Category: Novels

Fifty-Two

Mikaela’s feet hurt from a long day walking the campus grounds, trying to help the school’s newest arrivals feel at home. She was slumped into the couch, her eyes feeling heavy. Her  phone rang. She saw it was Demi, and knew she needed to pick up, whether or not she wanted to. “I assume you’re calling to discuss the weather,” Mikaela said mockingly. “How’s Seattle?”

“You been paying attention to Portland?” Demi asked curtly.

“Yeah. A few of us talked about heading down to show our support.”

“I’d save the gas. They’re bringing the fascism circus to us.”

“The school?”

“Not enough heads to knock, I think,” Demi said. “And of course there’s the looming possibility of getting their asses handed to them no matter how many men they bring. Seattle, though, they think is ripe for the picking. Plucking?”

“What can we do?”

“Start a riot? Or at least be prepared when the feds and maybe some of the cops do.”

“I’ll spread the word, and I’ll let you know when we roll out.”

“See you soon, I guess.”

Mikaela disconnected the call. “Everything okay?” Aishah asked from the door.

“Just the world continuing to be on fire.” The description made her tense up. “It’s Drump. He’s sending feds to Seattle to crack skulls, like they’ve been doing in Portland.”

“God,” Aishah whispered, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.

“I need to get the word out. I think we need to be there, stand shoulder to shoulder in the streets, need to tell Drump and his henchmen that it’s our government, not theirs. We need to prove we aren’t intimidated.”

“I’m not sure if we should go,” Aishah said. “Last time most of us saw a Federal agent, they were cramming us into a van or a boat or a plane to rendition us to Cuba. Probably they wouldn’t know we’re fugitives, but if they do try to process us… I don’t know that I could ask anyone to risk that; I don’t know if I could risk that.”

Mikaela put her arm around Aishah’s shoulder and squeezed it. “That’s okay. All of it. You don’t have to come. None of you have to. You’ve already been through hell. Our is an all volunteer army; you aren’t going to catch shit for doing what you need to take care of yourself. But I’d put it to everyone; sometimes people you thought would sit out a protest are the ones most keen to go- and who will be the most hurt missing out. And just let me know. I’m sure we’ll join another caravan going down again. You know, strength in numbers and all.”

Fifty-One

“I always kind of wanted to go on a White House tour,” Rox said quietly as they trailed behind the walking tour, “you know, when there was an inhabitant less stomach-churning.”

“I’ve been, once, when I was tiny,” Mahmoud said. “Didn’t make much of an impact, then. Of course, if you’re too young to understand the historical significance, it’s just an old house.”

The guide stopped, listening to the radio clipped to her belt. Then she stood up robotically. “Apologies for the inconvenience, but we need to divert to a security checkpoint for all of your,” the room shook as the sound of a not-very-distant explosion disrupted the rest of the tour group.

“Think that’s our distraction?” Anita asked.

“We’ll know in a couple of seconds, if Sonya managed to peel off enough,” the rest was drowned out by the hustling through of a squad of Secret Service agents in tactical garb, “looks like that’s our signal.”

“Wait,” Anita said, and held Mahmoud back from the hall as a second group of agents, these in suits and ties, rushed by. “They didn’t notice us, the tour guide didn’t notice us falling behind. Your powers make things a little too easy.”

“If you really want to get shot at, we can split up. Then my ability won’t protect you in the slightest.”

“I just wish it was more offensive specific, rather than waiting until the last second to protect you by having your opponent slip on a banana peel.”

“Why not?” Rox asked. “That’s a classic. You ready?”

Mahmoud nodded. “Ready.”

She leaned her head to the side, to better hear Rui through her phone earpiece, “And our special delivery?”

“Getting nervous about being up in the air, honestly,” Rui responded.

“The window alarmed?” Rox asked, walking to the end of the hall. 

“Yeah,” Mahmoud said, “but I’ve got it bypassed.”

“Great.” She opened it, and stuck her head out.

“I see you,” Rui said. “Hold out your arms.”

She did, and a heavy backpack fell into them.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to,” the agent didn’t get to finish as Anita hit him in the throat, then slammed his head into a wall.

“We have tranquilizers for that,” Rox said, opening the smaller pouch on the bag that was filled with syringes.

“I prefer tranquilizers with more punch,” Anita said, and held out her hand. Rox opened the larger pouch, and handed her a handgun, then a magazine. Anita checked the weapon before loading it and chambering a round.

“They’re rubber bullets, but you still need to aim for the chest, and try not to use them within 30 feet. Because we’re better than these fascist assholes. We clear?”

Mahmoud shut the window. “Yeah. No alarms so far.”

“Inside?”

“Guard at the door and one inside. That feels light…”

“Lady Luck strikes again,” Anita said.

“Let’s stop looking the gift horse in the mouth and get in there,” Rox said. “In or out?”

“One right after the other in rapid succession usually helps get me there,” Anita said. “You distract the guy outside, and then take the one inside while I handle him.” Anita burst down a side hallway.

“She know what she’s doing?” Mahmoud asked.

“Sometimes,” Rox said. “Hold this.” She handed him her gun, and he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. “I meant like a normal human being, not an awkward cartoon crab.”

He slid it into his palm. “I don’t like guns.”

“Only amoral nuts like guns. At best, they’re a distasteful tool.”

“I have a particular aversion, maybe as a product of having one shoved in my face on the regular during ‘interrogations.’”

“With any luck you won’t need to use it. But I don’t think they’ll appreciate the nuance that the intruder of Middle Eastern dissent was holding the gun like it was one of the President’s overflowing diapers.”

“Noted,” he said, and pushed the gun into his pocket and held it there.

Rox slunk down the hall. The agent standing guard at the door noticed, and put up his hand. “Excuse me, Ma’am, you’re not allowed in this area. Did you get lost from the tour? I’m going to need you to go back down that hall, take a left and walk towards the flashing red lights at the security checkpoint.”

Rox put a little more swing into her hips, and tried to arch her back to emphasize her cleavage. “I don’t suppose you can help me find the nearest bathroom,” she said, in what she was sure wasn’t a terribly sexy voice.

His hand started towards his holster, and Anita hit him from the side with the butt of her gun. She took his sidearm and his radio, before giving Rox a bemused look. “What were you doing?”

“Distracting him?”

“I meant the pretty one. This one has a thing for Middle Eastern men.”

“Well, that at least salves my ego a little bit,” Rox said.

“And?” Anita asked, tossing Rox the gun.

“Oh, right,” Rox swung open the door into the Oval Office. The agent inside fired a shot too wide, and she returned fire, catching him in the chest.

“I had a thought,” Mahmoud said, bending over and pulling the agent’s earpiece near to his mouth. “Repelled two intruders, and Big Bird is safely feathering his nest.”

 “Big Bird?” Rox asked.

“Don’t’ look at me. I didn’t pick their codes.”

Drump was cowering behind his desk. “Mr. President,” Rox said, fighting back a wince, “your life is in danger.”

“I can see that. I’m not a wee-tard.”

Rox sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I don’t think you understand. We’re here to make sure the attack doesn’t succeed.”

“I, I don’t believe you,” he said, his eyes barely visible over his small fingers clutching the edge of his desk.

“And you think if I meant to harm you, staying behind the Resolute Desk is a viable strategy?” He pondered a moment, then went back to glaring. “Fine. I couldn’t care less if you get a fucking leg cramp back there. A?”

“R?” Anita asked.

“We’re outside the door. M?” Anita threw Mahmoud the Secret Service agent’s weapon, and he tossed her one of the other guns.

“I’ll be fine in here.”

“Will he?”

“He don’t start none, won’t be none.”

“That’s a better deal than he ever would have offered any of us.” Rox nodded, and Anita followed her out.

Fifty

Mayumi would never admit it, but in this moment she wished she was wearing Demi’s ridiculous trench coat and fedora. She arched her shoulders, and tried to angle herself so that the rain didn’t have such a direct route to pour down the back of her shirt as it fell on her. Even if it weren’t such a crap night, she wasn’t surprised to see this part of town deserted after an army of Federal agents without markings attacked a peaceful protest for being too close to a building owned by the government. The protest moved over a few blocks, and the locals stayed the hell away, because anyone who so much as side-eyed the building had been attacked, beaten, or gassed.

Mayumi wondered if this was going to be the new status quo, and if so, if she was going to need to learn how to grow an air bladder, so she could suck in and store up hazardous gas attacks for later return to the fascists from whence it came. She heard the van shadowing her, even over the sound of the rain, and had to fight back the urge to fight back. Four sets of combat boots on the pavement, none stomping heavy enough to be worn by men topping a deuce. They were lambs, with no conception of the lioness they were stalking.

She let them hit her with the butt of one of their rifles, and cram her into the back of a van. They used zip-ties on her wrists, so tight they would have been causing nerve damage in someone who wasn’t able to rearrange her bones, nerves and muscles to accommodate them. A moment later, the restraints fell, and she folded her hands demurely in her lap. “What the hell?” one of the agents asked, going for a sidearm. She grabbed his thumb and twisted it back until he couldn’t move his hand. “She’s out of her restraints,” he managed to get out.

“How the fuck?” the driver asked.

“I forced my wrist bones out through the skin; made easier by how damn tight you had me tied. Then I sharpened those bones until they could cut through the ties, or skin, body armor.” She elbowed the agent in the far back seat as he tried to grab her, punched the agent whose thumb she was holding, then lunged forward, slicing the seatbelts of the two agents in front.

“You may not believe this, but in this case, I’m the good cop.”

“You ready?” Demi asked over Mayumi’s speakerphone. Mayumi grabbed onto the seatbelt holding the agent beside her, and cut it, maintaining her hold of the end still bolted to the seat.

“Go.”

Lightning struck the front of the car with such intensity that sparks flew off the dash and its electronics, setting off the airbags. The front brakes locked, and the van came to a violent stop, sending the unbelted agents flying forward. There were two more flashes of light, before the driver’s door was torn from the van; he followed it a moment later.

Then the front passenger, still groggy from the impact of the air bags, tried to reach for his holstered sidearm. Mayumi pinned his arm with her leg as his door was ripped off the van’s frame. “Howdy,” Demi said, and pulled him out of the van with such force he flew into a brick wall behind her.

Then she pulled the sliding door off the van, and dropped it in the street. “Really hope you got the insurance,” Demi said, before pulling the man beside Mayumi out.

The man from the rear tried to grab hold of Mayumi, and put his gun to her temple. He didn’t register her wrist at his throat until she twisted, just enough to nick the skin at his jaw. “The blades are sharp,” Mayumi said. “You shoot, you’ll definitely bleed out. I’ll heal, you won’t. Leave the gun on the seat and I’ll promise you live through the night.” He glared at her, before sliding the safety on and setting the gun down. “Now slide out, slow. And I’d raise your hands. I’m pretty sure I heard ribs breaking when she tossed your friends, and I would avoid that if at all possible.”

“You can’t do this,” he said, as he stepped out of the van.

“And why’s that?” Violet asked, holding up her recording phone, its light shining in his eyes. “Because as far as we can tell you’re just a quartet of assholes who rented a van and sewed yourself matching pajamas.”

“We’re federal officers,” he said sullenly.

“And what would stop a gang of human supremacists from claiming the same?” Violet asked, her eyes becoming an incandescent purple. He swallowed.

“That’s actually a large part of the reason for uniforms, insignia, and ID,” Demi said. “Don’t suppose you’d care to share some with us?” Demi asked.

“Fuck yourself,” he said.

“Hmm, that answer doesn’t work for me.” Demi grabbed him by the collar. She cocked back her fist, and electricity arced off it, touching on the pavement, then snapping towards him, searing his leg through his clothes. “See, if you are, as it seems reasonable to assume, some bigoted militia types, it’s thoroughly understandable self-defense if I fry you up like a side of bacon. God, I could go for a side of bacon right now,” Demi said.

“Or a bacon entrée,” Vi said. “Why does no one serve a bacon entrée.”    

“I will fry you both up as much bacon as you can eat, later,” Mayumi said.

“Since you’re our first interrogatee, you get your choice. Ten thousand volts. Head. Chest. Crotch?”

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

“I wouldn’t touch it, but I don’t have to.” She held up her other hand, and electricity leapt from one hand to the other.

“Christ,” he said. “Fine.” He produced a wallet with a badge and handed it to her. “CBP, huh? Really abusing the hell out of that public trust, aren’t you. But I guess when you’ve been keeping kids in cages, we can’t be shocked that you’re bad people.”

“What they’re doing in Portland will look like pattycake compared to what’s coming for you.”

Mayumi leaned into him and sniffed. “I’ve got your scent. You’ve got the day to settle your affairs here and leave. I find you in Seattle again- I’ll make sure it’s the last time I catch your scent.”

“You’re threatening a federal officer.”

“This?” Demi said, flicking his badge back at him. “Ten minutes of PhotoShop is all that would take. Besides, I didn’t hear anything threatening over the sound of thunder.”

Lightning crashed down on their van, the impact shattering the windows and showering the street with broken glass. 

Forty-Nine

“I’m telling you we have time to stop at Starbucks,” Ben said, stepping over the first in a line of concentric temporary barriers erected outside of the White House.

“No, remember, they had a bigoted barrista that called Mira ‘ISIS,’” Sonya said, doing a hand stand atop the barrier then landing on the other side on her feet. “We’re boycotting.”

“Then McDonalds. For flapjacks. Or did they say something offensive about Cris’ pancake ass?”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“We don’t have time,” Rui interjected, rolling over the barrier, “because we don’t know when exactly Raif’s going to make his move. If we aren’t in place, all we’re going to do is show up looking like the second wave of an assault.”

“I’m not sure I usually completely understood what you go through with him,” Sonya said, stroking Rui’s arm.

“He’s not my babysitter,” Ben objected.

“And yet he’s constantly stuck cleaning out your drawers,” she replied. “Can a lady get a hand.” Rui and Ben exchanged a glance, grinned, then gave a very understated golf clap. “You two deserve each other.”

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” Ben said. Rui bent down on one knee, laced his fingers and held them out to Sonya. “Sure, just because my shoulder’s eight inches higher than yours, I’m the one who has to get stepped on.”

“It’s also at least as broad as a staircase, if that helps.” Ben put out his hands as Sonya stepped first on Rui’s hands, then on Ben’s, and finally used his shoulder to roll over the top of the stacked barriers surrounding the White House. “You good here?”

“I’ll manage.”

“You remember enough of the plan?”

“I’ll get by. Take care.”

“You, too. Give me thirty alligators. I’m going to try something… strange.”

Ben nodded, and turned towards the barrier. He could feel eyes on him before he even heard the sounds of rustling cloth or the clinking of military gear as federal agents surrounded him. “On your knees, hands laced behind your head. You are being arrested for trespassing on federal property.”

Ben turned, slowly raising his arms. None of the men were wearing identifying insignia, or even recognizable uniforms. “I’m pretty sure this is a public sidewalk,” Ben said, “and that somewhere inside this pillow fort of a bunker is the People’s House.” The ground shook hard enough the circle of men around him lost their balance and fell. “Now,” he turned, and slashed his arms at the barrier, which crumbled as the earth beneath it shook violently.

Ben heard the clack of a safety sliding off behind him. “Would have swore that was more than thirty al-” the agent yelled as hot plasma struck his gun, and dropped it onto the pavement. Ben stepped through the hole in the barrier, then commenced shaking the ground until the entire thing crumbled behind him.

Rui landed beside him on the lawn, jogging to kill the last of his momentum. “So what was this strange thing you just had to do while feds tried to use me for target practice?” Ben asked.

“I turned gaseous, then shoved my atoms as far apart as I could. I was vapor, but also functionally invisible. Meant I didn’t have to go as far to take to the air without raising alarms, but coalescing enough to become a plasma was harder than I thought. Took an extra couple seconds.”

Sonya ran at them. “I think we’ve got their attention.” A string of Secret Service agents were running at them across the White House lawn.

“And our getaway?” Rui asked.

“Well, I can’t control my boomlets, just give them a rough timer before they go, so there was a degree of guesswork. But if my count is right-” the first of them exploded from underneath the lawn, knocking an agent onto his back amidst a shower of dirt and grass. “This isn’t going to seem kind in the moment, but,” she flung an explosive, with as fragile a field around it as she could. It landed beside the agent, and knocked him away, just as a larger explosion tore a foot-deep hole in the lawn where his face had been.

“Right,” Rui said. “Let’s scram, before things get too heavy.”

“McDonalds?” Ben asked.

“We can stop there,” Rui said. “But if Rox has to call us back in for support, we drop everything. Even if that means you don’t get to finish your pancakes.” “Duh,” Ben said. “That’s why they have the little to-go boxes.”

Forty-Eight

“This kind of sucks,” Violet said, watching various supplies be carried out of the med tent. “I mean, I didn’t expect CHOP to live forever, but this is more whimper than- um, shit. Not to minimize the way we’ve lost some people. But you expect clashes with the cops lit dramatically with Molatovs and trash can fires, refracting around the fog from smoke grenades. Epic drama. Not anticlimactic notices from the city and the police to vacate before the skull-cracking starts.”

“Hey, a majority of the city council has already agreed to cut the SPD’s budget in half. That’s huge.”

“I guess,” Violet said thoughtfully. “But I wanted to thank you, both of you. It might have been better if we’d been able to catch the assholes involved in the shootings, but that the two of you chased them off was a close second- and already way more dangerous than I ever would have been comfortable asking you to be involved in. But you two have really helped, in ways I wasn’t sure a couple of out-of-towners would, you know?”

“Sure,” Demi said.

“I was kind of wondering if you might want to stick around. For a few days, at least, just make sure things really are going back to normal- relatively safe, I mean.” She tugged on her cloth face mask. “I get the feeling we’re a ways away from normal.”

“I think we would,” Demi said, “but we were staying here.” She pointed at the abandoned precinct building. “And with the cops retaking it, I don’t think they’d be keen on having roomies.”

“I could, uh, I could put you up in my place, just for a few nights. It’s nothing fancy- one of you would have to sleep on the couch, if that wouldn’t be a problem with Mai. I mean, if you don’t mind cuddling close, we might all fit on my queen, but.”

“Couch is fine,” Mayumi said.

“And you’re okay with us, uh,” Violet blushed. “I wouldn’t want to, um, intrude.”

“Oh,” Demi said, and stifled a laugh. “We are not- we’re just close friends.”

“Well,” Violet said, turning an even brighter red, “then I guess that changes the nature of my offer, a little. I mean, if you want to just lie side by side I can absolutely try to be a gentlewoman and keep my hands to myself, but I can’t promise not to drool on you. Oh. Crap. I meant that in a sexy way, not in a waking up in one of your grandmother’s slack-jawed dribble puddles. From the mouth! Oh my god,” she muttered, “I’m making this so much worse.” Then she stood bolt upright. “Oh. Ew. And I’m not saying you have to fool around with me to stay, either. That’s gross. God. I will just give you my keys,” she reached into her pocket, “and I’ll text you the address. If you need anything, I’ll be trying to hold onto a rock at the bottom of the river.” When Violet tried to hand Demi her keys, Demi caught her hand and held it. “Oh,” Violet said, and swallowed.

“It’s okay, Vi,” Demi said. “We’re all a little… worked up. It’s been a stressful few days, for everybody, and, at least so far, your flusteredness is more adorable than restraining-order worthy; and if you had been offering, it wouldn’t exactly be the first survival sex I’ve been offered. And I’m happy to stay, at least for a night. After that we can talk. And if Mayumi needs to leave before me, she can always take the car.”

“Think I’ll stay too,” Mayumi said. “Though I’m not much of a cuddler.”

“Not much of a lesbian, either,” Demi said. “Doesn’t often talk about men, but when you get enough of the right kinds of liquor in her, wow. The absolute pornography that drips from that woman’s mouth.” Mayumi stared death at her. “But it’s oddly beautiful, too; I swear, if I wasn’t already very bi, I would have been afterwards. It was the spoken word equivalent of a steamy sex scene.”

“I think that’s an experiment worth trying. I’ve got a moderately impressive- for a mostly poor community college girl- liquor collection, a lovingly used copy of Dirty Dancing– I think we could have a hell of a night. I have warm sake- crap, I hope that didn’t sound racist- I just like warm sake.”

Mayumi continued to glare, slowly turning it from Demi to Vi. “You monsters,” she muttered, before turning down the street.

“I hope I didn’t offend her,” Violet said.

“I don’t think so,” Demi said. “Last time she did that, she came back two hours later with a bottle of the most exquisite alcohol. The label was torn, and I think the bottom had a little dried blood on it. I couldn’t tell you if she bought it, or beat a man to death for-slash-with it, but whatever it was, wherever she got it, it was worth it.”

“You two really seem like the fun kind of weird.”

“You’re just saying that because you want into my pants.”

“They do seem like they’re some very fun pants. But seriously, there’s no pressure. If it’s just a platonic evening with friends, that’s totally fine. How do you feel about pizza?”

Demi rubbed her belly. “I’ve been known to eat more than I should.”

“Perfect.”

“Let me treat,” Demi said. “You’re already putting us up, and potentially sharing some of your booze. Just aim me at the best pizza that’s in our general path.”

“It’s a date.”

Forty-Seven

“Okay, so, you want the good news?” Mahmoud asked.

“Bah,” Rui yelped, startled. “You’ve been so quiet and broody I forgot you were here.”

“I just thought he was planning to sew himself some Batman footy pajamas and go rid the night of low-level, poverty-centric crime, ignoring the good he could do with his billions of dollars to attack the systemic roots of same,” Ben said.

“That’s a little too close to home,” Rui said.

“Nah, man, I didn’t mean you. You’re rich by my standards, by which you could afford a fun size bag of Funions for every meal.”

“And the insulin ffor the diabetes inevitably following that diet,” Sonya added.

“I know,” Rui said. “I just like Batman.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Ahem,” Rox said. “And since I am clearly the only person in the room capable of answering deceptively simple but actually weighty questions, yes, I’ll take the good news first.”

“Raif is scrambling. Losing his gun, losing Mira, he had a meltdown. Their usual care and planning went out the window, so I was able to track them via their phones.”

“Or, alternately,” Anita said, “they didn’t think we had a technopath and weren’t being as cautious as we thought this whole time.”

“But wouldn’t the Feds have caught them?” Sonya asked. “Drump has been practically salivating at the prospect of setting up a gallows on the White House lawn- a guillotine would be too French- to execute the first proper Breed terrorist he could catch. I imagine he’d insist on pulling the lever himself.”

“Yeah, but they’re really bad at, well, everything,” Anita said. “The subtext of hiring the ‘best people’ was that the thing they would be best at was bringing the largest sacks of money to shove into the President’s trousers.”

“I may go into an asexual coma,” Rui said, shuddering. “All those white men, the President’s trousers, so many sacks…”

“It’s okay,” Ben soothed, rubbing his back, “just breathe through it.”

“Just keep going,” Rox said. “If we have to catch them up later we will.”

“Once I had their phones I could switch on their mics remotely- same shit the NSA does. And, well, I stored a recording in the cloud.” All of their phones began playing the message on speaker in unison.

“We don’t have the manpower,” a voice said on the recording. “Without Mira-”

“Well we don’t have her,” Raif said angrily. “Either the authorities have her, or her friends do. Either way, she’s off the board. But we can still make this work.”

“Not without mass casualties,” a woman piped in.

“That was her idea anyway,” Raif said, with a wave of his hand. “I always wanted to make a fucking statement, to wit: we’re the new dominant species.”

“Still,” the first voice broke back in, “with this timetable we can’t reconfigure-”

“We’re dumping the old timetable. The mission’s been compromised, and every second we give those little dropouts makes it more likely they find a way to screw us up. So we don’t give them that shot- we take ours. So everybody get some rest, because come the morning, we’re going to war with a man who declared war on us at the start of his fucking campaign.”

“Jesus,” Rui said.

“Yeah,” Rox said. “We’re going to have to try and sleep in shifts, difficult as that’s likely to end up being. Because in the morning we’re going to have to save someone who probably doesn’t deserve the effort.”

Author’s Note: I think I’m moving now to a regular weekdays posting schedule, rather than 6 days a week. It was too hard to stay ahead of the updates; on the bright side, I now have an outline that carries through to the ending. Hopefully no further delays.

Forty-Six

Ryan was practically glowing as he flipped through the channels on the television. “What did you do?” Stephen asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The last time I saw you this giddy was when you sent incriminating emails from a white supremacist to the authorities. So what did you do?”

“Okay, now, you’re going to laugh at at least part of this. You know I’ve gotten into K-Pop, right?” Stephen smiled. “Screw you. Anyway, through that fandom, I found out about… well, this.”

He stopped changing channels as a sad, defeated Drump walked from his helicopter towards camera. The man, his suit, his ‘hair’, every inch of him was dejected, deflated, and sullen. “So you made a bigot man unhappy. Sounds like a good use of your time and talents. That sounds, but isn’t, sarcastic; deserves at least a little golf clap.”

“It’s not just that. His team were crowing about a million ticket requests to his Tulsa rally- which shouldn’t have been happening anyway in the middle of a pandemic, right?”

“I don’t see the K-Pop connection,” Stephen said.

“I’m getting there. The fandom realized they were operating things entirely based around online reservations, and started gaming them. I brought on the technopaths on campus to help, and-” as if on cue, the chyron at the bottom of the screen stated that fewer than 2600 people attended the rally in the 20,000 seat venue.”

“Did you do that?”

“The chyron? No, that was just good timing. But the humbling of a short-sighted bigot? I helped.”

“Shit,” Stephen said.

“Yeah. Turns out, K-Pop isn’t just about great music- it’s got an awesome fandom. Without them, the rally probably would have been a success, or at least less of an unmitigated disaster. Want me to put some K-Pop on?”

“No,” Stephen said. “But I will make fun of you forty percent less for listening to it from now on.”

“Sounds like a win to me,” Ryan said, leaning back in his chair.

Forty-Five

“My favorite plans are the ones I don’t get a say in,” Rui said.

“You can have input into the plan,” Rox said. “But I’m taking the hemming and hawing off your plates. I promise you I get it; I think if it were just me I’d be having the same internal conversation. But it’s not. I have a responsibility to all of you. And we have a responsibility to every other kid who’s growing up like us, who may not be in a position to defend themselves when the shit storm hits if one of us kills a President- even one as monumentally stupid, ignorant, lazy and incompetent as this one.”

“You forgot gross,” Sonya added. “Not a fat-phobic thing, but his whole predatory vibe; he can’t even stop horn-dogging at his daughter in public.”

“And greedy,” Ben said.

“And cowardly,” Anita added.

“And delusional,” Cris said.

“And bigoted,” Rui said.

“I think that was covered in ‘ignorant,’” Rox said.

“I know, but I don’t think it covered the depth of his bigotry. He doesn’t dog-whistle; he puts his MLA to a dog’s ringpiece and screams through it at the top of his lungs. I’m sure it’s also some kind of animal cruelty.”

“The point here is that this isn’t going to come hardest down on adults who can defend themselves. It’s going to hit kids. There’s more Breed kids being born every day; the next generation will be at least double the size of ours. Which means there’s going to be even more of them in vulnerable situations. Besides, I think he’s going to lose in November, and that is going to rip open that hole he’s tried to fill with boasts about crowd size and tearing down the first black President’s legacy. His entire administration has been him trying to prove he was better than a black guy- the one who got reelected. It’ll break him, and no one deserves that ego blow as much as this guy.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Anita asked. “What if there are just enough crooked Republicans out there to rig it for him, and the Democrats cave, again, and let baby have the bottle he stole.”

“Even then,” Rox said, “there’s a difference between a very public execution by a Breed who wants the world to know we can take down Presidents, and Anita sneaking into the White House November 4^th and making it look like a heart attack.”

“You’re joking, right?” Sonya asked.

“Merely noting there’s a difference, primarily in the safety of our people. In both cases, I have to use the talents and privilege I have to stand up for people who can’t, for whatever reason. But we also have a duty, to the next generation, to be an example of how to make it in this world. If we can, we’ll leave them a better world, but if we can’t, we at least have to show them how they can leave one for the generation after them.”

“I’m still not sure I like it,” Anita said.

“November 5^th work better with your schedule?” Sonya asked.

“I mean that separating him from his guard, that opens up new chinks in their armor to exploit, and puts all of our eggs in the one basket.”

“Maybe,” Rox agreed. “But they aren’t going to work with us. If we had weeks, maybe months, we could do a softer approach, prove that we could breach their security and then try to convince them that we want to strengthen it. But we don’t have the time. We don’t know when Raif’s plan is going down, just that it’s soon. Even without Mira, I think he’ll plow ahead. But that means improvisation, and desperation. That means his people are going to be angrier, and we need to be extra careful. And we don’t have to remove the Secret Service, we just need to be able to operate independent of them. Because I get the feeling they’re not going to get the nuance that some of us are on their side. The absolute last thing we want is to be caught between them and Raif, with both sides shooting at us.”

Forty-Four

“Fox news has obtained exclusive footage of an attempted Breed terrorist break-out at Gauntanamo,” said a doughy man, barely audible over the volume of his bow-tie. In a shaky phone video, Rui could be seen strafing overhead, setting buildings on fire. The focus shifted jerkily to Ben, who knocked down a prison wall, causing mostly brown men to scurry out of a building. “Anonymous sources claim no terrorists were released as a part of this action, and further claimed that all of the Breed terrorists, a phrase which to this reporter, feels redundant, were all either captured or killed in the assault. Officials at the Pentagon and White House refused to comment on the basis of national security.”

“Pucker Carlson can exclusively eat dicks,” Drake said. “In fact, that might explain his disposition.”

“Okay, but what does any of that tell you?” Mikaela asked.

“That Fox news somehow gets more bigoted and cranky with every passing day in parallel with their target demo?” Iago asked.

“That Fox’s elderly viewership must be getting easier to fool in direct correlation with how intellectually lazy and sloppy they get?” Tucker asked.

“I think I could bag on them all day,” Drake said, “but suspect you had a real point.”

“Yep. Release of a shaky hand-shot footage means that this wasn’t an official release; the government wanted to keep it quiet. They probably knew it was a loser- at best they look incompetent for the break-in succeeding. Two, we know nobody died, so whoever leaked this knew that the story was a dog, and had to spice it up by making the military response look more capable.”

“Then why release anything?” Iago asked.

“Because they’re just that bigoted,” Tucker said. “They got their butts handed to them by people their Dear Leader told them are their inferiors. They couldn’t prove their worth, so they need to use the story to stick it to us, instead.”

“You sound pretty damn sure.”

“I’m not reading any minds from half a world away. But I’ve known the type. It doesn’t matter if it’s rational. Their fragile ego demands satisfaction, even if it’s them who ends up bleeding for it.”

“This could get people killed,” Mikaela said.

“That’s always the hope, isn’t it?” Tucker asked. “It’s stochastic terrorism. The more hate they pump into the atmosphere, the more likely someone will take them seriously and attack a pizza parlor for harboring a pedophile ring, or attack women for having the audacity not to date literally any incel who pisses on her shoes, or shoot up a campus for Breed students for existing. And it doesn’t matter if it’s not one-to-one, either, in fact, that’s preferable. That way right-wing nutjobs can incite random violence as a business model on Fox, without ever being tied to any particular incident. But the fear for those of us who are on their radar is real, and persistent. They get to use fear as a weapon, but get to deny it as polite discourse.”

“You sound kind of like you want to burn down a news station.”

“Only one? I guess I’m better at hiding my anger than I realized.”

Forty-Three

“Oh, fuck my head,” Cris said, groaning on the couch.

“That is exactly what it feels like,” Sonya said. “Did somebody fuck my head last night? And just skip the foreplay, gentility or even a pretense of civility.”

“You have no idea how many of my buttons you’re pushing right now,” Anita said without removing her face from the seat of a recliner. “Most prominently the one marked ‘blinding white-hot migraine.’”

“Close,” Laren said, stretching in the doorway, her skin glistening under a dewy layer of perspiration, “but I think the culprit was grain alcohol.”

“Would someone put me out of my misery and shoot her?” Anita asked.

“Okay,” Rui said, groaning, “I get why she isn’t hung-over,” he pointed at Rox (or at least one of her) as she walked in behind Laren, “even if I kind of hate her in this moment. But you had nearly as much to drink as Tso. And I’m pretty sure even half of what he did to that poor, unsuspecting toilet violated the Geneva Conventions.”

“I hate myself for asking,” Sonya said, preemptively wincing, “but you’re bifurcating based on orifices, aren’t you…”

“I’m more preoccupied with the fact that not only did they escape last night unscathed, but they went for a run this morning,” Cris said. “By the way, I can help with hangovers. Upset stomachs will have to wait until I’ve got something non-fermented in my stomach, first.”

“But I have rumblies in my tumblies,” Ben said, though it was hard to make out over the gurgling in his belly.

“Rui,” Rox said, clapping to a chorus of groans, “get Ben back in the bathroom, or you’re going to have to help him burn his underwear.”

“I can’t imagine why I would have dreamed it, so I think we did that last night already- though I can’t remember why,” Rui managed to get to his feet, swaying noticeably.

“Cris, your first job this morning is getting everyone fighting fit. We’re going to war this morning, every last one of us. Because fuck the entire concept of a moral taint, and Tso I swear to god if you chortle-”

“Heh,” Ben chuckled to himself, “immoral taint.”

“Why did I invite that on us? Anyway, we’re not wimpy philosophers. We eat moral quandaries for breakfast, but also bagels, which we grabbed on our run.” She lifted a small bag for emphasis. “To wit: this is only a conundrum if you focus on our culpability, whether or not we need to feel bad about ourselves. Well, we’re already a dangerously self-loathing bunch, so I’m less worried, there. The rest of us, though? All the poor fucking kids back at the school, or the even less fortunate ones who haven’t made it there yet, or even can’t? If we let this shit happen, it hurts them, maybe in ways it will take their entire lifetimes to walk back.

“But beyond the fact that I know you’re all tough enough to handle the difficult question: you don’t have to. Because I am dictating. It’s the right thing to do, for the most fucked up of reasons- because it will make life harder for our friends and families if we don’t. But I’m taking it out of your hands. I’m telling you to suck it up and do it. Blame me for it if you need to- hate me for it even. But know that we’re helping a lot of people who couldn’t help themselves. Even if, given half the chance, I’d light the bigoted prick on fire myself.”

“What does being given half a chance to light someone on fire look like?” Ben wondered aloud, leaning so far on Rui’s shoulder they both looked ready to topple.

“I think them falling asleep when you’ve got ready access to matches and maybe lighter fluid,” Sonya offered.

“What if we feel really strongly about not helping?” Rui asked.

“You leave,” Rox said. “Maybe even join Raif. But I don’t think any of you will do that. Because you know I’m right. And even if you can’t know, completely, you know it’s better to think I could be, and have that cover, than to place that kind of bet without it.”