t. I’ll be fighting for a world where it doesn’t matter if my son is gifted or not. That’s a cause I can kill for.” As if on cue, Todd had stirred in his crib. They had both held their breath. When he settled, Cooper continued. “Besides, I want to be able to protect you both if things do get worse. There’s no better place to be able to do that.”

Time to test that theory.

The Equitable Services command center was as busy as ever. Shifts ran twenty-four hours, and day or night analysts keyed in their data, argued over meaning and relevance, and updated the video wall that showed every action in the country. There were more oranges and reds overlaid today than yesterday, measurements of the nation’s growing tension. The bank of monitors played cable news, two channels dedicated to that evening’s reopening of the stock market, a third showed a conservative pundit drawing on a chalkboard, the fourth running an earlier press conference in which a reporter buttonholed President Walker about the New Canaan Holdfast in Wyoming. The president looked tired but handled himself well, reminding the world that the gifted were also American citizens, and that the NCH was legally purchased corporate land.

Cooper headed for the stairs. Behind him, a woman called his name. He ignored her and started up the stairs. Valerie West hurried after him. “Cooper!”

He turned his head but didn’t stop. “I’m busy.”

“No, listen, one of the taps turned something up. You’ve got to hear—”

“Later.”

“But—”

He whirled. “I said later , okay? I don’t know how much simpler I can make it.”

Valerie reacted as if slapped. “Yes, sir.”

Cooper hurried up the stairs, one hand trailing the railing. A balcony ringed the command center, executive offices, and conference rooms. Director Drew Peters’s office was mostly glass, allowing him to keep an eye on the video wall and the activity below. Now, however, the blinds were closed. His assistant, Maggie, a stylish woman in her early fifties with a pleasant smile and ice water in her veins, looked up as Cooper approached. She’d been with Peters for two decades, and her experience and security clearance made her more executive officer than secretary.