The mover robots arrived at Marley’s house in Stone on a self-driving truck at seven in the morning. Marley stood out front with Anthem, a backpack on their back, jittery and preoccupied. They would travel with Anthem across Oregon to the small coastal city of North Bend, where they would meet some people from a non-profit called No Divide.
The truck’s cab had no windows and no compartment for human passengers, but it pulled a flat trailer carrying four moving bots and a glossy, white storage pod that would be packed full of the contents of Marley’s house.
They pulled up at the curb, and the storage pod doors slid open. Behind the cab, the moving robots unfolded themselves and jumped down to the ground. Designed for packing, lifting, and moving, they had a dark brown, cube-like central body, four lower limbs with retractable wheels, and two multi-jointed arms. They looked like a combination between a rollerblader, a horse, and a refrigerator.
Marley was torn between overseeing the robots’ work and leaving to catch the first train, but seeing the bots select and assemble the reusable moving and storage containers from the pod, their motions powerful, unhurried, and precise, Marley realized there was nothing to oversee. The bots were less likely to break something than Marley was. As in so many situations these days, human beings would only get in the way.
The bots would proceed meticulously through the house, cataloging and packing Marley’s clothes, vintage physical books, paintings, kitchenware, and so on into clear plastic storage containers. When they were done, Marley would get a directory of every item they had packed, with photos, specifying the exact container and location in that container where each item could be found. Marley could visit the storage facility at any time to retrieve anything they needed.
They didn’t expect to need any of it soon.
After it was emptied, the house would be thoroughly cleaned by different robots, then scanned and recorded for virtual tours and added to the national real estate database. Within minutes, AI agents working for buyers across in Cascadia would note the listing, and depending on whether the buyers wanted an in-person tour instead of a virtual one and whether Marley’s AI agent and a prospective buyer’s AI agent could agree on the price, the house might be sold within hours, or even minutes--or it might linger on the market for months. The AI agent Marley had subscribed to predicted the house would sell within 17 days for Þ714,000-Þ722,000, enough to pay off Marley’s mortgage with a little left over. Even if it didn’t sell quickly, though, it was unlikely they’d live there again. What business did they have in Stone anymore?
They’d thought about making a round of goodbyes. They had a few friends in Stone, people they’d dated or gone to plays with or met at the dog park, but Marley was already feeling disconnected from this place, already relegating it to a bygone phase of their life. For a while, the town had felt like a place outside time.
After the meeting, unless No Divide offered some kind of appealing work right there in North Bend, Marley was thinking about going to Lewis Lake to see Gia and meet Lyric in person. There were rooms that could be rented there, Gia said, now that it could no longer be the writers’ colony it once was. That might be a good place to stay for a while as they began the next phase of their life--whatever that was going to be.
Marley used their lenses first to order a dog-friendly automatic car that would take them to the train station, then bought their train ticket, with a second seat for Anthem. Most of trains and electric buses didn’t allow dogs except for service animals, which Anthem was much too lazy to be, but there was a slow train that allowed pets, and Marley was in no hurry. That train would meander north to the Washington border and then west to Portland, from which point dog-friendly transportation south was available.
Traveling with a dog would continue to keep transportation interesting. Anthem couldn’t go on the Jet Train, for instance, except in a crate, which wouldn’t suit either of them. Meanwhile, maybe traveling on the less speedy options would open up the opportunity for serendipity.
When the car dropped them off, they ate a slow breakfast sitting at an outdoor table beside an automated diner called the Pine Box, which was next door to the train station. Anthem, on her leash, lay across their feet as they ate.
When the train came, they found a double seat where Anthem could climb up and lay her chest across Marley’s lap.
It was mostly flat land north of Stone, with fields of corn and soy sliding by monotonously, stretching back to low mountains in the distance on both sides. Marley grew half-hypnotized, gazing out the window, the train knocking rhythmically down the tracks.
An hour or so into the trip, a priority message icon came up in their lenses. They were tempted to stay in that dreamy state and ignore it, but they gave the icon a long gaze to open the message. The message was from the Citizen Dividend Office at the Reemployment Initiatives Bureau, and it began by explaining that Marley had been accepted into some kind of pilot program ... not important. It sounded like they were saying that Marley’s CitDiv amount had been increased, or that there was some extra benefit Marley was collecting, but obviously that wasn’t right, because the CitDiv didn’t change based on whether or not you were employed or who you were. Probably it was just another data gathering initiative or something--Marley would try to get back to it later and figure out what the deal was. They wondered whose idea it had been to make it a priority message.
They went back to gazing out the window, waiting to see what would bubble up once the noise at the top of things quieted.
Only a few minutes later, another priority message appeared, this one from Alice. It came with some kind of link, using a connection service Marley wasn’t familiar with, but the message itself was through the usual channel and was verifiably from Alice. Alice’s message just said, “Hi! Thinking about you. Get in touch when you’re alone, OK? Use this link.”
Marley hadn’t heard from Alice since the layoff, and they might have considered coming out of their reverie to respond if they had actually been alone, especially since the “when you’re alone” part of the message was weird. Why wait until they were alone when no one else could see what was being projected on your eyeballs? Still, surrounded as they were by other travelers, they set it aside for later.
Turning back to the window, they let themself drift back into that liminal state of consciousness where there was no separation between them and the world outside. Fields fell away behind the train, kilometer after kilometer.
The last leg of the train trip struck out west from Eugene to the coast, then turned south in Florence and continued along parallel to the shore to get to North Bend.
Disappointingly, the tracks weren’t close enough to the sea for Marley to see it from the train, but they passed over rivers and estuaries the whole way. At one point, looking down from the railroad bridge, Marley could see the tops of half-wrecked buildings sticking out of the water below, where the rising sea had expanded the estuary and claimed what used to be neighborhoods along the river.
Further along, the train came upon a series of large, well-appointed houses raised two or three meters over the water on stilts. Marley knew about these: elevation grants had let the owners keep their homes in flooding areas. In some places, it was mainly wealthy people with ocean view homes who got most of the elevation grant money, which had probably not been the intention of the program.
South of Reedsport, Marley saw a queue of house-sized, gray construction bots unloading blocks of stone from a cargo train on a siding. Marley pulled up the construction index for the area and found the project information: they were repairing and extending a seawall that protected the tiny community of Winchester Bay. Some day, all of the work that had been done around the world to reverse climate change would pay off in a new way when sea rise stopped and eventually reversed. For the time being, the lingering effects of emissions from decades and decades ago were still being played out. Even so, sea levels would have already risen much more if humanity hadn’t taken decisive action when it did. It was hard to feel joyful about simply not making a problem worse, but Marley tried to remind themself of how fortunate they were to live in a world where climate change had not been allowed to go on unchecked.
No Divide’s North Bend offices were on the third floor of a pale pink, clapboard-sided corner building, with first-floor shop windows sheltered by a second-story deck held up by columns along the outer edge of the sidewalk. Marley led Anthem inside, up the stairs, and down the hallway. Anthem sniffed intently at a section of carpet where something had evidently left behind a intriguing scent. Marley knocked at the office door. Their backpack straps were digging into their shoulders, and half wished they’d checked into the Þ105 room they’d reserved at a cooperative house in the southern part of town. If they’d gone there first and spent their time checking in, though, they wouldn’t have had time to take Anthem for a walk, and Anthem had really needed a walk.
A square-shouldered thirty-something man opened the door, and Marley recognized him from the virtual call when they’d set the meeting. He was Néstor Echazarreta, co-director of the Oregon No Divide office. On the call, he’d expressed himself so neutrally that Marley had very little idea how he felt about anything.
“Marley, thanks for coming. And this is?”
Marley followed the direction of his gaze to Anthem. “That’s Anthem. Can she come in?”
For a fraction of a moment, Néstor didn’t respond. Then he said, “of course. Come have a seat.”
He led Marley through a narrow office between two desks. At one of these sat a much older, rangy, white woman whom Marley’s lenses identified as Jessica Kostic, she/her. “Marley Jun!” she called as they passed, looking up and pointing at Marley. “I’ll be two more minutes. Do you want some juice? Néstor, did you offer them juice?”
“Would you like some juice?” said Néstor, leading Marley into a larger room. Multicolored, cushioned chairs with little fold-out desks built into the arms lined the walls. “We have orange and guanabana.”
“I’ll have guanabana.”
“You like guanabana?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out soon.”
“Ah,” said Néstor. “Water for Anthem the dog?”
“She’d love that, I bet,” Marley said, and they took a seat in an orange chair near the windows. The room smelled like cinnamon and soap. Anthem tried climbing up, but Marley shook their head, and she dejectedly settled at their feet instead.
Jessica Kostic took much more than two minutes, but Marley didn’t mind sitting and sipping the guanabana juice while they waited. They did like it, it turned out. It had a milky consistency and tasted like a cross between strawberry and honeydew. Anthem sloppily lapped up a faceful of water, then resettled on Marley’s feet. Néstor smiled perfunctorily, sat a few chairs away from Marley, and brought something up on his lenses.
After at least fifteen minutes, Jessica strode in and sat down next to Marley.
“We have a project for you, if you’re willing,” she said. “Néstor thought of it. He’s very excited.”
“I am very excited,” Néstor confirmed in a monotone.
“We read some of the scripts you sent, from the streaming show you worked on. The thing that moved us both was how empathetically you portrayed some of the deniers. Is that the right term, deniers?”
“Thank you,” Marley said. “Yes, climate change deniers.”
“I didn’t realize there were people like that,” Néstor said. “People who literally didn’t believe in climate change.”
“It was common for a while,” Marley said. “I think it’s hard for people to let go of the way they’re taught to see the world--especially if the people around them feel the same way.”
Néstor looked at Jessica, who nodded energetically.
“We’re not specifically interested in political parties here,” she said. “Did Néstor mention that?”
“He did,” said Marley. “He talked about political parties creating an us-and-them point of view.”
“We’re also not against political parties,” said Jessica.
“We just don’t use those terms when we define our work or when we describe people,” Néstor added.
“At the same time,” Jessica said, “people do tend to group together, and one of the things we find is that people who think of themselves as belonging to one group usually describe people in other groups differently than those people describe themselves.”
“For example,” Néstor said, “someone who’s interested in economic justice might see people who value private capital and individual financial choice as being driven by greed or misinformation, while capitalists might think of themselves as being focused on traditional economics or self-determination.”
“Sure,” Marley said.
Jessica leaned forward, “Based on the personal information you provided us, you feel deeply about social and economic and environmental justice issues, but based on your writing, you have empathy and understanding for people who have very different perspectives, even people on the extremes. So, we think you might be a singularly good interviewer.”
“For ... research?”
Jessica glanced at Néstor. “Actually, for streaming shows. On-air talent.”
“Oh,” said Marley, stiffening. “I’m not really--”
“We know,” Jessica said.
“Sorry,” Néstor said.
“The thing is,” said Jessica. “We could have you do interviews for research and then write about or transcribe those interviews, but the readership for that ... honestly, people watch streams a lot more than they read articles. A lot more. And if we stream an interview rather than just posting an article about it, then the humanity of the interviewee comes through, and your humanity comes through. And in these interviews, you can bring out what’s human and unique about the person you’re interviewing in a way that people who group on the more liberal end of the political spectrum will really get.”
“How often have you seen anything targeted at liberal audiences that sympathetically portrays people with very conservative points of view?” Néstor said. “Hardly ever? Never at all? We look for these things all the time, but we rarely find them.”
“To break through these walls we’ve all constructed between ‘us’ and ‘them’,” Jessica said, “we need to see ‘them’ as real people making understandable decisions, not as demonic adversaries who are bent on our destruction. We’re actually thinking of a very specific group: people who support reunification.”
Marley felt their brow furrow. “Reunification of what?”
“Of Cascadia and the United States,” said Jessica. “Specifically, Cascadia becoming part of the United States again and adopting American policies and laws--ending the CitDiv, rolling back all the social justice legislation ... Some of the people supporting this even want to retroactively tax reparation payments.”
Marley didn’t know what to say. Even in Stone, that kind of opinion would be extreme.
“Liberal-leaning audiences will immediately understand that you’re someone they’d consider ‘us,’” Jessica said. “If they can see people with these completely different views through your eyes ...”
Jessica trailed off expectantly. Marley looked from her face to Néstor’s and back. Anthem lifted her head, huffed, and set it down between her paws.
“I’m sorry,” Marley said. “I think you’re looking for a different kind of person. I don’t like being in front of the camera. No, ‘don’t like’ doesn’t describe it. I-- See, I like people individually, and I’ll talk with anyone individually--you know, as a private conversation--but I absolutely can’t do public speaking, or especially what you’re asking--”
“We read through the work profile you shared with us,” Néstor said. “We get that this isn’t something you’d usually do, and we’re not asking it of you lightly. We think you’d surprise yourself.”
“We believe this could be really successful,” Jessica said. “There are grants out there--this could become a long-term, paid position for you. A position no AI could ever take over, because the work is about you as a human being helping other human beings bridge the gap--”
Marley stood, surprising Anthem, who jumped up and shook herself. “I’m sorry,” they said. “It sounds like a great idea, but it’s not for me. I’ll try to come up with some alternatives to pitch you. Some writing ideas, interviews for written work ... Thanks for making time for me.”
“You don’t have to go!” Jessica said.
“Thanks so much,” Marley said. “Come on, Anthem.” Then they picked up their backpack and hurried out the door.
When Marley got to the cooperative house and rang the bell, the door was answered by a pale, round-faced person with bushy hair and a fat smile. Marley’s lenses captioned them as Banjo Hamilton, any pronouns.
“Marley, welcome!” they said, gesturing and pulling the door wide. “I’m Banjo. Come on in! Can I take your pack for you? Wow, that is a beautiful dog.” They turned and yelled back toward a room with clattering noises, which Marley took for the kitchen. “Y’all, there is a beautiful dog out here!”
Banjo reached out and took Marley’s pack, swinging it neatly onto their back as if it weren’t half as big as Banjo themself. Then they kneeled down and energetically ruffled Anthem’s fur around her neck. Anthem broke out in a panting grin.
“I was so glad to find a place that took dogs,” Marley said.
“Oh, we hardly ever take them,” Banjo said, grinning. “But don’t tempt us with this one!”
Several people in their twenties or thirties, many of them white, filtered into the room from the kitchen. One was carrying a bowl of water, which she set down on the floor for Anthem. Banjo stepped aside, still patting Anthem, as Marley moved into the room with the sinking feeling that they were being absorbed into some kind of impromptu social gathering.
“Are you hungry?” Banjo said. “We’ve got dinner coming up in about half an hour--it’s included in the price.”
“Maybe you’d like to rest?” said a short, heavyset man with a fringe of mustache. He was captioned Uday Johar, he/him. Marley saw him look them over and then nod. “OK, everyone back into the kitchen, please!” he called. “Maybe our guest will come along later, if they’re hungry.” To Marley he said, “Does your dog need walking?”
“Thanks,” Marley said, with feeling. “Anthem’s fine. Come on, Anthem.” They followed Banjo and Uday up the beautiful, curving wooden stairway and down the hall.
As soon as Marley shut the door, Anthem jumped up and claimed the bed. Marley sank down next to her, still thinking about the discussion at No Divide. They knew themself: being some kind of streaming personality was not in their wheelhouse. At the same time, they couldn’t help thinking of an old story-patterning system from the mid-twentieth century, The Hero’s Journey. In it, the hero of the story would be called to travel into adventure and unknown lands, to face troubles and champion their people. Usually, the hero would refuse, at least until something happened to spur them on. Was that what this was? A challenge to rise to?
Or it could be exactly what it looked like, a bad fit. There was no virtue in rising to a challenge when you weren’t the right person to take that challenge on. No one could do everything well, and no one could take every opportunity that arose. Throwing your energies in the wrong direction meant wasting effort that could have gone toward something useful, and if the direction really was the wrong one, the most that could come of it would be a bit of self-knowledge.
They should probably talk it through with somebody. The most appealing idea was to forget they’d ever been asked, but someone who knew them well might help put things in better perspective. Alice--she’d be the perfect person for that ... which reminder Marley of her message.
Marley brought it back up. Why the strange link? The icon was a little black arc on a splash of red. They circled it with their finger to bring up more information, but there wasn’t much. The app was only a few years old and had been released by an unverified user who went by the name “Placide164” and who had published nothing else. There was no contact information, no description--and it appeared the application could only be accessed by invitation. Probably this was just a test project by someone who didn’t want to associate it with their better-known identity--but if that was the case, why in the world would Alice want Marley to contact her through it? And why wait until Marley was alone?
Marley activated the icon and waited. It pulsed gently, changing from one color to another, five seconds or so on red, then five seconds on green, then mauve, then burnt orange, maroon, aquamarine ... This continued much longer than it seemed like it ought to have. By this time it should have offered to have taken a message, or at least said that Alice was unavailable. Marley continued to wait. Chartreuse, dark brown, putty, navy--and abruptly, the whole room turned black. Instead of the usual my-location-faded-into-your-location call, Marley found themself sitting across from Alice in a dark bubble. The bed they were sitting on had become an unidentifiable pitch-colored projection, and Alice seemed to be sitting on something similar. The visuals, too, were simplified, with both Alice and Marley appearing as graphic novel-style sketches of themselves.
Alice was smiling, and she held out her hands. “Marley!” she said. “I’m sorry it took me so long to pick up. I had to find a more private space.”
“What is this?” said Marley. “An art project ... ? Somebody’s ...” They trailed off. Somebody’s what?
“It’s secure. A secure call. Subvocalize: it will keep it more private.”
Subvocalizing features were common in lens apps. You spoke at barely any volume, and your lens earpiece would pick up the sound through your skull and extrapolate it into normal-volume speech. It was a good way to give voice commands without bothering people around you, or to have personal conversations, although lip-reading apps were common, so subvocalizing couldn’t be used for real privacy in public.
“Why do we need a secure call?” Marley subvocalized.
“Because I’m going to ask you to do something that it would be better for no one else to know about.”
“Are you OK?” Marley said. “Do you need help?”
Alice smiled wider. “I’m great. I really am. I still can’t believe we lost our jobs to someone’s computer lit project, but I found something better to do. You are alone?”
“Anthem’s with me.”
“Well, I think we can trust Anthem,” Alice said. “So, what do you know about the Louvre? Not the museum.”
“It’s ... a hacker group? I think?”
“It’s a hacker group,” Alice agreed, leaning in. “It’s the hacker group, and they are laser focused on justice for all races and all people. So far, they’ve specialized in doxxing, putting out public information about wealthy Americans who exert undue influence on the government. They’ve been pretty successful, but they tend to just hit their target and then move on to the next one. They’re not really building anything.”
“What would they build?”
“A story,” Alice said. “They could be guiding Americans toward something bigger, creating a story arc that catches the public imagination and changes the direction of American politics. But they’re not storytellers: they’re hackers. They know AIs, they know how to find vulnerabilities in information systems and how to hide their tracks and things, but they don’t have a real plan.”
“Wait--” said Marley.
“They need writers,” Alice said. “They need people who understand how to engage an audience, how to choreograph surprises and keep public interest, how to lead to a meaningful conclusion.”
“But that’s not fiction,” Marley said. “That’s politics. Politics and money.”
“They have policy geeks and economists,” Alice said. “You’d work with them--”
“I’d work with them?”
“What did you think this call was about?” Alice said. “We need you, and you need a banner to take up.”
“I thought this was about you. I thought you were saying you were going to write for them.”
“I already am,” Alice said, “but I can’t do it alone. We need a writer’s room full of activists, people who care about changing things for the better.”
“By causing harm, though?” said Marley. “How do you make the world a better place when you’re hurting people to do it?”
“Marley,” Alice said severely. “Are you serious? If people abuse their power, we need to oppose them. There’s a man named Godbout. He was part of the group inside the Mountain Republic that helped America re-annex them, and now he’s involved with American espionage. We’ve found some evidence that he’s probably trying to start a war between America and Cascadia, some kind of economic--”
“Stop,” Marley said. “Don’t--I don’t think you should tell me anything else. You shouldn’t have told me what you already did.”
The thought that Alice was involved in this illegal, dangerous, confrontational group--however well-intentioned its members might be--made a sharp pain behind Marley’s ribs. Marley had trouble understanding why Alice would imagine they’d even consider getting involved.
“I need your help,” Alice said. “This is too complicated. You’re the one who can see things from points of view most of us would never even think of. I mean, we’re all Progressives and Libertarians, but you always seem to understand where the Constitutionalists and Conservatives are coming from, even though you don’t agree with them. We need that perspective. We need to reach those people, to understand how to--”
“That’s the exact point,” Marley said. “You don’t reach out to people by attacking them. You don’t build support by increasing the amount of harm the conflict is causing.”
“Sometimes you have to even the field before they’ll respect you enough to listen to you,” Alice said.
“That’s probably true, sometimes,” Marley said. “But it still escalates the conflict. People dig in their heels--they’re less willing to listen to each other.”
“You can make that case to the cell! Maybe that’s the direction we need.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not the person you’re looking for.”
“Just think about it, honey.”
“I’m really glad you’ve found somewhere meaningful to bring your talents,” Marley said. “But I can’t help you.”
“Just think about it.”
“I’ll get in touch when I’m settled somewhere,” Marley said. “I mean, I’ll get in touch the usual way.”
“So we’ll talk again in a few days?” Alice said.
“I can’t be part of what you’re doing,” said Marley.
“OK. For now, OK,” Alice said.
“Dinner!” someone shouted from outside the bubble. Marley startled, almost falling off the edge of the bed. Anthem barked.
“I’d better go,” Marley said. “Stay safe, OK?”
“I will,” Alice said. “Go eat your dinner. We’ll talk soon.”
Then the bubble vanished, and Marley was left in the little bedroom, Anthem staring at them. Down the corridor, someone was ringing a bell.