Countess Prudence’s District
Department of Immigration
Act One, Scene Four
A new ship was coming in, and Melissa was on duty tonight at the first district immigration office.
Saint-Andrews had had beautiful beaches, her mother had told her; the cool ocean lapping up against the brown sands below green trees, more like a painting than any world Melissa had ever seen. Now nine out of every ten yards of beach had buildings on it, docks or warehouses or factories that emptied straight out into the ocean or tall apartment buildings with windows overlooking the ocean shielded by seawalls at the water’s edge. The tenth beach had been fenced off, with the fence visible only from the outside and an artificial view constructed to block the city view for any tourist enjoying a tropical vacation, and yet still the ships came in droves as they had not when Saint-Andrews was free. This one’s name was the Santa Barbara, and its registry was Mexican and its crew from every nation under the sun and it said it sailed for tourism and was packed to the gunwales with men and women who said they wanted to see the supervillain city for themselves, half of whom were traveling with false IDs. The shipping company had mailed Novapest their manifest, and now there was nothing for Melissa to do but read over the names on the list, ask each passenger who they were, take a quick picture, print their free new ID, take ten crowns (or their value in local currency) off of them, and see about upselling the ones with money on a tourist guide explaining where the safe areas were and weren’t.
Except this passenger. This passenger was not the person you tried a hard sell on, even if you were good at the hard sell, which Melissa was not. This passenger was taller than Melissa (not that that was hard) and also taller than most men and her face was like no human face and she did not move like a human. She moved as if she couldn’t help but fall on her feet if she fell, as if she could swat bullets with her hand and punch straight through steel.
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Melissa had family from Saint-Andrews but she had grown up in Novapest, and the best way to handle people like this if you weren’t the knight of someone powerful was to stay beneath their notice.
“Welcome to Novapest,” she said, “here in the first district. Can I ask your name, age, and birth date?” Routine was usually safe...
“Victoria Seleukia Ward,” said the Power. “Twenty-six, September twenty-eighth nineteen eighty-seven.”
There were at least three lies in that sentence. It only had three clauses.
“Do you wish to register any superpowers?”
“No.” Another lie, and this one not ‘fake identity’, but just confusing.
“Is there anyone else you wish to sign for?”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “My brother, Constantine Leo Ward. Age twenty-eight, born October fourteenth nineteen eighty-five.” She slid a pair of photographs across the table to Melissa.
Everything in that sentence was false. Does she not want to sign for him or does he not exist?
“Does he have powers?”
“C-ranked strength, agility and toughness.”
Not a lie because there’s no lying answer to “what color is unicorn hair?”
“Do you want to buy a pocket guide to the laws and locations of the District?”
“I do not, but if you have a moving company to recommend, I do need to ship my brother’s armor.”
She tried to keep the flinch invisible, but couldn’t stop her facial expression from freezing. False true -
“No ma’am, no recommendations,” she said.
The Power’s gaze surveyed her and found her wanting. “I understand. If you ever tire of doing without proper compensation for all your skills, I assure you I pay better than a tourist agency.”
“That’s three dollars entry fee,” Melissa said, mouth dry with horror and heart beating like a drum.
And the Power paid the fee, and - passed on, leaving Melissa to stare at the life she’d built for herself already so soon near ruined.