Chapter 17 – Meaningful conversations

Eventually, I told Ryan what I measured on the machine. His reply stuck with me.

“If that’s true, no one can do jack to you. You might be able to do anything you want.”

I thought about that mostly at work, where it seemed like I couldn’t do anything

that I wanted. I thought that after getting that license from Maharin, everything would

work out smoothly and I could practice in peace. I wonder why I thought that? Dealing

with the government never works that smoothly. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, or

stupidity.

The first packet from Astrial arrived the following Thursday. This was a request

for information on my patient statistics, treatment protocols, and measurements of

success. Oh, and they wanted a lot of specifics, like how often a patient would come in,

their progress, exactly what treatments would get what results, and things like that. And

they wanted to know exactly how magic was involved in any of this.

My first reply consisted of a letter describing my treatment techniques, how

magic really wasn’t involved in any of this, usual outcomes, such as, “Patients get well in

2-3 treatments.” Finally, I stated that due to patient confidentiality, I would be unable to

provide more specifics without a release or a court order.

No problem. I got served with a court order the following week. They wanted

copies of all my records for the past seven years. Hard copies.

I wonder if Xerox made any major campaign contributions to whoever wrote up

that protocol?
 A phone call to my lawyer didn’t help much. “All you can do is demand payment

for the time required to make the copies. If they want your files, they’ll get them. I can

write a letter for you. Oh, it’ll also buy you more time.”

More time? I didn’t need more time. I needed stupid Astrial off my back. But,

cash is cash, so after they got me 10,000 dollars to make those copies, my secretary

started her new job as copy machine wrangler. She also hired a temp to run those copies

as well.

400 man-hours, three cases of toner, and a forest of dead trees later, couriers

wheeled out a legal record of my work.

I wished that were it. Two weeks later, I got this package from Astrial. There’s

was a nice letter which read, “Thank you for your cooperation. We have enclosed a

number of bulletins for you to dispense to your clients, that we may better understand the

conditions and maladies treated by your institution. Thank you again for your help.”

Of course, there was also the fine print. “By section 11.235 of Federal mandate

for extra-scientific studies, and by clause 63.913 of your license, you are required to

leave this literature in plain view and offer it to all clients.”

Now, the bulletins themselves weren’t so bad. They just talked about how Astrial

wanted information and how it would be greatly useful in the future. The hard part was

explaining it to the patients.

“What? Why is the government getting into the middle of this?”

“Are you under investigation again?”

“Is this legit? What’s Astrial anyway?”

 Yeah, I hated that one. Not only did they make me do their dirty work, they also

made me explain their organization to others. That’s really hard to do when you hate that

organization. And they’re sneaky, they knew I couldn’t totally badmouth them without

harming my own practice. No one wants to see a doctor who says, “I need you to read

this, but it’s all bullshit.”

Oh, and then the paranoia started. “I heard that the government’s using this to

track magicians and their friends. Who knows what they’re going to do with it?” And

then came the big request. “Can you make my patient information anonymous?”

I’d just sigh and roll my eyes. I’m not good enough of an actor to hide these

emotions. “Actually, I wish I could. However, government regulations require me to

keep a record of everyone I treated.”

“Well, I don’t want the government to know. Can you destroy my previous

records.”

“Sorry, we’re required to keep all files for a minimum of five years.”

They never liked that one. “What kind of country is this? I have a right to my

own information, and no doctor should be allowed to keep my information if I don’t want

it. This is a crime! Robbery! I have a right to protect myself from identify theft and

anything else that could possibly be a threat. I want my file now!”

After three days of this, my secretary quit.

I wanted to quit too. Either that or use my strength to chuck them out the door.

Or window. Or maybe barbeque them with a fire blast.

But I still had to work. I had to pay rent. Plus I still paid my mortgage while the

feds still couldn’t figure out what to do with the reactor.

 Oh, on top of all this, traffic got a lot worse thanks to growth of the protest

industry. Exactly who was protesting or what they wanted varied. One day, people

would hold signs telling magicians to leave their towns and their lives. “Go back to

Hogwarts!” “Muggle and proud of it!” I bet JK Rowling loved these.

The next day would bring a response from an even larger crowd. “Equal rights

for all!” “Race? Check. Religion? Check. Magic? Why not?” “Licenses?

Regulation? We’ve seen this movie.” That last would have a picture of a swastika or

Hitler in the background.

Yep, there’d be a counter protest. “Get your magic away from our kids!” “Magic

causes cancer!” I blame talk-radio for that last one. Someone made the connection that

magic was high power. This could mean magic had radiation. And of course radiation

leads to cancer. Therefore, magic causes cancer.

Idiots.

Of course the flip side of this – “They’re making us have licenses just for being

magical. What’s next? A license to have a kid if we’re magical? Just say no to breeding-

panels! That has no place in America!” Of course, the idea of breeding panels or

anything like it never came up. Some well-meaning politician said something about

possibly having counseling for parents, if one or both proves magical, and maybe seeing

how that might affect the life if their kid, possibly suggesting different schooling or early

identification.

Since the protesters still made the 6:00 news every night, they keep coming out

and yelling. The press reported it, people watched it, and talk radio played caller after
caller, everyone convinced that their words would be the different between a solution and

the utter destruction of our nation.

Oh, one more group of protestors, Brad’s crew. That’s wasn’t their official name,

but they were a group of both magical and non-magical people who tried to show unity

amongst all the conflict. Their slogan – I’m an American. They tried, “We can all get

along,” or “Magic or not, you’re my brother,” but they didn’t have much success until

they tied into people’s patriotism.

“We’re still not that successful,” said Brad. “I’ve gone weeks without hearing a

blip about our cause.”

We were hanging out in a New York style pizza shop after I saw him protesting

outside. He had a few people with him, and they held their signs outside while he took

five. Probably a good thing that I saw him, he looked really beat. His people outside

didn’t look too much better, and everyone pretty much ignored them. Still, I was

surprised. “You haven’t heard anything? I mean, I can’t go five minutes without hearing

a soundbite on the news, radio, or a tweet, or a Facebook entry, or something about the

protests.”

“True, but how many positive stories have you heard?”

“Like none.”

“Exactly. Anger. Fear. Paranoia. That makes better news than a few people

trying to get along. It makes for better movies too. When was the last time you saw a

movie about peace?”

“True true. Have the other protesters complained?”

 “They yell at us when we’re in the same area, so we try to give them their space.

I follow their tweets so that’s not so bad, but we’re going to have to face them

sometime.” This seemed to make his shoulders slump further.

“Aren’t you picking a fight, kinda, if you face off with the other protestors?”

“Yep. But what else can we do? Jesus, Dr. King, Ghandi, they didn’t just stay on

the sidelines.”

“They also all got killed.”

“Yeah, but they changed the world.”

Damn. Brad was right. Apparently getting killed might be a prerequisite to

changing the world. Fortunately, I didn’t think that was Brad’s goal.

He wanted something a little simpler. “Why don’t you come out with us? You’ve

got a little face recognition, the news will give us a look, and if you bring your friends, I

doubt anyone will mess with us.”

“My friends?”

“You know, Firewalker, Longarm. They’re still calling themselves that, right?”

I wasn’t sure how he knew about Ryan, but I was sure about one thing. “You

know, I’m not really ready to go out and protest right now. I just want to lay low for a

bit, you know, just live a normal life.”

“How’s that working for you right now?”

Brad knew something. I don’t know how he knew, but then again, I never know

how he knows. “Look, dude, I think what you’re doing is really cool. It’s probably what

this whole debate needs. Someone needs to remind people that we’re all still people, but

I’m not sure that person is me.”

 Part of me expected to hear some fire and brimstone bit from Pastor Brad, but he

just nodded. Maybe he knew I was going to say this. I don’t know.

“We’ll be out there. Come join us when you’re ready.” And with that, he shook

my hand and walked back out onto the street.

When I’m ready. I didn’t think I’d ever be ready. Then again, I wasn’t ready for

magic, and it snuck up on me. I wasn’t ready for court, but that didn’t stop the

prosecutors. I wasn’t ready to be saving lives and performing never-before-done

surgeries. Why should protesting or getting my opinion out be any different?

I still felt conflicted over all this. To put it simply, I really didn’t want to be any

kind of talking head or face to any sort of movement. Yeah, having everyone get along

would be better than angry rants from people who only listen to news and messages from

people with the same point of view, but how was I supposed to change all their minds?

That’s one spell I didn’t know.

Ryan agreed with me. “Can’t do much about their opinions. I can barbeque them,

but I’m not sure that’ll help.”

“Yeah, great. It’s a good thing you’re trying to be a superhero, not a supervillain.”

Kevin had a different opinion. “People will trust whoever they decide to trust.

Sometimes it the guy saying whatever it is they want to hear. Sometimes it’s an authority

with all the scientific research to back him up. Sometimes there’s no good reason

whatsoever. That might be you.”

“Wait a second. You want me to go out there, get into all their faces, and tell them

what I think?”

“It might work.”

 Great. That’s just the life I’ve always wanted. But my buds wouldn’t leave me

alone. Ryan handed me a cellphone. “I hacked this one so the only thing it’ll do is call

me. If you’re in trouble, just hit the buttons and I’ll get a call. It’s got GPS, so we’ll be

able to find you.”

“You want me to go out there, don’t you?”

“Hey, that Brad guy knew about us. I’m always one to help a fan.” Great, Ry, it’s

all about you and your fans.

As for me, I tried to hide in my low-profile job. Unless Astrial ordered me to do

something, I didn’t do jack.

I don’t think I’m very good at hiding. Brad got my email somehow and sent me

this. “Hey, Steve. Not sure if you’re interested, but here’s the tweets for both the pro and

anti threads. Just follow #FUmerlin and #evolvednlovenit Cool, hope you’re well.”

Now, I’m not sure why I didn’t just delete that email. Maybe I was stupid.

Maybe it’s that curiosity thing that Ryan said I have. Whatever, I followed them. An

hour later, I wondered if I made a mistake. People I knew posted enough anger about

magic, enough that I thought about de-friending them. But following strangers brought a

whole new level.

“Click here to find ways to make your magical neighbors move. The cops won’t

notice these.”

“Astrial wants to throw us all into holding pens. Call your senators,

representatives, and buy a gun. Or two!”

“Principals Connors, Dominguez, Chu, and Lee support integration. Here are

their addresses. Let them know how you feel!”

 “Anti jerks will be at Sportsman’s grill on Friday at 7:00. If you’ve got super

strength or anything ready for a fight, show up and let’s go fuck up some Neanderthals.”

Oh yeah, the magicals called the non-magicals Neanderthals, Cro-Magnons, or Lucys.

Can’t say that made me proud to be magical.

Then again, maybe the antis deserved it. Maybe not. I don’t know, but I wasn’t

getting involved. I told Ryan and Kevin though. They had a slightly different opinion.

At 9:30pm Friday night, the cops showed up to find a dozen drunken people stuck

to the walls and parking lot of the Sportsman’s grill in Northridge. The witness report on

the news was great. “See, the first bunch of people came in about 7, 7:30. They pounded

a few beers and cussed out magicals and stuff like that. I told my manager, but he said

that as long as they kept buying and didn’t start anything, they could do whatever they

want. Then the bouncer saw new bunch of guys come in at 8. They took tequila shots

and said stuff like, ‘Come on, Neanderthals, why don’t you come over here and say that.’

I think we had a thousand in sales before anyone stood up. That’s when our bouncer told

them to take it outside. They did. We all went out too to watch.

Funny thing is, even drunk off their asses, they wanted to talk trash more than

throw down. We egged them on, but that didn’t do much. That’s when the two

superheroes showed up. They told everyone to settle down. The drunks decided that

they’d rather just make fun of the superheroes. Bad idea. Someone took a step towards

them, and the fire guy took a warning shot. That pissed off the drunks and they started

moving in. So, the spiderman guy shot all these things and stuck them to the ground or

the walls. We all laughed our asses off.

 The superheroes called the cops here and took off. People just laughed at the

drunks and took pictures. Take a look.”

The press had a field day with this one. When the cops asked Ry if they were

responsible, he just said, “Yep. Oh yeah, we’re Firewalker and Longarm. Make sure you

get it right.”

Oh, the newspapers got it right. Everyone got it right.

I showed Ryan something on my phone. “Take a look at these tweets.”

“Firewalker and Longarm need to join our cause. With their power, we are

unstoppable.”

“Firewalker is an asshole. Let’s put his magic against my Colt .45.”

“If the wizards are going to be like Firewalker and Longarm, we should lock them

up now before it’s too late!”

Ryan didn’t seem to affected by his press. He simply said, “We did the right

thing. No one died that night, no one was even hurt.”

“Yeah, but now you’re the target for every nutso out there.”

Ryan shrugged. “Just part of being a superhero.”

What he didn’t mention was that last bit from the end of Batman Begins.

Something about escalation, about how a super powerful superhero also brings out super

powerful supervillains. That wasn’t exactly what we got, but we did get something.”

From #FUmerlin - Come out to Pershing Square. We’re going to give the city a

protest that even Firebrain can’t stop.

From #evolvednlovenit – Cro-Mags are going to Pershing Square on Monday.

Can’t let them get all the attention. Hope wannabe spiderman stays away.
Oh yeah, Brad and his guys usually held their signs at Pershing Square.

Damn.