The Measure(40)

“There are going to be some changes,” Anthony said. “But the people like us will be just fine.”

“We’ll be better than fine.” Katherine grinned.

And Anthony couldn’t help but agree with her.





Maura




The changes were announced in a televised White House press conference on a Friday night at the end of June.

Maura and Nina had been waiting for the twice-delayed conference to begin, distracting themselves by watching one of those crime procedurals known for picking plot lines out of the news. The show itself had just made headlines by becoming the first television series to introduce the strings into its fictive universe, and Maura was stunned to watch the episode unfold, the team of police officers hunting down two vicious short-stringers on a crime spree, leading to the climactic shoot-out where they both lost their lives. A portrayal that wouldn’t do any good for short-stringers in the real world, she thought.

Nina seemed just as upset by the story, fidgeting on the couch before switching channels, where the president of the United States finally appeared on-screen amid the muffled coughs of reporters and a few camera flashes. Flanked at the podium by senior members of the military and the FBI, he announced his most sweeping executive order to date: the Security and Transparency in Appointing and Recruiting Initiative, or the “STAR” Initiative for short. A similar bill would likely be introduced in Congress soon, but the attack on the Capitol had made it clear, the president argued, that immediate action was warranted.

“They must know that people will be angry,” Nina said after the conference had ended. “That’s why they announced it on a Friday night. They’re hoping there’ll be less media coverage on a weekend, and maybe people won’t pay as much attention. As if that could ever happen.”

Maura stayed quiet, taking it in, while Nina rambled on anxiously. “I mean, I did hear that the primary debate had shifted the conversation in Congress,” she said, “but I can’t believe that it’s gotten this far, this fast.”

Nina looked at Maura. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“Am I okay?” Maura asked. “First I have to watch that smear campaign against short-stringers masquerading as a TV show, and now this? The president just created two classes of citizens, based on strings.”

It was clear Nina didn’t know how to respond. “I know that the cop show was . . . not good, but I don’t think this STAR Initiative could be that bad,” she said reassuringly.

Maura pushed herself up off the couch. “It’s all part of the same problem!” she yelled.

“Well, maybe the announcement seems more extreme than it actually is,” Nina offered.

“They just told me that, solely because of my string, I can’t be a soldier or an FBI agent or do some NSA-level shit. How the fuck can they do that?” She started pacing the room. “It’s like we’re moving back in time. What’s next? ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ about your string?”

“I honestly can’t believe it, either,” Nina said. “But technically it’s not that you can’t serve in the military or the FBI, it’s just that you’re limited in terms of what you can do in those roles.”

“Seriously, Nina? Are you trying to defend them?”

“No, of course not,” she said quickly. “It’s horrible.”

“Everyone’s been saying that what’s happening in those other countries could never happen here,” Maura said. “And now look!”

“It’s probably a stupid, knee-jerk reaction to the bombing,” Nina said. “And they’ll call it off once they realize it was a mistake.”

But Maura sighed and shook her head. “That’s not the way I see it.”



Maura loved Nina, but she was always trying to comfort her, to point out the path to the bright side. Being with Nina may have been Maura’s umbrella, but it didn’t stop the rain from bearing down, and sometimes she just needed space to get mad.

All her life, Maura had been aware of the loathsome stereotype, never letting herself appear too angry, too loud. She knew that the world liked to praise the saintly, those who accepted their hardships with peace, rather than rage or complaint. But when something felt this random, this unfair, how could anyone be faulted for feeling pain and expressing it?

In the confines of Room 204, at least, Maura could bathe in that anger, surrounded by those who shared it.

The Sunday after the press conference, she walked into the classroom, where several others were already discussing the news, and dropped her bag on the floor. “Is everyone else pissed?”

Murmurs of “Fuck, yeah,” and “Of course” echoed throughout the group.

“I’m sure that emotions are running high, and I’m happy to discuss everyone’s feelings in turn,” said Sean, wary of his session devolving into disorganized rants.

“Maybe we’re all overreacting,” Nihal said.

“I think there’s only one way to react,” said Maura.

“What do you think it means for us?” Lea asked, her eyes searching among the group for an answer.

Hank met Lea’s gaze. “Unfortunately, it means that things might get worse.”

“I don’t see how it can get much fucking worse than it already is,” said Carl. “It’s not like they can make our short strings shorter.”