“Jesus, Mary, and Allah.” Sebastian looked up at Mia and smiled. “That’s dark!”
She arched an eyebrow at him while sensing a presence from behind that she couldn’t see. She wanted to turn but refused. She loathed that, the unknowing, the coiling tension in her chest. But still she refused. To do so would be submission. The presence neared. It was full and looming, and Sebastian’s nodded up at it. Of course, she thought. That’s how Sebastian’s here.
“You all know each other, right,” Sebastian said. “From the hospital?”
The presence stepped beside her and Sebastian without actually moving between them, batting aside an errant camo balloon. An arm like a ladder grabbed a puff pastry. It tossed the pastry into the air, where it disappeared into a constellation of white teeth and fleshy gums.
“Hello, Mia.” He spoke through bites, in a voice more mild than she remembered. More cautious, too. “Been a while.”
“Pete Swenson.” She hoped using his full name didn’t come across as coy. She flattened out her words to make sure. “How are you?”
“Same old. Was just talking about you with Jackpot.” His disparate eyes shined at his casual reference to the general, black and green roiling together. He’d fitted into a black suit too small on him, though maybe that had been intentional. He needed a haircut and a shave, and he was as drunk as Sebastian, betrayed by a soft, droopy glaze. He’d managed a skinny tie, though, and his face and shoulders had finally filled out.
That month in Germany: they’d all just survived a disaster no one could explain. Mia had lost a leg and her career, her very purpose of being. She’d gained a freak power she wasn’t ever supposed to use. She was a lot aimless, and not a little manic. And then there were the lurid dreams of blackness, the ones that came on like floods and only relented to pills she feared even more than the dreams. Pass the days exploring the European countryside with a tall, handsome stranger? Why not. Pass the nights in his arms? Sure.
It’d been fun, a reminder that there was life beyond war, and a lot of it. More than a lark, less than love. That’d been it, though. For her, at least.
“Last I saw you…” Mia had been avoiding him, she knew. He’d known her when she hadn’t been herself. When she hadn’t been who she was now. Now that he was in front of her, Mia needed to reintroduce herself. “You put a hole through a wall. Right above my head.”
Pete tilted his head, his green eye seeming to refract around her, like waves. She looked back, not staring, not glaring, either, holding to a five-count in her mind. Then she took a long sip from her club soda. The lights of the ballroom dimmed, the cocktail hour coming to an end. The last thing Mia saw before the room went dark was Sebastian’s mouth hanging open, mid-chew.
Huh, she thought. Guess he really didn’t know.
The babbling din faded out. A digital sign glowed into brightness in the shape of a silver tree, American Service’s chosen symbol. General Collins appeared on a stage in the center of the ballroom clenching a microphone in her right fist. She wore a gray suit and the ubiquitous West Point ring. Her short, styled auburn hair cut against the evenness of her outfit and she turned to the crowd with the grace of a piston. Many a retired general before her had failed at politics. Too stilted. Too rough around the edges. Too many acronyms. It didn’t matter what the message was if the messenger couldn’t appeal. Any stirrings of concern Mia may have felt in the moment, though, washed away as the general tapped the mic and began speaking.
“Friends! Romans! Countrywomen!” General Collins paused to let polite laughter sound through the ballroom. “Thank you for being here tonight. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Jackie Collins—you may call me ‘General’ ”—more polite laughter—“and I’m a proud American Service candidate for the Senate!”
Applause carried through the room. She totally punched a superior, Mia thought, recalling the rumor for why General Collins hadn’t pinned a third star. And I love it.
“We live in a moment of much divide. Perhaps not since the Civil War has America been this polarized, this angry and upset with the so-called other side. We here at American Service believe there is no other side. Not with fellow Americans. But the tribalism of the system is strong. Strong and toxic. It’s fracturing our great nation.
“Now, more than ever, the center must hold. A center of moderation. A center of compromise. A center of service.
“Yes, service. It’s a word tossed around a lot these days, but what does it mean? What does it look like? For too many citizens, it’s something they believe in but aren’t personally acquainted with. We here at American Service believe we have the answer. An answer that will fill our young people with purpose and benefit the nation.
“Everyone here at American Service has practiced what we preach. I myself spent a few years in a military uniform, and then a couple more at the Agency. Just resigned from there, actually. To do this.” The general stopped for applause and after a strained beat, some came. The military was one thing, but the Empire City elite held mixed feelings about the Agency. “Service to community. Service to country. Service to our ideals, to our better angels. That’s our vision. After tonight, it’ll be yours, too.”
She began introducing the presidential candidate, but Mia’s thoughts stayed with the general. “Our better angels,” she had said. Pragmatism and idealism, for something bigger than self. Mia felt like she did at the summer luncheon. Transfixed. Hopeful.
I’m going to do it, she thought. I’ll leave finance for this, and never look back.
“She’s talking mandatory national service, right?” Sebastian was in her ear, whispering. Mostly. “Like everyone has to join the army or park service for a couple of years?”
Mia nodded, her mind beginning to plot out her transition. Was the general’s offer still standing? She needed to be certain. And Pete had said he’d talked about her with General Collins. She needed to know what about.
“It’s my right as an American to do whatever I want.” Scorn laced Sebastian’s words. He burped into his fist yet again. “Especially if it’s nothing.”
Mia held zero regard for that. This was America, not a blithe dreamscape. She leaned up to Sebastian and said, words drawn like a revolver, “Shut. Up.”
The presidential candidate walked across the stage to shake hands and exchange an awkward hug with General Collins. Mia knew little about him other than he was Mormon, came from gambling money, and had salt-and-pepper hair that never seemed to move, even in wind. If he was going to be the bellwether of this movement, she needed to learn more. She tried to focus on his speech.
“What is patriotism?” the candidate began.
It was a question, a good question, and one Mia and others in the crowd had explored in mind and heart. The ballroom turned black before it could be answered, though, as if the plug of the world had been tripped over by a clumsy god.
Through the shadows: the kiss of gunfire into dark air. Shrieks. Shouts. Metallic fear, tinny panic, primal smells for the postmodern condition. A voice, cold and singular, telling everyone to remain still, remain still, remain still if you want to live.
Through it all, Mia watched, her eyes adjusting, the tips of her fingers prickling. The nape of her neck began to itch. She heard the hustle of bodies and guns moving their way, knowing straightaway they were coming for Pete. It was how she would’ve planned it.