Wilders

by Brenda Cooper

  “I’ll still buy you dinner.”

  Coryn glanced at Paula, who offered an almost imperceptible nod. So she saw it as safe. She smiled at the woman. “That would be great.”

  “Follow me.” She led them across two streets and up some wide, fancy wooden stairs to a brightly lit restaurant with rose-colored walls and white tablecloths. It was full, with a line out the door. Nearly everyone was dressed in business clothing. At the landing, the still-nameless woman leaned over to her. “Leave your companion outside.”

  The surprised Coryn. “She usually sits with me.”

  A slightly perturbed look crossed the woman’s face. “Well, I’m going to eat with you. She doesn’t need food. She can stay out with my guards.”

  Coryn blinked. Paula’s job was to keep her safe. But if she said that the woman would think she was afraid of her. She looked around. Somehow she hadn’t even noticed that there were three other robots near them, two of them designed to look like a couple, and another one a female styled at about twenty-five, kind of like Paula except blond and a little shorter.

  Coryn nodded at Paula, and Paula nodded back, smiling, apparently trying to reassure her. It felt strange to leave her companion outside, but this was becoming an adventure, and she didn’t want to miss it.

  The woman led them past the line, and, just inside, the gracious smells of pan-Asian spicing and hot green tea greeted them. A human waiter looked up from the podium, walked past a long line of patrons waiting to be seated, and took them immediately up a spiral staircase to a private room with a single table for six. At first she thought they were being hidden from the other patrons since they were both still in their running clothes and smelled like exercise. But the cut yellow and white flowers in bright blue vases and the ceramic water fountain in the corner grew on her, and she slowly realized they were in a truly opulent place, the kind of room she’d seen on videos but never been inside.

  She glanced through the windows that surrounded the table, including above them. The room showed the city off. Flowers draped from ledges and bridges above them, a running path spiraled up from the ground and touched three of the larger buildings, and a new sky bike path ran directly above them, so high that it looked like a ribbon. She yearned to ride on it.

  A huge indoor food garden rose behind them to the left. The Seattle Central Grow. Coryn squinted through the clear building, trying to figure out how this one vertical farm supplied the vegetables for a hundred thousand people. Bots and people both moved through the structure, and machine arms ran along tracks. “I’ve never seen the inside of the Grow,” Coryn mused. “It’s pretty fascinating from this angle.”

  The woman looked poised to comment when the waiter came up with water. “Good afternoon, Ms. Lake, would you like wine?”

  Coryn barely managed to keep her mouth from dropping open. She should have recognized the woman as soon as she saw her face, even if it had aged. Julianna Lake had once been the mayor of Seattle, and she and the then mayor of Vancouver, Jake Erlich, had bridged the national border. They’d done it with a grassroots campaign and a surprise vote that barely passed both cities, and then built up Seacouver’s defenses enough to make the central governments of both the United States and Canada hesitate long enough to lose any advantage they had once had. After all, the cities were vibrant technology hubs.

  She was sitting with a legend.

  Julianna and the waiter spoke in low tones, while Coryn’s mind spun through what she remembered about Julianna and Jake.

  There were rumors of an affair between them, but if it had happened they never made it a formal relationship. But they had moved together to secure power for the city they created.

  Julianna smiled at her, a slightly amused look on her face. “Do you have any strong food preferences? Is there anything you don’t like or don’t eat?”

  Coryn managed to shake her head and stammer out, “Anything is fine.”

  They had been called the Jake and Lake show by everyone, whether they hated them or loved them. It had been a huge historic fight, called either the death of the nations or the rise of the cities. The United States and Canada both still existed, and both flags flew over every neighborhood hall in Seacouver. Other megacities had followed suit, mostly in the Far East and on the East Coast.

  As the waitress left Julianna’s side, Coryn tried to remember if Jake was still alive. If anyone had asked her, she might have thought them both dead. After all, there had been a whole chapter on Julianna in Coryn’s last history class. Now that she understood what to look for, Coryn could see the hard, fighting features of the much younger woman who had moved history forward.

  “Miss?”

  A waiter appeared from somewhere. She hadn’t even heard him. “Would you like anything to drink?” he asked, his voice silky and overly helpful.

  “Sure. Yes. Coffee, please.”

  Julianna Lake smiled genuinely at Coryn, the first smile that hadn’t looked at least a little guarded. After the waiter left, she leaned over and took Coryn’s hand. Her grip felt strong and warm. “You ran well. Not many people can keep up with me.”

  “Likewise.” She started babbling. “You run? Every day? How do find time? What else do you do?”

  Julianna leaned back and smiled. “I don’t have any formal power, not anymore. But tell me about yourself first. How did you end up with a companion robot as your only family?”

  The coffee had appeared, a rich black pool in a lightweight porcelain teacup. Coryn blew on the top of the coffee to cool it. She blurted out, “I’m an orphan,” and then wished she’d started anywhere else. It was true, and it defined her, but surely it wasn’t what this woman wanted to know.

  Julianna didn’t look surprised, but merely curious. “What happened?”

  If she got it all out of the way she could go back to what she had said she wanted to talk about—running. She took a deep breath. “My parents committed suicide.”

  Julianna leaned forward. “Why?” Then she leaned back, taking a piece of bread. “Sorry. Are you willing to tell me?”

  The pain still had sharp edges. “They couldn’t handle the city. Mom never could.”

  Julianna stared at the harvester robots in the Grow, looking a little pained. “When we created this city, we made a lot of good things. But we made bad things, too.”

  Coryn hadn’t expected any understanding at all. She found herself out of words. She reached for some bread, surprised when it felt warm in her fingers. “I love it, most days. I love the bridges and the tracks and the crowds. But Mom hated it so much she cried almost every day. She stayed inside most of the time, as if it would hurt her to go out. I didn’t understand, but maybe I do now. I don’t think she had any friends.” She put the bread in her mouth. It melted against her tongue, a light sourdough with a touch of cinnamon that tasted finer than anything she could remember.

  The “friends” thing. She hadn’t really thought about it before. But she felt lonely as hell these days. Maybe loneliness killed her parents. And they had it better than she did; they had each other.

  Julianna stared at Coryn as a waitress brought a red beet salad topped with walnuts.

  The conversation fell off as they worked on the salad, which had flavors she’d never tasted. Now that the shock of meeting Julianna had ebbed into dreamy disbelief, she felt sore, a little jolted awake from the coffee, and replete. She felt good. Feeling good made her realize she hadn’t really felt good in a long time.

  After the water whisked away their empty salad plates, a woman put down plates of sashimi and sticky rice. Coryn managed to get her tongue into some kind of order. “What do you do now? I don’t remember hearing any news about you for a long time.”

  Julianna smiled. “I keep it that way. Once you leave power, it’s best not to compete too boldly with those you leave behind. It’s like letting a child grow up.”

  “So the city is your child?”

  “Mine and Jake’s. Except now it has become its own thing.”


  As she finished her rice, Coryn’s mind raced through possible responses, settling on, “Are you happy with how it grew up?”

  Julianna smiled, a polite smile that hid things behind it. “Mostly. Who is completely happy with any creation?” Then she shrugged. “At least it is beyond us now, and we only have a little to do with it.”

  Coryn wanted to ask another question, but Julianna changed the subject. “I do run every day. I swore I wouldn’t grow old too fast, that I wouldn’t die too young. I wanted to see what would happen.” She hesitated a moment, her fork poised unmoving over her plate. “I also run to stay in emotional shape. It keeps me even, like a meditation.” She picked up a forkful of dark red salmon. “What does running do for you?”

  “It helps me forget.”

  “Maybe you should run for the future.”

  “Maybe I should.” Coryn couldn’t quite figure out what that might mean, so she simply said, “I hope I run for years, like you.”

  “That’s up to you,” Julianna replied, smiling up at the waiter, who pulled dirty dishes from the table and gave them clean ones.

  Coryn was already almost full, so she was pleased to see the last plate had a pile of nuts and two small chocolates on it, the nuts and sweets linked together with thin lines of some kind of brown syrup.

  “That’s pretty,” she said, admiring the presentation. She wasn’t used to food being a work of art.

  “It’s my training diet. I thought you might not mind.”

  Coryn almost laughed, catching herself, staying polite. “Of course not.”

  Just before they finished the dessert course, Coryn asked, “Will you run with me again?”

  Julianna said, “Someday. But not tomorrow. Some of my meetings happen with other runners, and I’ve got an appointment for tomorrow’s training session. Perhaps I’ll message you. Another time.”

  It felt like a brush-off, and Coryn blinked. “An appointment? But you don’t still work for the government, do you?”

  Julianna laughed. “Never again. But I still have friends. Old women have things to talk about with other old women.”

  “If you have time again, I’d love to join you.”

  “Thanks for sharing your story,” Julianna replied. “It’s time for me to go to bed.”

  “Me too.” Paula was probably already fuming since her training schedule left Coryn an hour for dinner and she’d spent two. Or maybe Paula had recognized Julianna? “Can you answer a question?”

  Julianna hesitated.

  “Sorry, I’m intruding. I know. Thank you for dinner again. I know you run, but are you happy? Does running make you happy?”

  Julianna glanced away, toward the distant water. Her voice lost its brisk tone. “Running keeps me sane. I suspect that’s what it is doing for you, as well. It’s a better choice than many others.” She looked back at Coryn, staring directly at her. “I hope you keep running. I’m going to go now, but I probably will see you sometime. On the road.”

  “On the road, then.”

  To Coryn’s utter surprise, Julianna gave her a hug before they parted at the door.

  As she walked home with Paula, she filled her in on the entire evening. When she finished, Paula said, “I suspect she wouldn’t want you to tell me about her.”

  “Did you know who she was?”

  “Of course.”

  “How soon?”

  “When she first ran by us. We are skilled in identifying all of the important people in the city.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Did you know she owns the restaurant?”

  Coryn slowed down, thoughtful. “No. But that explains why the waiter knew what to bring us.”

  “She owns two percent of the city.”

  Coryn had to think that through. “Two percent of Seacouver or of Seattle?”

  “Seacouver.”

  No wonder she had said almost nothing about herself. “It was a lovely meal.” Coryn put her headset back on and turned the fairies app back up on high, setting the level at a hundred visual fairies, which herded her home with the whine of beating wings and slap of tiny feet on pavement.

  After Paula had brokered a sleeping cube in a hostel for them, she started to write to Lou, now that she had something to say. Shortly after she started recording, it dawned on her that she couldn’t tell Lou a thing. Not if she ever wanted to see Julianna again. Maybe she and Paula would always be the only ones to know about her accidental run with Julianna Lake.

  So she didn’t have a good story about today, or a pony. Nothing really. She’d write to Lou tomorrow.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Coryn jogged in place in a pocket park on First Hill. Toddlers screeched for their mothers to watch them go down a long red slide, and locals walked their dogs. What mattered was a gate on one end of the park, where a guard took tickets from people to let them through. The gate led to Sky Park Way, a partially elevated running track that wound up from the gate and curled through skyscrapers that housed the rich and famous, elite businesses, and expensive hotels. Today, she would be on it.

  She felt great warming up, light and ready and bursting with energy.

  Rhododendrons and azaleas displayed a few late flowers, and fresh red and yellow tulips splashed color in beds beside the park’s entrance sign. It was a day full of clear blue sky and late spring heat. If it wasn’t all-too-close to graduation day, it would be perfect.

  Maybe Julianna would find her today. She had watched for the older woman during every run. She had only seen her once, at a distance. Julianna had waved at her. The brief encounter had left Coryn pleased that Julianna remembered her, but it had also been a knife of loneliness that kept her up all that night, restless and desperate. It seemed pathetic to hope that someone who had been kind to her once would be kind to her again.

  Training to keep up with Julianna had given Coryn enough speed to win two marathons in her age group. One of her prizes had been one-time access to Sky Park Way. It would give her more elevation than she’d ever managed on such a long run, and some of the best views of the city. Her entrance ticket included the Bridge of Stars. She couldn’t wait to stand up there again and look out over Puget Sound and maybe find a whale. A simple thing, but she had gotten it stuck in her head, and it would make her happy. Right now, on the cusp of having to make her choices, she wanted something special. A sign, maybe.

  Next to her, Paula said, “Pay attention.”

  She looked over at the guard. This wasn’t a race, but runners were let onto this track in small groups. A nod would tell her she could start. “I’ll meet you at home,” she said.

  Paula smiled. “Of course.”

  Her entrance pass was only for one. To buy Paula a pass would have taken three months of her student stipend. Surely she would be safe here, and, besides, it felt bold to go by herself.

  The guard nodded at her. Paula whispered, “Go.” She handed her entrance pass to the uniformed man and broke into a light jog, testing the surface. The path felt like heaven, responsive and yet forgiving.

  About three miles in, as she pounded at marathon speed along the outer deck of a famous bar on top of the McBride Tower, she heard another runner come up on her. She turned to see Julianna, and grinned. Now the day would go from hard to twice as hard, and maybe this was her sign.

  Julianna grinned back, the look assuring Coryn that this was no chance encounter. Julianna had come to find her.

  Two runners fell in a distance behind them, probably guards. They looked human, although Coryn couldn’t tell how she knew. Something in their gaits, probably.

  They ran a long uphill spiral through buildings to the top of Capitol Hill, and from there they sped back down a long bridge built to link Capitol Hill to the University District. To her delight, Julianna stayed with her on the long run down. The older woman almost certainly moderated her pace to stay with Coryn on the steep parts. Even so, only two runners passed them, while they passed at least ten.

  At the
top of the hill, scenic viewpoints designed for runners or walkers jutted out from the bridge, offering restrooms, glass-bottomed observatory decks to stand on, and free water. Julianna gestured Coryn into one. It wasn’t as high as the Bridge of Stars, but they were almost fifty feet up. The waters of the Montlake Cut ran below them. A race seemed to be in progress, oars flashing brightly in the sun as teams pulled boats less than a foot wide through the slender waterway, with barely enough room to pass. The university sprawled across a low hill to their left, and the deep blue of Lake Washington led her eyes toward the shimmering skyscrapers of downtown Bellevue. “It’s really pretty,” Coryn said, as soon as her breath calmed enough that she could talk. “Nice to see you.”

  “Especially on a clear day,” Julianna replied. “And yes, nice to see you. I came to find you.”

  Coryn’s cheeks grew hot. “I had hoped so.”

  “Put on your AR glasses and turn to station 565.”

  Coryn took a long drink of water and sucked an energy gel dry. The command reminded her of the dinner, a burst of activity with no soft introduction. “Okay.” She switched her standard wireless headphones for her AR setup and got the right channel tuned in, and then led off without waiting. The AR channel showed Julianna following Coryn, so it must have been pre-programmed for them.

  The AR channel looked like a standard exercise world, with mile markers and cheering crowds and selectable music. After a few moments, Coryn stopped expecting it to be anything else and settled into her run.

  After they started along Montlake Boulevard toward the Arboretum, Julianna’s voice sounded in her ear. “Thanks for running with me today. I thought perhaps you’d be willing to let me ask you a few questions.”

  “Sure.” Then she thought a little better of the open answer and asked, “About what?”

  “I’m interested in learning about your life. I remember your story from the last time we met, and how you’re pretty much alone and living on basic. I want to ask you a few questions. Do you trust me enough to answer them honestly?”

  “You won’t report me if I say something the city wouldn’t like to hear?”