Julia From Brockton Bay: A Refugee's Story

by Meester Lee

Julia, a teenaged girl from Winslow High School is driven through a dimensional portal to a universe very much like Julian May's Galactic Milieu and finds that the rules of the game are very, very different. Rated T for coarse language and situations

15. Other Girls Heard From

Julia From Brockton Bay Other Girls Heard From

DISCLAIMER: Worm and its characters are the creation of John "Wildbow" McCrae. The Galactic Milieu was the creation of the late Julian May. I own neither, and neither expect nor deserve any sort of financial remuneration for this work of fiction. I wrote this story for my own amusement.

Individuals wishing to learn more about the Worm web serial may search for it on the Internet. Julian May's Intervention and Galactic Milieu series are available on Kindle, although hard copies can be found here and there.

Julia From Brockton Bay*Julia From Brockton Bay*Julia From Brockton Bay

I got some time in the computer lab after Math class. Math wasn't one of my favorite classes back in the Bay: I could half-guess what the problems were for, but I had trouble figuring out how to solve them. But in spite of my trouble, I'd learned that math was a thing here and if anything, the Milieu was hotter about math that the Brockton Bay School System ever was. I plodded along as best as I could, but I already knew that I'd never be one of Northcote's math whizzes.

My next class wasn't really a class but study hall. I opened the files for tomorrow's Current Affairs class on my book-plaque and tried to read my assignment. I muttered to myself about my cluelessness; I needed to get with the program and get more time in the computer lab. I'd only learned today that I needed to make reservations in advance if I wanted to put in time on the school's computers.

I did manage to squeeze fifteen minutes before PE. I went back to that social site for people from Earth Bet I'd found on Friday. Kasey Baumgardner wasn't on-line, but I was able to start typing a message.

To: Cool Rings
From: Bored Sick in Fredericton

Yeah, it's me. We survived Leviathan—all of us. My Mom and Dad left town before Leviathan hit it and we spend several shitty days at a camp in Maine. My family then went through the Porthole back in May and we ended up in Fredericton. That's New Brunswick's capital, in case you don't know.

I'm going to a school called Northcote Comprehensive. Lots of Canadians, eh. Some people from Winslow and middle school ended up here, too. Not any from our old clique, although we do have some of the wanna-bes and losers like Keith Ortner.

My sibs are all right. Mark and Lisa are at a primary school. They think it's cool.

Things are a little tough right now. Dad's not working. Mom's the only one with a job.

Where are you? Were you in town when Leviathan came? Do you know if anybody from the old clique survived?

Write me.

Love ya,

Julia the J Chick.

I looked back on what I'd written and clicked the "SEND" icon. I had PE next. I looked at the time on my tablet's screen, powered it down, then got ready to go.

Yeah, I still say tablet instead of plaque. Bite me.

-Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—

The rest of the school day passed like my previous ones here. It was near the end of August and still warm enough to be outdoors. I hadn't signed up for any sports, so our PE class was held outside. PE was, well, PE. We did a lot of running and a lot of exercising, the girls separate from the boys. Still, sometimes I had weird thoughts while I was running or while the gym coach had us take breaks. I had to admit that Northcote was nice, or at least nicer than Winslow had been: they kept up the grounds, there wasn't any litter, and people didn't use the buildings as backdrops for gang graffiti.

Sometimes, though, I got little reminders that this wasn't Kansas anymore, let alone Brockton Bay. Yeah, there was a flag on the flagpole flapping in the breeze. It wasn't the Stars and Stripes and it wasn't the red and white Canadian tri-color either: it was a dark blue one with what I'd learned was the symbol for the Coadunate Galactic Milieu. There wasn't a football field, and I didn't see anyone wearing helmets and padding. People here played soccer, they played baseball, I know they played field hockey, but they didn't play football. Jocks might have a lot of the status they had back in the Bay, but they weren't the next thing to godhood that they'd been back home.

-Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—

Late that afternoon, Dad picked me up in the new car. It wasn't really a new car; it was used. It was also an electric, just like the rental had been, except that it wasn't as nice. It didn't have the rental's sound system and it lacked GPS. It was also several years older. Something about it shouted "fleet vehicle."

"How do you like it?" said Dad.

"It's a car," I said.

Dad had spent the day doing some shopping. He'd not only bought the new car but he also visited the computer store. He showed off his latest buys: a computer, a monitor, and a printer. Just seeing it made me hopeful. Could I get my stuff out of my tablet and my phone?

I asked Dad about after he showed off his new set-up. None of it was really new; all of it was used. I asked him and was disappointed. "I'm sorry, Julia, but I'm trying to learn the local computer language and the new apps so I can begin to start working again."

Shit, I thought. I hadn't found my new clique yet but I really wanted to be able to show pictures from my old life. I really hoped that somebody would be able to come up with some conversion software.

I went back to my room after dinner to work on my homework. I booted up the school plaque and started going over my reading assignment for Current Affairs.

"After the Great Intervention, the Simbiari Proctorship set about binding the wounds of the Last War and creating the framework for just and lasting peace," I read. I rolled my eyes. NATO and the Warsaw Pact had duked it out with heavy weapons and there was still a lot of hot areas where they'd used nukes and a lot of wreckage elsewhere. There hadn't been enough nuclear explosions to set off a Nuclear Winter, but Earth Showa's global weather was considered colder than normal.

The war between the Warsaw Pact and NATO hadn't been the last war, either, I read. After the Russians withdrew their troops from Afghanistan, the Afghans started fighting each other, and the text muttered something about "police action." My guess was that the Afghans were now fighting Milieu troops.

In the Americas, several governments had been using their military and police forces not only to crush armed rebels but anybody who said "boo" to the way things had been. The Intervention put a stop to the worst of it, but as I read between the lines, it looked like the guys who used to rule those places hated the changes that the Slimies had put through.

What was that French saying, I thought. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Yeah, that was it.

On the oceans, the big change was that the Milieu and the Proctorship had enacted laws recognizing several species of dolphins and whales as intelligent species. Unlike humans here on Earth Showa and back on Earth Bet, Milieu biologists and linguists had learned several of the languages used by whales and dolphins. They'd also enacted laws giving whales and dolphins protection much like humans' and made killing and injuring them crimes.

Once passed, these laws set off an avalanche of lawsuits which were still making their way through the courts. The whales were particularly pissed off and were suing not only former whaling nations but also the cities and ports that had supported whaling. I thought about the rich assholes who lived in resorts like Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard and grinned about their legal troubles, then remembered that Brockton Bay also used to be a whaling port back in the day.

I didn't know any whales, I didn't expect to meet any of them, but that didn't stop me from making a note to myself: don't talk about Brockton Bay and whaling in the same sentence—ever.

-Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—

The next morning was almost normal. Mom was dressed then left for work just after the brats and I got to the breakfast table. Dad drove us to school, stopping first at Kellman, then dropping me off at Northcote.

I got slapped with another difference between Northcote and Winslow when I got to school: these guys had tables out in the foyers. Neither Principal Blackwell nor the kids dared do that back at Winslow: allowing that many kids to gather around risked setting off fights between gang members and neither Blackwell nor the security staff had the numbers or the firepower to deal with a situation before it went wild. These guys could and did have tables out front; it was like something out of those stupid teen movies where the kids all got along and fights weren't something to worry about.

Tuesday's Current Affairs class could and did touch on whales and dolphins and how the Proctorship was doing its part to help humans learn to live with the sentients in the oceans. Mr. Reddy skipped through the big one: that humans had hunted whales for centuries and that even after the whaling bans were passed into law, humans had been incapable of recognizing them as sentient species.

There was a brief discussion about whaling where a couple of kids who belonged to animal rights groups tried to get the rest of us to make amends by banning boating and stop eating fish. The rest of the class disagreed, saying that the mandatory GOATIE boxes power boats were using cut way down on collisions. I still remember the expressions on Serenity's and Dawn's faces when George Maury reminded them that dolphins and many whale species also ate fish and weren't likely to stop. Priceless!

Meditation was a bore. I didn't get anything out of it.

At lunch I saw Harry Gautier sitting with a bunch of Northcote's French-speakers. Despite my French lessons back at Winslow, I can't say I speak it, but it sounded like Harry had found his new clique. Not that he spoke it very well either, but he seemed to be trying and his new friends were patting him on the back for trying.

I went back to that social site again during computer lab. I wasn't looking for anything special, but I was hoping that I'd find someone dissing the aliens. I didn't.

I did get a note, a short one, from Kasey Baumgardner. She'd gotten my message. It was her who'd written me the other day. She said that she and her family was in Halifax and that she taking certain special ed class that she said was like keeping her very, very busy. She told me that she'd write more about it later.

She also told me that Madison Clements was also on this side of the Porthole. Unlike me and Kasey, Madison's folks had gone west to Portland.

-Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—

So at least two of the other girls from the old clique were still alive. I thought about Leviathan and shuddered. The refugee camp had had a TV and rolled footage showing Leviathan tearing through town and the Capes' attempts to stop him. Despite the fact that I'd wanted to turn my head and run away screaming, I'd forced myself to watch it. Thousands of people had died when that monster hit town. I wondered if I knew any of the people who'd died and who they were.

-Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—

When I got home I learned that things were the same-old same-old. Dad had been learning the programming language that drove most of Earth's computer networks: he told me that they didn't use Windows but another operating system, one that also had its origins in Unix and C, but different. The Brats had had a good day; Mark told me that he wanted to be a spaceman for real. My Mom said that her company was firming up a deal with a Simbiari organization to sell facial tissues.

I went back to my bedroom after clearing the table and washing the dishes. I still had language arts to worry about and an essay due on Friday. Timmy had given up on reading The Shelter; the freak-out last week must have made Ms. Carstairs slam on the brakes, but now he was going to make us write about heroes. He wanted us to describe our meeting with a real-life hero and I didn't have the slightest idea as to where to begin.

-Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—

If I could go back in time and decide what parts to keep and what parts to throw away, I'd have kept most of it. I probably would have put it all at the bottom of a drawer somewhere and tossed it out later, but I would have kept enough of it long enough to get past final exams.

Mr. Stone's Earth sciences class was a continuation of planetary formation. We learned that Earth wasn't the only habitable planet in the Milky Way (Well, duh!) and how most of them had formed billions of years ago. Ours was one of the ones that formed in the "life zone" under the right circumstances and had kept a breathable atmosphere (Although what the microbes that used to breath other stuff would think about our air wasn't mentioned). He also touched on also-rans like Mars (too small) and Venus (run-away greenhouse effect).

Lunch was fun. I still hadn't made my way into a popular clique, but I got to see Wendy Corcoran try and dress like a local. She must have gotten one of those gift coupons that the stores passed out to help us refugees settle in. I looked at her outfit and got to grin at how her top clashed with her skirt.

Timmy, as expected, talked about heroes. He touched on a couple of the Native American hero myths, guys who were closer to gods than men, the Classical Greek heroic idea: men and women who were more than ordinary men and women, although they weren't gods themselves. Then Timmy started blathering about contemporary heroes and how we view them. I'd half ignored his talking. I'd decided that I was going to write about one of the Bay Capes: I'd met Kid Wain once while he was making a PR sweep at the downtown mall. I'd even gotten my picture taken with him: I'd use it if I could get it off my cell phone.

"So how do we see heroes today?" Timmy asked today. "Do we see them as being perfect like saints, or do we see them more like the Classical Greeks did, mortal men and women who might be stronger or smarter than we are, but still possessing flaws and imperfections? Do we allow them their imperfections, or do we want them to be as perfect as saints?"

Whatever, I thought, rolling my eyes when I was sure that Timmy wasn't looking my way. I so wanted this class to be over so I could get to the computer lab and touch base with Kasey.

-Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—Worm—Milieu—

I'd been waiting all day. I finally got to the computer lab. I logged onto the social site and yes, I'd gotten mail. I checked and saw two senders: Cool Rings and someone calling herself MClementsBB. Madison?

I decided to open the second one first. Kasey had sent Madison my e-mail address and Madison had written me a letter. I started reading.

Madison had had a rough time. She'd avoided Leviathan: her parents had left town, too. They got robbed on their way back to the Bay from the place in the country where they'd holed up. They only got robbed; the muggers were holding up several families at the time and were too distracted to get closer and more personal with Madison. I shivered just reading it. There's never a hero around when you need one.

Like the Baumgardners and my parents, her parents decided to go through the Porthole. Unlike mine, they decided to make some sort of U-turn and drove to Portland.

Madison's parents made her enroll in summer school. Then things went south for her. When Madison tried to recreate one of our pranks on one of the Portland kids, the school principal there came down on her like Behemoth on a city. She told me that she was on probation until she was eighteen and that she was going to keep her nose clean.

Downer. Poor Maddy, that sucked. I closed her message and opened Kasey's

Kasey's letter was much happier and bubblier than Madison's. She liked Halifax, she liked her new school, she made a lot of new friends, and even though she missed all her old friends on the other side of the Porthole, she liked her new life as much as she did her old one back in the Bay.

Then she dropped the bomb. "Hey, Jules, I never told you what my Special Ed classes were about! No, they weren't for problem children. The teachers here claim that I'm fairly well adjusted as anyone who came from the Bay. I laughed when they told me that!"

"No, the thing is about my Special Education classes is that they tested me before school started and discovered that I was borderline operant. They didn't freak out like the Protectorate might have back home. Instead, they're making me take classes. Yours truly is like a full-blown operant. Isn't that cool?

"Tell me that's cool!"

I stared at the computer screen, my mouth open in astonishment. Kasey was a Head. A Head. A full-blown fugging operant, probably with Master powers.

She'd become one of them.

I closed the program and suppressed a whimper.

Julia From Brockton Bay*Julia From Brockton Bay*Julia From Brockton Bay

Author's notes

Goatie. A goatie is device that I made up that broadcasts a pidgin version of the languages used by various cetacean languages in my version of the Galactic Milieu's Earth. Goaties are attached to boat hulls and are generally used by smaller marine craft. In the case of power boats and pleasure craft, the signal most often used by "Goaties" is "Get Outta the Way! Get Outta the Way! Get Outta the Way!", a signal that could save hundreds of dolphins and porpoises from injury and death if it existed on our world.

A reminder for people who aren't familiar with the Worm universe, a Cape is a slang term for any super-powered human in Wildbow's Worm universe.

Both Leviathan and Behemoth are "Endbringers," beings capable of causing massive destruction and capable of ruining cities and regions. Leviathan is known to destroy not only coastal and riverine cities, but also sink whole islands.

Madison Clements. Madison Clements was one of the chief high school tormentors of Taylor Hebert in the first chapters of Worm. After reading Hardcore Heathen's Law and Order: Brockton Bay, it occurred to me that I might have a use for her in this story after all: as a background character, mentioned but not seen.

Meta-psychic/"Head"/Operant. The Coadunate Galactic Milieu is a galactic federation consisting of seven races (Five in Julian May's canon), most of whom are psychic, with mental powers. Some of their powers overlap with Worm power classification categories like Master, Stranger, Thinker, and Changer. A couple of the major characters in Julian May's Pliocene exile also have Changer and Blaster powers.

These powers are not that common with humans in the 2010 Milieu universe. I may have depicted a couple of Brockton Bay refugees who possess them, but readers should remember that the sum total of Brockton Bay area refugees with such powers amount to less than a couple of dozen humans among the thirty thousand or so refugees from Brockton Bay and Earth Bet who crossed through the interdimentional porthole to seek refuge on Earth Showa.