Washington DC

Samaira’s Apartment

As the eldest of six children, Samaira had needed to grow up quickly. Her younger siblings had taken to calling her “auntie” as a little joke by the time she was ten. Her mother had taught her to help with the cooking well before then, and by thirteen, she was mostly in charge of the house while her father was at work at the accountancy firm and her mother pulled odd-jobs for people in the neighborhood.

She checked the homework of her three sisters and two brothers daily, corrected their mistakes and then checked them again once they’d fixed them. She made sure five little sets of teeth were brushed before bed, that five tiny lunches had been packed, and that five little outfits were ready to be worn to school the next day. Five pairs of shoes tied, five backpacks checked for supplies and books, and five bus seats filled.

This was on top of her own schoolwork, which her parents had expected to be perfect. And to Samaira’s credit, it always was. Honor roll every semester, Valedictorian of her high school, full ride scholarship to University of Chicago, Summa cum Laude for her BA, and a perfect track record through her MA. Her parents had been so proud of her at every milestone. The perfect daughter.

Her mother sometimes wondered when she would find a nice husband. She had (without her knowledge or permission) signed her daughter up on multiple dating sites and kept a detailed spreadsheet of potential husbands for her. Samaira had worked so hard to be what her parents wanted, that she didn’t have it in her to break her mother’s heart on this one thing.

She was never going to marry a man.

She liked men fine. She adored her brothers, deeply respected and loved her father, and had a number of guy friends from college. But nothing was ever going to go beyond that. She’d tried to ignore it during high school, and compromised on merely hiding it once she was in college and away from home.

After a childhood spent taking care of five siblings, Samaira had become so adept at time management and multi-tasking that balancing a part-time job, a full-time course-load, and a secret love life was no challenge at all.

Then the menus had come.

And she had taken some refuge from the madness in her childhood fantasies at first. She could, after countless nights spent dreaming of the impossible, become a real magic wielding sailor girl just like from the old shows. She even had herself a magic cat.

Then she’d met Gary, and fought the aliens on the beach, and then…

Then Anya.

And at first she’d found her a bit annoying. Strong, sure, and definitely hot in literal and metaphorical ways. But overconfident, hasty, and more than a little boorish.

Then she’d started to find the boorish behavior sort of charming, a stark contrast to her own heavily regimented mindset. The open irritation for authority, but enough sense to bend to it on occasion. And compassion for others, concern for the normal people caught in the middle of the invasion. The time they had spent studying their menus and training up in Alaska had been almost perfect.

Just when she’d been working up the nerve to ask her to dinner, she’d gone and done the exact same thing to Dr. Immonen. And then she’d gone to space, likely to die. And then she’d been back but things got even crazier with the new hosts, and MacDougal really started leaning on her.

And suddenly it was like managing her siblings again. Chell needed reassurance after losing her powers, Pan needed guidance as he attempted to navigate human society without the threat of alien attack looming, Gary needed to be checked in on, President Hanover needed to be constantly reassured that she supported the government and his ideas, and Anya…

Anya seemed to be getting worse. Ever since Corva had shown up, Anya had seemed to be bucking MacDougal’s authority more and more, culminating in her suspension. She didn’t realize that with hosts actively setting themselves apart from humanity, now was the time they needed to prove that they were all on the same side. Antagonizing your boss wasn’t the way to do that.

And on top of everything else, Samaira would still find herself crying now and then over her poor, sweet Chandrali. She’d ordered the magical tiger off the RAC store and she’d appeared as a mewling white puffball the size of a pitbull. She’d aged and grown to adulthood within a matter of days, but Samaira would never forget how big her blue eyes were, how pink her little nose was, or how she had purred and slept in Samaira’s arms that first night.

When Samaira’s alarm went off that morning, it was to another reminder that she was alone, and then a weird kind of stressful relief that at least she would be far too busy to think about it. She showered, ate breakfast, and then flew to the USAIF main office down the road from the Capitol. She entered through the rooftop entrance to avoid the press waiting outside as they did every day.

There weren’t as many camera crews out there, a token presence from some of the larger networks and a few local channels, one or two international crews, but that was it. Nothing like the mob that had been there following Corva’s appearance and the subsequent panic of world leaders.

Samaira paused just inside the rooftop entrance to glance up at the moon, just barely visible as a ghostly, pock-marked sphere in the early glow of dawn. The ruins of Lunar Base Prime had been cleared, and some new sort of construction was already underway, only visible as dark, angular lines spreading across the lunar surface. Samaira didn’t like it. It looked too much like some sort of technological infection spreading across a milky eye. The moon affected the tides, and thanks to her Water Dominion and its Ichor of the Ocean, she was rather sensitive to any change in the moon. It wasn’t enough to alter its position or gravity, but it was enough to act as a very mild irritant to her, like a mosquito tip-toeing along the side of her neck.

Samaira descended the steps inside and left the moon, and all her nagging little personal thoughts, outside.

Most of the day went as expected. Chell was in the office that day, and Samaira sat down with her to ask the same routine questions about her mental health and menu status that MacDougal and some other administrators had agreed upon.

“How’re you feeling?” Samaira asked her when they were “alone,” in a conference room. Samaira knew somebody was listening. Somebody always was in the main office. Chell looked perfectly normal, if a bit nervous. Her straight hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore denim overalls over a colorful t-shirt that accentuated her youthful appearance. Chell had always been shy, so the nervousness wasn’t unusual. Samaira just felt bad she might be the cause of it.

“Uh, fine, I guess?” Chell said and shrugged.

“It’s just like last week, Chell. You’re not in trouble and nobody is going to be mad at you,” Samaira said and smiled at her. Chell returned it, but it looked strained.

“I know, and I guess if I had to get sent back to square one, it’s better that it happened right at the end of the invasion. I wasn’t too worried about it once I started to earn my levels back. Cause, y’know, no more aliens. But now, with the new hosts…” Chell trailed off and shrugged.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Samaira said and reached across the table to give Chell’s hand a gentle pat. “Now, let’s just move through these questions so everybody knows things are fine, okay? Five minutes, tops.”

Chell took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, shoot.”

“Boo, come out, please,” Samaira said as she took out the form. Her aquamarine AI appeared beside her, her weeping willow head as droopy as ever.

“I don’t think I’ll be very helpful this time either,” Boo said.

“I just need you to confirm Chell’s readings since you can’t lie. Can you please confirm that I am Samaira Upadhyay and that you are reading the host sitting across from me as Rachel Park?”

“Yeah, I can do that much, at least. You’re Samaira, that’s Rachel. All menu scans and logged data confirmed,” Boo said.

“Thank you, Boo.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now, Chell, have you experienced any additional skill degeneration since you started assigning skill levels following the attack in Antarctica?”

“No. Ever since I used all my points, I’ve been fine. Not as powerful as before, but, pretty normal.”

“What level were you at when you were hit by the alien weapon?”

“Level 74.”

And what level are you at now?”

“Level 46.”

“That’s an increase from last week. What happened?”

“I did a bunch of side-objectives,” Chell said and then rattled off a list of mundane tasks that had given her some experience: balanced a ball on her nose for 45 seconds, memorized a song and sung it backwards, did ten one-handed push-ups, took 100,000 steps without stopping, and several others.

“And the menu functionality and tracking for those was all normal?” Samaira asked.

“Yup. I watched the progress bars go up in real time. Tell her, Taebak,” Chell said. A pink AI with a head like a Carnation appeared.

“Yeah I did it! I tracked it all and we’re going back up! Level 50, level 75, level 100! Woo!” the AI said and glowed brightly.

“Thank you, Taebak,” Chell said and giggled.

“You and me, Chell!” it said and vanished as she waved it away.

“And you’re specializing in Psychic Mastery again?” Samaira asked.

“Yeah, same build as before…although…”

“Although?” Samaira asked.

“For the last two levels, I put the points into Space Dominion,” Chell said and winced as if she had just confessed to stealing cookies from the jar.

“You’re not required to seek approval for new menu skills. That’s fine. I’ll just make a note of it,” Samaira said and wrote it down. “Do you mind if I ask why?”

“Well, I’m getting close to level 50 again, and I’ll be able to buy a respec token and pick a second class, so I thought I’d try it out. Seemed pretty benign. Plus, you and Anya and Pan have Dominions and I was starting to feel a bit left out. The only American host who didn’t have one, you know,” Chell said and shrugged.

“Understandable,” Samaira said and made another note. The rest of the questions were mostly about standard mental health, which Samaira was actually qualified for. Her MA at University was for psychology, she had the necessary certification to act as a counselor. When they were done a few minutes later, Samaira sealed the forms in an envelope, signed her name over the flap , and would drop it off at MacDougal’s office.

“Chell, I don’t want you to worry too much about what’s going on with Corva and the independent hosts. You just focus on taking care of yourself and tracking any changes in the menu, and if you feel like it, getting your levels back up,” Samaira said as she walked out into the utilitarian hallways of the USAIF offices.

“Yeah, I know. I mean, I know you and Anya and Gary can handle most stuff. I know Gary’s not officially part of the USAIF but, well…”

“I know what you mean,” Samaira said as she walked alongside Chell toward MacDougal’s office.

“I’m just extra worried MacDougal or the President is gonna suspend me if I don’t get my levels back up or something. I mean, Anya did so much and they got mad at her,” Chell said. Samaira sighed and tucked a strand of her indigo hair behind her ear.

“They suspended Anya because she was…being Anya,” Samaira said. “I don’t agree with everything MacDougal has done, and I don’t blame Anya for getting angry, but this isn’t just about smashing monsters and giant space rocks anymore. Anya will cool off and be back before you know it.”

Samaira stopped in front of MacDougal’s office and handed the sealed envelope over to the secretary sitting just outside the director’ door.

“Please make sure the director gets this,” Samaira said as the secretary took it and added it to a towering stack of folders and three-ring binders.

“Yes, Captain Upadhyay,” the secretary said.

“You got lunch plans?” Samaira asked Chell. The young woman looked like she could use some time away from the sterile, oppressive atmosphere of the office. The way she was dressed and her shy demeanor made Samaira think of her youngest sister, Saachi.

“Uh, I packed a sandwich but I was gonna eat it in my office while I did some more side-objectives. Kinda hard to get experience now that all the aliens are gone. Almost everything I got now was from the levels I racked up in Antarctica before…y’know.”

“You could do with a break. My treat,” Samaira said. Just as Chell was about to say something, there was a slamming sound from behind MacDougal’s door, a curse, and then the director herself stormed out.

“Upadhyay, good, you’re here,” MacDougal said.

“Something the matter, Director?” Samaira asked, already dreading the answer.

“Yes. It’s Nowicki,” MacDougal said. “She’s quit.”