Alice gave Gene a tour, but apart from a bunch of mostly younger people at restaurant tables who working with AIs and other technology he couldn’t readily identify, there wasn’t much to see.
Gene sorely craved time to sit and compose himself, and after a few minutes, Alice picked up on this and brought him to an empty two-person table a little distance from the young hackers. He noticed his seat faced a wall rather than out into the room, where he would’ve had to watch Sammi and Lawrence—or Lan, or whatever his name was—work so close their arms were touching and occasionally whisper in each other’s ears. He knew that’s what he would’ve had to see because he kept turning around and seeing it, and then turning back and staring at the wall, waiting for his brain to process everything that had happened and was still happening.
A short while later, he saw he had an incoming call, audio only, and he discovered he was relieved to have something to focus on. He didn’t recognize the caller: it was someone named Noah Drell. There was a note with the call that said Drell was acting as an intermediary for someone who wanted to share “some important information.” When had Gene become the tip line for “important information”? Regardless, he was curious about this new development. Something dangerous? That did seem to be the recent trend.
He circled Drell’s name with his finger for more information. His lenses brought up a picture of a balding white man with a wide nose and a clear gaze. The capsule summary said he was some kind of auditor for the Cascadian government and that he lived in Davis, California, which was near Sacramento. Gene wouldn’t know more unless he refused the call and took the time to look Drell up. Was he working with the CBI? Then again, if Gene couldn’t be traced or tracked, it was hard to see how it could be dangerous to talk audio only—though he did wonder why the audio call, what needed to be hidden on the other end. Instead of answering the call directly, Gene told his lenses to ask who the caller was acting as an intermediary for and what kind of information they were offering.
You have a lot of trouble coming down on you, said Drell’s text response. This is someone who was part of that.
Was as in, they had changed their mind? Or was as in, they had helped set it in motion but were now just watching it play out? Gene gave up and answered the call.
“This is Dr. Ajou. Do you want to put the other person through?”
The “important information” turned out to be a rehash of what the Louvre had told him about the CitDiv fraud and the bank account. The call might even be from someone else in the Louvre, he reflected, made to shore up the story he’d been told. On a gut level, though, Gene didn’t think so, and he was tired of second-guessing the Louvre at every turn. He’d seen enough; his alarms hadn’t gone off so far, so unless the Louvre did something that made them seem unreliable or false, he’d just trust them, he decided. Some part of him that had been standing guard, questioning every piece of information they’d given him, exhaustedly gave up. For the time being, he resolved, he and the Louvre were allies. If they were what he believed them to be, they had already gone to enormous lengths to help him, and they hadn’t asked for much in return.
Alice walked over; she must have seen he was talking on the phone. She gave him a questioning look, and he held up a finger for her to wait. The woman on the other end—well, possibly a woman; he thought the voice might be synthetic—was talking about the plan she’d been a part of.
“I’d love to know how attacking another country’s economic system is supposed to prevent war,” Gene said, “but I don’t think we have time for a long discussion right now. I do need to ask, though—aren’t you going to get in trouble for sharing this kind of information?”
“I’m already in trouble,” the woman said. “One of my superiors set a trap for me, and actually, I suspect he’s trying to game the whole process to make himself a bundle of money.”
“Really?” Gene said. “That’s interesting. Can you hold for a minute?”
“You’re asking me to hold?” the woman said.
“Just for a minute. I might be able to help you with something. Hang on.”
He muted the call and turned to Alice. “I have someone on the line who says they’re an American intelligence asset who isn’t happy about the invasion,” he said. “I have no way of knowing whether they’re telling the truth. They’re calling through an intermediary, and I think they’re using a synthetic voice. Anyway, they say they’re in trouble from their own organization. Are we interested?”
Alice stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you joking with me right now?” she said. “We have other ...”
Gene was shaking his head. “Like I said, I don’t know if it’s true. You can probably find out, though—can’t you?”
“But you’re serious,” she said.
“Of course.”
“Who’s the intermediary?”
“Someone named Noah Drell. He works for the Cascadian government, some kind of auditor.”
“Tracey?” Alice said, turning to the room. “Can you see if you can get a location on a Noah Drell? It can’t be that common a name. Where he is, ideally whom he’s with?”
A young woman with shoulder-length box braids and a broad frame turned around, taking in Alice and Gene. “Let me see what I can find,” she said. She turned back to her display and began typing and subvocalizing at the same time, which Gene had never seen anyone do. Was she interfacing with an AI? He had very little idea how these things worked.
They all waited while Tracey searched. Gene wondered if Drell or the informant would hang up, but he would have to leave that up to them.
When Tracey spoke up, she sounded amused. “They’re not using a secure line. He’s in an apartment in Esparto. Pez says all of the sensors in the place are off, and I mean really locked down, but the public directory says that it’s rented to an Audrey Adams, a U.S./Cascadian dual citizen who just moved here a few weeks ago.” Gene wondered who or what Pez was. An AI? “She’s got some connection to Tyler Godbout ... She works in reemployment, but she’s on the list of people to look into. Basic psych profile says she’s more driven by ethics than nationalism. What’s going on over there?”
“Gene,” Alice said in surprise. “Is this my birthday?” She turned and called out to someone else. “Tobias-Henry?”
A smallish, older person with tiny, bright eyes responded from a corner table. Tobias-Henry Ma, he/him or they/them, Gene’s lenses captioned him. Tobias-Henry looked like he’d been following the conversation, and now he nodded. “If this is someone from Godbout’s organization,” he said, “she might be exactly what we need to take him down, or to make the Americans think twice about their war.”
Alice looked back to Gene. “All right, then,” she said. “Tell her we’d like to see her. We’ll call her back with instructions. Tracey, can you and Pez get a full psych profile together on her? Lan and Samantha, can you find her some transportation and get Maebel looking into her background? We need to know whether to bring her here or to do something else with her.”
“This is turning out to be an even more interesting night than I thought,” Gene said. Then he unmuted.
#
After ending his call, Gene left the hackers to their work and wandered into an adjacent, unlit room where one unidentifiable person was curled up on an inflatable mattress, asleep. He found a small couch there and sat, his thoughts going in circles until he nodded off.
He blinked awake some span of time later, sprawled on the couch. He felt a little less tired and overwhelmed but not truly refreshed. Stretching, he found his way to the restroom, then headed for the kitchen. He needed coffee, and a sandwich or something wouldn’t be a bad idea.
There was no autokitchen per se, just a series of devices that could chop or clean or assemble ingredients, and Gene didn’t know how to use those. There was a machine that dispensed coffee, however. Not seeing any cups nearby, Gene took a small bowl down from a shelf and filled it halfway. As he turned around, Tobias-Henry entered the kitchen.
“Some coffee?” Gene said, indicating the machine with the tilt of his head.
“I was thinking of matcha,” Tobias-Henry said. He passed by Gene, patting him on the shoulder as he made his way by, and collected a bowl, a can, and something that looked like a shaving brush. He measured a green powder from the can into the bowl, then added steaming water from a tap and whisked the mixture into froth.
“Why don’t you come sit with me?” Tobias-Henry said. “I’m not needed for anything just now. I could provide some orientation.”
Tobias-Henry led the way into the dining room toward a corner table, but on the way, they were joined by Tracey, the young woman who’d been working with whoever or whatever Pez was. She wore a black shirt with a high neck and a pair of patchwork, multi-patterned, billowing pants of the kind that seemed to be popular with twenty-somethings. Sammi had a couple of pairs of that kind of thing. Tracey’s look contrasted sharply with Tobias-Henry’s powder blue, wraparound suit, which would have been more or less in style thirty years earlier.
“I thought you’d want to know that the American spy passed the psych review,” she said to Gene. “Kind of surprising how few red flags, considering, but the math works. She’s a known quantity now.”
“Mmm,” said Tobias-Henry skeptically.
“‘As much as one can ever know a person without meeting them,’ Tobias-Henry would want me to say,” Tracey said. “He doesn’t have as much faith as he should in his own machines.”
“You build computers?” Gene said.
They sat at the table. Tracey sat across from Tobias-Henry.
Tobias-Henry nodded and sipped his matcha. “I have built computers,” he said, “but my real work is bringing intelligences into the world. Pez and Maebel are two of mine.”
“I helped with Pez,” Tracey said.
“It’s true,” said Tobias-Henry. “She was instrumental. I’m glad there are some in our group who can keep the work up. It’s getting to be a little much for me, these days.”
Gene looked from Tracey to Tobias-Henry. There was something between them that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Not animosity, but ... opposition?
Tracey studied Gene, and then she leaned forward. “Nobody wants me to tell you this,” she said, “but we don’t need you.”
Gene found the statement disconcerting, but he let it pass over him. “I didn’t think you did,” he said.
“We don’t need to get mixed up with the Cascadian government,” she said.
“Then you all shouldn’t have gone out of your way to ask me to vouch for the Louvre,” Gene said.
“That wasn’t my decision,” said Tracey.
That much was already obvious, but Gene refrained from antagonizing her by saying it.
Tracey shook her head. “Some people act like there’s a difference, but there isn’t,” she said. “Cascadia, America ... People of color are still outsiders. We’re still pushed around. We’re still elbowed out of the way.”
Gene wondered what exactly the Louvre had to do with people of color, although he’d noticed from the beginning that relatively few white people were there.
“I have to agree that’s still the case, some of the time,” Tobias-Henry said.
“‘Some of the time’?” said Tracey. “So, it’s OK to just get it right ‘some of the time’? ‘Some of the time, we’ll treat you like human beings. Some of the time, we’ll give you access to some of the wealth we stole from you. Some of the time, we’ll include you.’”
“Do you feel we can change that?” Tobias-Henry said. “Are we the ones who need to make the change?”
“We need to make them see,” Tracey said. “We shouldn’t sign up to join the army of the nation that oppresses us.”
“I agree with you that oppression against us hasn’t gone away,” said Tobias-Henry. “But would you agree with me that Cascadia has made some progress? Even the U.S. has made some progress. With race, with gender ...” He stopped for a moment, reflecting. Gene guessed, now that he thought about it, that Tobias-Henry was transgender, that he had been thought to be a girl at birth, just like Kiara and Vi’s son, Will.
“It’s not good enough,” Tracey said.
“No, I’m with you on this,” said Tobias-Henry. “But if they’re trying to improve, do we condemn them for falling short, or do we encourage them to do better?”
Tracey gritted her teeth. “What do you think?” she said to Gene. “Are you happy, bringing up your daughter in a world where she’s still a second-class citizen?”
“Honestly?” Gene said. “I have mixed feelings. Samantha was born in a community founded by five Black families. My husband and I moved there when we got married. It’s still almost ninety percent Black. But I know what you’re talking about. It was worse when I was growing up, but it hasn’t gone away.”
“And you think we should just join up with the government and let them use us?” Tracey said.
“I’m part of the government,” Gene pointed out. “So, I may not be the best one to ask—but I don’t know the answer to your question. I don’t even really know who the Louvre is. Are you named after the museum?”
“Our AIs are works of art,” Tracey said. “Pez is named after ‘Pez Dispenser’ by Jean-Michel Basquiat.”
Gene thought he knew the one: a painting of a black Tyrannosaurus rex with a golden crown.
Tracey pointed across the room at the cooler next to the station where Samantha and Lawrence were working. “Maebel’s name is from a painting by Toyin Odutola.”
“But that’s not where our group’s name comes from,” said Tobias-Henry.
Tracey looked confused. “It—” she began.
“Folks, can I introduce Audrey Adams?” said Alice, and Gene looked up to see Audrey standing there in person. She was an unprepossessing, middle-aged white woman. He stood up and held out his hand.
“I’m Gene,” he said. “We talked on the phone.”
“Dr. Ajou,” she said, shaking his hand and looking him over. Then she turned to the others.
Alice gestured at Tobias-Henry. “This is Tobias-Henry. He’s one of our founders and the leader of our cell,” she said. “And this is Tracey, a gifted wrangler.” Audrey shook their hands as well, and Tobias-Henry stood, pushing the table further out from the wall and pulling more chairs around it. “I have something to follow up on,” Alice told Tobias-Henry. “I’ll check back in later.”
Audrey looked at Tracey guardedly and sat. “Is there a plan of some kind?” she said.
“I believe Alice is working that out,” said Tobias-Henry. “She said she was bringing in an expert.”
“An expert what?” said Gene.
“A storyteller,” said Tobias-Henry. “Alice has that skill, too, but she invited a sort of specialist.”
Gene didn’t know what to make of that. It wasn’t clear to him what use a storyteller was to a group of hackers.
“You were just about to say where the name came from,” Tracey said. “I thought it was after the museum.”
“No,” said Tobias-Henry. “Do you know how the Louvre was made a museum?” he said.
Tracey shook her head.
“The Louvre had been a fortress and a palace and a residence for artists, but it was made into a museum by the French National Assembly after their Revolution. It had its birth in change, but they were still segregating work by people of color there even up to a few decades ago. They assembled grand displays of European artists who’d copied from people of color and call the Europeans’ work ‘modern art’ and the original works ‘primitive.’ Egyptian pieces, though the work of Africans, were kept with the European art. This would not have been an institution to name our group after. No, while no one calls us this anymore, our proper name is ‘L’Ouverture.’ Have you heard of Toussaint L’Ouverture?”
Tracey shook her head, grimacing. Gene imagined the last thing she’d enjoy would be appearing ignorant in front of strangers, but evidently, she cared more about filling in those gaps than about how she would look for not knowing. Gene could respect that.
“Toussaint L’Ouverture was born a slave in the mid-eighteenth century, in what the French called Saint-Domingue at the time—now Haiti,” Tobias-Henry said. “He led a successful slave rebellion against the French colonizers, and he helped drive out the British and Spanish. He was brilliant and successful, but we don’t hear very much about people like General L’Ouverture here in Cascadia, and they hear even less in America. I think this supports your point, Tracey, that even now, even here, people of color are often underestimated and ignored.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t know that,” Audrey said. “When you hear about the Louvre ... You’re always described as hackers first, criminals second ...”
“We’re activists,” Tracey said.
“I’m beginning to see that,” said Audrey.
Gene was starting to feel more confident that connecting Audrey and the Louvre had been a good idea. “Thank you for calling me,” Gene said to her.
“If you didn’t just lure me into a trap,” Audrey said, “then thank you for finding me a way out.”
“If you’re thanking me,” Gene said, “then you’re welcome.” He was conscious of the irony of him speaking Alice’s words back to Audrey. He tried to take another sip of coffee, but his bowl was empty. He stood. “Do you want some coffee? Does anyone?”
“I have work to do,” Tracey said, and she got up and left.
Tobias-Henry was still sipping his matcha. “Thank you,” he said. “I have everything I need.”
“I wouldn’t mind some,” said Audrey, and she began to get up. Gene could see how tired she was.
“No, sit,” he said. “I’ll get you some.”
#
While Gene was getting the coffee, Alice came into the kitchen with people in tow, a twenty-something white woman with odd-colored eyes and dark hair past her shoulders, together with a person about the same age in gray coveralls with short hair, pale gold skin, and luxurious sideburns. Gene put down his coffee bowl.
“This is Marley, and this is Lyric,” Alice said, pointing at them in turn. “Marley’s a writer. Lyric is along for moral support. Marley, Lyric, this man is helping us try to go legit.”
“Hi,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Gene.”
They shook hands, and he tried again to imagine what the Louvre needed with a writer.
“Are you waiting for coffee?” he said. “I just need to get one more, for somebody else.” He saw a mug on one of the shelves and took it down. It had a lens-enabled, animated hologram on it of someone in red robes and a pointed hat on a sparkling surfboard. Below that, extravagant lettering animated to glimmer in gold and blue said Surf Sorcerer!
“How do you take it?” he called out to Audrey.
“Flax milk, if you have it?” she called back. “Otherwise, just black.”
He searched for flax milk while Marley found a cup and got some coffee of their own. There was no flax milk, so Gene headed back to Audrey and Tobias-Henry. Alice came with him and pulled over another table and some chairs. She waved Marley over as they and Lyric emerged from the kitchen. Lyric leaned in to murmur in Marley’s ear, and Gene realized there was some kind of romance between them, something quiet. Certainly they didn’t have their hands and faces all over each other the way that Sammi and Lawrence seemed to. Gene looked over at Sammi and Lawrence again, but they seemed to be disagreeing about something now, and they spoke sharply, in low voices.
Marley came to the table, while Lyric went into the darkened room where people were resting.
“So, Audrey here is an American spy,” Alice said as Marley joined them.
“That’s not the way I’m usually introduced,” Audrey said.
“You wouldn’t be much of a spy if it were,” Alice said. “Right? Marley, I was hoping you’d listen to what Audrey has to tell us and see what you can picture us making out of it. I have some ideas, but I think ... I don’t know. Honestly, I was thinking you might see something big, something I wouldn’t think of.”
“What’s this about?” Gene said. “Some kind of ... propaganda project? Or ... education ... ?”
“Life,” Tobias-Henry said. “We find ourselves in stories, often stories we didn’t choose, and we’ve been speaking recently about how we want to choose more of our own stories.”
“Tobias-Henry, I thought you were just a technology person!” Alice said admiringly.
“I’m a person person. This is not about technology; it’s about justice and finding a way to make things better. I’ve spent most of my life helping to collect power to use for positive change, but I’ve realized I often don’t know what good purpose to pursue with that power. I would like a vision of an improved world.”
“You all know I just write for streaming shows, right?” Marley said. “I’m not a ... I don’t know what kind of person you’re looking for, exactly.”
“You,” Alice said. “We’re looking for you. And you don’t write for streaming shows anymore, because they have AIs to do that. Now you need to write something a computer couldn’t write.”
“A future?” Marley said.
Alice nodded. “Audrey, can you share what you have? We think that Godbout, especially, might be a lever we can use to open some doors.”
“That’s a mixed metaphor,” Marley said.
“See? Better writer,” Alice said.
“I already did this once tonight,” Audrey said.
“Excellent,” Alice said. “Practice makes perfect.”
#
Audrey shared much of what she knew about Godbout, about the sabotage plan that until that afternoon she’d thought she was running, and more, but Gene noticed how careful she was. She was specific when she talked about Godbout and the Citizen Dividend fraud, but she said little about how her agency worked. In fact, she didn’t even say what her agency was. He was torn as to whether this was a reason to distrust her, since she still was clearly being protective of the country she had worked for, or a reason to trust her more, since she was repudiating a project and a person while staying loyal to her nation. Either way, what she had to say was eye-opening, and Tracey stopped by several times to listen, return to her display, and then come back with supporting information.
Audrey shared a list of Cascadians receiving money from the Citizen Dividend fraud, and Pez easily identified one thread common to a sizable number of those who otherwise didn’t seem to be especially good candidates: they all owned or controlled properties or rights relating to ports, import/export businesses, or shipping. The factor that connected many of the others, like Marley, was that their rough psych profiles, the ones amassed from public information, all suggested people who wouldn’t be comfortable receiving secret payments. Apparently, Godbout was trying to both goad Cascadia into fighting a war by exposing Audrey’s operation and also put a number of people owning assets that interested him in a difficult legal position—a position he or an intermediary could exploit to expand his empire.
As Audrey came to the end of her information, Gene found himself stepping in, talking about how the Cascadian government and President Muñoz, in particular, might react to some of the ideas that were coming up.
Around the time the sun came up, Marley said they had a suggestion: voluntary reunification.
“Isn’t that exactly what the Americans want?” said Tobias-Henry. “What’s the difference between that and surrender?”
“The Americans want to annex Cascadia while withholding full citizenship from Cascadians and nullifying all Cascadian laws,” Marley said. “They want to command our resources and gain our territory without us having any say. If we offer to reunify with conditions ...”
“They don’t want that, though,” Gene said. “They’d just turn us down.”
“The Americans who are currently in power, like Godbout and President Jimenez, don’t want that,” Audrey said. “I don’t know that the American people feel the same. If Cascadia wanted to rejoin the U.S. with a limited amount of self-determination, the will to continue the war might crash, and there might be widespread popular support for negotiating a re-entry.”
“That’s why the story is important,” Marley said, “to ensure that. If everyone in America knew what we know, about Godbout and the plot to defraud Cascadia and steal assets for himself ... I think that might help people feel more connection to Cascadia and more sympathy for us. We’d need AIs to run those scenarios, to see if that could work. If it would, though, and if Cascadia came back into the union with full voting rights, then we could turn the political balance around. The Constitutionalists in the U.S. only have a small edge over the Progressives. If the reunification were scheduled to coincide with the upcoming election, and if Cascadians were eligible to run—”
“You don’t want Cascadia to join America,” Gene said. “You want America to join Cascadia.”
Marley shook their head. “Justice and compassion don’t come from Cascadia. They’re already in America, waiting to break out. Some of the Progressive politicians have been calling for reparations and universal basic income and other reforms for years. But if we unite ...”
“That’s ...” Gene said, but he had no words for the kind of future Marley was talking about.
“That’s beautiful,” said Alice.
“I’m going to sit down in a quiet corner and write something,” Marley said. “If we decide we want to use it, we’ll have at least a rough draft.”
“I think I finally understand why you needed writers,” said Gene.
“Great,” said Alice, “because now it’s time for you to do your part.”
“I’m a disgraced former public servant and an escaped criminal,” Gene said. “What exactly is my part?”
“The same thing as before,” said Alice. “To get our proposal in front of the powers that be.”
“The president?”
“Unless she has a boss you know of,” Alice said.
“Why would anyone in the Muñoz administration listen to me?”
“You have to make them listen.”
“I know why they’d listen,” Marley chimed in. “But it’s not ideal.”
“What isn’t?” said Gene.
“Offer yourself,” Marley said. “Explain that you were informed, credibly, that an American operative wanted to kill you to prevent you from offering evidence about the fraud. Say you’ll be taken into custody, but only by the Secret Service, and only if they’ll hear what you have to say.”
The Cascadian Secret Service might be a good idea, Gene thought. They’d be closer to President Muñoz, and, unlike the CBI, they might not be compromised.
“That’s a terrible idea,” said Audrey. “Have him leave himself to the mercies of the current administration? It’s not safe.”
“You’re thinking of your president,” Gene said. “Ours is different.”
#
It was just past five in the morning when Gene voice-called Rosie, but the call didn’t go through to her: it was rerouted to ASAC Kimball.
“Dr. Ajou,” she said. “We got interrupted before we could have our conversation.”
“You have an American operative in your organization, ASAC Kimball,” Gene said. “Put me through to Rosie, please.”
“Come back in and talk to us about it, and then we’ll see if we can arrange contact with Ms. Furch. While we’re talking, maybe you can explain to me how you hacked our car, and why we can’t get a location out of your connection—unless you really are at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, as your call details claim.”
“I’ll try calling her again in ten minutes,” said Gene, and he hung up. He was trembling, but he didn’t know if it was from anxiety, lack of sleep, or just from all the coffee.
Ten minutes later, he called again, and again he got ASAC Kimball.
“Dr. Ajou,” she said, “please just give me a—”
He hung up. While he was waiting for ten more minutes to pass, Marley came over and, without saying anything, pushed something from their lenses over to his. It was a short piece with the title “A Newly United America.” Marley turned and left, but he read it immediately. It was a simple, direct, modest description of how Cascadia and the United States could reunite. Even though he’d already heard the idea described, reading it make him feel like he had swallowed sparks. It made sense. It sounded like it could work, and it sounded as though it could heal some of the harm the two nations had been inflicting on one another.
When ten minutes had passed, he called again. This time, he got Rosie.
“Gene?” she said. “Can you please turn yourself in?”
“Sure,” Gene said. “I have two conditions.”
“You don’t set conditions for turning yourself in,” Rosie said.
“Any reason why not?”
Rosie sighed. “Gene, I’m not law enforcement. Why do you even want to talk to me? Is this about your friends in the Louvre? We know they’re hiding you.”
“Of course they’re hiding me,” Gene said. “Do you know where they are?”
Rosie was silent.
“That’s what I thought. What I want to talk about is negotiating a peace with the Americans.”
“A ... Gene, I’m seriously and literally concerned that you have gone insane. You just called yesterday urging us to team up with a criminal hacker group against the Americans—”
“It all makes sense if you’re willing to hear me out.”
“You know what, Gene? I’m not. Turn yourself in, don’t turn yourself in—I don’t care.”
“OK,” Gene said. “I’ll call you back in ten minutes.”
“No—” she said, but he hung up.
It would help if Rosie wanted to hear what he had to say, but in the end, there were other people whose opinions would matter more than hers. Gene was fairly certain that President Muñoz would insist on being kept informed about him, considering the importance of his case and that he and she were, if not personal friends, then at least friendly, allied acquaintances. Muñoz knew when to delegate and when to be hands-on. Even in the middle of a war, he was confident he could get through to her.
When Gene called back yet again, Rosie had given in. “OK,” she said. “It’s out of my hands. I have President Muñoz on the line for you.”
“Thank you, Rosie,” Gene said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you so early.”
“In the middle of a war?” she said. “You’re joking. Here’s the President.”
#
Gene kept it brief. He explained as concisely as he could what had happened to him, how he’d found out about it, and what he did in response. He even explained, with great reservations, his daughter’s connections with the Louvre, because without knowing that, his relationship with the Louvre made no sense.
Then, he read Muñoz “A Newly United America,” and he explained the leverage that Audrey was offering them, though at Audrey’s request, he didn’t give her name. He explained that not only did the Louvre have a message for the American people, they also had a way to ensure that message would be widely seen. Muñoz listened through his whole explanation, asking only two or three questions.
When he’d explained everything, he returned to his own situation. “As I told you, my allies at the Louvre tell me they have clear evidence that there are orders to have me killed as soon as I’m in CBI custody. So, I’m willing to turn myself in, but I want it to be to the Secret Service, and I’d take it as a personal favor if my whereabouts could be kept quiet until we get some of this sorted out.”
“No,” Muñoz said. “Let’s wait on that. If I need you to turn yourself in, I’ll call you back, all right?”
Gene was stunned.
“But what about the plan?”
“It’s an interesting idea,” she said. “I’ll have Rosie get back to you. I like it better than a drawn-out war, if we can make it work—but that’s a big ‘if.’ We have some scenarios to run on our AIs, and I need to talk to some of our representatives. You’ll hear from me soon. Good luck, Gene.”
“You too,” Gene said. Then the President hung up.
#
When Gene returned to the group, he found that plans were already in the works to disseminate Marley’s essay by hacking into a raft of popular publications in both countries and placing it on top of other content there.
Gene was still recounting the details of his call when Lawrence, who had been working alone for the last hour or so, swore, got up, and ran to Tobias-Henry’s table. Gene stopped talking for a moment, and Lawrence jumped in.
“The Americans are advancing through the Eldorado National Forest,” he said. “They have automated ground weapons, robotic attack units, drones, and human troops. They’re already well past the border.”
“Where? Not along the Route 50 corridor?” Gene said.
“Uh ...” Lawrence scanned something on his lenses. “Yes, the Route 50 corridor.” He looked stricken, realizing what Gene was thinking. Zora, Gene and Samantha’s home, was just off Route 50.
“How far is that from here?” said Tobias-Henry. “Seventy or eighty kilometers?”
“It’s ... something like that,” Lawrence confirmed.
“That’s too close,” Tobias-Henry said. “We should retreat to our backup location, but our host is worried about the war, and he rescinded his offer last night. We haven’t found an alternative yet.”
“So, we’re stuck here, unless we want to scatter,” said Alice.
“Lawrence, can you find us somewhere, even somewhere marginal, to relocate in case we need it?” said Tobias-Henry. “I think we’ll still be all right here for a little while.”
“We might be,” said Gene, his voice a hoarse whisper. “But Zora—our community—is just off Route 50.”
“Oh, no,” Tobias-Henry said. There was real pain in his voice.
Gene nodded. “Would you excuse me?” he said.
#
Gene was composing a message to Kiara and Vi when Vi sent him one herself, telling him they were getting out and to make sure Samantha didn’t go home. He deleted the warning he was about to send and sent back a message saying he was with Samantha and that they’d stay clear. Then he retreated to the back of the kitchen, the only place in the building where he thought he might not be interrupted. There, he sat on the floor with his back to a walk-in cooler and watched the news feeds, scanning for information about the encroaching American force. They had overwhelmed the scant Cascadian defense at the border, but more Cascadian military units were already on their way, from several directions at once.
The two forces met just east of the town of Pollock Pines, where Route 50 skirted a tall hill in an oxbow bend. That bend was where the turnoff to Zora was located.
News drones in the area provided a live feed. The Cascadian forces took cover behind the deserted buildings and in the gardens and playgrounds of Zora as the American forces bore down, raining artillery fire and strafing them with airborne drones. Cascadian anti-aircraft fire brought down a jet drone that crashed in flames into a building that held workshops and the Zora preschool.
Gene did not see the moment his home was destroyed—the house where Sammi and Mark and Will had grown up, where Gene and Kiara and Vi had raised them, the last place he’d lived with Edison, the place where he though he’d grow old, where all of his and his children’s possessions were stored—but he did catch a glimpse of the wreckage. Some kind of explosion had torn most of it apart, and the small piece left standing was in flames. On the walkway, entangled with a wrecked infantry robot that was five meters tall, two American corpses sprawled.
He turned off the feed and took out his lenses, which were distorting from his tears. He gave himself about three minutes to lie on the floor, crying in rage and grief, before he wiped his streaming face with his sleeve and forced himself to breathe. He had only begun to get a hold of himself before he noticed the white girl, the one who had come with Marley who had the different-colored eyes, standing in front of him. Lyric, was it? She got down on her knees and reached for his hand.
“What’s the matter?” she said. “I’m sorry, I just woke up ...”
He wiped his nose with his sleeve and shook his head, struggling to stand. “I’m all right,” he said. “It’s not people. It’s just things.”
“Things can matter,” Lyric said. She was beginning to cry herself.
Gene swallowed and got himself fully upright. “Excuse me,” he said. “I have to go wake up my daughter.”
“I’m just going outside,” she said helplessly. “Some air ...”
Gene nodded. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “Maybe stay close.”
She nodded back, and Gene went to find Samantha.
#
Gene didn’t tell Samantha in the dining room. Instead, he took her back into the kitchen, and she watched him warily as they went. Apparently, Lan hadn’t mentioned that the Americans were coming through Zora. Gene didn’t know whether to feel grateful or irritated.
Once again, he wished Edison were there. Edison would know how to talk about this. Gene had no idea.
They sat down at a Formica table near the walk-in cooler. “Uh,” Gene said. “The Americans attacked down Route 50. There was a fight at Zora. Everything ... it’s ...” he choked on the words, struggled to get them out. “The house, the whole place ...”
Sammi’s eyes were wide, and she was breathing too fast. “Who was there? Is everybody OK?”
“They’re OK,” Gene said. Sammi grabbed his hand so hard, it hurt, but he was glad for it, and he squeezed back, not as hard. “Everybody ran.”
Sammi nodded, her chin trembling, and tears ran down her face, dripping onto the table. Gene watched, even more miserable about what this was doing to Sammi than he was about Zora itself.
Her tears escalated to sobbing, and Gene pulled his chair next to hers and wrapped his arms around her before breaking down himself.
As terrible as the news was, sharing grief with Samantha made it feel a little less heavy. He only hoped his being with her was some consolation to Samantha. He was no Edison, but at least he was there.
When Samantha’s crying eased, Gene made himself calm down, too. She got up and found a roll of paper towels, which she brought back to the table. She tore one off and handed it to him, and she used another to mop the tears off her face and blow her nose. After Gene did the same, his daughter wrapped him in her arms and kissed his cheek, and he finally understood what it meant that she was a woman now, an adult. He couldn’t shield her anymore, and he shouldn’t, and she didn’t want to be shielded anyway. That’s what she had been trying to say about the Louvre, that there was sorrow and suffering in the world, and that it was time for her to step forward to try to help with that. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t a way of helping that he hadn’t agreed with. What mattered was that she was trying to make things better, just like he was. She had strength and courage, and she could offer comfort.
“Remember that pig?” Samantha said. Her voice was rough.
Despite himself, Gene felt a fragment of a laugh come out of him. Back when Samantha was five and her brother Mark was seven, a neighbor at Zora had adopted two potbellied pigs. One of them became obsessed with Mark, and for weeks, whenever Mark came out of the house, it trotted around after him. When Mark went away to summer camp, the pig came to their door five or six times, at all hours, squealing for Mark, until eventually, it gave up. When Mark got back from camp, the pig wouldn’t have anything to do with him.
“Oh, and that treehouse you and Vi made! You know kids still use that?” The smile that had started to come out on Samantha’s face fell. “Well, before this.”
“Vi built most of it. I mainly painted,” Gene said. “You know I’m not handy.”
Samantha snorted.
“What?” Gene said.
“That time you tried to fix my door.”
“At least it worked.”
“It was upside down!”
“OK, technically—”
“Perimeter breach,” called a loud, synthetic voice from the dining room. Gene got up, and he and Samantha hurried out there together. “There are two armed individuals outside the building,” it continued. Then, “Update: there are now four armed individuals outside the building.”
In the dining room, everyone was gathered around a set of displays that gave views of the building they were in, including an overhead view. Highlighted in red on several of the displays, two sets of two armed soldiers in black uniforms were approaching. Two were closing in on the front door, and the other two were nearing the back.