by Eliot Peper
“I guess that’s the price you pay for providing the world’s information infrastructure, right?”
Sofia had landed a job at Commonwealth after immigrating to America years before. She had rocketed up the corporate hierarchy, leveraging her facility with maths and biological systems to help orchestrate the trillions of interlocking networks that constituted the feed.
“It seems so.” Sofia shrugged. “Sometimes I think they take it too far. But maybe that’s why I’m an engineer and not an attorney.”
“Better to build things than to sit around arguing about them.”
Sofia laughed her distinctive laugh. “It’s amazing how many words they use to say so few things.”
Diana let the conversation hang for a beat. A hawk screamed far above their heads. Their shoes squeaked on the rocky path. The creek burbled down into the unseen valley below them. It smelled of sweat and forest.
“Friends can share things others can’t,” said Diana. “We can tell each other anything, when we know it’ll be kept between us, right?”
Sofia didn’t respond, just stared ahead as her legs churned beneath her. Diana admired her runner’s physique, hidden by nothing more than shorts and a sports bra, sculpted by countless miles. Sofia had clawed her way over countless obstacles, never content to let herself be labeled a victim.
“Sofia,” said Diana. “I’m asking you for a favor.”
And there it was.
The request that could not be denied.
The world had turned its back on the hordes of refugees fleeing war-torn Europe. Fearing they would be overrun by traumatized outsiders, other countries had buttoned down their immigration policies and militarized their borders. Europe’s own troubled history with immigration helped commentators rationalize the callous reactionary measures.
Led by her indomitable grandmother and after a series of trials and tribulations Diana could only half remember, her family had made it to the United States from Bulgaria many years before the crackdown. By the time Sofia’s family tried to find their own way to friendlier shores, they had found themselves banished by bureaucratic indifference to die in war zones or survive refugee camps. But that was when Diana had been fresh out of Langley, dispatched with Helen’s blessing and whatever favors she could requisition from Uncle Sam to continue to whisper secrets in his ear.
Unlike so many of those born into the privilege, Diana and Sofia knew that the American dream was real. For them, it wasn’t some abstract idea of freedom, a marketing gimmick, or a sacrosanct Constitution. No. It was a ticket out of hell and a shred of hope for the hopeless. American authority had waned since its heyday as the world’s only superpower, but the United States was still the only place where starting a new life from scratch wasn’t just possible but normal to the point of being boring. Even though Congress was a deadlocked mess and rhetoric was viciously divisive, against all logic, America still believed it could make the world a better place. Americans still maintained faith in their ability to forge their own destiny, realize their wild and often misguided dreams. That faith, that belief, was the only active ingredient that real change required. That’s why her grandmother had sacrificed so much to get Diana’s family into the country.
And that’s why Diana, with a blank check from a black budget, used her position as a case officer to offer asylum to people like Sofia. Diana was Moses, parting red tape as easily as the Red Sea. To a family fleeing the devastation of a town like Alba, there was no greater gift you could give. As the world became more callous to the barbarity that filled the feed during those long years, the value of Diana’s intercession swelled. She was the guardian angel of their personal American dream.
And when the debt came due, Sofia would pay.
“What do you want to know?” asked Sofia.
The resignation in her voice was a hollow victory.
Even as Diana asked her questions, she had to hold back tears.
CHAPTER 5
Diana strolled along the crown of the levee that protected West Potomac Park from the rising waters of its namesake. As sea levels inched ever higher, people either abandoned low-lying cities after suffering storm surge after storm surge or went to extraordinary lengths and ever more expense to engineer safety measures. Washington, DC, would be a literal swamp without expensive Dutch hydrology firms, whose stock prices soared in concert with sea levels.
She had spent a few years stationed in Amsterdam, the Netherlands being one of the few nations to have survived the dissolution of the EU intact. The weird little country had always found a way to thrive on the edges of things, never big or powerful enough to have much gravity of its own. So the Dutch had cultivated an internationalist agenda that paired nicely with their age-old status as a world financial hub. Because their tiny nation was so exposed to the risks of climate change, they had become far and away the experts in finding ways to adapt. Ever pragmatic, they lost no time marketing that expertise to the world after securing their own home.
Amsterdam had been exciting. Diana would sip cappuccinos and nibble on fresh apple cake while probing members of the diplomatic corps for clues as to what their bosses might do next. She would sneak out for occasional excursions into the wasteland of what used to be Germany, nominally in search of intel but really just seeking a thrill. Remembering her time in the Netherlands, so often the little things stuck with her even when the details of grand operations faded. The buttery taste of raw herring fresh from a street vendor. The colorful narrow buildings crowding the banks of the canals. The angled bike-lane wastebaskets designed so that cyclists needn’t slow down to toss their trash. Holland delighted in its idiosyncrasies.
Diana knelt, scooping up a handful of the gravel that lined the path running along the crown of the levee. The hard little rocks bit into her palms, calling her back to the present.
Cars sped along Independence Avenue, weaving around each other on routes choreographed via feed, whisking staffers and lobbyists among the political dens of the capital. The White House was only a few blocks away. When she had first been summoned to the Oval Office as a budding spook, the rooms and hallways of the legendary building had seemed so much smaller than the feed dramas depicted. She could picture Lopez debating with his cabinet or maybe enjoying a rare moment of quiet between meetings. Then the hair rose on the back of her neck. If Lopez was in the Oval, Helen wouldn’t be far away. Diana needed to keep a low profile while she was here. Far be it from her to disturb the hornets’ nest.
Turning, she tossed the handful of gravel out into the sleepy waters of the Potomac. The pieces spread out as they arced through the air, creating a long ellipse of small splashes when they hit the surface. She had built a life here. She had been in the center of things. But when everything began to splinter apart, sometimes the center didn’t hold. Diana’s dangerous combination of curiosity and principles had thrown her out of orbit. By rights she ought to be rotting in a shallow grave by now. Maybe she should have picked up more of that Dutch pragmatism. On the other hand, was a pragmatism that had once rationalized financing the transatlantic slave trade worth cultivating?
Her feed alerted her that Kendrick was approaching.
Diana composed herself, pushing away the dull ache of resentment.
There was work to do.
She called up the updated profile she’d assembled on Kendrick. He’d been busy since they last saw each other. Rising through the ranks at the SEC, he had recently transitioned from regulating financial services to tech and was now tasked with overseeing the behavior of the world’s largest conglomerate, Commonwealth.
Kendrick was a big man with a quiet demeanor. He was dressed in a DC-issue suit and approached her with his characteristic rolling gait, trying not to scuff his shoes on the gravel.
“Diana.” He wrapped her in a bear hug. “It’s been too long.”
“Kendrick,” she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “You’re taller than I remember.”
He laughed, releasing her an
d looking her up and down.
“Damn,” he said. “Remember the dives we used to haunt around here? I’m telling you, they’re all gone, every last one. Freaky Pete’s, Saddleback, Neumonon. All just poof.” He mimed an explosion. “Now there are just fancy cocktail bars and dumpling joints.”
“I could never figure out how Pete stayed in business with beer that cheap.”
Kendrick shrugged. “Well, I guess he didn’t. Or maybe he got tired of listening to everyone gripe as he polished the glasses. Oh man, that rag of his was foul.”
“I swear he used it to wipe a bedpan.”
Kendrick made a face. “Eck. Yeah.”
“But I’m guessing you probably don’t pull too many all-nighters anymore, with the little one.”
Kendrick puffed out his chest. “Oh, I’m a model of paternal responsibility.”
“I can only imagine.”
He smiled with obvious affection. “Dena’s a handful, for sure. But at least Rob and I have each other to lean on. Here, see for yourself.”
He opened a shared feed and populated it with images and video clips. A toddler struggling up a set of carpeted stairs. The two proud fathers singing her “Happy Birthday.” A golden retriever smothering her with kisses.
“You have a dog?” asked Diana.
“I know, I know,” said Kendrick. “You know me, I’m a cat person, just like anyone with an ounce of class. But Rob just adores the dumb beast. And if I’m perfectly honest, it’s starting to rub off on me.”
Diana shook her head in mock disbelief.
“Kendrick, I know we haven’t caught up in a while. I mean, a husband, a kid, I get it. But a dog? This is a whole ’nother level.”
“Weird, I know,” he said wryly. “Sometimes life just throws you a curveball.”
“Well, hopefully some things haven’t changed.” Diana reached inside her jacket and pulled out a pack of neatly wrapped joints. “I brought you some legit California kush. They’re from one of the fancy-pants markets in San Francisco. The curator said this was the best single-origin organic harvest he’s had in this year. Apparently the terroir is magnificent. His words.”
“Wow,” said Kendrick, carefully examining the packaging and shaking out a joint. “Fancy-pants indeed. Shall we?”
“We shall.”
Kendrick lit the joint, and they walked side by side up the levee, smoke tracing rococo curls out over the swollen river. Kendrick’s domestic bliss highlighted Diana’s domestic friction. She was proud of Dag for building a new life as an artist. But the public profile such a career implied made Diana want to fade into the background, and she was careful to avoid meeting Dag’s agent, friends, or colleagues to protect the privacy her own career required. And that was just one of many tremors set off by the fault line of her love. She could neither imagine life without Dag nor a future with him. She fled into her work, into her feed, into realms she could more easily control. Less fight-or-flight than fight-and-flight. Now that she was on the other side of the country, she missed the sound of Dag’s voice, his scratchy beard, the mildly dazed look he had when emerging from the flow state of sketching. But proximity would inevitably slip an off-key note into her affection, until the dissonance overwhelmed the joy and she made her next escape. Love was beauty and pain and profound confusion.
As the warm cannabis buzz buoyed them, Kendrick shot her a knowing smile.
“So,” he said, “I’m assuming this isn’t a purely social call.”
Diana reeled herself in. “Are you familiar with Leviathan Partners?”
He frowned. “The hedge fund?”
“The very same.”
“Sure,” he said. “They specialize in high-profile shorts. When they find a company with a dirty secret, they bet against the company’s stock and drag the skeleton out of the closet.” He snapped his fingers. “Remember DysoTech? They released blockbuster drug after blockbuster drug until Leviathan found an inside source who revealed the company had been doing unsanctioned testing on displaced communities in Bangladesh. When the stock tanked, Leviathan made a fortune.”
Diana nodded. That fit.
The bigger picture was starting to come into focus. A memory swept through her. The smell of fresh tobacco and sizzling burgers as Helen rolled an impossibly slim cigarette in their booth at Mauricio’s. Diana sitting there, fidgeting, desperate to find new opportunities to impress her. Helen’s baby-blue eyes flicking up as her quick fingers sealed the slender cylinder. Step one of any op, the older woman had said, is to figure out who the principals are and what they want. Her voice was always so light, so sweet, the dulcet tones belying the heavy implications of her words. Until you’ve sorted that out, nothing else matters. Diana had failed to follow that advice only once, and it had cost her everything. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
Haruki was obviously a cutout. His cover story of needing whatever intel she could dredge up for an industry white paper on Commonwealth didn’t justify the size of his budget. He had been far too generous to be credible. Plus, Haruki was amateur enough to be disposable if things went south. She had found feed footage of him drinking coffee with a Leviathan partner shortly after she had met him at Analog. If they were shorting Commonwealth, having her poke around in the company’s dirty laundry made sense. They must suspect there was something damning hidden inside the tech behemoth. If she could sniff it out, they’d make out like bandits.
“Gotcha,” she said. She took a puff, allowing herself a moment of reflection.
Commonwealth was the most valuable company on earth. It ran the feed. And the feed ran . . . everything. It was easy to forget, but cars were just computers that drove you around. Houses were computers you lived in. Hospitals were computers that healed you. Factories were computers that made stuff. Farms were computers that grew food. Utilities were computers that delivered power and water. Everything and everyone was connected to the feed, which made everything and everyone dependent on it. If Commonwealth was hiding something, Diana wanted to know what it was. Nothing was more intoxicating than the scent of intrigue.
She passed Kendrick the joint.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s switch gears.”
“More?” His tone was incredulous, but she could tell he liked the attention. “What am I, an all-you-can-eat buffet?”
She nodded. “I love you, man. But Lady Liberty needs protecting.”
His expression shifted from nostalgic to melancholic.
She waited.
He took a long pull, blew smoke out through his nose.
“Do you still believe all that stuff?” he asked. “I mean, last time we saw each other, sure, but we were both young, you know? Bushy-tailed and all that. After a while, though, you just watch the system grind. I don’t know what you’ve seen, but from what I’ve witnessed . . . I dunno, man. I just . . .”
He trailed off and gave her a look that was almost a plea.
“Did I ever tell you that I spent a few years in Amsterdam?” she asked.
Kendrick shook his head.
“The Dutch build parallel dikes for redundancy,” she said. “There are three kinds: watcher, sleeper, and dreamer. The watcher dike is right up against the water. If it fails, the sleeper is ready. If the sleeper fails, the dreamer is the last defense against disaster.”
The end of the joint glowed bright orange as she took a hit.
“You asked what I’ve seen,” she said. “I’m a watcher. That’s my job.” She failed to mention that she was no longer a federal employee, not even a hidden line item on a classified spreadsheet. There were few currencies as valuable as lies of omission. “I face the truly nasty bits of reality so that everyone else can rest easy.” The shield that guards the innocent, Helen’s favorite line. “If I fail, then the Luddites at the Pentagon have to get involved. If they fail, it’s every person for themselves.”
She paused to let that sink in.
“Sometimes I wonder if we’re really the good guys we think we are,�
�� said Kendrick darkly.
“The people who run this town are snakes,” she said. “The system we’ve built is inefficient and corrupt, no doubt about it. But it’s our system, our country, our problem.” She thought of Sofia, of what America meant to her family. “And from the fucked-up shit I’ve seen, it’s the best of a bunch of bad options.”
He took the joint.
“See them?” Diana pointed.
Tourists milled about the FDR Memorial, recording feed streams. A group of college kids played Frisbee on the lawns. Two old men threw crumbs to a squawking flock of pigeons.
“That’s who we’re protecting. Real Americans. Not the bullshit artists in Congress whose only constituency is themselves. Fuck them. Fuck the desk jockeys. Fuck the freeloaders and the hate-mongers and the con artists. This country isn’t perfect, but it stands for something real. Freedom, democracy, second chances. It’s corny because it’s true.”
Kendrick grunted.
“That’s why I visit here whenever I’m in DC,” she said, kicking up some gravel. “Here, here. This levee is a watcher dike. It’s right on the river. Sometimes I wish that the Potomac would pour over it and wipe this rotten city off the map. But whenever I’m actually standing on it, I remember how beautiful it is. This berm that everyone ignores keeps everyone safe. I remember that even though Washington is full of creeps and megalomaniacs, there are still innocent Americans who need our help.”
Kendrick took one last pull off the joint and crushed it beneath his heel.
“Okay, Captain America,” he growled. “What are you here to pump me for?”
Some people needed a reminder of debts owed, some needed a credible threat, others just needed a pep talk. Knowing the difference made you an intelligence officer.
“What’s going on inside Commonwealth?” she asked. “What off-the-record rumors are you hearing? What insights don’t make it into the official reports?”