Outside In by Sarah Ellis

Blossom.
    â€œSounds kind of violent,” said Lynn. “I’ll hang.”
    Fossick listened to the flash invitation and asked a bunch of questions.
    â€œI applaud the idea but I don’t think it’s for us,” he said. “You’re looking for media attention, right? That’s the point?”
    â€œPwfff,” said Lynn, as a pair of pants she was trying to loop over a ceiling pipe swung back in her face.
    â€œWell, as you’ve noticed, we avoid attention. That’s not to say that we don’t aim to make our mark. We just do it by stealth. Has Blossom told you about the traplines?”
    Lynn gulped. Trapping? Animals? She had been wondering about this ever since Blossom said, “There is plenty of food.” Wildlife? Squirrels? Oh, yuck. The part of her mind that knew that she herself ate dead animals was trying not to touch the part of her mind that was racing toward the dangerous cliff edge of raccoons as dinner. Were they even edible?
    She ducked behind a sheet. “Not really.”
    Fossick laughed. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t involve any chewed-off limbs. Blossom. Explain. Put the visitor out of her misery. We’re done with laundry anyway.”
    Blossom pulled a folder from under the work table.
    â€œIt all started when we found a big box of these labels, sticky but clear. We think of words. Larch copies them on the labels and we go and post them in places on the citizen trail that are a bit secret.”
    â€œBut what are you trapping?” said Lynn.
    â€œWe’re trapping attention,” said Fossick. “Just for a second, maybe. Get people wondering, questioning. Distract them from their citizen concerns. Go on. Think of some words.”
    All words seemed to melt away at Lynn’s approach. “I don’t get it.”
    â€œOkay, how about some rules. Citizens like rules. Blossom, give us a rule starting with Never.”
    â€œUm … Never … soak your shoelaces in your tea.”
    â€œGood. Good rule for life.”
    Fossick scribbled on a scrap of paper and handed it to Larch. “Enough rinsing. New job for you.”
    Larch dried his hands carefully and went to sit down at the long table. He picked out a fine felt-tip pen and started to write on the label with tiny, precise letters.
    Lynn looked over Larch’s shoulder. “Wow, you are really good at lettering.”
    â€œYes, Larch is good at that,” said Larch.
    Without thinking, Lynn held up a finger.
    â€œI’m good at that.”
    â€œYour turn,” said Fossick to Lynn. “How about, All somethings must report to something.”
    Lynn let her mind float. All visitors must report to the office. All pets, all customers, all aliens, all people. Peoples of the ancient world. “Okay. All Hittites must report to the office. No, not the office.”
    â€œThe boss,” said Fossick.
    â€œThe chief aardvark,” said Lynn. “All Hittites must report to the chief aardvark.”
    â€œPerfect, write it out.”
    They kept Larch busy copying until they had a complete sheet of labels.
    â€œCan I do some about the casino thing?”
    â€œSure,” said Fossick. “Whatever you like. We like a good cause.”
    Lynn thought for a minute or two, going over what Jean and Rob and Shakti had discussed.
    â€œLarch, can you do a few that say, Developers do not own the earth?”
    â€œYou have to write it down. I don’t write from talk.”
    Larch didn’t read or write?
    â€œOh. Okay.”
    â€œGood,” said Blossom. “Let’s go check the traplines. We’ll take bikes this time.”
    â‰ˆâ‰ˆâ‰ˆ
    Lynn hadn’t been on a bike in a few years. She still had one out in the garage, providing a frame for spiderwebs. This loaner looked beat up, but its gears clicked neatly into place as they wheeled along.
    The first stop was the coffee shop in a very skinny building with big