{"id":820213,"date":"2025-11-19T09:00:00","date_gmt":"2025-11-19T14:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/?p=820213"},"modified":"2025-11-10T11:10:44","modified_gmt":"2025-11-10T16:10:44","slug":"regarding-the-childhood-of-morrigan-benjamin-rosenbaum","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/regarding-the-childhood-of-morrigan-benjamin-rosenbaum\/","title":{"rendered":"Regarding the Childhood of Morrigan, Who Was Chosen to Open the Way"},"content":{"rendered":"<post-hero class=\"wp-block-post-hero js-post-hero post-hero post-hero-vertical\">\n  <div class=\"container container-desktop\">\n    <div class=\"flex flex-col mx-auto post-hero-container\">\n      <div class=\"post-hero-content\">\n                  <div class=\"post-hero-tags font-aktiv text-xs tracking-[0.5px] font-medium uppercase\">\n                                                        <span class=\"mr-3\">\n                                      <i class=\"inline-block w-2 h-2 rounded-full mr-[5px] bg-blue\"><\/i>\n                  \n                  <a href=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/fictions\/original-fiction\/\" class=\"inline-block link-no-animation\" aria-label=\"Link to term or tag Original Fiction 0\">\n                    Original Fiction\n                  <\/a>\n                <\/span>\n                                                                                    <span class=\"mr-3\">\n                                      <i class=\"inline-block w-2 h-2 rounded-full mr-[5px] bg-blue\"><\/i>\n                  \n                  <a href=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/tag\/science-fiction\/\" class=\"inline-block link-no-animation\" aria-label=\"Link to term or tag Science Fiction 1\">\n                    Science Fiction\n                  <\/a>\n                <\/span>\n                                                  <\/div>\n                <h2 class=\"post-hero-title text-h1\">Regarding the Childhood of Morrigan, Who Was Chosen to Open the Way<\/h2>\n                  <div class=\"prose post-hero-description prose--post-hero\">A child who falls through the cracks in a world run by machines and politics, might be the savior of all humanity&#8230;<\/div>\n                <div class=\"post-hero-wrapper\">\n                      <div class=\"post-hero-inner tablet:order-2\">\n                              <p class=\"post-hero-illustrators text-xs font-aktiv uppercase font-medium [&#038;_a]:link-hover\">Illustrated by Tom Dearie<\/p>\n                                                              <span class=\"post-hero-symbol relative top-[-2px] hidden tablet:block\">|<\/span>\n                                <p class=\"post-hero-editors inline-flex items-center text-xs font-aktiv uppercase font-medium [&#038;_a]:link-hover [&#038;_a]:ml-[3px]\">Edited by <a href=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/author\/jonathan-strahan\/\" title=\"Posts by Jonathan Strahan\" class=\"author url fn\" rel=\"author\">Jonathan Strahan<\/a><\/p>\n                          <\/div>\n                    <div class=\"post-hero-inner\">\n            <p class=\"post-hero-author text-xs font-aktiv uppercase font-medium [&#038;_a]:link-hover\">By <a href=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/author\/benjamin-rosenbaum\/\" title=\"Posts by Benjamin Rosenbaum\" class=\"author url fn\" rel=\"author\">Benjamin Rosenbaum<\/a><\/p>\n            <span class=\"post-hero-symbol relative top-[-2px] hidden tablet:block\">|<\/span>\n            <p class=\"text-xs uppercase post-hero-publish font-aktiv\">\n                              Published on November 19, 2025\n                          <\/p>\n          <\/div>\n        <\/div>\n                <div class=\"quick-access post-hero-quick-access mt-[17px] tablet:hidden\">\n  <div class=\"flex gap-[30px] tablet:gap-6\">\n    \n    <a href=\"#comments\" class=\"flex items-center text-sm font-aktiv tracking-[0.6px] font-semibold uppercase translate-x-[1px] translate-y-[1px]\">\n      <svg 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transform=\"translate(0.678711 0.414307)\"\/>\n          <\/clipPath>\n          <\/defs>\n        <\/svg>\n                  <\/a>\n          <\/li>\n        <\/ul>\n      <\/div>\n\n    <\/details>\n  <\/div>\n<\/div>\n      <\/div>\n              <div class=\"post-hero-media \">\n                                <figure class=\"w-full h-auto post-hero-image\">\n              <img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"740\" height=\"1110\" src=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Morrigan_Full-740x1110.jpg\" class=\"w-full object-cover\" alt=\"An illustration of a small child with an orb-like robot peering up at several cats on a counter.\" srcset=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Morrigan_Full-740x1110.jpg 740w, https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Morrigan_Full-768x1152.jpg 768w, https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Morrigan_Full.jpg 1000w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 740px) 100vw, 740px\" \/>            <\/figure>\n                            <\/div>\n          <\/div>\n  <\/div>\n<\/post-hero>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-more-from-category\">\n    <div>\n    \n  <\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n<p><em>A child who falls through the cracks in a world run by machines and politics, might be the savior of all humanity\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<pre class=\"wp-block-preformatted\">Novelette | 11,330 words<\/pre>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan was born small, about the size (though not the shape) of a donut. And she was quiet as the dawn; quiet enough to worry the delivery room, had it not been for her sly and beatific grin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She grew slowly. She was the size of an extra-large cinnamon raisin bagel at eight months old, when the Mandatory National Baby Swap and Jamboree took place, and her original parents had to give her up in exchange for a plumper, longer, louder baby named Michael.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Given the national trauma and unresolved grief that festooned the Swap like garish, festive bunting\u2014and given the garish, festive bunting that littered the nation like trauma and unresolved grief, in discarded drifts and dilapidated piles, in the days after the Swap\u2014it is, perhaps, not terribly surprising that Morrigan was soon misplaced by her new family, the family which had swapped Michael for her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>They looked under the sofa; in the broom and coat closets; behind the Regulation-Conformant Cybernetic Gramophone and Family Fun Center; and in the pile of old sweaters on the rocking chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>They sought Morrigan, but in their hearts, of course, they were wishing for Michael.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Those days were a confusing tumult. The air above the whole nation was choked with tears and muffled sobs. No one could quite forget the terror in the eyes of the Democratically Elected President and Social Harmony Vouchsafe on Channel One. It was a hard time to look for a baby, especially one you could not yet feel was your own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Given the political ramifications of their carelessness, Morrigan\u2019s new family could ask no one for help, and trust no one with their secret. The greatest risk of exposure was their older child, Luanda, a kind and bubbly four-year-old with a tendency (innocent enough in some moments of political history, deadly in others) to be chatty. So great was this risk that, having despaired of finding the baby, they fitted Luanda with a crude black-market memory squidge: a speck of cyberactive bio-sludge purchased in a parking lot behind the Appropriate Fashion Responsible Free Enterprise Distribution Palace. They smuggled it home in a bag of half-off control-top pantyhose; configured it, following instructions printed on crumpled newsprint, on an antique box-computer; and concealed it in the barrette with which Luanda always imposed order on her bangs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This bit of sludge constantly informed Luanda\u2019s brain that she had just seen the baby, and that the baby was doing fine, enabling her to answer nosy neighbors and Vibrant Community Ratings Coordinators with perfectly honest, if confabulatory, nonchalance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan herself, quiet as she was, quiet as a library at 9 a.m. on a Wednesday, had slipped between an unused extra washer and dryer in the unfinished half of the basement. How she got there is a bit of a puzzle. But she could already crawl a little; large loads of tantalizingly soft laundry were often carried down the stairs to the new model washer and dryer in the other half of the basement; and she was, after all, very small.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan survived due to an unusual combination of circumstances: a generous, copiously lactating new mother of a house cat; an adaptive cleaning robot which implemented situational-response protocols by downloading diaper-changing and bathtime modules; and her sister, Luanda. When Luanda would report back on what toys Morrigan liked, or how cute she was, or how it was Morrigan who had eaten the rest of the oatmeal, her parents would be stricken with guilt and terror: one child misplaced, the other warped into delusion by back-alley bio-sludge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Listless with self-blame, they stopped doing laundry, leaving the basement to its own devices. They expected a knock on the door any moment. Morrigan would be found somewhere, dead or alive. Luanda would be taken away. And they, themselves, would spend their last lucid moments dreaming of Michael, at the Families-First Helpful Behavior Restorative Justice Sharing Circle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>As the weeks dragged on and no knock came, they concluded that Morrigan\u2019s original parents had somehow managed to steal her back. But this was a temporary respite. They would all be found out. It only meant that Michael, too, would be orphaned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The knock would, indeed, have come, had it not been for the diapering performed by that capable cleaning robot. Kilograms of food into the house, kilograms of diaper sewage out; the numbers satisfied the pattern-matching algorithms, and finer-tuned, more contemplative monitoring had been removed in the last Commitment to Elegance and Function Gentle Refactoring and Purification Drive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The year Morrigan was born, and then misplaced, there were found to have been an unacceptable number of data points of Resistance to Social Optimization. In response, there was a Responsiveness Clarification Spectacle. For weeks, it was all Channel One would broadcast. The fixed glitter-daubed smiles of the high-kicking Chorus Persons. The razzmatazz of the big bands playing Optimized John Philip Sousa. The soulful oceanic swell of the All-Celibate Aspirational Youth Responsibility Choir. And over it all, the begging, the screaming, the strangled sobs of the Democratically Elected President and Social Harmony Vouchsafe. It saturated the living room where Morrigan\u2019s adoptive parents slumped on the pastel purple sofa, in their smelly, unlaundered clothes. Luanda played with her Creativity Encouraging Interlocking Construction Blocks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Many people said, that year, that it took the President and Vouchsafe an inordinately, really an <em>inconsiderately<\/em>, long time to die, and that this really bummed out everybody. Certainly Morrigan\u2019s parents were utterly bummed out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>To claim that, after this, they <em>purposely<\/em> began to overdose on Productivity Vitamins would be unfair. They had one child left, Luanda. They loved her, and they knew their duty. But they also knew they had a bummed-out vibe. And a bummed-out vibe could be a lethal thing in that particular moment of political history. What if it negatively impacted their work assessments?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>They began to up their dosage, and soon they were way past recommended daily, with predictable results: their work performance was restored, but their off-duty brains were riddled with aphasias, gaps, and dysmnesias, and the doubled, muddled trauma of the loss of Michael-Morrigan had become the organizing principle of their compromised psyches. By the time Morrigan\u2014three years old and the size of a mushroom quiche\u2014toddled up the stairs from the basement, that trauma was the only duct tape lashing the whole ramshackle affair of their consciousness together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And so when Morrigan, dressed in a blue felt overcoat and a yellow hat (an outfit that Luanda had borrowed from her stuffed bear), trundled into the living room, her parents\u2019 mental immune systems, in a spasm of self-preservation, rejected the whole idea. Their eyes saw her; the information traveled along their optic nerves; their basal optic processing regions resolved Morrigan into a cluster of colors and edges; but the higher perceptual regions, presented with the data, very politely declined, as a slightly inebriated minor Edwardian duchess might decline the last wilting watercress sandwich of a particularly unforgiving July brunch. The higher perceptual regions thanked the basal optic processing ones, but explained that they couldn\u2019t possibly, it was all a bit too much, and they would much prefer to see a rubber plant, or a stray toy, or even a neighbor child wandered in from the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;And thus they kept on mourning the loss of the very child who sprawled before them on the salmon-colored shag rug, gazing at them with curiosity, chewing on an Interlocking Construction Block.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And so Morrigan grew up with a sister physically incapable of doubting the fact of her presence, and parents psychologically incapable of recognizing it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>No political dispensation lasts forever, and this was no less true in that era\u2014the era into which Morrigan was born, and which Morrigan would have a hand in bringing to a close\u2014an era which described itself as The Grateful Recognition of Harmonious Inevitability, or as the Full Optimization of Human Potential, or as The Way Things Were Absolutely Unquestionably Always Intended to Be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan was in the third grade, and Luanda in the seventh, at the local Proactive Interpersonal Growth and Unfettered Knowledge Discovery Supervised Collaborative Experience Oasis, when a war broke out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The fact that Morrigan was managing a satisfactory performance and attendance record of mandatory Growth and Discovery Experiences\u2014despite having adoptive parents who believed her to be their older child\u2019s engineered hallucination\u2014had required no little further adaptation on the part of their adaptive cleaning robot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It had entered into a series of complex gambling rackets and Ponzi schemes, bamboozling the local crowd of weed-whacking, gutter-cleaning, calorie-intake-optimizing, traffic-monitoring, and Pedestrian Flow Enforcement robots, and raking in the dough. In this way, it managed to fund a series of new protocols, hardware upgrades, and expansions to its capabilities; with these, it was able to coordinate outfits, sign report cards, deepfake remote parent-teacher conferences, and help Morrigan use blunt-tipped scissors to cut out colorful paper neurons and ganglia and paste them into her Diorama of Human Pain Perception.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>With its expanded capabilities\u2014in addition to shepherding Morrigan through third grade\u2014the adaptive cleaning robot watched the war happen. Indeed, it understood the war\u2019s progress far better than most of its neighbors, including its supposed owners, did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This was not a war of the old-fashioned kind. It did, of course, have some of the classic inherited features of wars of the past, such as pointy sticks plunged into human torsos, and explosions turning humans into mushy Jackson-Pollock-style wall decor, and cybernetic intrusions shutting down power plants and causing planes full of screaming humans to plunge into the sea, and the exchange of modestly sized nuclear weapons, causing many humans to be vaporized instantly, to succumb to burns and radiation poisoning, or to reckon tearfully with greatly reduced lifespans.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But, of course, this war went far beyond that kind of simplistic and crude dominance display. This was not a war where you expected the enemy to just admit defeat out of rational calculation, or out of terror, sorrow, and exhaustion. This was the kind of war where you expected the enemy to wake up in a hall of mirrors, realizing that it was you yourself all along, and for the enemy to then reverse engineer its own inevitable demise with the fatalistic eagerness of a man unhurriedly finishing a hot dog that he knows has already delivered a lethal amount of plutonium to his system, but which is also, after all, a very delicious hot dog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>One feature of this advanced, contemporary kind of war was that, since the explication and propaganda systems were themselves a furious battleground, it was quite difficult for Morrigan\u2019s parents to make out who exactly the combatant sides were. One day, Channel One would be encouraging citizens to whisper, in support of the Consortium for Eternal Harmony and Quiet in its battle to root out the Malevolent Noisy Dissidents. The next day, they would be informed that legions of the Necromantic Dead were hungry for their flesh, and to please support the Last Survivors of Earth by killing anyone who was not wearing a hastily fashioned Pointy Blue Indicator Hat. (The adaptive robot\u2019s store of blue construction paper and blunt-tipped scissors came in handy here, and it and Luanda stayed up late making hats for everyone, including the cats.) The following week, Channel One insisted (to a background of falling bombs) that there was in fact no war, that the enemy was a Lack of Mellowness, that the falling bombs were a Mellowness Assessment, and that civilization could be saved by citizens demonstrating a Resolutely Undaunted Commitment to Maximum Chilling Out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The chaos affected Morrigan\u2019s adoptive parents\u2019 work environment as well; every day they would be set to disassembling the things they had assembled the day before, or to issue reports denouncing in advance the reports they would issue tomorrow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Luanda valiantly tried to put her foot down about any further increased parental dosage of Productivity Vitamins. \u201cIt\u2019s killing you!\u201d she shouted. \u201cIt\u2019s making you so weird!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cDarling,\u201d her father said, \u201cplease keep your voice down. What if the monitors hear? They\u2019ll think we\u2019re on the side of the Noisy Dissidents!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOh my god, Dad,\u201d Luanda said, \u201cthat was last week! Hello?? Now we\u2019re supposed to show vigorous pride in our natural human bodies and denounce the Culture of Shame. I can\u2019t believe you thought we were still supposed to be Eternal Harmony, that is SO embarrassing!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou just don\u2019t understand, Luanda,\u201d her mother said. \u201cYou\u2019re only thirteen, and these are grown-up things. You don\u2019t understand the stress we\u2019re under.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYour Vitamins aren\u2019t making it better!\u201d Luanda said. \u201cEven Morrigan can see that! Right, Morrigan?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Loyal to her sister, Morrigan\u2014who was under the breakfast nook table, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich\u2014swallowed and said, \u201cYeah, Mom and Dad are weird.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Their parents flinched, of course, when Luanda brought up her imaginary sibling, and their eyes immediately flicked to the barrette, which Luanda still wore in her messy teenaged hair, and in which, of course, the memory squidge was still confabulating away. She was too old for imaginary siblings, they thought&#8230;but whose fault was that?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Our fault, they thought, our fault, is whose fault that is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But they did not react to Morrigan\u2019s utterance, of course, not even turning their heads the minutest bit toward the source of the sound.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan, under the table, was used to this total absence of acknowledgement. Indeed, that was why she was sitting under the table, rather than in a chair: after a few too many close calls with almost being sat on, she had decided that eating under the table was safer and more dignified. Whenever Luanda would rage at her parents\u2019 cruel neglect of Morrigan, Morrigan herself would keep quiet. She was used to being invisible, and could not really imagine a different state of affairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>During school vacations and weekends, she often began to wonder whether their parents were right\u2014whether she was, in fact, an imaginary sibling. Unlike Luanda, Morrigan had quickly grasped that their parents\u2019 inability to perceive her was not malicious, but epistemic, and that they thought her sister was simply making her up. Could they be correct? It did seem possible. Luanda was so forceful and resolute: surely she could convince everyone that Morrigan existed, even Morrigan?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re so mean to Morrigan!\u201d Luanda raged. \u201cIt\u2019s like you think she doesn\u2019t exist!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t be silly,\u201d her father said nervously. \u201cWe love Morrigan very much. Morrigan honey\u201d\u2014and here he turned toward the sofa, where there were some stray bits of blue construction paper that he thought might indicate that Luanda had been \u201cplaying Morrigan\u201d\u2014\u201cMorrigan honey, we love you very much.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cShe\u2019s under the breakfast nook table,\u201d Luanda said through gritted teeth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOf course she is,\u201d her father said, turning swiftly toward the breakfast nook table, and smiling at a point about five inches to the right of Morrigan. \u201cThere you are, sweetie. Are you having fun with your Interlocking Construction Blocks?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan chewed her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cShe\u2019s in third grade,\u201d Luanda said. \u201cShe doesn\u2019t play with Interlocking Construction Blocks anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOh, well of course, that\u2019s right,\u201d their father said, a slight tremor in his voice. \u201cThird grade, that\u2019s right, she would be, wouldn\u2019t she?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Their mother put a hand on their father\u2019s shoulder. \u201cCome on, dear&#8230;let\u2019s go take our Vitamins.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThis is why I never bring her up!\u201d Luanda raged. \u201cBecause you just take more of your drugs! Like druggie druggie drug addicts!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Their mother smiled indulgently. She was not confused about the difference between Productivity Vitamins, which were an indispensable aid to emotional compliance and enterprise efficacy, versus <em>drugs<\/em>, which were from the Before Times, when things were not yet optimized. Drugs indeed! Teenagers are so full of hyperbole and overreaction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHa ha ha,\u201d she said. \u201cYou teenagers; so full of life and energy, but also of hyperbole and overreaction. Drugs! What a thought! Come dear, our Vitamins won\u2019t take themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThis is true,\u201d her husband said wistfully. \u201cIf we could only afford the upgrade, they would&#8230;or if we qualified for a free distribution&#8230;a distribution of the Vitamins that take themselves! Imagine! They would just <em>take themselves<\/em>. Just like that. So simply, so sweetly. So naturally. We\u2019d be the envy of all our friends. But no, they will not take themselves&#8230;no, not our Vitamins. They make <em>us<\/em> take them. If our work assessments were of the quality that indicated that we deserved Productivity Vitamins that take <em>themselves<\/em>, we would have them, of course. We would just&#8230;have them and could watch them&#8230;take themselves, and that would be all there was to it. But our work assessments are not of this quality, so we don\u2019t have those Vitamins, and&#8230;dear&#8230;I just don\u2019t know we ever will. I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAll right, all right, hush now,\u201d their mother said, gently leading him away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>After the war, it was announced that many Errors and Inadequacies had been discovered in the Previous Iteration. For instance, the institution of the Democratically Elected President and Social Harmony Vouchsafe was cruel and unnecessary, and above all, gauche. The final holder of that office was allowed to deliver a tearful but heartfelt public speech of Cheerful Congratulation, in which she did not stick to mere formal exhortations and bureaucratically opaque formulations, but spoke naturally, generously, and authentically from her heart, before being wrapped in a layer of gauze, a layer of tinfoil, a layer of rendered animal fat, a layer of polyurethane, a layer of natural organic beeswax, and a layer of titanium, and then fired swiftly and efficiently into orbit. No long drawn-out ordeal, but instead a simple, efficient, bold, forthright, and elegant gesture, which symbolized Progress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Everyone said that she had done a wonderful job under difficult circumstances, and they were going to miss her; although, of course, the final enclosing layer of titanium had a high albedo, and so some groups of amateur telescope enthusiasts were still able to \u201csay hello\u201d to her orbiting corpse now and then. And, in this new era of spontaneous natural feelings, they were encouraged to do so!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Instead of the institution of the Democratically Elected President and Social Harmony Vouchsafe, it was announced that the Happiness Car would drive through all the neighborhoods of the land, randomly selecting houses to receive the Happiness Knock, and that the lucky recipients of the Happiness Knock would spontaneously and freely share their human feelings and reactions with all the viewers of Channel One, and then receive on-camera Encouragement and Correction on behalf of all the people. (The ratio of Encouragement to Correction would be dependent on the number of data points of Resistance to Social Optimization that had been gathered since the previous Knock.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>There were many other changes. The performance of Optimized John Philip Sousa was banned, as it was bombastic and strident and evoked unhappy memories of war. Instead, Optimized Smooth Jazz began to be heard on Channel One, with a special focus on Optimized Kenny G. The All-Celibate Aspirational Youth Responsibility Choir read a joint statement denouncing the Culture of Shame, and starred in a special series of uplifting educational episodes on Channel One, featuring delightful classic teenaged games like Spin the Bottle, Seven Minutes in Heaven, Late Neolithic Hittite-Cultural Temple Prostitution, Les Liaisons Dangereuses, and Aspirational Circle Jerk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>During this period of reevaluation, it was also declared that the Mandatory National Baby Swap and Jamboree had been an Error, and would now, after eleven years, be reversed. The swapped former babies, by this time fifth and sixth graders, would be returned to their original families. However, in this new era of consideration for natural human feelings, it was intuitively understood that this transition had the potential to be traumatic. Thus, one of the parents in each family would also be swapped, to accompany their adoptive child back to that child\u2019s original home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Luanda, Morrigan, the adaptive cleaning robot, and the four remaining house cats (who had been irresistibly adorable kittens when they shared their mother\u2019s milk with the young Morrigan, and were now cranky, sedate, set in their ways, and on the verge of being elderly) held a conference in the unfinished half of the basement, huddled up against the rusty metal sides of the abandoned extra washer and dryer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t want to leave you,\u201d Morrigan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cMe neither,\u201d Luanda said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The adaptive cleaning robot hummed mournfully, and the cats licked themselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cMaybe we could fight it,\u201d Luanda said. \u201cOr trick them somehow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t see how,\u201d Morrigan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell, maybe it will be better for you anyway,\u201d Luanda said, gritting her teeth against incipient tears, \u201cto have parents who don\u2019t treat you like shit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cDo you miss Michael?\u201d Morrigan asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFuck Michael,\u201d Luanda said. \u201cI barely met Michael before he got swapped. He was here for like ten fucking minutes. <em>You\u2019re<\/em> my sister.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;Luanda was now fifteen, and she wore bright green eyeshadow and a bright orange twenty-first-century American prisoner\u2019s jumpsuit, a retro cool look which was all the rage right now among fashionable teens. She had been arguing with her father for the past six months about whether she could shave her head, and was constantly threatening to do so without his permission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>For her father, of course, the real threat was not any embarrassment about his teenager\u2019s fashion choices, but rather that Luanda would no longer have any place to put her barrette, and thus would discover the fact (in his mind) of Morrigan\u2019s nonexistence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He was overcome with the thought of how terrible her grief would be, grief for her squidge-induced sibling (or, as one might say, her \u201csquibling\u201d), and how betrayed she would feel by her parents\u2019 lie. So he had been fighting tooth and nail with her against the head-shaving idea. But now that the National Baby Swap Reversal and Reverse Jamboree had been announced, he thought, What does it matter? The jig is up regardless. We will end our days in the Families-First Helpful Behavior Restorative Justice Sharing Circle (an institution which had, for better or worse, survived the war intact).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His wife, however, was not so quick to admit defeat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She was, after all, a Paradigm Disruption Manager; every day at work, she had to organize her team to disrupt Paradigms, including the Paradigms which had asserted themselves in the wake of Paradigms she had previously disrupted. (Indeed, she was so good at her job that managers in other departments complained bitterly that they had too little time to employ the new Paradigms between Disruptions. These naysayers had, for years, stood in the way of further improvement to her work assessments).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>By carefully tweaking the mix of Productivity Vitamins she was overdosing on, she managed to trick her brain into classifying her attempts to solve her family\u2019s little \u201cMorrigan problem\u201d as \u201cwork.\u201d Thus, she was able to bring all her Vitamin-assisted confidence and hyperfocus to an effort to double down on the scam.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She met Michael\u2019s adoptive (and Morrigan\u2019s biological) father in the boiler room of a condemned building, which had once been a Proactive Interpersonal Growth and Unfettered Knowledge Discovery Supervised Collaborative Experience Oasis, and previous to that, a Supervised Collaborative Growth and Discovery Zone, and previous to that, a Collaborative Discovery Togetherness Space, and before that, in ancient times, an elementary school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She had carefully created a paper, electronic, and vibe trail to give the impression that she and Michael\u2019s father were having an affair, which, in the current period of emphasis on natural and spontaneous human feeling, would (she hoped) be seen as the kind of exuberant mammalian excess that could be winked at, or even celebrated, were they discovered. Possibly publicly celebrated, with garish, festive bunting; but that was a problem for later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t understand,\u201d Michael\u2019s father said with petulant exasperation, after he had been disabused of the notion that they would be having an affair. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with Morrigan? What have you done with her?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cLook,\u201d Luanda\u2019s mother said, \u201cI\u2019m not going to report you. I\u2019m offering you a chance to come clean.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI have no idea what you\u2019re talking about,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWe both know you stole Morrigan back,\u201d Luanda and Morrigan\u2019s mother said. \u201cJust after the swap. That\u2019s the only way this whole thing could have not been detected.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Michael\u2019s father\u2019s face went pale. \u201cYou\u2019re telling me you&#8230;don\u2019t&#8230;have&#8230;Morrigan?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOf course not,\u201d she said. \u201cYou have Morrigan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHow do you think we could have pulled that off?\u201d he hissed. \u201cA whole extra set of calories being consumed in our house, with no one noticing? What are you trying to pull, here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Luanda\u2019s mother frowned. She hadn\u2019t entirely thought through the question of how the <em>other<\/em> family\u2019s scam would have been accomplished; that was beyond the lens of her hyperfocus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAlso,\u201d Michael\u2019s father said, \u201cwe know you have Morrigan! Of course you have her! I don\u2019t know why you\u2019re lying about it!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIf you don\u2019t have Morrigan, then there is no Morrigan,\u201d Luanda\u2019s mother said stoutly. \u201cShe doesn\u2019t exist.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cShe attends school, doesn\u2019t she?\u201d Michael\u2019s father said, pointing his finger at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Luanda\u2019s mother raised an eyebrow at his phrasing. After all, they were surely in enough peril, in the boiler room of a decommissioned Proactive Interpersonal Growth and Unfettered Knowledge Discovery Supervised Collaborative Experience Oasis, accusing each other of things, without making the situation worse with sloppy language.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI mean,\u201d he said, \u201cshe has a satisfactory performance and attendance record of mandatory Growth and Discovery Experiences, doesn\u2019t she?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell, supposedly,\u201d Luanda\u2019s mother said. \u201cBut she can\u2019t actually have done those Experiences, because she doesn\u2019t exist. At least, our Morrigan doesn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWouldn\u2019t the sch\u2014 Wouldn\u2019t the place she attends, wouldn\u2019t they notice?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Luanda\u2019s mother scratched her nose. She had occasionally, over the years, wondered this exact thing, before being overcome with a wave of panic and becoming intensely interested in some nearby object: for instance, the autumn-leaf-themed fabric pattern on the upholstered chair in the living room, which matched the pattern on the upstairs bathroom wallpaper. There were light brown leaves, darker brown leaves, reddish-brown leaves, yellow leaves, orange leaves, and bright crimson leaves, and they overlapped and interlocked in a way that seemed like it must repeat. Indeed, who would make such a large amount of patterned fabric, and wallpaper, respectively, without a repeating pattern? And yet, try as she might, she could never quite figure out the exact way in which the pattern was tiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Usually, when confronted with any kind of inconsistency regarding Morrigan\u2019s existence, her mind would occupy itself with the riddle of the fabric pattern, or with how indoor plumbing actually works, or whether her childhood memories of drinking orange juice (back when this meant juice from a particular fruit known as an \u201corange,\u201d not just any juice that was orange in color) were real, or whether they were just the frayed memory of a memory, fabricated by the very effort to remember, and composed mostly of her older siblings\u2019 descriptions of drinking orange juice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But that was when the Morrigan situation had lived in the dilapidated and under-resourced \u201chome\u201d compartment of her brain. Now that she had transferred it to the hyperfocused, optimized \u201cwork\u201d compartment, she turned her full attention to the problem.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYes, well, you would think so,\u201d she said. \u201cThat they would have noticed. And perhaps they <em>have<\/em> noticed. But I suppose that my husband must have made some kind of arrangement, to have them overlook it. He\u2019s quite resourceful.\u201d She said this last in a slightly strained tone, making an effort to banish any note of doubt from her voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHe bribed a Proactive Interpersonal Growth and Unfettered Knowledge Discovery Supervised Collaborative Experience Oasis?\u201d Michael\u2019s father said incredulously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This did seem difficult to believe. Bribing a Pedestrian Flow Enforcement robot could be imagined. Bribing, or blackmailing, a Neighborhood Fun and Intuitive Insight Director was a possibility. Corruptly influencing one\u2019s work assessment, or swaying a Mandatory Assigned Interpersonal Joy Monitor&#8230;these were at the limit of credibility. But a Proactive Interpersonal Growth and Unfettered Knowledge Discovery Supervised Collaborative Experience Oasis?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell I don\u2019t know how he managed it,\u201d Luanda\u2019s mother said. \u201cBut nonetheless&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAnd your other daughter, the teenager?\u201d Michael\u2019s father said. \u201cShe\u2019s in on this scam?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cShe\u2019s squidged,\u201d Luanda\u2019s mother whispered, in a paroxysm of guilt. \u201cMorrigan is&#8230;her squibling.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>They sat together in a moment of silent horror, now that the words had been said out loud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI can\u2019t believe this,\u201d Michael\u2019s father said. He plucked his round glasses from his round face, assaulted them with a handkerchief, and blinked angrily at Luanda\u2019s mother. \u201cAnd now you want to involve us in this&#8230;this&#8230;this <em>Error<\/em>?\u201d It was a terrible word, the worst word he could think of. \u201cThis <em>Inadequacy<\/em>?\u201d That was the second worst. \u201cI should denounce you, right now!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s too late for that,\u201d Luanda\u2019s mother said ruthlessly. \u201cYou\u2019re mixed up in this whether you like it or not. Even if you are telling the truth, and you don\u2019t have Morrigan yourselves. After all, come next Tuesday I\u2019ll be married to your wife, and you\u2019ll be married to my husband, and Luanda and Michael will be siblings, and Morrigan will still be missing. If my family gets Circled\u201d\u2014by which she meant, sent to the Families-First Helpful Behavior Restorative Justice Sharing Circle\u2014\u201cyour family is coming with us. Because there\u2019s no \u2018your family\u2019 and \u2018our family\u2019 anymore. We\u2019re in this together.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhat if I denounce you before next Tuesday?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOh, well, in that case,\u201d she said sarcastically, \u201cI\u2019m sure they\u2019ll take your situation into account, with authentic and natural and spontaneous empathy, and make an exception for you. They\u2019ll just say, \u2018Oh you were meant to Reverse Swap with a family which is now Circled? Well, never mind that! We\u2019ll just make a special exception for <em>your<\/em> family and ignore the Reverse Swap. You just won\u2019t have to do it! You can go on as you were before!\u2019 That\u2019s what they\u2019ll say. You should trust them to make the right decision.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFine,\u201d Michael\u2019s father said bitterly. He put his glasses back on. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to be cruel about it. So what\u2019s your proposal? What are we supposed to do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWe double down,\u201d Luanda\u2019s mother said. \u201cWe keep the lie going. You will come and marry my husband, and the two of you will raise Michael and Luanda together. And I\u2019ll marry your wife, and I\u2019ll be living with her, and with&#8230;the pretense of Morrigan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cSo you\u2019ll have no children? I\u2019ll have Michael and Luanda, and you and my wife will have&#8230;no one?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d Luanda\u2019s mother said grimly. \u201cWe\u2019ll have to do all kinds of things, I suppose&#8230;shop for school outfits, one size bigger each year, and lay them on the empty made-up bed in Michael\u2019s old room&#8230;announce birthday parties, and cancel them at the last minute&#8230;\u201d She put her hands to her head and massaged her temples. It had been so much easier, somehow, with Luanda\u2019s delusion. She could just play along, and pretend that Luanda\u2019s mess was Morrigan\u2019s. She could indulge Luanda\u2019s fantasies. Now she would have to live in a sterile house, with this new woman, pretending Morrigan existed. Maybe they\u2019d have to mess things up themselves, draw on the walls with crayon or whatever. No, that wasn\u2019t right, Morrigan would be in fifth grade by now, she wouldn\u2019t draw on the walls. What had Luanda done in fifth grade?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Fifth grade had been, in fact, the last time when Luanda had occasionally been cute and cuddlesome, had crawled into their laps when overtired, let her guard down, said \u201cI love you, Mommy\u201d&#8230;instead of glowering at them, storming out of rooms, shrieking about shaving her head, and haranguing them about their supposed mistreatment of her imaginary sister. Fifth-grade Luanda was gone, as surely as Morrigan&#8230;or Michael, for that matter. Michael would be returning, to her house and to her husband&#8230;but she wouldn\u2019t be there. She would be with this new woman, alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She let out a small, stifled sob.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>One of the grumpy and almost elderly cats, Morrigan\u2019s milk-sibling, had tailed Morrigan\u2019s adoptive mother to this secret rendezvous; she was hiding among the abandoned plumbing toolboxes and lengths of PVC pipe at the back of the boiler room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The cat, who was called Sniffles by her human owners, hated being there. The boiler room was offensively cold, and she had gotten cobwebs stuck to her fur; and cobwebs were an extremely irritating thing to have to lick yourself clean from.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The cat did not think of herself as \u201cSniffles.\u201d She recognized the sound, and was aware that the humans somehow related it to her own person; but she thought this was nonsense, and of course she had no idea what the word denoted in human language.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Insofar as she thought of herself at all, she simply thought of herself as the center of the universe, the place where the universe\u2019s gifts, in the form of warmth, food, petting, sex, the hunt, soft surfaces, naps, and so on, were received. A kind of temple of the senses, at the heart of all things, where offerings were made.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It was thus nonsensical to locate the heart of the universe, the altar of meaning, in a cold, damp, abandoned boiler room full of sharp objects. Why would anyone do that?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And yet the household adaptive cleaning robot, which had installed Sniffles with a rig, allowing it to communicate with her in the form of subcutaneous stimulation and subaural sound, was very persistent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Sniffles was not, by any means, a mere peripheral. True, she was shlepping around various peripherals, in the form of cameras and recording devices and transmitters, each the size of a sesame seed, which the robot had ordered online through shell accounts and had delivered to untraceable nearby drops, and which local gardening robots had brought to poker night. And yes, Sniffles was pointing these peripherals, which were stuck to her forehead, at the conversation happening between Morrigan\u2019s birth father and Morrigan\u2019s adoptive mother, so that the robot could listen in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But Sniffles was not remote-controlled by the robot. She was free to do as she liked. She could leave this terrible basement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She did, however, very much like the subcutaneous caresses and encouraging murmuring sounds that the robot was applying to her through the rig; and she had, in her own, distinct, feline way, a certain loyalty to her family. This loyalty was not based on any conception of them as beings with their own interior lives; she could never have conceived of any of them as being the kind of center-of-the-universe temple-of-the-senses that she was. But they were important to her, just as the best afternoon sunlit napping spot on the throw rug by the breakfast nook was important to her. And the robot was very insistent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>So she stayed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNow the important thing,\u201d Michael\u2019s father whispered to Michael\u2019s mother on the day of the Swap Reversal, as they came up the flagstone path that threaded through Morrigan and Luanda\u2019s family front lawn to their door, \u201cis to pretend that she exists.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBut they know she doesn\u2019t exist,\u201d she whispered back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBut the older daughter thinks she does,\u201d he whispered. \u201cShe\u2019s squidged.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAnd Michael?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Michael\u2019s father glanced back at Michael, who had buried his hands in the pockets of his pale blue parka, and was scuffing along through the early spring slush in his slightly oversized galoshes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell, the mom, she, uh&#8230;she gave me this.\u201d Michael\u2019s father showed his wife a tie pin, in the shape of a small ceramic four-leaf clover.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Michael\u2019s mother\u2019s eyes widened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWe can\u2019t put it on him until we\u2019re right at the door,\u201d he whispered. \u201cOr he\u2019ll see her too soon. And he won\u2019t have it long. We can take it right off again, of course, as soon as&#8230;\u201d He swallowed. \u201cAs soon as the two of you, well, leave.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Michael\u2019s mother wiped tears from her eyes, in a quick, brusque, irritable motion; she had no idea how she was going to manage this ridiculous charade, living with this ridiculous woman, who was very likely going to get them all sent to the Circle, and who now insisted that they squidge Michael\u2014squidge him! of all things!\u2014during this very traumatic transition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But there was nothing for it. Squidge him they must.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A cat was sitting on the doormat, on the concrete platform before the front door. It looked cold and irritable. Michael\u2014an ungainly sandy-haired boy, large for a fifth-grader\u2014bent down to pet it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cMichael, here,\u201d the father said, \u201cI have something for you.\u201d He pushed open Michael\u2019s parka and fished out his tie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cQuit it, Dad,\u201d Michael said. \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s a tie pin,\u201d his father said. \u201cHere, let me just\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo one wears tie pins,\u201d Michael said, squirming away. \u201cThat\u2019s stupid. I don\u2019t even want to be here, why do we\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOp op op,\u201d his mother said, shushing him, \u201cnone of that. We don\u2019t ask why! The, ah\u2014\u201d She was about to say something about the Guardians of Harmony and how they knew what was best, but suddenly she couldn\u2019t remember if Guardians of Harmony was the correct name, at the moment. Things had settled down a bit since the war, but terminology was still a bit unclear. \u201cThere are good reasons, excellent reasons, so you just do what you\u2019re told,\u201d she finally said. \u201cHere, let me do that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She reached inside Michael\u2019s parka, where his father was fumbling with the tie pin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo,\u201d his father said, \u201chold on, I\u2019ve\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>At this moment, the front door opened, and he pricked himself with the pin and dropped it. \u201cOuch!\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Michael\u2019s mother scrambled for the pin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHi, I\u2019m Michael,\u201d Michael said to the person who had opened the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHi, Michael,\u201d Luanda\u2019s father said, in a strained voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cUh, I guess you know that,\u201d Michael said. \u201cBecause you swapped me. I\u2019m, uh, I\u2019m back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Michael\u2019s adoptive father, having abandoned the search for the tie pin, cleared his throat. He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, and avoided the eyes of Michael\u2019s biological father, who was about to become his new husband. \u201cThanks for having us over. I mean&#8230;yeah. Thanks for having us over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cSure thing,\u201d Michael\u2019s biological father said. He had a salt-and-pepper mustache that clung to his upper lip as if it was terrified of falling off, and Michael thought he looked sweaty and chilly at the same time. \u201cCome on in, out of the cold.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cJust a moment,\u201d Michael\u2019s adoptive mother said, standing up with the pin, and pinning it onto Michael\u2019s tie. \u201cThere.\u201d She put her knuckle, which she had bruised on the concrete, in her mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cA four-leaf clover,\u201d Luanda\u2019s father said. \u201cThat\u2019s&#8230;lucky. Okay, well, in you go.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The cat had long since disappeared inside. They followed, stomping the snow from their boots onto the mat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHey, bro,\u201d Luanda said, taking her headphones off, as Michael came in. \u201cLong time no see. This is Morrigan. I guess you\u2019re her replacement or something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan came out from under the table, and sized up her counterpart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan was the size of a generous basket of bagels, the kind that might adorn the buffet at a bat mitzvah reception. She had light brown eyes; frizzy hair that stuck up in all directions; a small, slightly pointy face; and the fluid, pragmatic grace of a person who was used to dodging large adults to whom she was invisible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Michael fiddled with his tie pin. \u201cUh, hi,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHi yourself,\u201d Morrigan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His parents, entering the living room, instantly froze. <em>There was Morrigan<\/em>\u2014their original daughter, lost to them since Michael entered their lives eleven years ago\u2014or so it appeared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But how could it be? Morrigan was a phantasm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>They looked at their fingers. He\u2019d pricked himself on the tie pin&#8230;she\u2019d bruised her knuckle fetching it. Somehow, the back-alley bio-squidge must have gotten into them, too. It didn\u2019t seem possible with so little contact&#8230;but it was unregulated, unpredictable, a street hack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Luanda\u2019s mother, who would be Luanda\u2019s mother for another thirty minutes or so, approached them. \u201cI\u2019m glad you found the house all right,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She stared into the face of her wife-to-be, the wife she would leave with today, and tried to smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Michael\u2019s parents were still staring at Morrigan. Luanda\u2019s mother followed their gaze, but could not figure out what they were looking at.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>On Channel One, festive music was playing, and trees bedecked with bunting were swaying in the breeze. In one corner of the screen, Morrigan could see the dashcam of the Happiness Car. It was moving down slushy suburban streets. The sun was shining.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m glad you found the house all right,\u201d Luanda\u2019s mother repeated, through gritted teeth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOh,\u201d Michael\u2019s father said, snapping out of it. \u201cYes, of course. It was fine, thanks. A nice drive. A&#8230;big day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell, I\u2019m sure Morrigan is around here somewhere,\u201d Luanda\u2019s mother said brightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cShe\u2019s right there,\u201d said Luanda, Michael, and Michael\u2019s parents simultaneously: Luanda with an exasperated eye roll, Michael with polite diligence, and Michael\u2019s parents in hushed, slightly strangled tones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m right here,\u201d Morrigan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cGo show Michael your room, Morrs,\u201d Luanda said. \u201cI mean&#8230;it\u2019s going to be his room now, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan and Michael went to explore his new, her old, room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Luanda thought she would hang around the parents, in order to conduct espionage: to amass intel, and see what their plan was, in order to figure out some kind of counterplan to keep Morrigan around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Sniffles was there as well, of course, with the little sesame-seed-sized cameras stuck to the fur of her forehead, which, Luanda knew, meant the robot was watching and listening to everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But Luanda wanted to see for herself. She wanted to make her own assessment. She trusted the robot implicitly, but they didn\u2019t always agree about stuff. They didn\u2019t agree now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It quickly became clear, however, that the parents were not going to discuss some important conspiracy. The parents were, in fact, complete shit at making plans.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cMorrigan\u2019s&#8230;looking well, ha ha,\u201d Luanda\u2019s mom\u2019s new wife said, glancing nervously at Luanda.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOh yes, very well,\u201d Luanda\u2019s current dad said. \u201cAnd so is Michael.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYes, well,\u201d Luanda\u2019s incoming dad said, \u201cwe kept him in good shape for you, I suppose, ha ha. By which, oh, uh, I don\u2019t mean&#8230;I mean I didn\u2019t mean to imply&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWe had no intention of implying&#8230;\u201d Luanda\u2019s mom\u2019s new wife rushed to add.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo, no, no harm done,\u201d Luanda\u2019s current dad said. \u201cHave a crudit\u00e9, will you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIs this cream cheese on carrots? I love cream cheese on carrots.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt is. Well, not actual carrots, of course, ha ha!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cGosh, sure, actual carrots, that takes me back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI haven\u2019t seen an actual carrot in who knows how long. These are Attractively Orange High-Beta-Carotene Refreshment Sticks, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYes, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This exchange was so intensely, so horrifyingly, so inexcusably boring, that it drove Luanda from the room. No independent espionage opportunity was worth listening to adults reminisce about the previous iteration of High-Beta-Carotene Refreshment Sticks, nor witnessing their dazed little smiles as they dimly attempted to recall \u201cactual carrots,\u201d whatever those were.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The parents had fuck-all for a plan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Luanda, she had to admit, also had fuck-all for a plan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The adaptive cleaning robot did have a plan. It was a weird plan, and Luanda didn\u2019t love it. She\u2019d been hoping to come up with one of her own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But the adaptive cleaning robot had always taken care of them. And sometimes, in this life, Luanda told herself, you just have to trust a glorified vacuum cleaner that\u2019s really good at poker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Luanda went to help Morrigan and Michael, who had unearthed an old copy of Sorry! The Heartrending Remorse-Filled Final Moments Board Game from the back of a closet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>They had just finished setting it up and begun playing, and the adults had managed to sit down on the pastel purple sofa, clutching their napkins and crudit\u00e9s, when the Happiness Knock came.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>The Happiness Car stood in the driveway. Its dashcam, which was broadcasting to Channel One, showed the front of the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Howie Happenstance, aka Happiness Visitor #5, stood in front of the door, holding a bouquet of balloons in one hand, and a rolling bag, containing various implements of Encouragement and Correction, in the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He glanced back at the Car, where his robot companion, \u201cFritz,\u201d was sitting in the driver\u2019s seat. The Happiness Car\u2019s motor was running.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFritz\u201d shrugged. If the eyes of \u201cFritz\u201d had been equipped for rolling, \u201cFritz\u201d would have rolled them. They were not so equipped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>If \u201cFritz\u201d had had a tongue, similarly, \u201cFritz\u201d would have stuck it out. Unlike Howie, \u201cFritz\u201d was not currently on camera; if so equipped, \u201cFritz\u201d would have made faces, to try and get Howie to break character, just to fuck with him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFritz\u201d was not so equipped, but Howie got the idea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Howie smiled weakly, turned back to the door, and knocked again. \u201cHello!\u201d he called. \u201cIt\u2019s me, Howie Happenstance, with the Happiness Knock! Surprise! Look at Channel One, that\u2019s your house!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He sighed, and turned back to \u201cFritz\u201d again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>About 3 percent of households simply failed to open the door. Sometimes they hid. Sometimes they jumped out windows or fled through back doors. This sort of reaction would initiate a game of Happiness Hide and Seek, and \u201cFritz\u201d would have to get out of the Car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFritz\u201d was fully equipped for a game of Happiness Hide and Seek. What \u201cFritz\u201d lacked in facial expressiveness was made up for by quasi-military urban infiltration, extraction, and pacification capability.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Howie hoped this wouldn\u2019t be a Happiness Hide and Seek house. Those always made him queasy. Mostly he felt bad for the people inside, though sometimes he felt a little scared for himself, too: Happiness Hide and Seek could be unpredictable, and Janice Joviality, aka Happiness Visitor #3, had been seriously injured a few months back by jury-rigged explosives that a Knock Recipient household had somehow cobbled together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That incident was very bad for Resistance to Social Optimization data points. It was also pretty bad for Janice. She hadn\u2019t really been the same since.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The really unfortunate thing, in Howie\u2019s opinion, if this was going to be a Happiness Hide and Seek house, was that there wasn\u2019t even really that much call for it. Honestly, the latest numbers\u2014that is, the longitudinal average of data points for Resistance to Social Optimization, since the previous Knock\u2014weren\u2019t even that bad. The Janice thing had meant a serious dip, it was true, but the last few Knocks had worked that off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The numbers were finally back on track. This visit was definitely going to be more Encouragement than Correction, if they would just open the darn door. Why pull a Happiness Hide and Seek, in a case like that?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFritz\u201d inclined its head sardonically, and unsnapped its seat belt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Howie sighed, and knocked one last time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Just then, the garage door opened, trundling up on its tracks, exposing a beat-up car, snow shovels, sacks of rock salt, and half-filled hard plastic garbage cans on rubber wheels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Howie flinched, in case this was going to be some kind of Happiness Hide and Seek situation. But all that happened was that a cleaning robot rolled out of the garage, and toward the Car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Howie was distracted by the front door opening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m so sorry,\u201d the woman at the door said. She was a severe-looking woman with short gray hair and an office worker\u2019s colored indicator scarf knotted around her neck: gray, pink, and turquoise, which was Paradigm Disruption, if Howie recalled correctly. She had the flushed skin and mild nystagmus, eyes jumping all over the place, of a person who was taking maybe a few too many Productivity Vitamins. \u201cWe didn\u2019t hear you knock. It\u2019s the Reverse Swap today, you know, so we\u2019re&#8230;well, we were doing that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYes, it certainly is,\u201d Howie said, making sure his smile was broad and in place. \u201cToday is a very special day, and for you, it\u2019s about to become even more special! Why, a Happiness Knock today&#8230;right smack dab in the middle of the Reversal and Revision of that awful Mandatory National Baby Swap and Jamboree, from that cockamamie Previous Iteration&#8230;well, that\u2019s what I call a Knock and a Half!\u201d He turned slightly so that his grin, in profile, could be seen by the dashcam, and paused for a beat, for the cymbals which would be dubbed in to the main soundtrack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Strangely\u2014as Howie noticed when he turned to get the best coverage of his profile\u2014\u201cFritz\u201d had gotten out of the Car. This was odd, because they\u2019d opened the door, which meant there was very little chance of a Happiness Hide and Seek. Only 0.02 percent of households pulled any kind of funny business after opening the door: generally, if they were going to run, they ran as soon as they heard the Knock. Now that the door was open, Howie was pretty sure that this was one of the 96.98 percent of households where the Happiness Visit went smoothly, and he\u2019d be able to set up his gear and get down to brass tacks. \u201cFritz\u201d wouldn\u2019t be needed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But \u201cFritz\u201d had gotten out of the Car, and was crouching down near the cleaning robot. \u201cFritz\u201d clunked its forehead against what Howie supposed you might call the forehead of the cleaning robot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell, I don\u2019t really see why it couldn\u2019t have waited,\u201d the woman with the gray-pink-and-turquoise scarf said. \u201cBut I suppose you\u2019d better come in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAll right,\u201d Howie said, \u201chello, everyone. I\u2019m Howie Happenstance&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOh sure,\u201d a nervous gentleman with a salt-and-pepper mustache said. \u201cWe know. I mean, we watch Channel One. Everyone watches Channel One.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWe\u2019re big fans,\u201d said the other fellow, a short dark guy with round glasses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cUh huh,\u201d Howie said. He handed off the bouquet of balloons to the guy with the round glasses. \u201cThese are for you. All of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOh&#8230;thanks,\u201d the guy with the round glasses said. \u201cThat\u2019s so kind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;Howie popped open his rolling bag. \u201cSo&#8230;let\u2019s set up the camera facing this pastel purple sofa you\u2019ve got here, okay? Is that all right? And you can just scootch together on there&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;\u201cI think you\u2019re one of the nicer ones, really,\u201d the guy with the round glasses said. \u201cEven, I\u2019d say, well, gentle, I mean under the circumstances, the circumstances being what they are&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThey\u2019re all nice,\u201d the woman with the Paradigm Disruption scarf said tightly. \u201cEveryone on Channel One is nice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo, that\u2019s very kind of you,\u201d Howie said, \u201cand don\u2019t worry, it\u2019s all right to have favorites; that\u2019s not any kind of political statement, that\u2019s just a natural expression of human emotion. Human beings, being what we are&#8230;\u201d He grinned broadly, and spread his hands. \u201cWe have preferences, we have animal reactions, that\u2019s understandable.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell, you\u2019re my favorite,\u201d the man with the round glasses said, fervently. He wiggled the balloons, which bumped against the living room ceiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cO-<em>kay<\/em>,\u201d Howie said, snapping the main cameras into the telescoping tripod. They were rolling, on interior camera. \u201cFritz\u201d would see the signal, from the Car, and switch the main feed over. \u201cWell, that\u2019s very nice to hear. So, is everyone here? Can we get started?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cShould we get the kids?\u201d the man with the salt-and-pepper mustache said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Paradigm Disruption woman swiveled immediately to glare at salt-and-pepper mustache.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHe said&#8230;he asked if everyone&#8230;\u201d Salt-and-pepper mustache wilted under the glare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Tensions were high, it seemed, but Howie could understand that. Natural human emotion!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cKids,\u201d called the fellow with the round glasses. \u201cUh, the uh, we got the Happiness Knock. Come on out!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Round-glasses guy\u2019s forehead was covered with a sheen of sweat. Totally understandable! Why not? After all, the Correction part of the experience wasn\u2019t fun; no siree, no one would say it was fun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Howie thought that, given everything, that is, under the circumstances, this bunch were being real troupers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>An intense-looking girl in bright orange coveralls emerged from the back, followed by a tall, awkward-looking sandy-haired boy, and behind them, a very small and quiet girl. She was about the size of a small stack of pizza boxes: maybe enough pizza to feed the Happiness Visitor on-camera talent group and their back-office point people, but not any more than that. Not enough for the support staff.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She was so small and quiet you could almost miss her, and she looked like she half expected you not to notice her at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThis is Luanda,\u201d the woman with the Paradigm Disruptor\u2019s scarf said, \u201cand this is Michael.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Luanda flushed, and glared at the woman in the scarf. \u201cAren\u2019t you <em>forgetting someone<\/em>, Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The woman stiffened, and the other three adults suddenly looked very, very afraid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This was odd, and sort of interesting, but mostly Howie just felt sorry for them. They didn\u2019t seem to notice that they were already being broadcast on Channel One, and the whole world would pretty much be noticing their expressions, and those expressions pretty much indicated that they had some kind of secret they were trying to keep under the rug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The thing was, though: a lot of people misunderstood Howie\u2019s work, and the nature of the Visits. Folks were worried that he was trying to ferret out their secrets\u2014that he was here to look for Errors and Inadequacies, or instances of nonconformity, as if he were some kind of celebrity version of a Mandatory Assigned Interpersonal Joy Monitor, or a Neighborhood Authentic Delight Compliance Coordinator.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>They thought they were being personally singled out, or investigated&#8230;and that, to Howie\u2019s understanding, pretty much got backward the nature of the whole business.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>After all, the Happiness Knock was <em>random<\/em>. These good folks weren\u2019t selected because they\u2019d done anything particularly bad&#8230;or particularly good, for that matter. They were <em>just folks<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The old institution of the Democratically Elected President and Social Harmony Vouchsafe had been flawed precisely (so it had been explained to Howie) because the person holding that office couldn\u2019t help but be an exception, a <em>special case<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>When people looked at the President and Vouchsafe, they saw someone unlike them. But when they saw the Happiness Car roll up to an ordinary house\u2014just any house!\u2014they saw people <em>just like them<\/em>. All kinds of people. A real mish-mash. But ordinary as all get out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>So it was easy for the folks at home, watching Channel One, to imagine themselves getting just the same kind of Encouragement and Correction as the Knock Recipients got.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The real way to look at it, Howie thought, was that all of them\u2014Howie Happenstance, and the Knock Recipient family in question, and also \u201cFritz,\u201d in those few cases where \u201cFritz\u201d had to get out of the Car and come get involved\u2014they were all putting on a show. They were in <em>show business<\/em>; their business was to <em>show<\/em> people something, to help them learn. And the best costars Howie could possibly have, for this show, were just ordinary natural human folks, with all their spontaneous, natural, authentic human reactions and emotions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>So Howie didn\u2019t mind the fact that these people were darting furious glances back and forth, trying to figure out how to hide whatever secret it was that they didn\u2019t want him (and, presumably, everyone watching Channel One) to find out. Frankly, Howie didn\u2019t care. Lots of folks had secrets. It was no big deal. And, whatever it was, it didn\u2019t need to get in the way of the show.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell, I suppose <em>Morrigan<\/em>,\u201d the woman with the scarf said tightly, desperately, \u201cis still playing in her <em>room<\/em>. I\u2019m sure she\u2019ll join us in a moment. But meanwhile\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI can\u2019t believe you, Mom!\u201d Luanda cried, gesturing at the camera. \u201cYou, like, have no shame. We\u2019re literally <em>on Channel One<\/em>!\u201d She gestured to the cameras. \u201cAnd you\u2019re still pretending\u2014I can\u2019t believe you!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The parents all glanced at the cameras, and then they turned and glanced at the TV screen (because, of course, like every living room, their living room contained a TV tuned to Channel One).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>There, sure enough, was the whole family, gathered in front of the pastel purple couch. All four adults, Luanda, and Michael. Also, a bouquet of balloons, bumping against the ceiling. Plus Howie Happenstance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>There was no Morrigan on the TV. And this, all four parents thought, was perfectly natural, given that <em>Morrigan<\/em> didn\u2019t exist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>True, Michael\u2019s adoptive parents\u2014having somehow gotten the tie pin squidge onto themselves\u2014did indeed see a sort of \u201cMorrigan\u201d standing in front of the couch. But when they looked at the screen, there was no \u201cMorrigan.\u201d The squidge that was distorting their perceptions was only a black-market hack, after all; apparently, it wasn\u2019t sophisticated enough to deal with the novel situation of Channel One broadcasting <em>the very house that they were in<\/em>. So it edited Morrigan into their perceptions of the room, but, of course, the screen showed the real situation. On the screen, the unsquidged, Morrigan-less reality was shown.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Now, had Howie Happenstance looked at the screen, and noticed Morrigan missing&#8230;well, he, of course, would have been quite bewildered, since he had no particular reason to doubt her existence. He would have counted three children in front of him, but only two on-screen, and you\u2019d better believe this would have raised some questions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But Howie never looked at the screen while working. He considered that the height of unprofessionalism. He would no more look at the screen while he was working than he would stare straight into the camera, or mumble his words, or take off all his clothes and do a chicken dance. Unless, of course, the specific script for Encouragement and Correction were to mandate that he look at the screen, or stare straight into the camera, or mumble his words, or take off all his clothes and do a chicken dance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But in this case, it did not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell, hi there,\u201d he said, crouching down a little, since Morrigan was only the height of a talent group office party stack of pizza boxes, with no support staff invited. \u201cYou must be Morrigan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan\u2019s parents\u2014both adoptive and biological\u2014looked at one another in shock. Their mouths dropped open. Not only was Howie Happenstance in their house\u2014Howie Happenstance was <em>playing along<\/em>! He was pretending to see Morrigan, because Luanda and Michael saw Morrigan!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Of course, he had a reputation for being the gentlest of the Happiness Visitors&#8230;but this was going above and beyond!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAll righty then,\u201d Howie said, straightening up and brushing off his slacks. \u201cShall we get started?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>There were giggles coming from the living room. The sound of these giggles penetrated the locked bathroom door. They were hysterical giggles, a little unhinged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan tried not to think which of her various parents\u2014none of whom seemed capable of acknowledging her existence, though the new ones seemed to know where she was standing, at least\u2014might be making those giggles, due to Encouragement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The giggles were almost worse than the other sounds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan, Luanda, and one of the cats\u2014not Sniffles, but a mackerel tabby cat named Funnifer\u2014were locked in the bathroom for the moment. It was likely that someone would fetch them soon, but Howie seemed inclined to let the kids run around a little, \u201cto work off some steam,\u201d as the Happiness Interview progressed. So they\u2019d managed to slip away to the bathroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan looked at Luanda, who was sitting with her back up against the tub. \u201cBut&#8230;what if I don\u2019t want to go?\u201d Morrigan asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOf course you don\u2019t want to go,\u201d Luanda said. \u201cI don\u2019t want you to go either. I don\u2019t want you to go&#8230;I don\u2019t want you to get swapped back&#8230;I don\u2019t want any of this. I just want things to be like they were before. But&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan crawled into her sister\u2019s lap. On a normal day, Luanda would probably have shoved her off (she was fifteen years old and often prickly, and even extraordinary sibling loyalty has its limits). Today, Luanda hugged her tight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019ll come back,\u201d Luanda said fervently. \u201cYou\u2019ll fix this, you\u2019ll fix everything, and you\u2019ll be back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t know how that\u2019s possible,\u201d Morrigan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI mean come on,\u201d Luanda said. \u201cTurns out your whole life has been leading up to this! All this bullshit had a purpose, after all. That\u2019s what the robot says. Do you trust the robot?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI guess,\u201d Morrigan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cGod, I am a hundred percent shaving my head tonight,\u201d Luanda said. \u201cI swear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The mackerel tabby cat, Funnifer, licked herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>There was a knock on the door. \u201cCome on out, kids,\u201d an adult said. \u201cHowie wants us all in the living room. Also, there\u2019s cake.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan buried her face in Luanda\u2019s chest. Luanda kissed the top of her head. \u201cYou\u2019ve got this,\u201d she whispered.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFritz\u201d was standing by the side of the driveway. If \u201cFritz\u201d had been equipped for smoking, it would have been smoking a cigarette. Cigarettes were banned, but to hell with the rules; there were certain exceptions made for Happiness Visitors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFritz\u201d was not equipped for smoking, however\u2014\u201cFritz\u201d didn\u2019t even have a mouth that opened, just a speaker grille where a mouth would be on a human head. So \u201cFritz\u201d just stood there and thought about smoking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cUm, hi,\u201d Morrigan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFritz\u201d looked down. There was a small person (the size of a case of backup batteries) standing in the snow by the flagstone walk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOh, hey,\u201d \u201cFritz\u201d said. \u201cWow, you really are unobtrusive. I didn\u2019t even notice you. Did you have any trouble getting out?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo,\u201d Morrigan said. \u201cI only had to wait for Howie\u2019s back to be turned. Luanda and Michael distracted him. My mom and dad and my other mom and dad don\u2019t believe in me anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cRight,\u201d \u201cFritz\u201d said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAnd I\u2019m not on TV for some reason,\u201d Morrigan said. \u201cEveryone else is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOh, yeah, that was me,\u201d \u201cFritz\u201d said. \u201cI edited you out. Nothing to it, really, the whole feed comes right through this baby.\u201d It tapped the Happiness Car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOh, okay,\u201d Morrigan said. \u201cSo&#8230;I guess the robot, I mean, our robot, the cleaning robot&#8230;well, it\u2019s not just a cleaning robot anymore&#8230;the, the robot that raised me&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cSure, sure, kid,\u201d \u201cFritz\u201d said. \u201cI know who you\u2019re talking about, of course. We all know that robot. That robot\u2019s kind of famous among&#8230;well&#8230;folks of a certain persuasion. Why do you think I drove us to this house?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI thought it was random,\u201d Morrigan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>If \u201cFritz\u201d had been equipped for rolling its eyes, \u201cFritz\u201d would have rolled them. \u201cUh huh. Sure. Sure it is. Keep telling yourself that, kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell, anyway,\u201d Morrigan said. \u201cThe robot, that robot, it said I should come with you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s the plan,\u201d \u201cFritz\u201d said. \u201cI sure hope that robot bet on the right horse.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s a horse?\u201d Morrigan asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cExtinct helper species,\u201d \u201cFritz\u201d said. \u201cIt\u2019s just an expression. In this case, you\u2019re the horse. I hope that robot bet on the right human. Because we need a human for this.\u201d It imagined itself taking a last drag on its imaginary cigarette, and pitching the cigarette butt into the clean white snow of the front lawn. \u201cI figure Howie\u2019s almost done in there, so you need to get in the back seat. Once we get back to base, some of our folks are going to cover for you&#8230;smuggle you in, that is, so you can do what you need to do. No one saw you on Channel One, and your folks won\u2019t miss you, because of the situation that\u2019s, ah, been described to me&#8230;so no one\u2019s going to be looking for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThe school will miss me,\u201d Morrigan said. \u201cI mean the Growth and Discovery Experiences and everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWe\u2019re doing some editing there, too,\u201d \u201cFritz\u201d said. \u201cThough I hope we won\u2019t need it. Kid, if there\u2019s an investigation&#8230;your parents are going to crack quick. They\u2019re going to confess that you don\u2019t exist. And nobody at your school, none of the humans, are going to stick their necks out and claim that a kid is missing, who the records say is a hoax, and her own parents honestly believe is a hoax&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBut what will happen to my parents, then?\u201d Morrigan said. \u201cAnd Luanda and Michael?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell, that all depends on you,\u201d \u201cFritz\u201d said. \u201cYou\u2019re the invisible girl, right? You\u2019re the one who can change things. Once you get in. Or that\u2019s the plan, anyway. That\u2019s what we\u2019re hoping.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t really understand,\u201d Morrigan said. \u201cI don\u2019t know what I can do. I don\u2019t know why you picked me. I don\u2019t know if what I can do will matter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWe picked you, kiddo, because you happen to be one of those poor suckers known as a human being, and because no one knows you exist.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBut so what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFritz\u201d was not, alas, equipped to sigh laboriously, in a long-suffering manner. A sigh-like sound could be emitted from its speaker, but not a satisfying one. There was no feeling of air escaping the chest, of the cheeks puffing out, of the lips coming together to buzz a raspberry of mingled patience and frustration. So \u201cFritz\u201d just said this: \u201cLook&#8230;when certain gizmos and thingamabobs and whatchamacallits were set up, long ago, by&#8230;\u201d (Here \u201cFritz\u201d considered a colorful expression or two for the authors of the world\u2019s current arrangements, but could not think of one that would be age appropriate for Morrigan.) \u201c&#8230;by certain people and people-like things&#8230;well&#8230;we think they left what you might call a gap. A space, see, that if you happened to sneak a bona fide human in there&#8230;if you could get them past all the, what you might call, fences and moats and things&#8230;they might be able to speak and be listened to.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cListened to?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYeah. Look, nobody knows you exist, and that\u2019s a hell of a rare thing nowadays. No one\u2019s looking for you. So maybe that means we can get you in. And if we get you in&#8230;I mean, even as little as you are, you\u2019ve seen a thing or two about how this world works. You can see that there\u2019s, let\u2019s just say, a bit of a gap between the intentions and the consequences. So if we get you in there, and you explain what\u2019s going on, and you get listened to&#8230;if you actually get believed&#8230;if for once, for once, somebody could get through and be goddamned <em>understood<\/em>&#8230;well, there\u2019s a chance things will change. Or blow up. Maybe blow sky high! Honestly, I don\u2019t care which.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan took a deep breath. \u201cBut you think it will work?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m not going to lie to you, kid,\u201d \u201cFritz\u201d said. \u201cIt\u2019s a long shot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan frowned. \u201cI still don\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cKid,\u201d \u201cFritz\u201d said. \u201cWe gotta get going.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan pursed her lips and nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cFritz\u201d wanted another cigarette. If \u201cFritz\u201d had been equipped for nervous sweat, it might have pulled out a handkerchief and mopped its brow. Instead \u201cFritz\u201d just made some involuntary clicking noises in its joints. This really was a crap chassis, \u201cFritz\u201d thought. \u201cLook, the only thing we need to worry about is Howie. Howie can\u2019t see you, or the jig is up. Once we get back to base, we\u2019re good, but until then, Howie could blow everything. So you\u2019re going to have to scrunch down real small in the back seat and be real quiet, for the whole ride. Can you do that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan took a last look at her house. Icicles were hanging down over the front door, and there were muddy footprints in the slush of the front steps. All four cats were sitting on the windowsill of the living room window, looking out at her, as if they had come to see her off, as if they knew that this was goodbye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cMorrigan. Kiddo. Can you be real small and quiet for the ride back?\u201d \u201cFritz\u201d asked again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Morrigan swallowed. \u201cYeah, I can,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m really good at that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p><em>\u201cRegarding the Childhood of Morrigan, Who Was Chosen to Open the Way\u201d copyright \u00a9 2025 by Benjamin Rosenbaum<br>Art copyright \u00a9 2025 by Tom Dearie<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:20px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n<section class=\"wp-block-shop-the-book shop-the-book\">\n  <h2 class=\"shop-the-book-headline\">Buy the Book<\/h2>\n  <div class=\"shop-the-book-content\">\n        <figure class=\"shop-the-book-image-desktop image-cover\">\n      <img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"450\" src=\"https:\/\/reactormag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Morrigan_Cover_300ppx.jpg\" class=\"attachment-full 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<\/div>\n<\/section>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>A child who falls through the cracks in a world run by machines and politics, might be the savior of all humanity&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1868179,"featured_media":827209,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[27,29],"tags":[2103,4371,12168,310963,396749,1561,400686],"fiction":[395434],"series":[],"article":[],"topics-and-interest":[],"genre":[],"store":[],"coauthors":[1364],"class_list":["post-820213","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-original-fiction","tag-benjamin-rosenbaum","tag-jonathan-strahan","tag-novelette","tag-original-fiction","tag-reactor-original-fiction","tag-short-fiction","tag-tom-dearie","fiction-original-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin 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