Madison bowed to Meeker, paying homage to the man’s ego. “Please forgive me, honorable Lord Meeker. It may be I haven’t quite figured out this council. It may be I speak out of turn.”
Meeker nodded, finally satisfied with one of her responses.
Madison put her hands together in a gesture of pleading. “And you know what, I agree with you on everything you said about the severity of the threat, everything.”
Meeker nodded again. “Then let’s move to vote.”
Madison held up her finger. “And yet, I still feel foolish. I feel foolish because I don’t fully understand why we need to have such a blanket authorization on military building projects.”
Then Madison sat up so she was no longer fawning in her chair. She spoke louder, increasing her volume ever so slightly as she delivered the crux of her argument with pithy sarcasm. “I foolishly came to the conclusion that, under the new laws ratified under this proposal, railroad operations could complete the projects underway at the stadium and observatory under military supervision, obviating any need for the Developer Rights Amendment that we have yet to ratify. But I’m a fool, so what do I know.”
For a moment there was shocked silence. Her words were having an effect, though. Henneson was the first to awaken to the realization. “Is this true?” he asked. He looked around the room, connecting eyes with his cleric sitting in the back. Henneson’s cleric and many others began shuffling papers feverishly.
Kline and even Prakash were also sitting up in their chairs, their eyebrows knitted, contemplating the loophole she’d exposed.
Meeker’s face was flushed. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions. This is not our intention.”
“Well if it’s not your intention, let’s make sure it’s not in the proposal,” Kline chimed in.
“Yes, I agree,” Henneson added.
Madison had done her part in exposing the issue. She decided it would be better if the others took ownership of the opposing position, so she sat back in her chair and stretched her leg while the others debated the topic.
Bartz was also aloof, uninterested in what details Meeker and the others hashed out for a revised defense proposal. His eyes were cast her way, probing, interrogating. Playing the naïve newcomer might not work with Bartz any longer. Bartz now had a better understanding of who he was dealing with, and where she stood.
The defense proposal passed without the loophole. It still gave Meeker an uncomfortable level of autonomy, but somebody had to defend Seeville, and it seemed the threat was real. There wasn’t a viable alternative.
The rest of the meeting was conducted without incident, the others now treating her with a sort of wary respect, giving her more latitude to ask questions and explain her positions. It had been a busy few weeks in Seeville, and finally she was beginning to feel like she was contributing, perhaps even making a positive change.
On her way out Benjamin met her at the exit and gave her his arm for support, as he always did.
“Well played,” Benjamin whispered.
She smiled modestly and whispered, “If only this were a game.”
Once outside the courthouse they were greeted by the fresh spring air and vibrant dogwood trees. White and pink blossoms ruffled in the afternoon breeze.
“You have lords’ mail,” Benjamin said, passing her an envelope as they walked.
As the new lord of Seeville her name would be on many lips, but no citizen had officially mailed her in her capacity as a lord. It gave her a small rise of excitement at the prospect that people might now be reaching out to her as their representative.
She examined the front of the letter, and the sight of it slowed her progress.
“Are you okay, Miss Banks?” Benjamin asked.
The words on the front were written with crosshatches and spirals adorning the letters. Many would believe it to be from a child, or someone with too much time on their hands. But she knew the cross hatches and spirals were an old Spoke cipher, a coding system used by the first settlements to get messages past the many bandit raids without revealing important intelligence. The cipher hadn’t been used for decades, as far as she knew.
“If you don’t mind, Benjamin, I’d like to sit down.”
“Of course.” He escorted her to an Old World metal bench near the Meriwether Lewis statue.
The statue portrayed a muscular horse carrying an implacable explorer into the wilderness, facing perilous dangers and uncertainties. It was interesting that Okafor and the other early Adherents had allowed the old statue to stand. The Lewis and Clarke expedition symbolized risk-taking and adventure, as opposed to prudence and moderation. Most likely, they didn’t know the history behind the statue. For many people, history began after the Detonation. Few paid any attention to Old World stories or monuments.
As for Madison, she was glad it remained, although she wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps it was the simple majesty of the horse, or perhaps it was because it was a testament to the lost history that she immersed herself in—a history that felt like home.
She opened the letter and read the contents. It was two pages long. It read like it was from a New Founder fan, giving her a detailed litany of thank yous for her service to the council. What it really said would take longer to discern. She tried to remember the trick for decoding the cypher. Only gradually, after some trial and error with a few letters did it start coming back to her.
“Ma’am, are you all right?” Benjamin asked.
She had been staring at the short letter for many minutes now, trying to piece the decoded words together in her mind. “Yes, I’m fine Benjamin. If you could give me one moment more please.”
“Of course.”
After several attempts, she realized that without a paper and pen it would take too much time. She would have to decode the letter in its entirety at home, but at least she was able to make out the first three sentences. It read:
Dear Madison,
It’s Duncan Jones. I hope time has dulled the sharp edge between us, for now I am writing to you about a matter of utmost concern to all of us. One that requires your immediate attention.
THE INTERVIEW
Grant sat next to Axel, tapping at his keyboard, minimizing and maximizing windows on his laptop. Occasionally Grant would jerk his neck reflexively to alleviate some stiffness, a habit he seemed to have developed from spending too many tense hours in front of computer screens.
Axel also had his laptop next to him, ready to monitor news and social media feeds. For now his attention was focused on Bhavin, who was sitting up in the spotlight while the makeup artists and technicians milled around him. Whenever a gaffer moved too quickly or a camera pivoted in his peripheral vision Axel would nearly jump out of his seat. They couldn’t know how much Gail knew about their efforts to thwart her. It was clear she had no problem putting human lives in harm’s way, if it suited her purposes.
The pace of change had been slow at first. After Vitadyne’s headquarters had been leveled, the general public chalked it up to an industrial accident, and life went on. For weeks it seemed as if nothing had happened. Bhavin had called the release of Gail an “intelligence detonation,” but it didn’t seem like anything explosive. It didn’t seem like anything at all.
Maybe Gail hadn’t escaped? Axel had asked Grant and Bhavin the question several times. “Yes, she did,” they would say with certainty. Grant believed Gail would be busy covertly infiltrating and entrenching herself in networks, building cyber defenses as well as acquiring resources.