Part 1

11. Luck

2055, November 7th
Collapse + 6 years

Just as she’d said, Josephine showed up at noon. Naema was sitting outside her home when Josephine approached, wearing jeans and a tee-shirt. It didn’t fit in at all with the locale, but Naema supposed Josephine could get away with whatever she wanted.

Naema squinted up at her. “Hi.”

“Hello,” she replied. “Thanks for seeing me again.”

Naema shrugged. Josephine sat next to her and passed along her satchel. “More food.”

It contained food paste tubs and cans of vegetables, all bearing a Lakiran seal. They were less likely to be flagged as contraband, but that wouldn’t stop the Lakirans from accusing Naema of stealing if they found these.

“What is this for?”

“You. I picked them up from a convoy on the way.”

“But why?”

“Ah, you’re asking why I’m so interested in you, aren’t you?”

“Yea.”

“Because you’re interesting. I’ve never met anyone who can prevent me from tinkering with their memory, not like you do anyway. I’d just like to get to know you.”

“And give me food?”

“The food is easy for me to come by.”

“You heard what my mama said yesterday? There is no such thing as something for nothing. What do you want?”

Josephine nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell you. You’re more than interesting. You’re special. You have a gift that makes you immune to me, just like I have a gift to make people forget me. In my whole life, I’ve only met a few people like us.”

“What other special people do you know?”

“I used to travel with a group years ago. A lot of strange powers with them. These days I’m with just one other. His name is Tan, and his power is neat. He’s lucky. When I found him, he was in a Chinese, mafia-controlled prison, and he was about to be transferred to the Lakirans as part of a trade deal.”

“He doesn’t sound lucky.”

“Tan likes to push his luck too far. Anyway, I broke him out, and now we’re on the run together.”

“How are they hunting you if they don’t remember you?”

“I can only work my power on people I see. And there are people of people back in the capital that I’ve never seen who very much want to capture me. You know about the exemplars, right?”

“Yea.”

“Have you ever met one?”

“No.”

“Never? Not even when the Lakirans took over here? Normally they line people up so they can scan everyone.”

“Too many people here, I think.”

“Hmm. Do you know that they can read minds?”

“I’ve heard people say that.”

“It’s true. And their powers come from people like us. It’s in those heavy tablets they’re always carrying around.”

“I hear it is technology.”

Josephine shook her head. “I tricked an exemplar into telling me about it. They call the powers flairs, and their queen can to turn other people’s flairs into strange drawings that grant the power to others. They would absolutely love to add Tan and me to their collection, but between our two powers, we’ve been okay. Except now their high exemplars are hunting us, and they’re immune to me.”

“How?”

“I think they have a shield power. And with the Lakiran’s ever growing presence in the world, it’s getting harder and harder to hide, but if you can shut down my power, maybe you can shut down theirs too. That’s what I’m hoping anyway. If you can break those high exemplar’s shields, then I could actually get them to forget about us altogether. That’s why I’m interested in you.”

“Huh,” Naema said. “So you are superheroes on the run.”

“It sounds silly when you say it that way, but you do believe I can make people forget me, right?”

“I guess.”

“Would you like to meet Tan? I know he’d like to meet you.”

“Why didn’t he come?”

“Our place is about an hour from here and… well, he’s lazy. I might be able to drag him down here another day if you’d like, but I’d really like it if you came.”

“You want me to go with you? I barely know you.”

Josephine shrugged. “I’ll get you more food.”

“Okay. Fine, fine.”

Josephine led Naema toward the Port Harcourt docks, near where they met yesterday. They reached a crowded market street tunneled by three-story apartment buildings. It was an impressive sight, but not compared to when Naema was young. Years ago, clothes vendors would have bolts upon bolts of colorful fabrics. Food sellers would have baskets full of spices, produce, and roasted goodies. Not these days. Food was nonexistent in this market—illegal and unavailable. And fabric was no more. Four years of winter had killed most cotton and flax plants. No wool, leather, or paper either. The only crafted items around were trinkets of glass, wood, and stone. Everything else—from metal, plastic, to synthetic fibers—were assembler-produced, but there was plenty of it.

Second-hand electronics were easier to come by than food nowadays. Everything was either imported from Lakiran or Alliance territory, or recovered from dumps. But all together, it was still a marvelous site with vibrant colors and captivating curiosities abound. The currency was food tokens. Not much, but compared to the economic corpses of some surrounding countries, Nigeria had survived well.

Josephine guided Naema by the hand so as not to lose her in the crowd. She led her down an alley and into a side building stairwell. Lounging on the steps were locals whom then navigated around. Most apartment doors were open. Naema saw crowded families within. Either Josephine had lived here a while or had worked them over with her power, because they hardly glanced at the passing white woman.

The door at the top was closed. Josephine knocked five times. Naema half-expected a secret password exchange, but instead, an old local woman opened the door wide and ushered them in. She kissed Josephine on both cheeks.

“Bienvenue, Josie,” the woman said.

“Merci, Maddi. C’est mon amie, Naema.”

“Oui, bonjour.” The hunched Nigerian greeted Naema just as warmly.

Naema followed Josephine into the main room. Pink shades covered the windows, casting a red hue on the room. In the corner, a glass plate television played at low volume. Children lounged on the tile floor before it, some crosslegged, others on their bellies with their heads propped in their arms. A folding table was behind them crowded with women, most likely the children’s mothers. They smoked brown cigarettes and chattered in french.

One was not like the others. Among the flock of Nigerian women was a bald Chinese man. He slouched in a chair watching the television with his arms crossed as though daring it to impress him. A cigarette dangled between his lips. This must be Tan.

He noticed Josephine and Naema and nodded slightly to acknowledge them. Everyone else greeted them like old Maddi had, giving Josephine hugs and pecks upon the cheek. Naema got similar treatment after Josephine introduced her.

Maddi appeared at her side. “Someting to drink, dear?”

“I’m okay,” Naema said.

“We have juice.”

It seemed to be the drink of choice. Many kids had plastic cups of opaque yellow, as did a few mothers.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Maddi smiled and bowed, grateful for the opportunity to serve.

After she disappeared into the kitchen, Josephine got serious. Her nod to Tan was subtle but clear: let’s get some privacy. Moments later found them in a bedroom. Josephine shut the door to close out the babbling chatter and the television. Josephine pulled up chairs. Tan slumped into one by a bedside table, where he placed the ashtray he brought from the other room. He stared at them with the same apathy he’d stared at the television.

“Naema, this is Tan. He and I have been on the run together for years.”

“Hi,” Naema said.

Tan nodded.

“His english isn’t good,” Josephine said, “but it’s not as bad as he’d like you to believe.”

“Who were all those people?” Naema asked.

“That was Maddi and her family. Everywhere we go, we make friends with locals who know the area. They’re friendly, and they won’t ask questions about the food I give them.”

A light knock came on the door. Maddi entered carrying a colorful plastic cup. She gave it to Naema. “Dere you go, sweetie. I leave you. I leave.” Smiling, she retreated, shutting the door behind her.

Naema tried the drink. Orange juice. She hadn’t had any since before the Collapse. It was more acidic than she remembered. She made a face.

“Sorry,” Josephine said. “Seventy percent assembled sugars and flavors, thirty percent concentrate. It’s the best we can get without going to the Americas.”

“I didn’t think there were any oranges left.”

“The Chinese have some in their greenhouses. Not many though. I can never find pure orange juice.”

“It’s all right. I like it.”

Josephine shifted moods. “So now that we’re here, Tan, would you like to show our guest your power?”

Tan’s reaction seemed unrelated to what she said. From his jacket pocket, he took out a pack of cigarettes and a deck of cards. The cigarette came first. With one lit between his lips, he took out the cards. As he shuffled, he stared out the window, or up at the ceiling— anywhere apart from the cards. He dealt five to Naema and to himself.

He motioned for her to take her cards. She did. He left his face down on the table.

“Five card stud,” he said. “How many?”

“What?”

“How many cards?”

“I don’t know the game.”

He gave her a look of pure incredulity.

“You’ve never played poker before?” Josephine asked.

“No.”

“Why don’t I help you play?” Josephine scooted over. “You’ve got a four, two sixes, a nine, and a jack. How about we keep your pair?” She tossed out three of Naema’s cards and drew three more. “Ah, three of a kind. Nice.” She laid the cards down for Tan to see.

With a casual flair, Tan turned his cards up for Naema to witness her defeat. When he finally glanced at his own hand, he did a double take.

A two, four, nine, queen, and king.

Josephine burst out laughing. Tan scooped up the cards and shuffled again. This time he closed his eyes.

“What?” asked Naema.

“He lost.”

“He never loses?”

“Not when he’s dealing.”

Tan dealt out more cards, but these were all for himself. First he cut the deck and turned the top card up. Four of clubs. Then he shuffled again, cut, and drew another card. Seven of diamonds. This frustrated him. Dealing again, he laid cards out as though playing solitaire. Another frown. He tried whisking the remaining cards from one hand to the other by bending the deck and letting the tension shoot them in a stream. It would have been impressive magician’s trick, except several cards didn’t make the trip and fluttered to the ground. He glared at them as though they were troublesome students. Picking one up, he compared it to the dealt cards. His nasal huff told Naema that he didn’t like the result.

“See, Tan? I told you. Even when you’re not playing her.”

“So his power is cheating?” Naema asked.

“Not cheating,” Tan muttered.

“Yeah, it kind of is,” Josephine replied.

“I roll dice like everyone else. Not cheating.”

“But you know you have an unfair advantage.”

“Not cheating.”

“Those pit bosses didn’t see it that way.”

He grunted and kept playing with his cards.

Josephine turned to Naema. “Like I said, Tan’s power is Luck… sort of. He’ll win any card or dice game he ever plays, as long as he has a hand in the random element. If someone else deals, he has no more chance than anyone else. My theory is that his power affects his involuntary movement, like trembling when you aim a gun. A subconscious part of him knows the future and picks the best one it can.”

“Neat,” Naema said plainly. “And this was his best future? Running from the Lakirans?”

Tan didn’t look up from shuffling, but his eyebrows rose, indicating that he too would like the answer.

“His power doesn’t look that far ahead, I think. The farthest we’ve confirmed is a few hours. It starts getting less reliable after that, and getting his power to do what we need is tricky. In casinos in China, he was arrested for fraud because his power got him into trouble.”

“Not fraud. False imprison.”

“False imprisonment, sure. He won so much that the mafia who ran the show noticed him. His power seems to like winning games more than it likes giving Tan an ideal future. If it really cared, it would probably have lost a few so the mafia wouldn’t have noticed him. But nope. Win after win. Tan actually thought it was his skills.”

Tan’s next breath was deeper than the rest. Naema sensed a well-worn argument.

“They took him,” Josephine continued. “They couldn’t figure out how he was winning, so they pinned some charges on him so they could keep him like a pet. He sat in their prisons until the Pacific coalition treaty passed. Some exemplars found out about him and wanted to take him for themselves. That’s when I showed up.”

“What would the Lakirans have done if they got him?”

“Same as they would do with me. Same as they would do with you if they found out about you. They would use our powers to further their empire. Right now they have mind reading and empathy sensing, and they use those against the people constantly.”

“Not here.”

“Not yet. But they’re coming. Tan and I are here because this is one of the last places left where they haven’t brought their exemplars through to pick out everyone guilty of thought crimes. Imagine if they had the power to make people forget about the things they’ve done?”

“Yea, I guess.” Naema didn’t have any love for the Lakirans, but what they could or couldn’t do didn’t actually bother her that much. She’d hear rumors about how they were setting farm fields on fire down south, or how they would gun down protesters in India, but it was another world to her. “But what would happen to us?”

Josephine and Tan glanced at each other.

“We don’t know,” Josephine said. “but I’m sure it’s bad. Exemplars have hunted me for years now. One in particular, a high exemplar named Bishop. The queen personally assigned him to track me down. And since he’s a high exemplar, I can’t make him forget about me. The first time we met, he offered to bring me in. He said that the queen would treat me like a special guest, and that I’d live like royalty.

“I turned him down, and ever since then. His methods have since become more by any means necessary. Maddie and the others don’t know this, but we’ve put them in more danger than they know. Bishop has dragged away anyone who he finds out helped us. Several times, we’ve had to make quick escapes in the night. And Bishop is getting better. He uses drones more. I can’t erase a drone’s memory. And he’s finding us more easily as the Lakiran’s surveillance blankets the world.”

“How do you know he wouldn’t actually be nice if you just turned yourself in? You haven’t committed any crimes.”

“Because,” Josephine said. “I know who the high exemplars are. They’ve changed their names, and some of them don’t look the same, but I recognize them. They were the worst sons-of-bitches I’ve ever met.”

“How do you know?”

“Remember when I mentioned I used to travel with another group of gifted people?”

“Yeah.”

“They were that group. We traveled together for ages, and I was a bastard just like them…”

10. Crayons

2055, September 2nd
Collapse + 6 years

Winnie was back home the next day. After arriving mid-afternoon, she and her mother spend hours on the couch.

“The roads are all muddy,” Winnie said. “It’s mostly frosted over. There are a lot of farms here. Did they used to be rice paddies?”

“No. It was tea,” Winnie’s mother said. “Is the old house still there?”

“I don’t know where it is.”

“Of course you do. It is the farm house with the red roof and the big willow out front. Remember?”

“No, Mom. I was three.”

“Just look around. It’s the biggest willow tree in the town. You’ll remember when you see it.”

Winnie’s moved her mental image around the small town. It had taken her long enough just to find the place. Her mother had given directions on how to get there from several nearby South Korean cities, which didn’t work, since she was severely overestimating how much Korean Winnie remembered. She ultimately had to point it out on the internet. Winnie visualized the earth from far above, and then flew down to the right place. Victoria had taught her that to help find places she’d never seen before. After spending an evening and a morning with Victoria, she’d already developed a repertoire of tricks. Instead of searching for the farmhouse by flying around like a drone, she zipped around at a breakneck speed, halting at each house to inspect it, and she trusted the visions entirely, even after a single day. The distinction between them and her own imagination became clearer with every use.

“Okay. I see a willow tree,” Winnie said.

“Do you? Do you recognize it?”

“No.”

Her mother sighed. “Oh, okay. Look in back, in the woods behind the garden and off to the right. Do you see it?”

“There are two graves.”

She clapped excitedly. “They’re still there. Your grandparents. Oh. So lovely.”

“Yeah.” Winnie didn’t mention that the farmhouse was abandoned. The front door was missing. The inside was ransacked. The roof had sunk inward. The surrounding town was likewise deserted. Rows of frozen brown rot took the place where the crops should have been. This was another town forfeited during the nuclear winter.

“I can do more than just visit places we know,” Winnie said. “I can go anywhere. Yesterday, the queen had me fly to the moon. I mean, it was in my head, but I got there.”

“What’s it like?”

“It’s… rocky. I guess that was a stupid example. You can’t really see it in my head the way she can. But it’s more than that. On the plane ride back, I finally got to Mars. It’s really hard to find planets in space unless you know exactly where to look, but the queen says she can help me get better at that. Right now when I’m visualize, I pretend I’m looking at stuff through a camera. She says it’s really limiting, and she’ll help me come up with better ways. Once I get good at it, I should be able to visualize anywhere in the universe. My power could help astronomers find habitable planets.”

“She gives your power away?”

“Yeah. She’s like me, only she draws these pictures of other people’s powers. She calls them glyphs, and she made a ton of mine yesterday. They all looked different because of how fast I was growing. She says that’ll slow down after a while. I’m just picking all the low hanging fruit, but there are still a lot of ways I can get better. Like right now, I can’t see a place unless there’s light. She thinks I can work through that.”

“She would train you?”

“Yeah. She’s the expert. There are a lot of things she says my power should be able to do, and she says she’s never wrong. It’s part of her power or something. She’s trained a whole lot of other flairs, but my power is one of the most promising she’s ever seen.”

“And you would have to move to the capital?”

Winnie’s excited babbling ended. “Yes. I would have to move.”

Winnie had only been back a few hours. All through dinner as Winnie had shared her adventure with her mother, this conversation had been lingering just out of sight.

“Do you want to?” her mother asked.

“I don’t know. I feel like I should want to. It’s an opportunity of a lifetime, right? I’d go to the school there. It’s supposed to be really good, and there would be other people like me. And I’d get to go to college, which I know dad always wanted.”

“It sounds like you should do it.”

“All I have to do is pack up everything and say goodbye to all my friends.”

“Would you really want to stay and wonder what your life would have been?”

“No. I don’t. I want to go, but it’s just… I don’t want to leave you here all alone.”

“No,” her mother said. “Don’t think about me. Do what is right for you.”

“But you’d have no one.”

“Winnie. Stop it. You will not stay here because of me. I will be okay. You take this, Winnie. This is your chance.”

“You could come with me! Mr. Matthews said they would relocate you too. They wouldn’t put you on the campus, but you’d be in the city.”

Her mother smiled sweetly.

“Don’t do that,” Winnie said. “I’m being serious. It’s supposed to be the best place in the world to live. They say everybody has assemblers there. They’re as common as refrigerators. And it’s clean, and beautiful. You haven’t seen it, Mom. But there are so many trees. And there’s so much to do in Porto Maná!”

She shook her head. “Eun-Yeon, dear. The city would swallow me up.”

“You’ve never tried living in a city.”

“I am an old woman. I—”

“You’re not that old.”

“Hush. I am an old woman. I have my roots here, and my friends. I don’t have the energy to move again and regrow new roots. I’m too old and too tired. But you are young. You have your young friends and your late nights and your fashion design. You were not meant for a small town like this. If you stay, you will become an old woman like me. Go. It is a better future for you.”

Winnie stared at her own hands despondently.

Her mother hugged her.

“You will call me. Okay?”

Winnie returned the hug.

“Every day.”

For Winnie, school on Friday was a surreal experience. She attended class knowing she would never complete another homework for those teachers. She at lunch with friends knowing she may not see them again for years, if ever. Once, Winnie thought these girls would be with her for life—cheerleading squad now, bridesmaids in a few years, and house moms after. That’s what girls did here. There wasn’t a more glamorous life to choose, but that wasn’t true anymore for Winnie.

Now she was going to be a city girl, more than that, an empire girl. For years, people from the distant empire would come and tell the town how their lives were about to change. Empire representatives were more like prophets than civil servants. They spoke for their God. Take comfort, for our empire sends you food, but eat no other food, for it comes from false idols. Our queen has decided that no man shall bear arms; trust in her to protect you. Gather your children, for you must migrate south to others of your kind.

The empire had given the Washington settlement four weeks to prepare before moving everyone to Redding. Then they loaded everyone into military trucks and carted them off.

Winnie had two days: Friday at school, then Saturday to pack. A van came in the afternoon. Muscular men hopped out and did all the work. And with a hug and a kiss to her mother, Winnie was gone. Her friends would wonder where she was come Monday. Mr. Matthews had told her not to tell people. The fewer who knew about her gift, the better, not to mention that moving to work for the empire would make Winnie a class traitor in some eyes. When people would ask her mother, she was at boarding school.

It was technically true.

She set her backpack down by the door of her new dorm room. It was a single. One bed—four poster, wooden carved, and wide enough for her to sleep on it sideways. All the windows were inset, creating nice cushioned cubbyholes—perfect for reading. Outside, birds chirped, honest-to-goodness birds. This building was more of a home than a dorm—a cozy place to unwind while downy snow drifted outside.

“I trust everything is to your liking,” said Mrs. Montes.

Winnie turned. The stern, worn woman stood at the door after having shown Winnie in.

“It’s all fine. Awesome, actually.”

“Good. You’ll stay here alone, though you’ll be sharing the bathroom with the other students. It’s the door to the right of the stairs.”

“Is there internet?”

“Yes, Yes, of course. God forbid you children should actually have to interact to enjoy yourselves. Talk to one of the other students for the password because I have no idea.”

“I just need to call home.”

“Your time is your own to do with as you wish. I don’t have many rules, but those I do have you will follow. Dinner is between five and five thirty. We eat together in the dining room. If you do not show up, fine, but you must fend for yourself for dinner, and I do not keep snack food in the house, and there will be no raiding of my kitchen. All students are to be in their room by ten. I will not check up on you, because you are nearly an adult, and you are living on a high security campus. I expect you to behave responsibly. If you want to go into the city, you’ll need permission from me so I can clear it with imperial security.”

“Okay.”

“Cleaning services take care of the house. Do not leave messes for them to clean up or I will instruct them to leave it alone, and you will be responsible. They don’t clean bedrooms. I expect you to keep yours presentable. The laundry room is downstairs. Fetch your clothes promptly after the machine finishes. There is also a Series five assembler which we all share. Use it as you will. Do not flood it with requests. And use the reclamator correctly. If you put in something that cannot be disassembled, you will be cleaning out the sludge bin. Questions?”

“No,” said Winnie. It sounded like Ms. Montes was going to be her substitute mom. Unlike her mother, who was easy and lovable, this one mothered professionally. Professionals brooked no nonsense.

“Good. Tomorrow you will meet with the queen for your first lesson. Your first day of school is on Monday. For now, get settled. Dinner is in twenty minutes. You can meet the other students.”

“Okay.”

Ms. Montes marched off.

Winnie threw herself onto the bed. Unimaginably soft. She had assumed her living conditions would be good, but this exceeded her expectations. A Series Five assembler? She didn’t even know there was a Series Five.

She still had to call her mother. Visualizing home, Winnie saw her reading a book in her chair by the window. The house was silent. This was her mother’s first day alone.

Winnie needed to find someone who knew the wifi password so she could make her call. Mentally, she scanned the building. No one was here except for Ms. Montes in the kitchen. Winnie found only three other bedrooms, and one was Ms. Montes’s. That can’t be right. Where were all the other students staying? Were there other dorms. She scanned around the campus. There were many buildings with lots of bedrooms. Maybe this was just the girls’ building.

She’d find out soon enough.

Rich, sweet smells drew Winnie downstairs. They were unlike any foods she’d smelled before, but she was willing to try. The dining room was by the kitchen. The table had four place settings, just like four bedrooms. The different houses ate separately then.

One girl was already there. She was young enough that her crayons and construction paper were fitting. She glanced at Winnie. Winnie waved and smiled. The girl snapped her attention back to her work.

“Hello,” Winnie said.

“Hi.” The girl didn’t look up.

“I’m Winnie. What’s your name?”

Her response was slow coming. “Sara.”

“Are you a student?”

Sara nodded.

It made sense that some students were as old as she. Hopefully not all were this young.

“Where are you from?” Winnie asked.

The girl reluctantly looked up, pondered the question, then shrugged. She resumed scribbling. Not much of a talker. Fine. Winnie sat across from her. Carefully, she reached across for a crayon. “Can I draw with you?”

The girl stared wide-eyed at the kidnapped crayon.

Winnie set it back down. “Or not. It’s okay.”

“She doesn’t like to be bothered when she’s drawing,” said a young voice.

Winnie glanced. A boy had entered. His age was about half way between Sara and Winnie. Like Sara, he looked to be from South or Central America. He had an accent to fit.

The boy dropped a backpack by the door and sat beside Sara. Sara hardly glanced. No wary eyes tracked the boy’s movement.

“You’re the new flair, right?” the boy asked. His bright yellow shirt and khakis made him look like he’d come here from a prep school.

“Yeah.”

“What can you do?”

“My power?”

“Yeah.”

“I can see things from far away.”

“Like, a telescope or something?”

“No. Like, I can see anything in the world if I imagine it.”

“Oh.” He took the knowledge of her superpower like he’d just heard a mildly interesting animal fact.

“I’m Winnie, by the way.”

“Yeah, I’m Bryan. So you can see my room and stuff?”

“I could. I won’t.”

“No, do it. What’s on the poster on my wall?”

“Where’s your room?”

“It’s right there at the stairs.”

Winnie looked. Clothes were strewn about. The bed was unmade. On the wall was the poster.

“It shows a guy kicking a soccer ball.”

“It’s a football, and that’s Ali Boheman.”

“Oh, right. But you see what I mean though.”

“You could have just gone in my room before and remembered.”

“It was your test.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“What’s your power?” Winnie asked.

“I don’t have one.”

“Oh. I thought everyone on campus had one.”

Bryan frowned. “My sister has a power,” he said, as though that should clarify any misunderstanding.

“What is it?”

“She’s a shield. Nobody can read her mind. The exemplars couldn’t when they found us, none of their stuff works on her, cause she’s got a shield.”

“And you’re here because of her?”

“She only trusts me. So yeah, I go to all my sister’s lessons. The queen needs me to help her sign stuff, but she’s getting better about it.” He saw Winnie’s confusion. “Victoria can’t make a glyph of my sister’s power because my sister’s power stops her, so Victoria makes a glyph of her own power and gives it to Sara. Then my sister draws her own glyph.”

“Oh.” Winnie glanced at Sara’s drawings. Glyphs in crayon.

“Yeah. Those aren’t real,” he said. “Victoria only lets Sara have her own glyph when they’re together.”

“Ah. So your sister makes the glyphs for all the exemplars?”

“Just the high exemplars, and the one Victoria uses. That’s, like, four, I think.”

“Are they all in crayon?”

Bryan grinned. “No. There’s a machine for it. You should see it. It’s pretty cool. I guess since Victoria can make your glyph herself, you’d have to ask.”

“Did everyone else get to see it?”

Again, Bryan frowned. “Who?”

“The other flairs.”

“The high exemplars are there when Sara is doing her thing.” Again, he said it like it answered her question.

“But what about the other flairs?”

“Huh?”

“The other flairs,” Winnie said. “The other people on campus with special powers.”

Bryan stared at her without comprehension, and that’s when Winnie finally got it. One house. Four table sets.

Ms. Montes came in carrying a casserole dish. She placed it on the table before them.

“I see you two have met our new resident,” she said to Bryan and Sara. “The other dishes are in the kitchen counter.”

Without further prompting, Bryan slid off his chair to fetch them. Two quick trips and several more plates came out. It was plenty of food, but it was meant for only four people. Ms. Montes sat at the final place setting.

Every assumption Winnie had was wrong. There was no girl’s dorm or younger dorm. No other houses on campus were sitting down to dinner. The school she was promised wouldn’t be stocked with students, each with their own unique abilities, where supernatural cliques would form. There’d be no sharing of each other’s powers or showing off to other students. Winnie wouldn’t be struggling to make friends with other students with powers like her own because there weren’t any others. It was her, and this little girl. This was it.

This was the community of flairs for which she left all her friends behind.

9. Power Play

2055, September 1st
Collapse + 6 years

They sat in silence.

All the while, Victoria scrutinized Winnie as though there were something peculiar about her that Victoria couldn’t quite place. Her eyes traversed Winnie’s dress. Winnie tried not to tug the hem again.

Then, Victoria began sketching. “Cho Eun-Yeong,” she said. “Am I saying that correctly?”

“Yeah, but Winnie is fine.”

“Redding. Yes? Northern California?”

“Right.”

The queen grunted and sipped her drink. She drew a few hard lines on the pad, crossing out whatever she had, and sketched on another part of the paper.

“It must be quite a day you’re having. This morning was like any other. And now you’re here because an exemplar told you you might have a mysterious power.”

“Yeah. It’s weird.”

“Have you ever thought you might have a power?”

“No.”

“Has anything ever happened to you that you had trouble explaining?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“Do you ever know things without knowing how you know them?”

“No.”

“Hmm. So you have no idea what your power might be?”

“No.”

“Do you believe you have one?”

Winnie considered this. “Mr. Matthew says I do.”

“But you don’t believe him…”

“I don’t know. It’s all a little weird. He did show me his plaque or whatever it’s called. I just feel like if it were true, I would have known by now. He did say my power might be a dud though.”

“He said that, did he?”

“He didn’t say that about mine. He just said that powers can be duds.”

Victoria set down her pencil and examined her work. She set the sketch pad on the table. On it were countless lines and curves drawn together like a doodle. Along the edges of the sheet were similar designs, all crossed out.

“How would you like to play a little game?” Victoria said.

“Okay.”

The queen faced the door and yelled, “Guard. Come in here.”

The door opened. A uniformed man stepped in.

“Fetch Madeline,”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The guard ducked out.

Moments later, Madeline entered. “Your Majesty?”

“I’m supposed to meet with the North American delegates this evening for dinner, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Inform them that we will not be meeting. Something has come up. They can reschedule to tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Madeline bowed and turned to leave.

“Wait,” Victoria said.

Madeline turned back.

Victoria turned to Winnie. “Look at Madeline. Study her. Look at what she’s wearing. Try to remember as much detail as you can.”

Winnie did so. Madeline wore the same black business dress as before. It was a black coat over a button-down blouse. Her skirt came down to her knees. Her hair likewise was black, and her skin olive toned. Winnie guessed she was probably native to the region. Lakira overlapped with what was once part of Brazil.

“Okay,” Winnie said.

“Good, now visualize her in your head and look me in the eyes.”

Winnie did so. Victoria peered at her in the same penetrating way exemplars did.

“No, not quite,” Victoria said. “You’re imagining just her, as though she were in a void. Imagine her here, standing in the room, as though you’re looking at her through an invisible, floating camera. Keep looking at me. Yes, that’s better. I’m going to send Madeline along now. You will let your mental camera follow her. Understood?”

“But I don’t know where she’s going.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just let the image unfold for itself.”

“Okay.”

Keeping her eyes on Winnie’s, Victoria tilted her head toward Madeline. “Go.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Madeline left. Winnie vaguely recalled what the outside hall looked like. There were two directions to go. From the sound of Madeline’s footsteps, she went right, so Winnie imagined her walking that way, but soon the footsteps faded. Her mental image walked down the hall past doors. Madeline was approaching someplace new. What then? Winnie understood the implication of this exercise, that somehow whatever Winnie imagined would be the truth, but she wasn’t sure what to do. She could imagine Madeline walking down a never-ending hallway, but that couldn’t possibly be true, so why would anything else she imagined be true?

“Stop fretting,” Victoria said. “Don’t try. Just watch.”

Winnie tried relaxing her mind as though it were a muscle. Mentally, Madeline turned. It seemed right. The new hall was different. Instead of designed carpeting, the floor was tiled. It seemed like a service corridor. There was an elevator, which Madeline summoned. Unlike the glass elevator from before, this one was large and bulky, like it would lead into a warehouse. When Madeline pushed a button, Winnie imagined an ugly buzz instead of the pleasant ding like the other one.

Winnie felt like she was making up a story as she went, but the queen wasn’t saying anything, so she continued.

Madeline rode the elevator partway down the tower. Winnie imagined the decor down here was like an office environment—fluorescent lights and fitted carpets. Why?

Madeline mentioned there were offices down there, but why should that be correct? For all she knew, that floor looked exactly like this floor, with wood panels and art pieces. Winnie tried imagining Madeline walking along a warmly lit hall instead. She could, but the sensation was like imagining a childhood memory and pretending as though it had happened in a space shuttle. She could imagine it, but she knew that’s not where it happened. She let the image go. Madeline was again walking through an office environment. It felt right. How had Winnie never noticed this before?

Madeline entered an office room. Inside, two elderly men in suits sat at a polished oak conference table. One had curly white hair and a ruddy complexion. The other had greased black hair.

They rose when the door opened, but paused when they saw who it was.

“I’m afraid the queen will not be joining you,” Winnie imagined Madeline saying. “Something has come up.”

The black haired man’s expression was fixed. The white haired man smiled and nodded. “When will we meet with her then?”

“She can meet with you tomorrow at this time, or we can schedule another appointment.”

“We’re flying back tomorrow morning,” the black-haired man said.

“I’m sorry, sir. Another time then, or we can arrange a teleconference.”

He leaned forward. “She was the one who insisted on meeting in person.”

The white haired one stilled his partner. “It’s fine, Rob. Things come up. We understand our queen is a busy woman. We’ll reschedule our flight tomorrow. Are we welcome to use our rooms for another day?”

“Of course.” Madeline bowed. The white-haired man bowed back. Rob smiled unpleasantly.

Winnie envisioned Madeline leaving now. She followed her out the door.

“No,” said Victoria. “Stay with them.”

Winnie’s camera remained.

“Fantastic,” Rob said.

“Don’t worry about it,” the white-haired man replied. “She does this kind of shit all the time. You just have to put up with it.”

“What is it? Some kind of bullshit power play?”

“No. She’s just being a woman.”

“I wish they’d just stay out of politics,” Rob said. “What idiot let her sleep her way into power?”

“Nah. She’s daddy’s little girl. He did all the work and left it all to his princess.”

Petrified, Winnie dropped the image from her mind. Even though Winnie understood that those supposedly exist, and actually said those words, it was still her mind that created it. If she were wrong, she just thought those things about the queen.

“I uh…” said Winnie.

“Don’t worry,” Victoria said. “I can promise that those two definitely said those things.”

Relaxing, Winnie tried to imagine the room again.

“Don’t bother. I think we’ve seen enough of that.”

“So that’s it then? That’s what I can do?”

Victoria nodded.

“Are you sure I was right about all of it?”

“You were a little fuzzy at first, but yes. That was an office floor, and the American delegates do look like that. How about another exercise?”

“Okay.”

Victoria locked eyes with Winnie again. “Imagine some place you’re familiar with. How about your own house? Can you imagine your living room?”

Winnie tried. In her imagination, the sun was shining in the windows, but she realized that made sense. The sun was setting here, but her home was farther west.

“I see it.”

“Now find your mother.”

Winnie’s mental camera moved around the house. Her mind didn’t place her mother in any room, and the lights were off. Winnie resisted the urge to simply imagine her being there.

“I don’t think she’s home.”

“Then find out where she went. Imagine where she is. Put yourself there.”

Winnie imagined the assembler station. The lines were short today. Her mother wasn’t there. Winnie imagined her neighbor, Ms Beasley’s house. Her mother sometimes time with her after they had gotten acquainted during a parent’s night at school. Ms. Beasley was boiling a pot of water on the stove as she was opening a package of assembler mash. Her husband was in the other room watching a stream on the computer.

“Stop,” said Victoria. “Don’t search places for her. Visualize her, then look at where you are.”

Winnie dismissed her current vision and imagined her mother. There she was in her head. Winnie didn’t know what she was wearing or what posture she was in, so Winnie just imagined her standing there and didn’t focus on her clothes. They she tried to let the world fill in around her, and Winnie saw her mother as she’d seen her that morning, in the kitchen, making breakfast. It was a memory, but Mother wasn’t there, right? She cleared her mind and revisualized her own home. The kitchen was empty. Winnie tried putting her there anyway, just to see what it was like. The image seemed… insubstantial.

“No,” said the queen. “You’re just making that up. No matter. We’ll practice that later.”

“It feels like I’m just making all of it up.”

“It will at first, because you’re not used to using it. As you practice, your visualization will become more crisp. It’s that way with all flairs.”

“How did I go my entire life without ever having used it?”

“You probably have. You just had no reason to think what you imagined was correct. If you later confirmed that you were right, you might have assumed you guessed correctly from context. Who would think they actually possessed the power to know whatever was happening, no matter where it was?”

“Is that what I can do?”

“I believe so,” Victoria said.

“Anywhere in the world?”

“So long as it’s happening now.”

“How are you so sure? I thought it was going to take a while to figure it out.”

“I’ve spent my life working with flairs, ever since I found out I was one myself.”

“You draw those symbols?”

Victoria picked up the sketch pad. “That’s right. I create totems of other powers. And this…” She turned the pad around to show Winnie, “is your representation, or glyph.”

It didn’t look like anything a human would design—a random collision of lines and curves, as though Victoria had been drawing with her eyes closed.

“That’s my power?”

“It describes your power,” Victoria corrected.

“In what language?”

“Whatever language my power speaks.”

“Your power speaks in random lines?”

“As your power develops, the symbol will become more featured. I can see that your power has already evolved just from our little exercise, and there are many, many ways your power can grow.”

“Like how?”

“I’m not sure yet. Figuring that out will be my first goal in tutoring you.”

“You? Personally?”

“Does that surprise you? I am the best teacher, and you have a remarkable gift.”

“I figured somebody else would teach me. Don’t you have to run the empire?”

“I will make time for you. Twice a week, I think. I won’t be able to work that into my schedule until next week, but that should give you time to get situated with your living arrangements and other such classes.”

“Oh,” Winnie said. The queen was assuming she had already agreed to move to the capital. “Mr. Matthews said I could meet with you before committing to anything.”

The queen peered at her. “I suppose that’s true, but why wouldn’t you want to move here? You’ll live on the Lakiran campus, which is the most beautiful and luxurious place on Earth. You’ll be with gifted people such as yourself who will understand what you are, and here you’ll have the best education you’ll ever find. You would turn all that down?”

“No. It’s just this is all happening very fast. I only just told my mother before I had to leave to come here. I’m not sure how she’ll feel about all this.”

“If your mother supports you, then she’ll want you to come here. This is the best opportunity you’ll ever get. Most people would kill to live in the capital. It takes connections to immigrate here. Think of the doors this will open for you.”

“But…” Winnie trailed off. There wasn’t really a good reason not to take this offer. The queen was right. Her mother would support this decision, just as she’d supported her designing. But unless her mom wanted to upend her own life by moving too, Winnie would be leaving her all alone, and Winnie was all she had.

There was also her power. Winnie hadn’t even known it had existed this morning, but now she wanted nothing more than to explore it to its full potential. If Winnie were to wake up tomorrow morning without it, she’d be devastated, even though her life would be no different than it was yesterday. This was an opportunity, scarier than anything Winnie had faced, but exciting. If she didn’t take it, she’d regret it.

“Okay,” Winnie said. “I’ll talk to my mom.”

“I suppose that will have to do. We’ll wait until you get your mother’s permission before moving ahead. I’d like to experiment more tonight, but…” she rose, “we’ll do so over dinner.”

“Like… together?”

“Of course,” said the queen. “Just because I dismissed the delegates does not mean I don’t plan to eat today. You will be my dinner guest instead. I’ve already seen in your mind that you’re hungry, so come along.”

8. The Tour

2055, September 1st
Collapse + 6 years

The plane ride was eerily silent. The loudest noise Winnie could discern was wind whistling outside and tapping as Mr. Matthews typed on his plaque. She recalled flying on planes before the collapse, but those were louder than this. This plane had two sets of wings. They were short and flimsy, and had no jets or propellers. The plane had to be moving forward using repulse technology, though she wasn’t sure how it worked.

The interior was more like a small room than an airplane cabin. It had twelve plush leather seats, each with plenty of legroom. Winnie sat near Matthews. By her leg was her backpack. Despite hours of flight, she hadn’t gotten any homework done. She was too busy marveling at all this. Meanwhile, Matthews hardly glanced up from his plaque.

After four hours, the whining noise of a motor filled the cabin. Out the window, the wings were folding into the plane.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“We’ve entered the grid,” Matthews said. “The plane is no longer flying itself.”

“Oh right.” Winnie had a rough understanding of how the repulse grid worked. Throughout Lakiran prime territory, a grid of massive repulse nodes mapped the land. Most were underground. There were no roads inside the capital. To travel, you got into a hopper carriage, which was nothing more than a glorified box registered with the repulse network. You’d input your destination, and the repulser nodes would work in synchrony to push the hopper through the air to your destination. It was all automatic, and countless commuters used it every day. The empire considered the repulser grid to be the first world wonder of the post-Collapse era.

It made sense that the grid would take over the plane. Having a plane fly itself among thousands of automated hoppers might spell disaster.

They descended into Porto Maná—the Lakiran capital. Winnie watched out the window. City buildings covered the landscape from suburbs to industrial parks. They were packed close together, without roads between them, though many had lush, green foliage filling the gaps like narrow parks.

Darting over the buildings were hopper carriages, small specks that moved in all different directions and elevations. They came and went from rooftops and vertical garages. The hoppers grew denser as the plane moved toward downtown. Glimmering skyscrapers with novel architecture were clustered together. The hoppers were like a cloud of gnats around the buildings. At this density, Winnie saw how they traveled in identical channels between the buildings, as though invisible roads were in the sky. Those were the chutes—designated pathways used by whatever servers guided the grid system. The hoppers split and merged from these chutes as seamlessly as flowing water.

The plane descended further, merging with the hoppers. Skyscrapers rushed past the window. Everything looked like a near collision to Winnie.

Then the buildings and hoppers disappeared. The plane was in open air. They were over the imperial campus.

It was a park with open grass fields, dense trees, and a large shimmering lake. Walking paths crisscrossed the park, leading between ivy-covered buildings. Winnie hadn’t seen so much green since before the Collapse. In the center of campus was a skyscraper. Its curved, sleek surface reflected the green campus beneath it. Winnie had seen the building countless times in news articles. It was the Capital Tower.

Her stomach twisted. This was actually happening. She was going to meet the queen. This morning, the most exciting thing she thought would happen today would be wearing her new dress.

Oh God. She was still wearing it. It was grossly inappropriate, but she hadn’t thought to change when they stopped by her house. People were supposed to dress formally when meeting the queen, not wear some cheap, trampy outfit they threw together themselves. She’d just have to wear her coat.

The plane landed in a multi-floor hangar at the base of the Capital Tower. It looked like a gigantic chrome shelf with airplanes and shuttles on each layer as though a child had posed his toys.

A row of imperial guards waited for them as they stepped from the plane. Their uniforms were military.

Mr. Matthews approached them. “Exemplar Matthews, here with Ms. Cho Eun-Yeong.”

A guard led them to a security terminal, just like in airports she remembered as a child, though in leu of an X-ray machine, guards scoured through every item in her backpack. They flipped through her school books and powered on her tablet. A female soldier frisked her, then led her into a windowless room along the side. After Winnie entered, they shut her in alone.

A glass wall divided the room. A metal table was in the middle such that half of it was on either side. A woman sat beyond the divider. Her stark-white coat was double breasted, with a V neck and a wide folded collar. She was an exemplar. Her plaque was on the table with her hands resting over it.

“Sit down,” the woman ordered. Her voice carried over an intercom. Winnie sat across from her and gazed about the room.

“Look me in the eyes,” the woman said.

No one had told Winnie that someone was going to read her mind. After Matthews had told her about the eye contact requirement, she’d avoided looking right at him. Even though this was just procedure, she met the woman’s eyes reluctantly. Her mind immediately drifted back to that night three years ago when the Lakirans took over her settlement. She’d held a rifle that day, and was ready to use it, but she hadn’t touched a gun since. The Lakirans took them away.

Gah. Don’t think about that.

Ocean. Ocean. Song. Song. Think of a song. Feel the rhythm. Do the maomao bounce with me. Did this help? Was it keeping her thoughts private? She wasn’t thinking about that night anymo—

Bounce to the rhythm, baby. Moamao dance with me. My maomao girls are all—

“What is your name?” the woman asked.

“I uh… I’m… My name is Cho Eun-Yeong.”

“Where are you from?”

“Redding, from California. Can I look away?”

“No. What is your purpose here?”

“I’m, uh… I’m here to see the queen.”

“Why?”

“I might have… Mr. Matthews says I might have a uh… flair, and he wants me to see her.”

“Do you have any other reason for being here?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to break any laws while you are here?”

“No.”

“Do you pose any threat to the queen or anyone else who resides in the Lakiran capital or campus residence?”

“Uh… no.”

A still moment passed.

“You’re clear.” The exemplar sat back. Her severe expression lessened. “Welcome to the Capital, Ms. Cho. Proceed through that door.”

Winnie’s knees were weak when she stood. She thanked the woman, but unsure whether she was supposed to. Outside, the soldiers returned her backpack. Matthews was emerging from a similar room opposite from hers.

He approached. “Are you ready?”

“They searched you too?”

“Oh yes.”

“Did they read your mind?”

“They did.”

“Don’t they trust you?”

Matthews smiled. “The queen didn’t get where she is today by trusting people. Shall we?”

Past the security terminal, a woman in a tight black business dress was sitting on a hallway bench with legs crossed. She rose when they approached.

“Madeline,” Mr. Matthews said, “I’d like you to meet Winnie. Winnie, this is Madeline Castillo.”

Madeline extended her hand and smiled. “Welcome to the Capital Tower, Winnie. I’m the queen’s assistant coordinator, and I’ll be escorting you to your appointment today. Did you have a pleasant flight?”

“It was okay.”

“I’m glad. Come with me. Ordinarily I’d give you a full tour of the tower, but I’m afraid we’re behind schedule. I’ll have to give you an abridged tour for now. The queen is nearly free.” She led Winnie down the hall. Matthew stayed behind.

“You’re not coming with me?” Winnie asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t have clearance, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” He headed off another direction.

Winnie wanted to call out, but then what? It’s not like she could change his mind, but the idea of heading on without him was daunting. He’d been her guide. Now she was alone to face the high queen.

Madeline was oblivious to Winnie’s anxiety. “The Capital Tower has acted as the heart of the empire since it’s inception five years ago. Originally, the building was commissioned to act as the new international headquarters for LakiraLabs, which was the company our queen owned and operated as CEO. They were relocating here from Tampa, Florida when the Collapse occurred. The tower wasn’t finished, and because of the infrastructural upsets, construction was halted for two years. The remaining floors were redesigned to transform this building into the Capital for Her Majesty’s empire.”

They reached a set of elevators. Madeline summoned one. The inside had curved glass walls which presented a dazzling view of the campus. It showed the lake mirroring the red evening sky. Beyond the campus, the city skyline stretched across the horizon, disappearing around the Capital Tower on either side. Around the globe, people were lucky to get any trees or plants to grow to any meaningful health, but it was as though the Collapse had forgotten to ruin this small corner of the world.

“There are sixty floors to the building,” Madeline said. “The first four are open to the public. The eighth floor, where we just were, is the security floor that attaches to the grid bay. From that floor up, you need special clearance. Floors five through thirty still house the headquarters for LakiraLabs. The floors above that were constructed later. They are the imperial ministry offices. All diplomats and ambassadors who stay with us stay there. The fifty-seventh floor, which we’re going to now, are where the queen conducts most of her public business. Press meetings are held here, and it’s where you’ll be meeting with her. The last two floors are the queen’s private quarters for her and her daughter.”

“Her daughter?”

“Yes. Princess Helena.” Madeline steamrolled on. “There are some notable attractions. You’ve already seen the campus. Hundreds of thousands of man-hours have gone into creating it. The cold climate is a challenge even this far south, but thanks to state of the art engineering and biotechnology, the campus is the most verdant park on the continent. It houses all the natural Brazilian wildlife from the pre-collapse era. Also, the thirty-first through thirty-fifth floor house an indoor conservatory which fosters endangered wildlife from around the world as part of our efforts to restore the environment. If you have time after your meeting, I can take you to see it. It’s a breathtaking experience.”

“Uh, sure.”

“And if you’d like to eat before you leave, there’s a full restaurant on floor fifty. The menu rotates per day, but everything they make is amazing. We have the finest chefs in Brazil. Do you have any food allergies?”

“No.”

“Fantastic. I’ll take you there afterward if you like. Oh, looks like we’re here.”

The elevator chimed. The door opened. The decor change was blatant. Art pieces decorated the walls. Targeted lights illuminated them. Drapes hung along the sides of each display as though each were a presentation of their own. She felt as though she were stepping into an art gallery.

Madeline led her through halls to a room with soft, blue carpeting and lounging sofas circling a coffee table. On one wall, flanked by massive windows, was a fireplace.

“Sit anywhere you like. Let me take your coat.”

Winnie froze. She clutched her puffy coat about her as Madeline waited, but it’s not like she could keep it on after Madeline pointed it out. Her red dress came into view. Madeline eyed it, but said nothing as she hung Winnie’s coat in a closet.

“Would you like anything to drink before I leave?” she asked.

“You’re leaving?”

“You will be meeting the queen alone. She’ll come here after she finishes with her current engagement.”

“No, I’m fine, but can I call my mom really quick?”

Madeline regarded her. “I can take you to an office with a phone, but you make it as short as possible. The queen will be here soon, and I don’t recommend you waste her time.”

“Oh. I’m fine then.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll call later.” Winnie clutched her hands together in her lap.

Madeline studied Winnie. Her expression softened. “Have you had anything to eat or drink since getting on the plane?”

“No.”

“Then have something to drink. It will calm you down. Do you like ginger ale?”

“Yeah.”

Madeline crossed to the bar in the corner. With tongs, she dropped ice cubes into a crystal glass and poured in ginger ale with expert flourish. After inserting a stirring stick, she placed the drink before Winnie on an engraved wooden coaster. It was the fanciest ginger ale Winnie had ever seen.

“You’ll be fine,” Madeline said. “The queen can be intimidating, but don’t worry. She’s looking forward to meeting you.” She left.

Time dragged. Winnie fidgeted and looked about. The coffee table was made of carved wood. As was the bar. Nothing in here looked like it came from an assembler, not even the glass. Did the queen even use assembled products? It was her company that made them so prevalent. Maybe it was a status thing.

She certainly was wealthy. The bar had a tub of ice cubes standing by. Either somebody prepared this room head of time, or the staff kept all rooms stocked at all times.

It also struck her how they actually left her alone. She could wander off if she wanted. It might be nice to find a bathroom. The longer she stewed, the more she thought about it. Maybe there was a guard right outside the door. Could she ask him about the bathroom?

According to her phone, forty minutes passed before voices approached. The door opened suddenly, and Queen Victoria entered.

Winnie recognized her from pictures. Photos showed her before audiences or with politicians. She’d be wearing extravagant clothes which wouldn’t be out of place at any fashion runway, except for how conservative they were. Her presence dominated. Her beauty was famous.

Here, in person, she looked like a mom. She wore a casual gown, her blond hair was let down, and she held a half-empty glass of white wine. Despite this, she strode as though she had the world’s rapt attention.

The queen didn’t look at Winnie. A small man in a business suit followed her in. He was mid sentence.

“…Doing this over and over again. Eventually they’ll stop making any deals at all. We’ll have another North African occupation on our hands.”

The queen crossed to a cabinet. From a shelf, she took some items and set them on the coffee table. They were a sketching book and a tin of pencils.

The man continued. “Why are you bothering at all? Their entire argument is that we’re dismantling their culture. If we just hold them to our export requirements, the party will fall apart on it’s own. Five years maybe.”

“Five years?” The queen kicked off her slippers and lounged on a couch across from Winnie. Her feet laid along its length. “Or ten?”

The man shrugged. “It will happen eventually. Within one generation at most.”

“A generation is twenty years. That’s twenty years for the People’s Liberation Army to recoup, and they’re constructing over five hundred greenhouses every single day. I’ll stick with my plan. Send them.” Victoria turned to Winnie. She studied her closely. Winnie tugged the hem of her dress lower.

The man spoke again. “They’re already threatening to—”

“Thank you, Mr. Fairgrieves. I’ve made my decision.” Her gaze never left Winnie.

The man glared at the back of Victoria’s head. He bowed. “I see you’re busy, ma’am. Perhaps we’ll continue this discussion tomorrow.”

“Perhaps,” Victoria replied loftily. She pulled the sketchbook into her lap and selected a pencil from a neat row inside the tin. Her attention was entirely on Winnie now.

With a clenched jaw, the man marched from the room.

And like that, Winnie was left alone with the queen.

7. Forgetful

2055, November 6th
Collapse + 6 years

The sun was still up when Naema left the medical encampment. A bulky cast was wrapped around her wrist. It felt strange having the doctor wrestle with the bones of her numb thumb. If she’d closed her eyes, it felt as though someone were trying and failing miserably to shake her hand. Though the snap of her bone setting place had reverberated up her arm. The doctors were pleasant, but she was glad to be done.

She still might have time to get home before curfew. It probably wasn’t worth it. Getting caught was a gamble. Depending on which prowler ship caught you, they might guide her to a refugee camp for the night, or they might cart her off to wherever all the other malcontents went. Mama and Oni would never know why she never came home.

She decided to chance it. If it got to dark there was a camp up by Old Aba where she could stay. Naema alternated jogging and brisk walking.

About half a kilometer later, a woman called out to her. “Hey. Wait.”

Naema turned. The thief from the medical encampment was running up to her. Gasping and wheezing, she stopped paces from Naema and leaned on her knees.

“What are you doing?” Naema demanded.

“I was trying to follow you.” The woman paused to gulp air. “But I’m more out of shape than I thought.”

Naema became aware of how few witnesses were present. This woman didn’t look violent. She was in her mid forties, and clearly not from around here. Besides being white, she lacked the gaunt, weathered appearance of someone who’d known years of hunger. But she was still a thief—a thief who had tracked Naema down. Naema stepped away from the woman.

“No no.” the woman held out a staying hand. “Please. I just want to talk.”

“Go away. I don’t have anything.”

“And I don’t need anything.” The woman regained her breath.

“Why are you following me?”

“I was curious.” The words put Naema more on guard. The woman noticed this. “Here,” she said. “Let’s try again. My name is Josephine. What’s yours?”

Naema glanced around again. She half expected to find someone sneaking up on her while she faced this woman, but no one was near. Either way, she sure as hell wasn’t telling this woman her name.

“Will you at least let me walk with you?” Josephine said.

“No. Go away.”

“Fine. Here. How about this?” The woman reached into her leather bag, which she had again recovered. She took out a tub, the kind used at the food distributors, but the markings were different. It didn’t contain cassava, but she couldn’t tell what was inside, because unlike all other food tubs she’d seen, this one was spotless. No encrusted food paste was around the lid. From the way the woman hefted it, it was full, and she pulled another from her pack.

“If I give you these if you let me walk with you.”

“You stole those.”

“Yes, I did. But from the Lakiran.”

“Those are for the sick.”

“They are, but what the Lakirans don’t want you to know is that there really aren’t limited supplies. They can literally print more. The empire just pretends that there’s a limit so they only give you enough to keep you dependent.”

That much was true, at least from the rumors Naema had heard.

“I could get in trouble.”

“I’ll keep you out of trouble. Maybe you didn’t notice, but I just got arrested twice and yet I’m still here. You could say I’m wearing a trouble-proof coat, because trouble slides right off me.”

“How’d you get away?”

Josephine chewed her lip. “Before I answer, you have to promise to give me a chance to prove it, because you’re not going to believe me at first. Okay?”

Naema eyed her up and down. That food was enticing, but it also was contraband. It made people disappear, like this woman was supposed to. But she hadn’t. Soldiers had thrown her to the floor and carted her off twice, and all that seemed to come of that was a dusting on the woman’s dress. This still seemed like a trick, but if worst came to worst, Naema could outrun this woman.

“I have to keep moving,” Naema said.

“Right. Curfew. May I walk with you?”

“How’d you do it?”

“Do you promise to give me a chance to prove myself?”

“Fine. How’d you do it?”

“I made the guards forget why they arrested me. Then I asked them to take their cuffs off.”

“Huh?”

“I have a trick where I can make people forget things. I made the guards forget so much about me that they wondered why they were escorting me at all. I even made them forget that I asked them to uncuff me.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve always been able to do. Now you said you’d let me prove it to you.”

“Okay. Do it.”

“I will, but there’s a small problem about that. Back there, when the guards arrested me, that’s farther than they’ve ever gotten. Normally I can make soldiers forget before they even start walking toward me, but I couldn’t back there. I could only do it after they carried me off. And it’s you. I can’t do my thing when you’re around.”

“So you can’t prove it.”

“No, I can. It’s just won’t be easy. I’ve been experimenting while I was following you. I think I’m okay as long as you’re not looking at me. So here’s what I’ll do. You see her over there?” Josephine pointed to a woman under an overhanging tarp. She had a home set up nestled between a plaster building an old, rusted taxi without tires. She lay there as though watching the world pass her by, but Naema knew better. It was watch duty. Other people lived in that alcove with her. They were gone while she watched the home. Everyone knows: you don’t leave your home unattended, no matter how little you think you have. You’re apt to come home to find your blankets missing.

“I see her.” Naema said.

“I’m going to take her cooking pot and bring it back, and she’s not going to stop me.”

“…Okay.”

“But I need you to go around the corner first.”

Naema was reluctant.

“You promised you’d give me a chance.”

“Fine, fine.” Naema walked in the direction she was already heading. She didn’t turn at the first corner, since it would take her down an alley, and she still expected a nasty trick. The next intersection was a major street. She walked around the corner and waited.

From around the corner, she heard a woman yell, “Hey! Come ere. Put dat down. Gi mi…” And then the voice trailed off.

Josephine turned the corner carrying a dented iron pot. She presented it with a smile.

“Okay,” Naema said. “Can I look?”

“Yep.”

The woman was still where she was before. She was standing, though she seemed uncaring about her missing pot.

“You paid her off.” Naema said.

Josephine groaned. “No, I didn’t. Here. Come with me while I return it.”

“I must go home. Curfew is almost here.”

“Don’t worry about that. Look.” Josephine took out a leather booklet. It’s smooth black design did not at all fit her attire. She opened it to reveal an ID card behind a plastic viewing frame. Naema had never seen an ID like that, and her english wasn’t good enough to read it, but it was certainly Lakiran. More interesting, the photo displayed was of Josephine.

“I’m allowed out after curfew,” Josephine said.

“How did you get this?”

“I walked into a Lakiran military compound and printed it out.”

“You make people forget then, too?”

“Yep. Just hopped behind the counter. It was like the DMV for me.”

“What is the DMV?”

“Nevermind, but as long as you’re with me, you won’t be arrested. I promise. Will you come with me to return this now?” She held up the pot.

Naema relented. Together they returned to the woman.

“Excuse me,” Josephine said. She held up the pot. “Is this yours?”

The woman glanced. Her eyes snapped to her empty heating plate. She was on her feet instantly. Eyes wide, she crept toward Josephine while glancing up and down the street.

“Yea. It dey mine. How you done got it?”

“It was laying on the street around the corner. I thought I remembered seeing it in your place here last time I passed through.”

“Oh.” The woman didn’t seem convinced. Not that she was angry, but rather confused that it could be her pot at all. Josephine handed it to her. The woman bowed gratefully, then scurried back. She eyed Naema and Josephine as they left.

“Are you convinced?” Josephine asked.

“No. You paid her.”

“Come on. Did it look like I paid her?”

“She and you worked it out together before.”

“Okay. How about this. We do it again, but this time you pick out the person. We’ll do this experiment as many times as you want.”

It seemed unwise, but Naema had to admit, if this was a trick, that woman back there was a damn good actor. And by now it was too late to get back before curfew. She’d have to stop at Old Aba anyway. Naema time to burn.

“I still get the food?” Naema asked.

“Here,” Josephine handed over her satchel. “I can always get more. Why don’t you have it all.”

“I am keeping this. Even if you are full of it.”

“Fine by me.”

Naema did make it back home that night. Curfew had passed by two hours, but after Josephine stole from under a dozen other noses, which included taking the sidearm from a Lakiran guard, Naema admitted that Josephine might not be a complete fake.

It was during these tests that Josephine realized, or claimed to have realized, that she didn’t need Naema to go around the corner. Turning around was sufficient. That supposedly was why the walk home was as uneventful as it was. After dark, the streets emptied. Then came the Prowlers—floating platforms which drifted above the houses silently. Naema only knew they were there when the stars blotted out, except for the two times when people aboard the platforms spotted them. Blinding light would bathe Josephine and Naema. But Josephine would hold her leather booklet up to the light, which apparently was good enough. The light would cut. The prowler would move on.

“They have scanners,” Josephine explained. She showed Naema a code on the surface of her ID.

When Naema arrived home, she gently lifted the flap into her family’s tent. Everyone was asleep, but as Naema emptied the satchel of food, Mama woke.

“It’s me, Mama,” Naema said.

“Naema?” Mama groped for her lantern. When the light flicked on, Mama squinted and covered the lantern surface with her hand. “Are you crazy? Why are you coming home now? After dark? They’ll cart you away.”

“It’s okay, Mama. I had somebody walk me.”

“Who?”

Naema held the shanty flap open. Josephine ducked through.

“Hello, madame.”

“Who is this woman?” Mama asked. Oni stirred.

“Josephine, Mama. She got us food.”

Mama perked up. “What?” She crawled from bed and looked through the bag. “Where did this all come from?”

“Mostly from the CivManagement building,” Josephine said.

“Girl!” Mama examined food items with increasing astonishment. Beside the food paste tubs, there was cereal, bread, chocolate, juice packs, cheese, canned meats, and freshly printed Fruit. “They don’t give this food out. How did you get this?”

“I have access to their buildings,” Josephine said.

Mama eyed her. She put the food down and leaned away as though it were all poison. She spoke to Naema. “What does she want?”

“I don’t want anything, madame,” Josephine said. “The food is a gift.”

“Is that so?” Mama replied. “That is very kind.” Her tone suggested it wasn’t.

Oni, however, had no problem accepting this gift. He tore open a packet of small cakes and gorged.

“Naema, girl, where did you find this woman? There is no such thing as something for nothing.”

“Mama, it’s okay. I met her at—”

“It’s all right,” said Josephine. “There’s no need to explain.”

“You will explain yourself,” Mama said. “Or you will take this food back.”

Josephine ignored her and turned to Naema. “I’d really like to meet you again, just to talk. Would it be okay if I came by at noon tomorrow? I can bring more food.”

“Okay,” said Naema. She would milk this for all it was worth.

“Great. I’ll see you soon.” Waving, Josephine ducked through the tarp.

Naema turned back to Mama, expecting a glare, but her mother had returned to sorting food items. “It’s okay, Mama. The food did not cost her anything. She has got special clearance.”

Her mother looked at her blankly. “Who are you talking about, girl?”

Naema nearly replied before she realized what had happened. A dozen random strangers might have played dumb, but Mama wouldn’t.

“Nobody, Mama.”

6. Contraband People

2055, November 6th
Collapse + 6 years

Naema lay on a glass surface covered with a grid of dots spaced every centimeter. A square of light shined through the grid that neatly framed her injured hand. Above her, a giant mechanical bar slowly slid by. It was a scanner of some kind. She couldn’t read the english writing on the side of the table, but the medical assistant had said it was a “Stiller field kinetic density imager”. Apparently it was better than an X-ray. Since the glass surface was large enough for her to lay upon, she figured the device could scan her entire body, but the passing bar only slowed its movement above the rectangle outlining her hand.

A 3D image of her hand popped up on a nearby monitor. The assistant tapped an onscreen button, and the hand went transparent, except for her bones, which were color-coded shades of blue for some reason. He flicked his fingers against the screen, and the image zeroed in on her thumb. A bone was clearly disconnected.

“Yep,” he said. “It’s a clean break on your first metacarpal.”

He picked up what looked like a glass clipboard, only it had text panels glowing on it, as though it were a disembodied computer screen. With a few onscreen button presses, the scan transferred to the clipboard.

“Come with me.” He escorted her out. They had been in a small enclosure created from medical curtains. It was one of six in a row where doctors or nurses would assess a patients condition, and each were in use. Even as Naema left, another assistant led a patient in to take her place.

The medical complex was a collection of large open tents set up on the dirt road bordering the bay. Two enormous tents acted as waiting rooms. They were packed with villagers with various ailments.

The man led Naema from the diagnostics tents to a tent of larger cubicles. “Wait here. A doctor will be with you shortly.”

She nodded and sat on an examination table. The assistant left.

From this booth, Naema had a clear view of the Lakiran citadel hovering over the bay. She’d seen it plenty while waiting earlier, and plenty more walking here, but the marvel of a floating city hadn’t yet worn off. Last week, it had drifted into Port Harcourt as ponderously as the moon inching along the sky. It anchored in place over the Niger Delta, in plain view of every person living on the bay. Shuttles started coming and going from its hull like bees to their hive. Nothing had driven home the reality of the Lakiran occupation like the citadel.

And like everything else Lakiran, it didn’t fit in. It’s polished chrome glittered unlike anything else in the city. It’s massive, curved hull had hundreds of small holes from which the shuttles flew in and out. The top was a cluster of tall towers, each curved for aerodynamics. Those spires are what made most mistake the citadel as a city. They looked like the downtown heart of a financial district, but the citadel was strictly military—the Lakiran’s modern take on the aircraft carriers of the pre-Collapse days.

Naema understood the theory of how it worked. In its hull would be three powerful repulse nodes which were projecting their fields deep underground, effectively pushing at the earth. In turn, the equal and opposite reaction kept the ship locked in place. It was like an invisible tripod. The result was a midair suspension more secure than if the citadel were locked in place with steel scaffolding. Not even the wind made it sway.

She watched shuttles come and go. After spending hours under the main tent with all the other sick an injured, she’d hoped her waiting was over, but apparently not. There were few medical staff here for the number of people who needed help. Her guess was maybe three hundred to one. All she had to do was tally the number of black people against non-blacks. The assistants had the most diversity. A few were Asian. Another had dark skin whose ethnicity she didn’t recognize. Mostly, though, they were white, especially the doctors, especially the men with guns. She found it odd, considering the Lakiran empire started in South America.

It reminded her of the aid groups from when she was a child, before the Collapse. The sky had turned dark with ash, the world froze over, but some things never change. That’s what her father had always said. White people are always coming to fix their problems. Do they help? Sure, but as Mama liked to point out, Nigerians weren’t the ones who launched the bombs.

As Naema watched the people in the medical encampment work, she noticed someone distinctly out of place. A white woman was under a supply tent rifling through a crate. Her clothing was not like the Lakiran uniforms, but rather a canvas dress and sandals, like she were local, and she had a leather satchel which she was squirrelling items into like a child stashing candy.

She was stealing. It was easy enough to tell from the way she kept glancing at the guards outside the tent. Naema didn’t understand how they didn’t see her. She was in plain view.

A young doctor walked into the exam cubicle. He seemed more like a rugged, mountaineering, out-of-college type if not for his doctor’s coat. “And how are we doing today?” He fetched the clipboard. “Ms. Naema Madaki? Hmm. Fractured Metacarpal. Mild laceration to the head. Multiple contusions…”

“Who is that woman?” Naema pointed to the woman sifting through crates.

The doctor looked. The lady stashed a box of food stuff into her satchel.

“Excuse me,” the doctor yelled. “What are you doing?”

The woman glanced up, then returned to her rifling.

The doctor walked toward her. “I asked what you’re doing.”

This time, the woman startled. She stared as though he were a dog who’d just asked her for the time.

The soldiers guarding the tent looked. They took over. “Ma’am. Step away from the crates and get down on your knees.”

They startled her just as much as the doctor did.

“Now,” the soldier barked. They snapped into combat posture aimed right at her. With unsure movements, she complied. Everyone in the encampment watched as two soldiers searched her satchel. They pulled out all manner of supplies—obviously from the relief tent.

The next moment, the guards had her pinned to the ground. They cuffed her, frisked her, then escorted her away.

The hum of countless conversations resumed. The encampment returned to business.

“Thank you for pointing her out,” the doctor said to Naema. “Thieves like to pick through our already limited supplies. They have no thought for the people we’re here to help.”

“Yea,” Naema said.

“Now, let’s take a look at that thumb.” He examined his clipboard again. “It’s not too bad. I’ll give you a shot to numb your hand. Then we just have to pop that bone back into place. You shouldn’t feel a thing. I’ll be right back.”

He left, and Naema was left once again waiting.

That woman appeared again, wandering back into the supply tent. Her wrists were uncuffed, she had her bag back, and no soldiers were around her. In fact, most of the soldiers weren’t even back at their post yet. Did they let her go?

Instead of pilfering crates, the woman peered around as though looking for someone. She wandered aimlessly until disappearing from Naema’s view. Naema leaned to watch. She was still there, just standing around. After a moment, the lady took a step—again out of view.

The doctor returned with a handful of supplies. He was opening the plastic wrapper to a hypodermic needle when Naema spoke. “Why they let her go?”

“Let who go?”

“The thief. She is there.” Naema leaned farther to point. The woman noticed Naema pointing at her.

“Who?”

“The white woman with the curly hair.”

The woman walked toward Naema. That’s how the doctor spotted her. “What about her?” he asked.

“She was stealing.”

“What? You saw this?”

“Yes. Over there, but the guards let her go. Why?”

The woman was within talking distance now.

The doctor faced her. “Excuse me. What are you doing here?”

“Me?” the woman asked. “Nothing.”

“This girl says you were taking supplies.”

“Did she?” The woman stared at Naema curiously.

“What is in your bag?”

“Nothing.”

“Supplies,” Naema said, exasperated.

“Did you see her take some?” the doctor asked.

“Yes.”

The doctor yelled to a soldier. “Security. This woman here.”

A few approached. “What’s the matter?”

“This woman might be a thief.”

The soldiers turned to face the woman, intimidating her with their posture. “Hand over your bag, ma’am.”

The woman did. As they rifled through it, she watched Naema, uncaring as the men found contraband in her pack, again. And again, they shoved her to the ground, cuffed her and dragged her off. Just as they pulled her from view, the woman craned to look at Naema one last time, and she grinned.

“I appreciate your pointing her out,” the doctor said to Naema. “Thieves like to pick through our already limited supplies. They have no thought for the people we’re here to help.”

“Yea. You said that.”

“Hmm?”

“You said that last time. They take that woman two minutes ago. Then they let her go.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Two minutes ago. That woman was over there,” she pointed. “The guards grabbed her, but then she walk right back.”

“I see. She must have slipped away. Don’t worry. They’ve got her this time. Now…” The doctor took up the hypodermic needle. “Let’s get you sorted out.”

5. A Bulky Tablet

2055, September 1st
Collapse + 6 years

It was in biology class two periods later when the call came. Mr. Belview had just begun lecturing when a wiry freshman poked his head in the door.

“Uh, Winnie needs to go to the headmaster’s office.”

Winnie looked up from her current design doodling.

Mr. Belview scanned for Winnie and motioned for her to go. He resumed class before she was out the door.

The halls were empty. Voices came from behind classroom doors. Winnie’s shoes echoed on linoleum as she walked to the office. She wore her coat. Warm as it was, she didn’t need Mr. Myers seeing her dress. She considered slipping in the bathroom to change back, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. He’d ordered her change back a few times before, but he didn’t really want to stifle a student’s creativity.

The Assistant Director’s office was before the principal’s. Winnie sat on the row of seats where troublesome students waited their turn.

The director glanced up from her work. “You can go right in. They’re waiting for you.”

They?

Winnie entered the principal’s office. Somehow, she knew who else was there before seeing the education inspector sitting across from Principal Myers.

“Ah. Winnie. Please, join us.” Myers indicated the chair beside the inspector. “Do you remember Mr. Matthews from assembly?”

Winnie nodded.

“He wanted to speak with you. Come. Sit.”

Winnie dropped her backpack beside the chair and sat. Mr. Matthews held a tablet in his lap with his hands casually crossed over it. Her heart skipped.

It was bulky. LED lights shined on the edge. She’d seen a tablet like that before, three years ago when a man in a tent decided her fate—the exemplar. Winnie became aware of the thoughts she was thinking.

“What about?” she asked.

Myers glanced at Matthews. “Well… perhaps, Mr. Matthew, if you’d like to explain?”

Mr. Matthews face lit conversationally. “Absolutely. However, I would like to speak with Ms. Cho privately.” He gave Myers a friendly smile.

Something about the principal’s expression struck Winnie. Before, whenever she saw him, he was either frowning down at a student for misbehavior, or smiling in what he probably thought was a grandfatherly way. Right now, his expression was dead neutral. Winnie was not alone in recognizing who Mr. Matthews really was.

“Of course. I’ll just be in the other room.” Myers headed to the door. Pausing, he turned to say something, and thought better of it. He bowed to Mr. Matthews before shutting the door. His footsteps faded.

Matthews turned to Winnie. “Hello. My name is Jordan Matthews. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand. They shook.

“Nice to meet you,” Winnie said.

He smiled. “You can relax. You’re not in any kind of trouble. I can tell you know what I really am.”

“You’re an exemplar.”

“That’s right. What was it that gave it away?” He held up his tablet. “Was it my plaque? It does stand out, doesn’t it?”

“And your suit.”

“My suit? This isn’t our uniform.”

“No, but your clothes were stitched from bolts. which means they were made with threaded fabrics. Most people can’t afford it, and it’s mostly a status thing. I didn’t think a school inspector would have a suit like that.”

Matthews looked over his clothes. “Huh. Nice catch.” He looked at her and smiled. “Clothes, right? You’re a designer.” He tapped a button on his tablet. It lit, and he navigated to a browser. Winnie’s clothing site was on the displayed tab. “You must know all about clothes.”

“You know about my site?” she asked. Is that why he singled her out?

“Mr. Myers was just telling me about it. Apparently you’ve become quite infamous for your dress code violations. I like it though. Not my style, of course, but I suppose my daughter might wear it. I wish she’d get into something like this, maybe do something besides spend all day on the internet. Though I’m not sure I’d let her out of the house dressed in half these things. Your socks are nifty. How’d you get into this?”

Winnie shrugged. “I just did. I downloaded the Studio a couple years ago and just played around.”

“Yeah? Do you get a lot of business around here?”

“Most of my subscribers are from South America, I think. I’m not really sure.”

“That makes sense. There’s more money for luxuries in the home continent.”

“They have their own assemblers there,” Winnie said.

“That too. Does your family have an assembler?”

“Not here, but my mom used to have a series I at our old place. We didn’t use it after the Collapse though. It didn’t work on solar.”

“So you’re making your dresses… how? The local station?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” Matthew browsed her site for a few pages, then dimmed the screen. He set the tablet on the table with a heavy thunk. “I bet you’re wondering why I called you here. How much do you know about the Exemplar Committee?”

“Nothing really. People say you guys read minds. You go around to towns after you take over and decide who gets dragged off.”

He winced. “Well, yes. When the queen folds a settlement into the union, exemplars come in for threat analysis. Those we think are at high risk of making violent attacks are taken to a secure facility. It’s not a pleasant business, but it’s better than having a rebel or terrorist attack that could potentially hurt a lot more people. We’re also able to sense the presence of nearby hostiles.”

“But you can read minds?”

“Oh yes. We call them screenings. Our main purpose is to root out corruption. We work side by side with the military to keep their ranks clean, and we handle internal investigations. In other words, we set the moral standard for the empire. Hence our name: the exemplars.”

“What if an exemplar is corrupt?”

“Fantastic question. We have a chain of accountability. There are a few hundred exemplars throughout the world performing screenings and other tasks. Each exemplar, myself included, is assigned to a High exemplar. They are the people who screen us.”

“And who keeps them straight?”

“There are only four of them, so the queen scans them personally.”

“And if she’s corrupt?”

He grinned. “She’s the one who decides what is and isn’t corruption. If she does something, it’s what the empire is meant to do.”

“That sounds…”

“Problematic? If she were corrupt, it doesn’t matter how the Exemplar Committee is set up, the empire would be in trouble. But remember, she was the one who created the Committee in the first place. We are her eyes and ears. After all, she’s the one that gave us our powers.”

“How do they work?”

“Another fantastic question. Most people assume it’s some kind of brain wave scanning technology, but the truth is much more interesting than that. I could explain it to you, but how about I let you see for yourself?”

He picked his tablet off the table and handed it to Winnie. It’s weight surprised her. She turned on the screen. It showed her clothing website.

“No, no,” Matthew said. “Just hold it.”

“And what?”

“Clear your mind and focus. It’s already happening. You just have to notice it.”

Confused, Winnie looked at him, but Matthew was staring into his lap.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “It helps.”

She did so. Following his advice, she tried to clear her mind, and the first thing she noticed was that her mind wouldn’t clear. She had the distinct impression of being watched. All around her were eyes through the walls. They were the students. It was as though everyone had stopped, turned, and were now staring at her through concrete and plaster. She yanked her hands away from the tablet. The sensation didn’t go away.

“Put it back on the table,” he said.

She did, then pulled away as though it burned. The sensation faded.

“Startling, isn’t it?”

“What was that?”

“We can sense auras. It’s how we detect hostile threats. We call it our Empathy. Everyone experiences it a little differently, but let me guess. Suddenly, you felt like you were standing on stage without your clothes, right? Don’t worry. It’s a one way street. No one else can sense you. All you felt was a connection with everyone nearby, and your brain wasn’t sure what to make of it. Want to try again?”

Winnie placed her hand back on the tablet. Again, all eyes were on her. This time, she didn’t lash away. Matthews was right. They weren’t aware of her, but her mind seemed absorbed in theirs, and it gave her the impression of looking in on one’s self. When she had startled, it was like being startled by her own reflection staring back at her. She focused on one. The aura was bored, focusing on something entertaining, but the enjoyment was mere droplets in a pool. This was someone in a class. They weren’t paying attention, but distracting themselves somehow. They could be on a phone, or twiddling their pencil. Whatever it was, their boredom was her own. That class was dulling her just as it dulled them.

She focused on another, and another. With each one, it was as though connecting her brain to someone else’s. Sharing the same soup of emotions, she would be that person and look back upon herself. None were particularly powerful, but one stood out. It was close. When she embodied it, she felt fidgety energy that made her want to get up and pace. The mood was short of breath, and wound tight. The stress bled into her, so she let the mood go and observed it distantly. This person was behind her, in the hallway right outside the school office. It was Principal Myers.

She took her hand away.

Matthews took the tablet and held it up. “This tablet—this bulky workout of a tablet—we call it our plaque. It’s tablet part is actually a secondary feature. It’s just so this brick does something other than improve our upper body strength. If you were to open it up, and somehow bypass its security measures, you would find a plate of thin, silicon wafers. Drawn on each one would be a symbol which was hand drawn by Queen Victoria herself. They act as totems for these gifts of hers. Possessing them is what grants us our abilities.”

“But why does it do that?”

“I don’t know. Our scientists have used every instrument known to man to analyze these glyphs. So far as they can tell, they’re nothing more than a design on a surface, and yet they work. It’s something special about our queen. If I were to draw the same symbol, nothing would happen. It has to be her.”

“You make it sound like she has a superpower.”

“We call it a flair. Some people are just born with them.”

“If that’s true, how come nobody has heard about this?”

“Because those who have them are so few and far between. And even when they do, they could go their entire lives without knowing they have one. It takes awareness, and practice. And flairs are more subtle than what comic books would have you believe. We exemplars can’t defy the laws of physics.”

“But still,” said Winnie. “If anybody had ever had a power, it would be huge.”

“Yes. Our queen has built an empire with her flair.”

“No. I mean before that. If there were other people with powers, somebody would have showed up. They would have proved it. Even if it happened just once in the world, people would know. Why aren’t there other people with powers?”

“There are. Every power that the queen grants to us comes from someone else who has it naturally.” He paused. “And that brings us back to the question of why I’ve invited you in here to talk.”

“You… think I have a power?”

“I think you do.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. All I can tell is that you have one.”

“How could I not know about it? If I had telepathy, I think I’d have figured it out by now.”

“Not necessarily,” Matthews said. “Let’s say you did, and you look into somebody’s eyes. Thoughts fill your head. They might be indistinguishable from any other thought you have, except these just happen to be their’s too. For all you know, you figured out what they were thinking through your own intuition. They’re happy. They’re sad. They like you. They don’t like you but are pretending to.”

“I would completely know it was them,” said Winnie. “It was so obvious when I was touching your plaque. I felt connected to everyone else.”

“Yes. Empathy is noticeable, but the original empath spent years honing their talent. Before they knew what to focus on and what mental muscles to build, they might have thought they were simply good at reading people. It’s rare for someone to discover their talent on their own.”

“Oh.” Winnie cleared her mind again. She focused, as though she might detect something now she never had before. Nothing was there. She didn’t expect there to be. If it weren’t for Matthew’s demonstration of power, she knew she wouldn’t believe any of this. Even now, she felt as though she’d just been told she’d won a lottery she never entered.

“Okay, so let’s say I do have a power,” she said. “How do I figure out what it is?”

“For that, you would need to see someone who understands these powers far better than me: The queen.”

“Like, personally see her?”

“Yes. She’s the expert. You’d meet with her one on one. She’d evaluate your flair. She’ll determine what sort of power you have, and help you develop it to it’s maximum potential.”

“How long would it take?”

“Years, most likely. We would relocate you to the empire capital campus and enroll you in the International School of Porto Maná. It’s currently the top school in the empire. You’d be with other flairs such as yourself, and—”

“Wait. You want me to move?”

“Obviously, it’s your choice, and no one would expect you to make a decision until you’ve met with the queen and had a chance to see what you’d be getting into.”

“What about my mother? I can’t just leave everything behind and go live in the capital.”

“We can relocate your mother too. For her however, we wouldn’t house her on the imperial campus, but in the surrounding city.”

“Or I could just live with her.”

“The queen would prefer if you were on the campus. It’s better for security since you’d be visiting her frequently, but don’t worry. You’d be able to visit your mother easily. Public transportation in the capital is a marvel unto itself. Our repulse grid has the highest resolution than anywhere else in the world. Anywhere you want to go, all you have to do is flag down a coach and input your destination. The grid will float you anywhere within the city in minutes. The capital is one of the most happening cities in the world, and might I add, the heart of today’s fashion.”

“You’re really serious about this.”

“Of course. The first step will be to fly you out to meet with Her Majesty the Queen. It will probably be a day long trip. I’ll make arrangements with the school for your absence, but we should have you back by tomorrow night.”

“Today? You want me to leave today?”

“The queen would like to meet you tonight, and it’s a six hour flight. My plane is standing by at the Hampton Airstrip. My driver is outside.”

Winnie laughed. “You’re serious? I haven’t even told my mom. I… this is all so ridiculous.”

“We can stop by your house if you’d like. You can pick up whatever you need for the trip. I can explain everything to your mother. If it makes you more comfortable, she can come too. But like I said, it’s just a quick trip. You’ll be back by tomorrow.”

Winnie imagined arriving home in what was probably a limousine. Hi, mom. This guy at school says I have superpowers. Is it okay if I fly across the continent with him to meet the queen of the world? You can come. I promise to do my homework on the plane.

“Are you really that convinced I have a power?”

“I’m certain,” Matthews said. “I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t matter. Even if your power turns out to be dud, the queen will still invite you to relocate to the capital.”

“A dud?”

“Not all powers are useful.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not? How many people have you found with useless flairs?”

“None.”

“So it’s rare.”

“No. Flairs are rare. I’ve never met another flair outside those whom the queen hasn’t already found.”

“But I thought this was your job.”

“It is. I go from community to community, checking schools, nurseries, colleges, even prisons. I spend about two or three days in each town, so in the course of my three and a half years, I’ve visited… hmm, several hundred towns. And I see several thousand people at each.”

“I’m the first you’ve ever found.”

“In my three in a half years, you’re the first anyone has found. I’m not the only exemplar assigned to scouting.”

He paused as Winnie considered this.

“I think,” he said, “you’re starting to realize just how special you are.”

4. A Bright, Red Dress

2055, September 1st
Collapse + 6 years

Winnie pressed against the glass door of the Redding assembler station. Her breath fogged the glass as she cupped her mittened hands around her eyes to peer inside. The door was locked, as it wasn’t eight o’clock yet, but the lights were on. Wendy should be in there. Winnie tapped the glass frantically.

From the backroom, Wendy appeared, a middle-aged woman dressed in the assembler station uniform bearing the Lakiran Humanitarian League logo. Winnie jiggled on her toes and pantomimed shivering. Grinning, Wendy unlocked the door and ushered her in.

“I figured that dress was yours,” Wendy said.

“Is it ready yet?”

“Yes, yes. It’s done. It’s in the back.” Wendy led Winnie past the help desk to the back room, where rows of assembler machines hummed away building products for the town. The room always smelled of oiled metal mixed with the pungent acetone and ammonia smell given off by the reclamators along the side wall. The room looked like an office, but it made Winnie think of an old laundromat.

In the back, Food Ready assemblers filled canisters with pastes. The rest were earlier models, making everything from laundry detergents to carbon steel silverware. The station was only open from eight to five, but the machines never stopped running. Most assembly orders were necessities that shops or suppliers needed for distribution, but the townsfolk were allowed to submit their own print requests online for a price. The machines would take the orders as they came available, and a notification would be sent to the submitter when their orders were ready to be picked up.

Winnie had woken this morning to find her order had started during the night. It always took days for her, since her requests required one of the fabric-capable machines, and those spent most of their time assembling basic clothes for distribution.

There it was, in a bin beside the other clothes. Winnie knew it immediately as the only bright red object in the room. She picked it up. The dress unfolded neatly. No wrinkles. The synthetic WaferMesh fabric was resistant to that, as well as stains.

“If you’re going to change into that here,” Wendy said, “you better hurry. You’re late today.” She glanced at the wall clock. 7:53. And it was as a ten minute walk to the high school.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll be fine.” Winnie hurried to the employee bathroom and shut the door. She shucked away her winter wear, carefully hanging each piece up on the door hook. She stuffed her clothes into her backpack, then donned the dress. Standing before the mirror, she corrected the frills.

It fit perfectly. Awesome. Fabrics sometimes expanded after printing, so measurements in the Assembler Studio app didn’t match up with reality, but the developers were getting better about that. The frills looked fine too. They ran from just beneath the breast down to the hem of the dress. She twirled, and they fanned out, giving her body a corkscrew look, then fell right back into place. Again, perfect. Anyone who wasn’t experienced with the Assembler Studio could never have gotten that right. The fabrics plugin was still beta quality. It didn’t crash all the time anymore, but its physics simulation was pathetic. When she ran it, the frills fluttered about like a palsy-stricken sea anemone.

She threw her winter gear back on and headed out.

“Don’t I get to see it?” Wendy asked as she passed.

Winnie draped her coat off her shoulders and spun.

“Goodness, girl. You sure a young lady your age should be wearing that?”

“I’m sixteen, Wendy.”

“My mother would never have let me wear something like that when I was your age.”

“My mom hasn’t seen it.”

“You’re still going to freeze out there.”

“No I won’t. It’s the new WaferMesh.”

“If you say so. I don’t want you getting in trouble at school about that.”

“I’ve worn worse.”

Wendy chuckled. “That you have. Run along now. You’re late enough.”

Winnie sprinted to school. Cold wind whipped under her coat. Goosebumps broke out over her bare legs. Maybe Wendy was a little right, but it wasn’t that bad. This was the warmest winter yet since the bombing. And California winters were certainly a far cry from the bitter death Washington State offered.

Everyone had been so against the relocation. The Lakirans had said they wanted to collect all the surrounding pockets of survivors into a more centralized location “for defense and infrastructure”. The town had thought they were pushing their weight around, but it really was for the best. Besides being warmer, Redding was an actual town, not a paltry collection of survivors growing vegetables in their houses and scavenging nearby towns for parts. There was an honest-to-goodness hospital here, with fresh, plentiful supplies. And there was a school—not a schoolhouse where all kids from ages six to eighteen collected together—but a school, with a curriculum, and a basketball team, and a cheerleading squad with weekend practices that took too much of Winnie’s time.

Most importantly, the town had internet, an amenity Winnie had given up as a relic of the pre-bombing days.

Wednesdays was school assembly day. After three classes, the student body collected in the auditorium. Winnie found a couple of her fellow cheerleaders. Before sitting, she twirled, giving them the full effect of her dress.

“Oh, pretty,” said Bethany.

“You like it?”

“I do,” Lexie said. She and Bethany felt the frills. “That’s really thin.”

“Do I get one?” Beth asked.

“Yeah. It’ll probably be ready by Friday. I made yours blue.”

“What about me?” asked Lexie.

“You can buy yours once I put it up on my site.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Beth gets one because she’s going to help model them for me.”

“I can model.”

“Okay. I’m doing it this Friday. I can probably get you a lime green dress if you give me your measurements.”

“Ew, no. Why can’t I have red? Don’t you think I’d look good in red?”

No, Winnie thought, Lexie wouldn’t. “You would, but I need to model different colors, and I’m red. I’m paying to get these printed.”

“But you’re the one with the website making money.”

“I’ve got, like, five hundred followers. It barely covers my expenses.”

Not entirely true. These past months her subscriber base on her assembler public library page had nearly doubled. She was making decent pay now, even if most of her sales were from her novelty socks. She was still happy to used funding as an excuse. Lexie was a good friend and a fellow cheerleader, but she didn’t have a body that would sell clothes. Bethany did however, and she was tall, which made a good alternative to Winnie’s short stature in the online examples.

Winnie’s mother, after many discussions about decency, had finally agreed to let Winnie post pictures of herself and her friends modeling clothes, so long as no picture included their faces—another good excuse for Winnie. Bethany had a good body, but not a great face.

The speaker system came on. On the stage, Principal Myers called for everyone’s attention. Winnie sat with her friends. Myers made announcements. The basketball team won North West regionals. The drama club was starting a new play and was looking for people to audition.

While Myer’s spoke, Winnie’s friends poked around on their devices. Winnie’s tablet was an older model that she couldn’t hide it in her lap like her friends could. With her site picking up though, she could soon afford a newer model that her mother’s market job could never afford. In the meantime, she was left gazing off during assembly.

She noticed someone new sitting on stage with the faculty. He was at the end beside the Dean of the Disciplinary committee. His hair was trimmed short in a style popular in South America. His suit fit him perfectly. Winnie could see seams along the shoulder, which mean the suit was hand-crafted fabric as oppose to machine-assembled texture. Even if it were made from Environmentally Adjusted Cotton, it would still be astronomically expensive. Cotton could still be grown in only a few places around the world. Suits like that were only available in the heart of the empire.

He looked directly at her. His eyes didn’t skirt the crowd at all, as though he’d known she was looking. Winnie snapped her attention to Bethany’s phone. Principal Myers made more announcements. Winnie glanced back. The man was still watching her.

“And one last thing,” Principal Myers said. “We have an education inspector with us today from the empire.” He gestured to the man who still stared at Winnie. “You might see Mr. Matthews sitting in on a few of your classes. Be courteous. Answer any questions he might have.” He turned to Mr. Matthews. “Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

He glanced at the principal and shook his head.

“Okay then. In that case. Assembly is over.”

Everyone stood and filed toward the auditorium exits.

“Does anyone else think that inspector is creepy?” Winnie asked.

“Who?” asked Bethany.

“The guy Myers just announced.”

“Oh. I wasn’t looking.”

“He was looking at us though. I think he was looking at me.”

Lexie glanced at him. Matthews was in conversation with the Dean of the Disciplinary committee. “You’re the only one wearing a bright red dress.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess so.”

As they were leaving the auditorium, Winnie glanced once again. The man was definitely looking at her.

3. Contraband Food

2055, November 5th
Collapse + 6 years

“Contraband food supports contraband people”

The words covered most of the poster using a no-nonsense, stencil font like the kind used in military dossiers. In smaller words below, it said, “Contraband food comes from victims. Don’t fund slavers and raiders. Report any unauthorized food dealers to the authorities.” Beneath that, the rest of the poster showed a trichrome depiction of cartoon men with guns forcing others to enter a machine. From the other end, food emerged.

Beside that poster was another warning of metal content and contaminants in unsanctioned food products. After that, the posters repeated along the brick wall in differing local languages.

That’s where Naema found her brother. He was two blocks into a seven block line of people waiting their turn for the relief center. From here, the center wasn’t even in view.

Naema approached him. He was too busy scraping the earth with a stick to notice her until she was right before him.

“That is it?” she asked. “The line is not moving any faster?”

Oni shrugged. He kept scratching the earth. “It moved.”

Naema eyed a shriveled man sitting before Oni in the line. “You let anyone cut you?”

Oni shook his head.

Naema didn’t recall seeing the man. When she gave up her shift to Oni two hours ago, an old woman had been ahead of her whom she had to practically shove forward whenever the line moved in order to keep someone from taking advantage of the gap, but this man might have been before them. That woman had been in bad shape. The collectors probably got her. They came by every few hours and carted off anyone who wasn’t alive enough to respond to their questions. At least it kept the bodies off the street.

“My turn now,” said Naema. “You go home.”

“I’m okay.”

“No you’re not. Go home to Mama. She needs you.”

“You go home to Mama. I want to wait more.”

“Why? Come on. Get up. You want to wait? Go get water. We’re almost out.”

Oni sighed and stood. “Fine, fine.” He handed Naema the family’s three food stamps—one each for her, Oni, and Mama. Oni ran off. Naema took his place and leaned against the wall. The man behind her in line watched Oni go, then turned to eyeball Naema. She stared him down, daring him to say anything about her taking someone’s place. He didn’t.

Taking turns in line wasn’t supposed to be allowed, but everybody did it. Families cycled through their members. Friends held places for friends. No one fought about it since the soldiers would just kick them out of line, but it built animosity. The war was over, but feelings were harder now than ever before.

And all of this, just for half a pound of synthetic cassava. The relief tent had seven assemblers dedicated to cassava paste. Each one took ten minutes to make a serving, which meant forty servings an hour in total, but then many people carried as many as half a dozen stamps for their families, the most any one person was allowed to redeem at once.

The wait was worst near the front. Naema could see the machines defecating paste into tubs at painstakingly slow rates. Some machines were broken, and some white men would be elbow deep inside those trying to fix them, if they bothered. And then there were the pounds of paste the peace officers carried off, supposedly going to those too sick or old to wait, but across the river, by the docks, the Jambai gang sold tubs for five naira apiece. They say they have their own assemblers, but those tubs looked a lot like the ones those officers carried off.

The line moved. Everyone shuffled forward. Naema rounded a corner, and the relief tent came into view. It was only a week old, but already its tarp was stained with dirt and mud, just like the peace officers’ fatigues. Their gray and white fabrics didn’t look so pure anymore.

On the first night the relief crew arrived, gangs lobbed handfuls of shit until shock troops dropped in from the sky like comets. Naema had heard the screaming from home, but no gunfire. Lakiran rifles whispered.

Over the next hour, the line crawled.

“Hey,” someone called from behind her. “Oslo.”

From the way the old man before Naema turned, he was Oslo.

A Nigerian with short curls of gray hair approached Oslo. He sidled up, hands in his pockets and a warm smile on his face. Oslo glanced around as though looking for the man this stranger was actually talking to. The newcomer slapped his arm over Oslo’s shoulder.

“Oslo. Thank you, my friend.”

“What?”

“You have saved my place in line.”

Oslo glanced around. He averted his gaze from Naema. When he glanced at the peace officers patrolling the line, he had a change of heart.

“Um. Yes. Tonton. You are quite welcome. It is good to see you again. It has been too long.”

Tonton bellowed laughter. His smile stretched wide, showing yellow teeth. “Too long? We were standing in line together an hour ago.”

Naema knew what was happening. This Tonton had seen someone he knew, and he was bluffing his way in. Oslo either had to play along, or tell this man to get lost and risk starting a fight, which might get him pulled from the line.

Naema wanted to say something. If she were in line just for herself, she would, but Oni and Mama were counting on her. Even when Tonton pulled his hand from his pocket, revealing a full six food stamps, she said nothing. It only added ten minutes to her wait.

Someone prodded Naema from behind. She turned. An angry man was glaring at her. “Was he there?” He pointed to Tonton. “I never saw that man. Did you?”

Naema shrugged.

“He wasn’t there. Get him out.”

Naema glanced from the angry man to Tonton, who was ignoring her.

“Get him out,” the man said again.

“You get him out.”

The man scowled, but said nothing more. A short while later Tonton raised his hand and signaled to a group of passing strangers. “Over here, mes amies.”

Three people meandered over. Each caught on to Tonton’s little deception. Each held multiple food stamps.

Tonton smiled broadly at his companions. “I thought you wouldn’t find me.”

Oslo made no remark as they filed into line in front of Naema.

This was too much. She tugged on Tonton’s shirt. He turned.

“No. Uh huh. You were not in line. None of you were.”

Tonton smiled. “You are mistaken. My friend Oslo here was holding our place. You have a leaky memory.”

“No,” said Naema. “Me and my brother have been waiting all day. We no see any of you.”

“What’s it matter?” Tonton’s smile had no humor. “You want to get us in trouble?” He glanced toward the peace officers, then leaned in. “Here. I’m a good man. See? Maybe you remember better?”

He held his hand between them so only she could see. A single food token was between his fingers. An extra half pound of cassava would go a long way, but something about this man made her resist. Maybe it was how casually he decided to cheat everyone else, or maybe it was that smile of his, as though he were smarter than everyone else for pulling it off.

She’d probably regret this later.

“No,” she shook her head. “You go wait in line like everyone else.”

His smile returned as he withdrew the token. “Okay, putain. More for me. You want to call the peace men, you do that. Maybe I tell the peace men you cut, no?”

He turned back to his friends, but Naema yanked him around by his shirt. “No. You go wait. All these people wait. You think your problems are worse?”

This time, Tonton ignored her. He and his friends laughed. Some glanced at her.

“Hey,” she said, raising her voice. “You don’t stay here. Go.”

A patrolling peace officer approached. “Is there a problem?”

Naema started to speak, but Tonton’s voice barreled over her.

“Yeah. There’s a problem. This woman is trying to cut in line. I told her to go to the end. Now she won’t leave me alone.”

“No. That is not what happened,” Naema said. “They cut in line. They are all pretending to know each other, but I know they were never here.”

Tonton shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve been here all day with my friends.” They all agreed.

The peace officer hardly cared. He looked from Tonton to Naema, then glanced to the man behind her. “What did you see?”

Eyes wide, the man shrugged. He wasn’t willing to stick his neck out.

The peace officer turned back to Naema and Tonton. “Okay then. Both of you out of line.”

“What?” said Tonton. “No. No, sir. I’ve been here all day.”

“No no, it’s okay,” said Naema. “We won’t argue anymore.”

“Out.” With gloved hands, the officer pulled them from line. “One of you cut. I don’t care who. You can both go back to the end of the line or wait until tomorrow. I don’t care.”

He resumed patrolling the line.

“Good work, salope.” Tonton shoved her. “I’ve got four kids. You, bitch, can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“Shut up,” said Naema. It had taken her and her brother four hours to get through the line. Mama might be home now preparing a kettle. Even if Naema got back in line, it would be after dark before she even got back to where she was.

She turned and walked away.

“Hey, salope,” called Tonton. “You ain’t got nothing to say for yourself?”

She ignored him. At least he got kicked out too, but what was the point? His friends got to stay. They would let him back in as soon as the peace officer moved on.

She turned off the main road and headed back home. The family had food saved up, and Naema could skip her portion.

Things were supposed to get better when the Lakirans took over. Everyone was supposed to get as much assembled food as they wanted; that’s what the soldiers said when they marched in. But it’s worse now. Food was scarce before the Lakirans zeroed in on Nigeria, but at least it was there. Someone might sell food from a hacked assembler in their basement, or Mama might get lucky, and a dealer would pick her up who could pay her in food cans.

But now? Nothing. The first thing the Lakirans did was shut down all trade out of the Port Harcourt. They arrested anyone they found with food other than their own. They made themselves the only food source, but they weren’t enough.

Naema turned down an alley toward her home. Like most alleys, it was home to many. There were shanties made of aluminum, and laundry lines stretched overhead. Litter covered most of the road.

Someone was running up behind her.

Naema turned. A PVC pipe cracked against her head. White stars burst across her vision. She collided against a nearby shanty. Aluminum plates rattled like thunder. She tried to push herself up by her hands, and the pipe struck her back. She collapsed against the shanty again.

“You get me out of line?” Tonton yelled. “You want trouble with me? You got it, bitch.”

Again and again, Tonton beat her. There was anger behind each blow. Everywhere her arms would protect, he would just aim elsewhere: her ribs, her skull, her legs. He spared nothing.

Throughout his yelling and beating, people passed the mouth of the alley, and Naema knew people were in the shanties. No one helped.

She curled into a fetal position and waited until he finished. Finally, he dropped the pipe and knelt beside to her. His hands roamed her clothes. When she realized what he was looking for, she lashed out and kicked, but her strength was gone.

He yanked the food tokens from her pockets, two fell and clattered. He turned to pick them up.

She couldn’t let him have them. Those tokens were for her family. If she could just save one…

She lunged, despite pain in her sides and blood streaming from her scalp. Her fingers hooked Tonton’s sandal. He stumbled away. Naema fumbled for a fallen token. Just one, and then she’d run.

As her fingers closed around the small plastic coin, Tonton’s foot collided with her face. She reeled. Blood streamed from her nose.

“Give me the coin, salope,” he yelled.

He attacked her again. Kick after kick, but she kept her hand clenched.

Then he stomped her fist against the ground. Something snapped. Wailing, she pulled her hand to her chest, but Tonton yanked it back. Squeezing her wrist, he pried the last token from her fingers.

“Don’t fuck with me again, okay?” He kicked her one final time, then left her laying in the alley.

Out on the street, everyone continued on their day.

Limping, Naema arrived home. Her ribs ached. She had numerous cuts and scrapes, and a gash on her forehead still bled. The worst was her thumb. The nail was loose. In time it would turn black and pop off, but what concerned her more was that her thumb wouldn’t bend, and it was swelling like a balloon.

Home was a blue tarp propped between a condominium wall and a dumpster. Before the bombing, they’d lived in a shack by the bay—one of many. It was a single room made of balsa wood planks. Naema and Oni had slept on one mattress on the floor, and their parents shared the only bed with their infant brother. It hadn’t been much, but it had been home. Between Mama and Papa’s work, they got by. Sometimes, as Naema lay beneath the tarp they lived under now, she’d think about that bayside shack—about Papa and their little brother who never got a name—and she’d grow nauseous with homesickness.

With her good hand, she pulled back the tarp flap and entered. Oni slept on a mess of sheets. Mama was perched over the portable glass kettle. It came with its own heating pad, which it snapped into. The glass was chipped, and it rattled in its hold, but it functioned.

Mama had not yet changed from work. Her tight lycra miniskirt and low cut tank top showed as much coffee skin as possible while still remaining flattering for her age, although the miniskirt made hunkering over the kettle an awkward affair.

She saw Naema’s wounds instantly.

“Naema.” She hurried over and clutched Naema’s shoulders. “What happen to you, girl?”

In the corner, Oni stirred. He stared at her, eyes wide.

Naema had known this was coming. As soon as she told Mama she was mugged, Mama would shower her with sympathy. It didn’t matter that she’d lost the tokens, just as long as she was all right. It wouldn’t be her fault, and that’s what she would hate, because it was. She’d lost their tokens. She got hurt. She did something stupid. And they were all going to suffer because of it.

Naema began to cry.

Mama guided her to a mattress. She fetched a first aid kit from under a pile of laundry. Oni had gotten it from a relief handout months ago. Mama had already traded away most of the supplies and drugs inside, but a few sanitary wipes remained. Mama dabbed Naema’s cuts while humming lullabies, more to herself than to Naema. Oni watched silently.

Once Mama finished, she held Naema and crooned until she calmed down.

“Now you tell me what happened.”

So Naema did, starting with when Tonton cut into the line, down to his prying of the token from her hands. She thought of leaving out details, such as how she’d gotten herself kicked out of line, but she’d only be masking her fault, and she deserved to have them know the truth.

Finished, Naema looked up at her mother to see her brow creased with sympathy, and it set off her crying all over again.

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

“No no.” Mama pulled her into a hug. “Don’t be sorry.”

The comfort made it worse. There had been so much of it recently, so many times Naema or Oni had been reduced to tears. It hadn’t always been like this, not back before Papa left.

Mama focused on Naema’s thumb. Gingerly, she touched it. Naema winced. All Naema could do was wiggle it like a dying worm.

“Sleep, now,” Mama said. “Both of you.”

Oni laid back down. Naema crawled to the bed, carefully holding her arm to her stomach.

“Tomorrow you go to the doctor men,” Mama said. The Lakiran’s had medical tents in Nigeria as well as food relief. Unfortunately, the nearest one was down by the bay, nearly four hours walk. And it was always flooded with the screaming and dying. She might be there long past dark, and since she wasn’t critically injured, they wouldn’t let her stay in the tents. She’d have to stay in the dock’s refugee camp overnight to avoid getting caught for curfew violation.

She wanted to argue against going, but Mama was right. This wouldn’t get better on its own.

2. Triage

2052, October 14th
Collapse + 3 years

The town mall wasn’t used anymore. It was too big to bother maintaining, and too cold to use as it was. Looters had long ago taken anything useful. Everything else was strewn about the shop floors. Squatters had moved in occasionally, setting up makeshift homes in the backrooms. The town always drove them out, but not before their refuse contributed to the grime.

The Lakirans had done a quick job of cleaning out the food court. In place of tables and chairs were now four military tents. Warm light shined inside them. Using stanchions, soldiers directed townsfolk to get into orderly lines and directed them into tents as soon as they became available. It was streamlined. The soldiers were bored.

Winnie and the others had hoped they could prevent the Lakirans from coming into their lives, but they never had a chance. For the Lakirans, taking this town was rote.

As each townsfolk finished in a tent, they left out the back, where the soldiers led them to another holding area farther into the mall.

But then came a man whom they took elsewhere. Winnie hadn’t noticed until he started yelling.

“Hey,” the man said as the soldiers directed him toward the exit. “Hey, where are we going? My wife is over there.” Everyone looked. He was one of the town watch. “My wife is over there.” He jerked out of the soldiers’ grip. They swarmed him with batons. He screamed as they held him down.

Several people in the town crowd climbed over the stanchions and moved toward him.

Soldiers blocked them. “Back in line,” they barked, rifles raised.

“Where the hell are you taking him?” a town watchman yelled.

“Get back in line. Final warning.”

Behind the soldiers, the others dragged the beaten man into the cold. Everyone saw through the glass doors as they loaded him into a steel pod. It sealed. A small hovering plane hooked it and airlifted it away.

“Where is he going?” the watchman yelled.

“Get. Back. In. Line.” The soldier shoved the man toward the stanchions.

Processing continued. That man was the first of many. Nearly every person who had been on the city watch was dragged away to pods, as well some of their wives, and their children. They took some people away who weren’t connected to the watch at all. To Winnie, their choices seemed random. With each person taken, her mother’s grip tightened.

They slowly shuffled along the line. Each citizen took minutes. Between four tents and four hundred townsfolk, Winnie was in line for hours. At least it was warmer in here. Her fingers burned as feeling returned.

Finally, their time came. A soldier signaled. Cautiously, they moved forward.

“One at a time,” he droned.

“She’s my daughter.”

“One at a time.”

Her mother’s grip slowly released, though neither moved. Only when the soldier approached did her mother finally step forward. She glanced back at Winnie before disappearing into a tent. Another one freed up. They called for Winnie. One foot before the other, she approached.

The tent was heated. Four men were inside. Two soldiers guarded the entrances, and a man who looked like an accountant sat behind a propped-up tablet. Beside him was a man who wore white—an exemplar.

“Please, sit,” the accountant said. “We’re going to ask you a few questions. I’d like you to answer as simply and honestly as you can. Please,” he pointed to the seat across from him. She sat, hands clutched in her lap to keep them from shaking. The exemplar’s eyes were trained on her. His expression was blank.

“What is your name?” the accountant asked.

“Winnie.”

“Full name, please.”

“Cho Eun-Yeong.” She spelled it. “My name is also Gwyneth, but everyone calls me Winnie.”

“Are you a resident of this town?”

“Yes.”

“Were you a resident here before the Collapse?”

“No.”

“Where, then?”

“My mom and I are from farther north in Washington State. We came down here because—”

“Thank you. So you were a United States citizen?”

“Yes.”

“What is your date of birth?”

Winnie gave it. The man continued asking routine questions. She answered. All the while the exemplar stared directly at her. In his lap was a tablet device, but it stood out to Winnie. It had a thick steel frame, and old fashion LED lights on the top indicating power—bulky and ugly, unlike the rest of the Lakiran’s sleek technology. Even Winnie’s tablet was prettier, and hers had been cobbled together by the town’s decrepit assemblers.

The exemplar was still staring intently, as though he saw something curious on her face.

The accountant finished. “Thank you. If you could just look here…” He held up his tablet and pointed to a small camera on its back. Winnie hardly glanced when it flashed. “Thank you. While I print you up an ID, he’s going to ask you a few questions.” He gestured to the exemplar, then typed away at his tablet.

“Look me in the eyes,” the exemplar said. Winnie did so.

But then the questions didn’t come. He merely stared. Was this the mind reading? Was he seeing her thoughts right now? The rifle. It was on the ground in that cellar. She was going to use it against the Lakirans. She’d vowed she would never stop fighting them. Was he going to see this? Was he listening to her train of thought? She tried to clear her mind.

The silence stretch on. The exemplar’s brow furrowed. Was that bad? Was he seeing something he didn’t like? Wasn’t he supposed to be asking questions?

The accountant glanced curiously at the exemplar. Winnie glanced at the accountant.

“Keep your eyes on me,” the exemplar said.

Winnie’s eyes snapped back. She was frozen now. Any sudden movement might spook the exemplar, and he would send her away kicking and screaming to one of those pods.

Please, she thought. She would behave. She wouldn’t fight back. She was stupid to ever think that she would. Stupid and afraid. Please don’t send her away. Please leave her and her mother alone. They just want to live.

“Are you associated with the European Democratic Alliance?” he asked suddenly.

“What? No,” said Winnie. A startling question. That was a group a world away born out of the tempered remains of the EU. She’d heard they’re at war with the Lakirans, but that’s all she’d heard.

“Are you involved in any group working against the Lakiran empire?”

“No.”

“Do you have any intention of resisting or in any way subverting the Lakiran empire, either in this town or elsewhere?”

Her mind shot to that rifle. She cast the thought aside. “No. I don’t. I was… I won’t do anything.”

Her heart jumped to her throat. What kind of answer was that? Even the accountant raised an eyebrow.

The exemplar nodded slowly as he gazed at her. His eyes narrowed. Winnie’s heart beat against her chest, but she didn’t look away.

A machine at the end of the table popped out a small plastic card. The accountant took it and glanced at the exemplar. “You done?”

The exemplar didn’t respond immediately. “Yeah. I’m done.”

“You sure? You didn’t ask—”

“I’m done. Go ahead.”

The accountant handed the ID card to the soldier at the rear tent flap. The guard motioned for Winnie to rise. She did so on shaky legs. He grabbed her shoulder and led her toward the back exit.

“She clear?” the guard asked.

The exemplar swiveled to answer, but paused in thought.

“She clear, or are we packing her up?”

Everyone stared. Still nothing.

“If you have to think about it,” the soldier said, “we pack her up.”

This snapped the exemplar out of it. “What? Oh. Uh, no. She’s clear.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. She’s clear. Put her with the others.”

“All right then,” the soldier slapped the ID card into Winnie’s hand. It showed a picture of her looking startled. He led her toward the group of refugees that wasn’t dragged away. “Go with them. Don’t lose your card.” He gave her a little shove.

Winnie staggered toward her mother. Her legs barely made it before she collapsed. Her mother held her, and for the first time since the sirens sounded that day, Winnie cried.

The sun was coming up by the time the Lakirans sent them home. Tired, hungry, and cold, Winnie and her mother returned. Most Lakiran’s were gone by the time she got up. Those that remained had established themselves in the courthouse the watch used to meet in. They scoured the town for all weapons and food supplies, which they put under their own roof.

Three days later, a Lakiran shuttle arrived. To everyone’s surprise, it contained all the men and women the Lakirans had dragged away.

The Lakiran’s had questioned them all further, but then determined them not to be a threat. That’s all they said on the matter.