#nihilus rex

When Rome's in ruins

We are the lions

Free of the coliseums

In poisoned places

We are anti-venom

We're the beginning of the end

Tonight

The foxes hunt the hounds

It's all over now

Before it has begun

And we've already won

Fall Out Boy, “Young Volcanoes

Lash

Nils eventually came out of the master suite, carrying a bottle and sniffing it suspiciously. “This isn’t mine.”

I rolled my eyes and held out my hand. “White boy hair oil and brown girl hair don’t necessarily work well together. Thank you, I’ll stick it in my bag. Sorry.”

He snatched it back. “Nope. I like it, it’s staying here. In case you need another shower. Only practical. I’ll buy you another bottle on the way to take you home.” 

I smothered a smile as he padded barefoot back to the bathroom, returning seconds later to take his position on the far end of the couch - at some point, we had established ‘our’ seats, although I couldn’t pinpoint when. But his was on the left, mine was on the right. Everywhere. I shook myself out of my thoughts. “Food is ordered - hope saag paneer and double extra garlic naan is okay. I still can’t stomach the idea of meat at the moment.”

“Sounds perfect.” He leaned back in the couch. “So, what was so nuts about my idea that it beats…whatever movie we were going to watch?” 

“I didn’t say it was nuts, I said it was interesting,” I pointed out. “But to your point. Firstly, I am constantly caught off guard by how hopeful you can be for someone who is so pessimistic.  I don’t mean that as an insult, by the way.  But, secondly… I think it could work if - and only if - we think in the very long term.  Not scales of weeks, months, or years, but we’re talking generations.  Lifetimes.”

“A sunrise we’ll never see?” His tone was pensive. “Or in the sense that it will be an ongoing project whose endpoint will take several lifetimes beyond our own?” 

“In the sense that it may not even be the best idea if we live to see the sun finish setting,” I responded as gently as possible. “Studies show that sustainable, lasting change - good or bad - is done over time to gain momentum.”

“Which has the singular downside that I don’t know that’s time we have.” Nils said, thinking. “Behold the climate. There are places we can challenge capitalist control, and places we can replace it, fairly rapidly. We didn’t do it with debts, no, but we proved it could be done, that the system was weaker than people thought, and we got away clean. A lot of why rapid change is impossible to sustain is that the system is too load bearing, so our first play has to be to prove that we can take those loads away - which has the advantage of making us look like winners and making the powers-that-be look like conquerable fools. How many revolutions fail before they start simply because people don’t try? Because they think the system is invincible?”

I reached out and squeezed his thumb affectionately. “Hey, I agree. Keep in mind, I’m not beating the ‘Go Vote’ drum as the be-all-end-all, here.  We can definitely pull away those theoretically load bearing systems, one at a time, provided we are smart about what they are supposed to be propping up and how much we care if those loads crumble. Case in point, the debt heist we just did.”

The familiar, laughing-at-a-far-away-joke smile played about his lips as he looked at me, eyes focused entirely in the moment. “That’s why we’re partners. Never would have worked as well without you. I wouldn’t be trying this without you.” He reached out and gently squeezed my hand. “We can pick our targets carefully, but at some point we’re going to inspire copycats - and those people should have some means of finding us, so that we can guide them a bit, so they don’t fuck it up.” 

I shook my hair out, thinking.  Reaching back, I started twisting it, looking around and finding a pen to shove through it and keep it balanced. “We honestly aren’t all that sneaky, outside of the fact that we are very openly doing this under online personas that are very much hard to trace back to real people.  But I agree, we need something like a council - proxy real people who copy cats can reach out to when we are asleep or busy.  Like… Bishop, for sure. Weasel is out. Bryce may actually be a good option, though.”

Nils shook his head. “He wasn’t reliable to not steal from you and finish the job. He’ll roll over on us for any reward money in a heartbeat.” 

I pointed at him and winked. “Exactly. Bryce is motivated by money, pure, plain, and simple. We know what to watch out for, and we know how to hack him. Weasel… we can’t pay him in enough of his preferred currency to keep him from turning in half a breath. But Bryce?  Has a gambling addiction, a few hundred thousand in student loans, and parents who are always a hair away from cutting him off. If we can redirect some ill-gotten billionaire funds to keep him from getting killed by loan sharks, he’ll be loyal.”

“Point the first: We just torched a huge swathe of student debt, that was literally my original goal. Gambling addiction though, that’s interesting.” I thought about it. “My issue is that if the FBI offers enough he may take a bigger payday from them. Consider it for now, not a hard no. I like Bishop though. And we’re going to want someone to manage the psychopaths a little more directly, ideally someone who understands…frankly, weapons, tactics, and ideally isn’t a racist psychopath I have to string along with mind games.”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” I suggested, just as the food arrived. “Am I safe to grab that, or should you?”

“I’ll get it.” He got up and headed down to go grab the food at the door. When he got back, he set the food down on the table and set out a plate in front of each of us. “Good call, this stuff smells amazing.”

I smiled. “Thank yew, thank yew. I could eat this every day, mass murder notwithstanding.” I started scooping rice and curry onto my plate before continuing. “So. Yes, we need a council, persons beyond Bishop to be determined. But we also need a figurehead.” With my fork, I pointed at my face vaguely. “Clearly not the person to visibly converse with racists, which are our primary market currently.” I started swirling the tines in his general direction. “However, you? Mr. Rich Boy Who Hates the Rich? Perfect.”

“We have to network with people who will look at my…everything…and know we’re bullshit, though. Ideally, we may want to have two different figureheads, for interacting with different crowds. You for our actual side of things, me for the rowdy and violent crowd? Bear in mind, we’re gonna need actual activists to set up the community shit to take advantage of whatever we do with our pawns.” 

“Activists don’t care what you look like,” I agreed before shoving a chunk of spinach covered cheese in my face and chewing thoughtfully. “But yeah, I can organize the actuals on the back end while you rally the minions in the front.   Right now, front work is going to be our focus.  Did the dead guys have life insurance? Families?”

“Based on chatter? One did. It came up alot.” His tone was unconcerned as he heaped his plate. “Are we thinking hitting life insurance next? For that matter, are we reaching out for a mutual edge? Get payouts for the victims of the fire and the widows and orphans of our retribution? An easy way to reunite “our” forces and get them refocused on the real enemy.” 

I waffled my hand while I chewed on naan. Swallowing I managed to get out, “Kind of both? Don’t get me wrong, if we just wiped out their mortgage and they still bombed the cafe? We can pro-rate that insurance, I know the math.  But also.” I started gesturing with my fork again. “Did you know that, in the absence of a clear beneficiary, most life insurance defaults to the state after three to ten years?  Waste of funds, plus the interest goes to the state, regardless. It’s gross.”

“That is uniquely disgusting,” he said, before shoving a large hunk of naam into his mouth. “Or, I’d say so if I hadn’t heard about. Other theft the state likes doing. But that’s directly addressable, right now.” 

I nodded enthusiastically. “So, you’re picking up what I’m putting down: unclaimed and excessive life insurance. Reroute that shit.”

“Sounds perfectly agreeable to me. To the poor, or to the recently widowed and orphaned of the country? I think both would be…pretty funny.” 

“Tired, poor, and huddled masses,” I toasted with a chunk of naan, rice, and curry. “Fuck the yearning, let’s make them free. Food banks, medical debts - until we can wipe those out - Hey.” I set my food down for a second. “Funnel the funds into a medical debt jubilee? Would that work better, or would another hack work better? We need an accountant or insurance adjuster on staff, I think.”  At this point, I was rambling, but in the groove and happy for once in the last several years.

“Second hack. We drop that kind of cash into the people who are real experts in making it matter the most, they’re legally required to find out who it comes from and how. We’re better off intercepting the shit they can’t buy yet.” Nils was grinning. “We can find an accountant though. Gotta be a way to start dumping money into this machine.” He blushed a bit. “I love seeing you smile again, Lash. For real, not just for cover.” 

I complied with a genuinely enthusiastic, sunny grin, spinach in teeth be damned. “I still think we need a risk-reward specialist on board,” I pointed out. “Keep in mind, we don’t need a licensed adjuster, just a trained one. Think of all the people who get educated in prison and can’t get employed. We can cultivate one, cherry pick.” At this point I was screaming high on endorphins and realized I sounded silly. “Or just… I dunno. Pay one who is willing to take the pay over the ethics. You might be right.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear my objections. I was going to say there’s no one trained for this, because we break that scale at both ends.” He was laughing too. “Then again as we get this council together, we’re probably going to run into that problem a lot if we go as far as we could.” 

I glanced around while I thought, and spotted a surprisingly dusty chess set.  Carefully, I brought it over to the table, set it down, scooted our food over, and sat on the floor. “So here,” I I picked up a king out of the box - it happened to be a white piece, but whatever, it was the first one I saw - “This is basically you.” I set it in place. “You think incredibly well in short term but you put your neck out without caring about the consequences, yes?”

He picked up the black king. “I don’t hate your analysis. But this is the side we’re playing. The system’s had at least one move on us a long time. We’re just moving back to react to the world we’re living in and trying to win anyway. Also, you know you’re setting me up as the piece we can’t win without - that the game ends if they manage to kill me.” He sounded oddly anxious about that concept.

I nodded and fished out the corresponding queen. “In theory, this is me - long term thinking, flexible, but not the figurehead. The movement doesn’t die with me.” Without waiting, I grabbed a bishop. “Obvious. But we need another, so I’m only putting one on the board right now.”  Fully committing to the metaphor, I fished all the pawns out of the box and placed them on the Black side. “These are your pawns. Appropriately, both useful, powerful, and sacrificial.”  To the side, I started setting the rest of the Black pieces. “Here’s what we don’t have.”

“An advisor, two specialists for atypical offense, and two builders to make whatever we want last. Okay.” He took a look. “Not king and queen of much of a court.” He glanced at me. “You were born to be a queen though, even if when we’re done there’s not going to be much in the way of monarchies.” 

I felt my face flush, and turned away so he wouldn’t see it.  Given how many times I had been subjected to similar pickup lines, I mentally scolded myself while I calmed down. Remember all the stupid lines about Nubian queens when you aren’t even from Africa, I asserted. And how many references to Cleopatra left you with a soggy date and an empty cup. “Capitalism, monarchies, whatever,” I managed to get out, “leaders need a council.  I assume you would object if I placed myself as King’s Rook - the one piece that can swap for the King in an assassination attempt in chess - so I accept being Queen. Fair?”

“We didn’t establish that I really bought the model that you’re more expendable than I am to the movement long-term.” He said, obviously thinking about something. “But if I can’t convince you of that, yes, you’re the queen.” 

I grabbed a bite of my now-cold paneer and nodded as I swallowed. “If it helps your conscience at all, these games rarely get far past the Queen being taken, unless you are playing against an absolute master or a total newb.”

He nodded. “Point.” He then proceeded, speaking in a voice somewhere between supervillain and flirting-teasing, with a grin that indicated he had an entirely new thing to tease me with, “So, ‘my queen,’ do you have a particular preference for the rest of our council that we should contact or discuss this evening?”

My face burning, I managed to keep facing him and steadily respond. “Bishop, first. Ask him for suggestions… Beyond him and Weasel, I don’t think we know a lot of the same folks.”  Surrendering, I dropped my forehead into my palm. “And please, for the love of everything, let me sleep on this big, fluffy, gorgeous couch tonight? I don’t want to even think of blaming anything that happens between us, non-professionally, as being due to trauma.”

He snorted. “I was going to be a gentleman and take the couch, let you have the bed, but if you insist on the couch, I’m not going to force you.” 

I started giggling, possibly out of tired delirium. “I flopped on the bed earlier,” I confessed. “It’s hard as a rock, so I will take the couch and suggest you get a softer bed.”

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I stifled a groan at the stiffness in my shoulder as I scooted to the edge of Nils’ bed.  Fingers clumsily fumbled down my back, forcing me to stand up before he tried to yank me back down in his sleep.  I grabbed the first shirt that I found on the floor and padded out into the living room, opening my laptop to scratch the itch in my brain that was keeping me awake - we knew one person who was looking for us, time to find the other.

Ever since the interview with Agent Watson - and ever since I had royally screwed up - I had been trying to track down the person who was working to seduce Nils’ minions away for their own nefarious purposes.  For the past four days, I had been practically living off antacids to keep from vomiting at the amount of absolute trash that filled the message boards these people frequented, but something told me I was getting close.  I just didn’t know what.

There was no telling how much time had passed when I felt a chunk of my hair being lifted and played with - at some point it had started raining again, so for all I knew the sun had been up for hours. “How are you not cold?” Nils yawned while twisting the lock between his fingers.

“Fat deposits,” I muttered. “Besides, your bed is rock hard, so cold and soft wins.”  Drumming my nails on the screen, I finally turned toward him only to be momentarily distracted by his bare chest.  I blinked rapidly to get my brain back on track. “They’re here.  I know it.  I found them in two other boards, under different names, but I know it has to be them.”

Nils continued playing with my hair, slowly braiding it. “How do you know it’s them, Elakshi?” His voice was probing, but there was an odd cheer to it. “You’ve made progress?” 

I nodded, changing tabs. “Right now, this one in particular.” Highlighting one user, than another, I pointed to the names. “VassilisaAura and CasparsNERVE. They’re arguing, but look at the way they talk… They’re either very good friends in real life, or the same person.”

He gave an interested grunt.. “Same style of pseudonym…that’s interesting. Certainly I’ve run that trick when I want to get people talking about the same thing, regardless of where they go with it, so I can steer them with account number 3. So…we seeing anyone else who is steering them? Ideally with the same name?” 

“Even better,” I confirmed, switching tabs again. “EcoDekorashion. There’s some sub-tagging, but it’s like whoever this is decided to pick AI names from whatever anime they had on the shelf.  I’m not even going to start on their taste, honestly.” I tapped my chin before digging his hand out of my hair so I wouldn’t be distracted. “Then again, these are so obscure that they honestly don’t clock unless you know what you’re looking at.”

“Which we do, because we’re nerds. So, next step. How do we know this is our guy?” 

“We’ll have to trace the accounts, which is going to be a righteous pain in the ass,” I yawned. “But I know it has to be the right person… All three accounts I’ve found aren’t arguing if we are right or wrong, they’re arguing over why it could have been done better.” Tipping my head over, I dropped it onto his shoulder before looking up at him. “And, just so you’re aware, there is a not-insignificant amount of mockery over the names of your factions, mister clever.”

Nils gave a light smirk. “I’d love to say I gave a shit, but it was clearly clever enough. I don’t have to be a genius, just smarter than the mark. And as long as he’s not fucking that up, rather than…” 

He looked at it, where it was obvious that the three accounts were pushing the idea that whoever was doing it was making up names for real stuff because he thought people were too stupid to understand codenames. One of them was arguing that Nothing had made the whole thing up, and getting shouted down by idiots - Nils pointed out that one was also arguing that Q was bullshit to begin with and that the new guy was clearly just digging deeper - and the third one was simply mocking the names of these “pretentious assholes” who thought the world was their playground. 

All in all, I had to admit it was pretty clever, given the crowd we were playing. Mock while drawing attention to power that these idiots claimed. Make denial unpopular. Make it okay to believe in it while mocking it because everyone on these boards was irony-poisoned half to death. That was perfect - almost exactly what we needed. “This person doesn’t want to deescalate. They either want to usurp us…or want in.” I gave Nils a sleepy grin. “So, let’s bring them in.”  He looked like he was going to argue, so I sat up and clicked over to one of the dozen or so tabs I had going. “Here.  VassilisaAura again, basically calling out whoever hit the banks and called for the people behind the fire to be taken care of.  Claiming that, if we meant it, we would be recruiting, not dividing.  And, right on schedule, EcoDekorashion pointing out that, as pretentious as we sound, more people benefitted from our ‘sloppy’ work than from just sitting around and bitching.”

Nils rubbed my shoulders. “Alright. You were right, babe. This is a good idea. We’ll get him on our side.” He took a step. “So, do we want to trace him and get a meeting?”

“Hmmm.” I considered it. “This is more your court than mine.  Would it be better to track them down and set up something, or to give them a challenge to find us?”

His eyebrows raised. “Depends on how serious he is. My issue is that if we dangle ‘find me’ in front of them and piss them off, we’re looking at a person fluent on a board famous for hosting dox who will have found out where we are. If they can meet the challenge. Plus, seeking them out for a meeting indicates we know what’s happening and we’re able to probe - but he’s strong enough to attract our attention. Issuing a challenge means we aren’t worried - but also puts power in his hands if he can meet it, and that he doesn’t get that power if we ping him through enough proxies. And that’s assuming he can find us, because if he can’t he may just fuck off and then we lose the option. Which matters more here, real power or perceived power?” He clearly had an opinion on it. “I’d edge towards perceived power since we’re trying to prove that the government isn’t as strong as they say, and we need to let them think we’re stronger than we actually are to do that. But we are at risk if someone pushes and we actually can’t shove them back.” 

I was hesitant, but made the decision to trust his judgment. “Like I said, your court, so it’s your call.  Do we want to set up contingencies if this person is halfway across the country? Like, a neutral ground situation?  Because I know, I know you aren’t about to ask me to fly out to some other state to meet someone face to face while we’re under FBI scrutiny.”

“No, I was talking about an end-to-end encrypted Usenet Chatroom that we scrub the minute we’re done with it, actually. Horrible system, lots of absolutely awful shit gets moved across the bones of the original internet. But it is amazing for privacy.” He sounded distracted. “No, I think perceived power is better, but there’s practical reasons as well. If we reach out to him as a response to what he’s already said, and he’s a mole, we’re fucked. If we say ‘come find us’ then that’s much easier to fake like he made a mistake, or claim we were trolling online if caught. Challenge is better. So…let’s give him a challenge.” 

At this point my brain was spinning trying to trace what had just spewed forth from Nils’ mouth.  Challenge was dangerous, but perceived power was advantageous, no challenge, yes challenge… “So, yes challenge,” I finally worked out, feeling on more firm ground. “How does ‘could be mistaken for viral marketing in the wrong hands’ sound? I can definitely whip up some images with links and shit contrasted into them, some flash cartoons with binary or hex glitches, that kind of stuff.”

“That’s brilliant. I’ll frame it, you make the links and shit? We stick in some code and dog-whistles that these idiots will recognize that most people won’t and we draw smart boy to come to us?” He was sounding more coherent now. 

“Double order of dog-whistles with cheese, coming up,” I agreed, yawning again, this time hard enough to pop my jaw. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Uh…” He glanced at the clock. “10. We slept in.” 

I craned my neck around to scowl at him. “We who? You and the mouse in your pocket?  I’ve been awake for hours, at least.”

“Mattress shopping so you can sleep better at my apartment? Is that where we’re going next?” 

“Orrr,” I teased, “we can just sleep on your couch when I stay the night?”

“Or, and hear me out, we get a mattress my amazing girlfriend doesn’t hate. So that she wants to come over more often.” 

My nerves spiked outrageously, and I fought not to show it. “That sounds like a pretty major step.  I don’t even have a toothbrush over here.”

“Yes, my bathroom and its famous black hole that makes toothbrushes of yours just. Vanish.” He said, quietly. “Lash, it’s okay if you aren’t comfortable coming over here more often but I still want to get a bed that’s comfortable for you when you do.” 

I started squirming when he called me out. “I like being over here, especially with Mori and the kids staying in the apartment while my parents are still in the hospital.  But you bought that bed - which, I’m not stupid, was a few grand easy - because it’s what you prefer, and you live here.”  I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt before looking back up. “Can we compromise on a mattress topper for half of it?”

“We can get a mattress topper with a lot of memory foam or something to make it more comfy for you. Does that work?” 

I nodded, biting my lip to hide my residual anxiety. “And I’ll figure out what’s causing the black hole and stop the vanishing toothbrushes.” And we are totally going to pretend I haven’t been throwing them away. “With that decided… do we have time for me to take a nap before our regularly scheduled shenanigans, or am I running on coffee and the promise of an early night?”

“Class starts in half an hour, so coffee, unfortunately. Not even that if you don’t get dressed.”

Mama's hooked on Mary Kay

Brother's hooked on Mary Jane

And Daddy's hooked on Mary two doors down

Mary, Mary quite contrary

We get bored, so we get married

Just like dust, we settle in this town

On this broken merry go 'round

Kasey Musgraves, “Merry go round”

Lash

I fidgeted with my hair before inwardly cursing myself and forcing my hands to my side. “You promise your mother isn’t as bad as Dr. Andover?” I asked for what had to have been the thousandth time.  Nils meeting Mama and Baba had been spontaneous, something I had been delaying more for my sake than his.  But I knew almost nothing about his parents beyond the fact that their relationship was rough on a good day.

“My mother’s worst sin is that she’s a bit oblivious to how people without money tend to live - despite our church spanning pretty much every economic class in the city. She did, however, take your community’s part in the class action lawsuit against the city, or her firm did, and last I checked, they’re winning. She’s happy to see me putting myself out there again. You two will actually get along great.” I was still distracted from how my meeting with the Parsons had gone. “Oh, and uh. Quick note. My father wasn’t…happy at all with our little stunt with the media originally, but now he’s had time to think about it and he loves you. And the fact that we’re dating. Like actually. Just not for the reasons you’d want him to.” 

So, the rich lady is the nice kind, and the holier-than-thou doctor liked me.  I couldn’t actually figure out which was worse, but all in all they could hate me for a plethora of reasons, so I was taking what I could get. “And we’re having dinner with them? Please tell me it’s something I’m going to recognize.”

“Anything you grew up eating, they wouldn’t recognize. And to be so honest, if I grew up eating it, it’s probably too flavorless for your culture to grant it status as “food,” regardless of official classification. Things you and I have eaten together - actually remember that ritzy Mediterranean fusion place with the Ethiopian and Turkish sections on the menu as well as the southern European countries? The one I took you to a few months ago? That’s where we’re going.” Nils’ voice had shifted all at once from apologetic to confident, as though he knew that at least that, I’d actually like.

My mouth did start watering a bit. “The place with the bad spanakopita and the amazing dolmades?”

“Because where better to take a girl to meet your parents than the sight of your first date. That one. Yes.” He answered with a cocky grin. 

“I can face almost anything as long as I can eat,” I nodded, feeling more confident as I teased as our Uber slowed to a stop. “I’ll even use a fork, just for them.”

“Ah, yes, the table manners of the lower classes, a thing that has been of concern more recently than the long 19th century, that is definitely. What I was concerned about.” He offered me his arm. “Shall we?” 

I took the arm, and brushed my hair over my shoulder one last time. “Let’s…. I hate to say get this over with, but our history of meeting each other’s parents isn’t the best. And that’s considering that my family liked you before you were a hero.”

“My meeting with your parents was going perfectly well before an unpredictable event caused by outside factors with whom we have settled accounts.” Nils spoke in a sarcastic, almost parodical voice that would have been funny if applied to anything else. “No, though. You’re right. If it makes you feel any better, we’re the only terrorists at tonights’ venue. No, uh…my parents like you. My mom for good reasons, my dad for bad ones. Not anything creepy,” he said quickly, “More…deeply self-serving.” 

I tugged his arm.  “Okay, let’s go before I chicken out and make up a cold or something.”

“Oh, I never even considered ‘feign sudden illness’ when your parents were about to show up.” Nils led me into the restaurant, and when we made our entrance at a restaurant for wealthy people, fairly dressed up, we turned heads walking in. He whispered, “Take bets - do we look good, or are we just getting looks for being local heroes?”  He spotted his parents table and led me towards it, pulling out a chair for me and seating me before taking his own seat. 

His mother looked at me, and gave me a reassuring smile. 

“So,” Nils said, almost breathless. “Mom, Father, this is my girlfriend, Lash Botelho. I’m glad you’re finally meeting her formally. Lash, this is Dr. Michael Andover, you met him at the hospital, and this is Katherine Andover, attorney-at-law. Lash is a student of business and computer science, with a minor in graphic design - and she’s an excellent artist on a personal level. We’ve done a bunch of projects together.”

“So you guys met through school,” his mother seemed interested. “And Lash - business, computer science, and graphic design? That’s quite a lot. Heavy course load. I thought Nils was putting on a lot when he was doing computer science, political science, and history at the same time, but if I remember right your course load is even heavier.”

“It helps that I already do a lot of work with nonprofits,” I admitted. “So the computer science and graphic design were areas I already had a solid foundation in.  The business courses are the ones where I’m learning the most new information.”

“Nils says the same thing about poli-sci and computer science - lot of activist work. Doesn’t make it less impressive that you can balance all that with working outside school as well.” She said, quietly. 

Nils’ father broke into the conversation. “You work with nonprofits,” he said, suddenly much more interested. “Which ones?” 

Nils’ eyes got sharp. “Mostly ones that help poor people access resources they need.” 

I saw an opportunity and leapt in with both feet. “Right now, I do a lot with clean water initiatives, to help minimize exposure to insect- and waterborne illnesses. West Nile, Zika, even e.coli.  Things that are easy to prevent but devastating if you can’t afford treatment.”

I saw wheels turning in his father’s head. “Any particular foundations I should look at? Nils is always vetting my charity donations for me, and that sounds like a worthy one.” 

“I actually just took on a contract for one that has developed a straw that filters any water that is fifty-percent or less contaminants into potable water, without a need to boil it.  I’ll find the name and have him pass it on to you.  The proof of concept is just incredible.”

He grunted, with a tone that sounded like he was impressed against his will, and Nils looked back and forth between us, clearly nervous.

Mrs. Andover was back to talking to me. “So, what do you two work on together?”

Nils glanced at his parents. “Guys, you know, this is a lot less… ‘parents meeting my girlfriend’ than I thought it was going to be. Honestly you’re talking like you’re deciding whether or not to invest in a startup.” 

Mrs. Andover started laughing. “Well, Nils, honestly, you tell us basically nothing about this girl. All I know about her is that she’s beautiful, she’s clearly won you over, you two work together, she’s clearly brilliant based on what she’s studying and keeping up with, and now that she does work with some pretty impressive nonprofits. I’m trying to get to know her, and I figure asking about work is less likely to be too invasive.” 

Dr. Andover shrugged. “We also know her father works at the hospital. And that both her parents got hurt in the…”

Mrs. Andover glowered at him. “Wait, both of them? You didn’t…Nils, you didn’t tell me both her parents were hurt, and I suppose my husband couldn’t have for HIPPA reasons. Lash, how are your parents doing? I’m so sorry, I should have led with that.”

Grateful for something a little less formal, I relaxed. “Baba - my father - is home and doing much better than expected.  He lost his leg, but is very determined to learn to use the prosthesis.  His physical therapist actually threatened to take it away because he rubbed blisters from pushing himself too hard.” I gave a small laugh. “It’s good to see, though.  And Mama came home two days ago… she is still on breathing treatments, but off of twenty-four-seven oxygen - she had smoke inhalation damage.  She was very upset she still cannot shout at Baba when he is being stubborn, but my sister found an airhorn from somewhere and no one has had peace since.”  I stopped for a drink of water and noticed all eyes on me. My face flushed and I covered my mouth. “Oh my gosh, I was rambling, I’m so sorry.”

Nils grabbed my hand. “Don’t apologize, I love you.” He blinked. “When you talk about your family, I mean.”  

Mrs. Andover was watching us, oblivious to me trying to process that Nils had just said that, and she started chuckling, abruptly. “I can’t say airhorn is the method I’d have gone with, but…it’s good to know that men are stubborn like that across race, culture, creed, or birth.” Her voice took on the slight timbre of an old poem near the end.

Nils blinked. “Did. Did you just quote Rudyard Kipling at my Indian-American girlfriend?” 

“Pakistani-Indian,” I corrected absently. “And yes, but it’s still very true.  You’re just as stubborn as Baba, you just had more appropriate clothing on.”

His mother blushed, his father didn’t seem to recognize why what his wife had done might have been a faux pas, and I forged ahead to keep things from going south as Dr. Andover changed the subject. “Have either of you eaten here before? It’s a bit upscale from the places Nils prefers, normally.” 

Nils glowered. “I took her here for the first date.” 

Mrs. Andover smiled. “Oh, very nice.” The waiter came by and took our orders, refilling the glasses with water. “This place is really spicy, especially the Ethiopian side of the menu.”

Then his father asked a question, and Nils glared at him with absolute loathing. “So, Lash, you and Nils made quite the effective television appearance. You’re already doing a lot in public service, do you have any designs in a career there?”

Nils squeezed my knee under the table, but this was the one question I had been bracing myself for, thankfully. “Well, my goal is to set up a business that focuses on boosting the visibility of nonprofits, while contributing a significant portion of our revenue into areas where it can create the biggest impact: schools, literacy programs, health education, things like that.  Try to shore up the foundations where normal budgets may not be able to.”  And here’s hoping Nils doesn’t die trying not to laugh at that answer.

“Hm.” Mrs. Andover glowered at her husband as he continued, this was clearly an argument they’d had before, “And those are all worthy goals, but going directly into politics with your education and Nils’, together, you could directly impact all of those, and their budgets, far more direct power with what you can do, if you’re willing to get into the system together and change it.”

I shook my head firmly. “I understand where you are coming from, Dr. Andover, but I’m sure it surprises nobody here that I very much disagree.  Public office is far more restrictive than independent enterprise, foremost - I would have to balance special interests with what would be considered ‘pet projects’, whereas through my own business I can connect the charities with who needs them the most, while ensuring the charities are as visible as possible to maximize their operating budgets.  And besides, Nils doesn’t strike me as someone who would thrive in public office.” I turned to him and visibly squeezed his hand. “No offense.”

“None taken. My father has rarely, if ever, liked the idea of me going into policy rather than running for office, despite the fact that policy experts maintain far more freedom to operate in personal lives while having more influence than politicians - just much less prestige. Honestly I don’t know what led people to believe I’d be good at public office. I gave one very smooth speech on TV.” He took on that slightly mocking tone that I abruptly realized must have been from a lifetime of practice. “Which, to be fair, does seem like the majority of what voters expect. And Father - never try to push my girlfriend into your side of this argument again. I know the only reason you tried to do this is because you thought she’d help me with demographics I’d otherwise struggle with - nice code for ‘people of color that white boy extraordinaire Nils Andover can’t exactly relate to’ by the way.”

I let the silence that followed hang for a moment while the waiter set down our food, before giving Mrs. Andover an openly curious look. “Don’t worry, babe.  I am sure your mother strongly agrees.”  When she looked surprised, I casually gestured with my water. “After all, Mrs. Andover, you’re a non-name partner in a law firm prestigious enough to represent a class action lawsuit against not just the city, but the police, and yet I’ve never seen you run for office.  Surely with that kind of acumen, you would be a shoo-in for the public defender’s office, or the DA.  All the way up to Attorney General, easily.”  Nils looked at me in confusion, and I murmured “You seriously thought I wasn’t going to look up the law firm that is representing my community? She’s partner, Nils.”

“I’m aware how she ranks in her firm,” he murmured back, “I guess I didn’t put that together, good eye.” 

Mrs. Andover chuckled. “Oh, I like the two of you together. Good eye, Lash. People should stay where they think they can make the strongest impact in what they’re passionate about - if you don’t think that’s office, don’t run for office. Oh, and Lash, offhand - I can’t say why, but your community ought to start taking notes about any and all interactions with the police from here on out.” 

Nils smirked. “That means they’re going to be unhappy with the results of the lawsuit.”

Mrs. Andover flicked a wrist. “No, just that her and her community ought to be taking notes and keeping documentation. Any further statements cannot be made at this time.”

“Mama is a secretary,” I assured them. “Taking notes is a compulsion for her, and letting her know will give her something to do other than honk at us.”

“I’m glad. Let her know I’d be happy to speak to her directly as well.” She slipped me a card. 

Nils took a bite of his food, simply enjoying the blend of spices - and then turned to watch his father take a gulp of water. I had been training him to increase his tolerance, and almost certainly to flex he’d ordered one of the spiciest things on the menu. 

Granted, even my tolerance wasn’t that high, so he was almost certainly just hiding the pain to fuck with his parents. I just grinned and scooped up a bite of stew. “I don’t know exactly what they add to the okra stew to make it so good, but it is certainly in my top ten favorite dishes.  Mrs. Andover?” I had noticed she’d ordered the same - a very mild but extremely flavorful stew.

“Oh, it’s excellent. One of the reasons I love coming here. I’m glad Nils took you here for the first date. Means some of what I taught him stuck.” 

Nils blushed. “I mean…good food, good company?” He was dutifully eating his food, but I could hear him struggling not to choke, shifting between pleasure and agony with each bite.

His mother gave him a flat look. “Make a girl feel special, take her somewhere nice with a bunch of really good options.” 

Finally, I had mercy on both my boyfriend and his profoundly rude father and waved down our server. “I am really craving spiced buttermilk… any chance we can get four glasses of it?  I don’t mind paying extra if it has to be made special. I didn’t see it on the menu.”

“Absolutely not. We invited you,” to my surprise, Nils’ father spoke first. “We’ll cover. But yes, spiced buttermilk would be good.” 

In much less time than I expected, the server had returned with four glasses of thick, bright orange drink.  No sooner had he walked away than I took a long sip of mine, rolling my eyes in exaggerated pleasure. “Buttermilk with turmeric, ginger, saffron, cinnamon, and a chai infusion.  It compliments the food so well.”

Nils took a slow sip, clearly restraining himself from chugging, and took a breath. “It is excellent. Thank you for the suggestion.” He took another bite of the chicken, tasting the spice, the flavor, the heat, and then a slow sip of the milk. I could see a slight bead of sweat tracing down the side of his face, and wondered, briefly, about my boyfriend’s pain tolerance. And why he was doing this. 

Mrs. Andover took a sip of her own, eyes widening. “Oh, this is lovely!” She pushed the last glass closer to her husband. “It’s… The closest I can describe it is it’s like a glass of melted orange sherbet. You should try it.”

After the first sip, every ounce of Dr. Andover’s composure collapsed as he inhaled half the glass.  The facade was immediately put back in place however, as he sat up straight and set the glass down gently. “I agree, it’s quite the compliment to the food.  I may indulge in a second, but we shall see.”

Nils took another bite of the berber-slathered chicken, smiling at the taste, and took a sip of the milk before the wave of heat hit him - he seemed to have gotten the timing down, since the facade no longer looked quite so forced. “Excellent suggestion, Lash. Would anyone like to try each other’s dishes?”

Mrs. Andover blinked, but smiled. “Oh, does Lash’s family do that, too? I know the Parsons do, and since Lash and I ordered the same thing…Here, Lash, you can have some of my side if I can have some of yours.” 

I grinned, nodding. “My family eats communal meals, usually, so we all share, yes. But… I didn’t get to try the rosti last time and will gladly swap you for some of my dolmades - they’re not spicy, but very pickled.”

She smiled, and put some of the rostis on my plate and took some of my dolmades. I wisely turned down some of what Nils had ordered, and sensing my trepidation, so did his mother - though we both took some of his side, and gave him a bit of ours. His father blindly lunged ahead, clearly thinking the idea of swapping was ridiculous but not wanting to annoy his wife, and took a bit of Nils’ chicken, and Nils took a bit of the goat from his father, eating it with a smile. 

I could feel the malevolence in Nils smile as his father bit into the berber-slathered chicken and rapidly gulped the milk, all trace of composure gone. “How…how were you keeping your calm through eating that the whole meal?” He managed to get out between gasps.

“I’m dating an Indian-Pakistani girl. She’s been training my spice tolerance.” Nils’ voice was casual. 

Mrs. Andover seemed to be ignoring her son and husband’s antics, instead calmly gesturing with a spoon at her spouse’s meal. “How spicy is that?”  When I glanced at the men, she shook her head. “They’ve always been like that, it’s best not to engage.”

I glanced again, before staring at the goat and trying to remember what had been ordered.  Slowly, I answered. “It isn’t very spicy - I think it’s a bit bland, to be honest - but because it’s so fatty, the spice stays around and builds.  You’re supposed to eat it with a bread or some other carb, to help.”

Without asking, she scooped a chunk of goat onto each of our plates. “Okay, show me. I love trying new things.”

Hesitantly, I tore a piece of bread off, and proceeded to use it to pick a chunk of goat off the bone, sheer habit causing me to use my fingers. The piece came away cleanly, and I shoved the entire bundle in my mouth before realizing what I had done.

To my abject horror, I looked up to see Mrs. Andover - coiffed, coutured, rich Mrs. Andover - with her fingers in her mouth and a look of delight on her face. She chewed quickly and swallowed before I could apologize for my manners. “Oh, that is so nice!  And much easier than using a fork, no wonder he was struggling so much!”

“Ma’am, I am so sorry - “  I covered my mouth as she tore off another piece of bread and attacked the goat with gusto.

“I asked how it was meant to be eaten, Lash.” She gestured at herself, particularly her face. “Do I look like the kind of woman accustomed to eating spicy food properly?” When I was forced to shake my head, half surprised she’d asked like that, she added. “For God’s sake, Lash, do you think for an instant Nils got his sense of humor from his father?”

I glanced at Dr. Andover - still playing spicy-food chicken with his son and losing decisively - before shaking my head. “I just - Eating with fingers is not an American thing,” I finished lamely.

“As Nils will explain to you or indeed anyone at length - and has explained to me, and his father - that is very much an old world prohibition imported from upper-class Europeans, and lower-class Americans only developed issues with it when the average American became wealthy enough to have easy access to silverware. He will remind everyone who even tangentially brings this up how recent that is.” She gave a faint smile. “I wasn’t born wealthy, you know. I’m from the generation of Americans where one could work their way through college provided one started out merely middle class.” 

“ ‘Merely’,” I mused. “And trust me that I am the last person Nils will need to lecture about silverware.  He’s seen Baba eat palak paneer with his fingers and an extreme amount of dignity.” I paused and made a confused face. “I am still not sure how he keeps it out of his moustache, I’ll be honest. And it’s quite a moustache. He’s very proud of it.”

She chuckled. “Fair enough. I suppose I should have said, ‘I’m not judging’. My husband came from money, I did not. I think you and Nils are great together, by the way. I love the way you talk to each other.” 

“We do argue, sometimes,” I confessed. “But usually it’s cultural, and we find our way through pretty quickly.  My parents adore him, so there’s that.  Mori - my sister - tolerates him well enough, which is practically a glowing approval from her.”

“A young man like Nils should have a partner he argues with. If there’s no arguments with a personality like that, it means either one of you is totally bulling over the other by force of will, or both of you are taking turns manipulating the other. Working through arguments when they come up is a much better sign.” She shrugged. “I’m glad your parents like him. I like you - and as to my husband…you impressed him and he respects you and your family. That will, in the long run, be better than him just “liking” you.” 

I caught Nils stabbing another chunk of hallucigenically spicy chicken, and snatched his plate and fork away with the same hand. “I am not going to coddle you later when that is just as spicy as it was going in,” I warned him calmly.  “Rice, sherbet, and buttermilk.”

Nils nodded. “Got it babe.”

Mrs. Andover pulled the dregs of the goat away from her spouse, pointing at me and Nils. “Same thing. Rice, sherbert, dairy. Lash is a lovely and clever girl, stop antagonizing our son, insert lecture here.”  With that, she rested her chin elegantly on her intertwined fingers, winking at me. “I think you and I are going to get along great.  You have my number, let’s set up a ladies’ day - invite your mother and sister.  I’ll treat if your family chooses the restaurant.”

“Any updates from the mayor?” I asked, praying that the translation software would pick the right honorific for the person I was speaking to.  After what happened in the church last week, I had buried my head - intentionally - in my water initiatives.  Specifically the ones that I typically couldn’t work with if I was multitasking, due to language barriers.

Again, I was deliberately burying my head in work. It wasn’t anything I was clueless to.

“The mayor did not respond,” Ayanti responded.  Which basically translated to ‘ask forgiveness rather than beg permission’.

“I’ll take it,” I responded as my phone vibrated.  Nils.

I ignored it.

“How far can we push this?” I asked Ayanti. “If we are under tacit permission, assuming we don’t make him look bad?”

She hummed musically. “As far as you have resources, or until his borders run out.”

Immediately, I started tapping keys on a different machine, transferring funds. “Whole village, got it. Four hectares?”

“Three point five.”

“I’ll send enough for five.”

My phone went off again. Nils, again. Ignored. Again.

Laser focus on the issue at hand. “Were you able to see the file about the straws?” I asked.

“Are they ready for consumer?”

I paused and sighed audibly.  Ayanti and I had worked together long enough that I refused to lie to her about things that were life or death to her. “They are in testing. Not ready for consumer release.”

“Can you get us four kay?”

My head snapped up to scowl at my monitor, despite the fact this was a fully voice call.  “Four thousand? Ayanti. How bad is the water situation? Please don’t lie to me… we don’t lie to each other, right?”

The line fell silent for a moment and I took the time to set up the transactions for both the water filters and the straws. Legit filters were coming from the Gates Foundation through WHO and direct shipped to Daravi as a “charitable act” - no matter how large the company, good press and tax writeoffs almost guaranteed they’d never be reported. Plus they came with a steep discount, ordered by a paper-legit company with about ten shells behind it. So, about as legit as any other charity, really.

  I fired off the filters on one machine and paid for them from the other.  However, I held off on firing off the order for the straws.  This would need some finagling, given that they were still in the testing phase. A couple labs, some money to grease palms. But it was blatant bribery, so I wanted to be sure before I pulled the trigger and sent down the labs involved.

I heard the line unmute just long enough to catch Ayanti taking a deep breath and sighing.  

After a glance at a calender and some mental math, I grunted. “Yanti. Is this for monsoon season?”

She grunted wordlessly, but definitely in an affirmative.  Someone could hear her, and she didn’t want to give away what she was doing.  Which told me she was supposed to be mining for MMORPG gold, and this was therefore slacking off.

“I’ll contact them and have all the prototypes sent over.  And any other company working on similar things,” I promised. “I’ll reach out when I have the exact quantity, but it should be far above four kay.”

“Deal.” With that, she disconnected.

Palming my face and rubbing it roughly, I vibrated with contained violence.  Ayanti was in Mumbai, in the slums, and working from an internet cafe.  I had no way of beating the breaks off her supervisor - most likely the owner of the cafe. So I needed to focus on what I could do.

Nine children, you could have stopped it.

I screamed in my head how hard I had tried.  Begged Nils and Gray to send orders to fire higher.  I tried.

A fist was shoved in my mouth. My left hand, trying to keep from screaming where Mama or Baba could hear me. I did what I could, I screamed in my brain.  Digging my nails into my palms, I slapped a hand on my desktop. It forced me to bring my eyes to the monitor.

Four thousand prototype filter straws. Plus the legit water filters.

“Water filters first,” I mumbled, typing even as I dragged myself from my knees to the chair.

My phone went off again.  I didn’t even look at this point.  I just silenced it without a glance.

The email for the legit filters was easiest.  It was the coding to get the prototypes to be shipped that took the longest.  But, an hour later, I sat back with a sheen of satisfying sweat and surety that not four thousand but twelve thousand would be sent to Mumbai. It was only then that I glanced at my phone again.

More Nils.

I wasn’t necessarily avoiding him. At least not by design.  I was sure it looked like I was avoiding him as I tried to claw back some concept of saving people.  But I didn’t know how many the filters and straws would save, so I started stabbing code into the machine to transfer funds to medical research.

At some point, I threw my phone across the room.  And still I stabbed at my keyboard, with such urgency that I had to hot-swap after a time that only could be described as ‘a haze’.

“ELAKSHI!” Mama’s voice broke in some time later. “Open this door RIGHT NOW, or I will take a hammer to it.”

“Mama, I’m working!” I shouted over my shoulder.

“You have been so-called-working for three days! Nils has called the house to confirm you are alive, and I need help with Baba.”

I groaned and stretched my neck.  “I’m walking toward the door!” I shouted.

I did, too. I opened the door to see Mama staring at me in what could only be accusation.

“You stink, you look exhausted, and you clearly need food,” she scolded before walking away.  It was only then that I realized that she had the phone receiver to her ear.

“WAIT!” I cried. “Is that Nils or Mori???”

“Whichever one makes you more guilty. Bathe and think on it, and I might tell you.”

Did I smell that bad?  I sniffed my arm and nearly vomited. Okay, fair.

An hour later, I emerged, drying my hair and completely clean. “Check it out, I still know how to bathe!”

Mama was not impressed, at all. She sniffed. “You stink less.  Sit. Eat.”

“Mama…”

“Nils and Mori called while you were ignoring the world,” she interjected. “And I know you did not eat for three days, because I know how many days you ignored me knocking on your door.  And your phone.”

“It was important,” I insisted, only to be levelled with a dark-eyed glare.

“If it is so important, you need to be alive to carry it forward. Which means you need to care for yourself,” she scowled.  The plate hit the table with a force that I was shocked to see broke neither table nor plate. “Eat. Give me your phone.”

“Mama -”

“Elakshi, I will sever power to this entire building if you do not give me your phone at this second and eat.”

My arm extended stiffly, palm flat, phone offered up like a mango.

She swiped it. “Better. Eat. I will tell Katherine and Nils that you are alive.”

“Katherine!???” I shouted. “Why Katherine!?”

“She called me, personally, asking.”

I shoved my spoon into the food before me. “Goddammit,” I muttered. “Mothers, always meddling.”

“If our children behaved like adults, we would not need to ‘meddle’ as you say,” Mama pitched over her shoulder in a mocking tone. “And I certainly would not need to threaten my youngest if she could only take care of herself like the woman she is and not the child she once was.”

Low blow. “I’m eating, I’m eating,” I conceded, stuffing bland food in my mouth and pointing at it emphatically.

Bringing a plate of her own and setting it down with significantly more care than she had practically thrown mine with, she sat straight and asked in her most prim tone. “And what part of the world are we saving today?”

“Clean water,” I answered. “Charity work.  Monsoons are coming, so they need better resources.”

Mama nodded crisply. “This is a good work. And what part does Nils play in it?”

I stopped mid-bite in confusion. “Nils? He doesn’t have any part in this. It’s one of my independent projects.”

She shook her head and chuckled. “Katherine knew quite a lot for something that doesn’t involve her son.”

“How often do the two of you talk?” I asked in bewilderment.  The confusion was enough to almost completely silence the voices tormenting me.  Almost.

“Twice a week,” she nodded, taking another bite of food and gesturing for me to do the same. “Our children went through the same traumatic experience.”

“You went through the same traumatic experience, and then some.”

“Pah.” She waved the notion away. “Mothers worry, and we worry best together.  Now eat and then either call your young man back, or tell me why you won’t.”

I don't need no arms around me

And I dont need no drugs to calm me.

I have seen the writing on the wall.

Don't think I need anything at all.

No! Don't think I'll need anything at all.

All in all it was all just bricks in the wall.

All in all you were all just bricks in the wall.

Pink Floyd, “Another Brick in the Wall, Part III”

Lash

A couple days later, after Nils and I had agreed to take some space and get some social ‘fresh air’, I was in my parents’ apartment, listening to Baba snore gently when my phone buzzed.  Nils’ name popped up on the screen, which wasn’t unusual since we did check in each day.  I ignored it for the moment, deciding to clean the one or two dishes from Baba’s lunch.  However, no sooner had the water started to heat up in the sink than my phone started buzzing more urgently.

I sighed, dried my hands, and answered. “This is new. You never call.” 

“Neither do funny AIs, but times are changing.” Nils’ voice contained the self-satisfied tones of a man delivering an inside joke. “I think we really might want to check our place of business to work on the breakthrough.” 

“Exciting times,” I murmured, trying not to wake Baba in my shock. Our little pestilential question mark had already made contact. “Let me leave a note for Baba.  Mori should be home in about an hour, but I don’t want him to wake up and panic if I’m not here.  Or, you know… do something stupid in a fit of toxic masculinity.”

“No worries. We have a little time before the meeting with the investors.” Nils’ voice was quiet, and he sounded for all the world like an insufferable young man going into a tech startup with his girlfriend. “Let’s sell it, babe.” 

He disconnected, and I took a deep breath.  First, finish these dishes or I’ll never hear the end of it from Mori, I decided.  Mama was still in the hospital due to a respiratory infection - nothing major, the doctors swore, but they wanted to keep a close eye on it to be safe.  Less than fifteen minutes later, I had a note left by Baba’s bed and was out the door.

Getting to the abandoned mall was a journey in and of itself, both as a consequence of public transport and because I took a few unnecessary routes out of sheer paranoia.  I finally got there, and Nils was waiting for me with a surprise.

“Bishop!” I gasped in excitement, trying not to scream.  The gruff-looking older man took the bag out of my left hand and hugged me with his free arm.  “Hey, Baklava.  Good to see that face in one piece.”

“He’s been briefed, and he’s spent the last several hours helping us set up the VPNs - far as our mark knows, we’re not in the same country. He’s here to monitor the connection and make sure the fucker doesn’t start tracing us through it as we talk.” Nils spoke, quickly. “You play yourself but more grandiose, I have to play the asshole as we sound him out, but if he’s wise to the game, we drop the act a bit and try for more subtlety, and we can play a little more open and hook him in. Stay noncommittal and keep our cards close to the chest no matter what - Bishop and I already physically debugged the place, but if there’s digital bugs we didn’t get or coming from his end, we can’t give them anything that’ll hold up as a confession. When in doubt, look at Bishop, or glance to me, I’ve been reading my mother’s legal shit nonstop for days now.” 

Anxiety immediately spiked through me. This was happening. I nodded. “Okay, got it.  Let me drop off some of this food, and we can get on it.”

Bishop made a mockery of a fake pout. “You mean this isn’t all for me?”

I glanced at the huge bag of food he had, and the one in my other hand. “Sure. I am completely certain you can eat twenty pounds of food. Especially since it’s mostly veggies and carbs.”

That made him do an about face. “My plumbing thanks you for the warning.”

The guys helped me drop off food to the storefronts where people were most likely to camp out, and we made our way to the breakroom in the old Sears.  I flopped on the same beanbag I used last time with a puff of dust and started unpacking my laptop.  “Let’s get me through all the VPNs, and I’ll be ready to go.”

Nils and Bishop helped me get set up, with Bishop exaggeratedly and pointedly looking away at Nils’ whispered apologies to me for his snipiness, and him holding out a hand for me to take.

We had just barely finished getting my audio set up when Nils looked at me. “We got this, Lash.” 

“We got this,” I agreed, adjusting my mic. “Time to turn ‘on’ our online mad hacker personas.”

He walked over to his computer and hooked in his audio. As I saw his signal, it was the familiar black chess king icon, but the “ANothing49BC” was gone. Beneath the icon was the screenname “Nihilus Rex.” 

I looked at him, quizzically, and said, “New handle?”

“Same old, really. Just a bit more gravitas. If I’m gonna be the king of this shitshow, I have to remind everyone I’m still King of Nothing.” His voice sounded manic, nervous, but with an underlying tension to it.

“Nihilus Rex.” It did have more gravitas than his original handle, and it suited him better, if I was being completely honest.

Then the call started. 

The pfp I was looking at contrasted both with my highly stylized Phoenix and Nils’ Black King - it was a skull with a dagger spiked through it, vertically. Underneath, the handle - MostDangerousPlayer. 

Didn’t that say lovely things about the person we were going to be meeting with. 

No one spoke. No one spoke, and I was half convinced there was some sick white people power play going on. 

Then Nils finally spoke, and I was absolutely certain. “Hello, you asked for a meeting to discuss certain…collaborative opportunities?” His voice was light, easy.

“I have questions about your work with the banks.” The voice on the other end was calm, flat. It almost sounded fake, and I was inclined to think it was.

“That’s interesting. We have questions about any potential partner - our work with banks is a bit sensitive. Clients worried about confidentiality for obvious reasons.” Nils was obviously playing multiple angles - if this was a fed, it would look like Nils was being careful to avoid being fished, as we’d discussed, but if this was for real this would look like an abundance of caution. I heartily approved, especially in light of my previous gaffe with the FBI agent.

“Alright. Then can we talk about roles within the…organization, I’m looking at? I feel that that should be safe enough to discuss, without violating client confidentiality. And I’d like to hear both of you speak.” The voice on the other end seemed bemused - and like it understood what was happening. What we were concerned about. 

Nils glanced to me and mouthed, “give just a little.” 

I put on my customer-service voice, pitched down slightly. “Apologies. I am dealing with some delays in the audio, but I am here.” That should be safe enough.  If anything, it would emphasize the theoretical distance between us. “What roles were you most interested in?”

“Oh, I think I would be interested in determining if your enterprise is real. If it is, I have…interests, in the field of corporate discipline. Helping targets get met, helping logistics be organized, all that.” He emphasized the word discipline ever so slightly, with stress on the wrong syllables to give no mystery as to what it meant. He’d already twigged we were playing, that the Disciples weren’t entirely real, but that he was offering to help make them a real thing.  “But I think you misunderstand my question - what roles do you two play?” 

I turned to Nils with wide eyes, just in time to catch Bishop shaking his head at his screen. Not a good sign, and Nils clearly caught it as his expression darkened.

Then he carried on, undeterred. “I’d say that the phoenix is…unorthodox, one might say, but something of a diversity coordinator and invaluable to our efforts, and that I am more or less the corporate executive. Thus far everyone pitches in on the technological side - there is also a chief of system security.” Nils’ voice at the end took on a mocking edge. 

The guy at the other end of the call chuckled. “Ah, that’s the way of it. This seems like a project built on a dream. And unless I’m missing my guess - you’ve already had some results.” 

“One could say that.” 

I chose that moment to speak up a little. “You seem to have at least some idea of our…goals.  It only seems fair to ask a bit about your background.”

“Did human intelligence for the military for a while, got out back in 2013, realized that for all the military promises to teach you marketable skills the two skills they taught me that’re more marketable than anything else in this day and age aren’t something I can put on a resume. You guys’ marketing campaign for new talent said you were looking for security, cyber and physical, and I can do both. You want smart, I already proved I can run you down and crack the codes you came up with that were cyphered across a bunch of different communities and worldviews. You guys seem smart and capable, and willing to work from a bunch of angles, and I want to get in on the ground floor of something like that, rather than getting caught with a bunch of useless eunuchs stuck in an echo chamber.” 

I gave Nils a skeptical look. To my knowledge, our ‘campaign’ hadn’t said anything about physical security - we had Nils’ fucknuckle minions for that.  But the level of crazy this guy was giving made it clear we definitely needed him on our side rather than against us.

“Our campaign didn’t say anything about physical security, but I don’t have complaints about your application.” Nils said, slowly. “That was clever. Question, though: what echo chamber did you leave to find us? And why did you leave them? Be honest.” 

“I appreciate the question, actually. So, I was stuck with a bunch of white supremacist dipshits for a while. I kinda got the “white power” thing, but they were wrong about the reasons - white people didn’t rule the world because we’re better, we ruled the world because we conquered it and that’s how power works. When they started talking about white genocide or great replacement I started losing my goddamn mind that I was putting up with them. If they really thought they were better, they should have relished the chance to prove it by competing rather than try to use the government to crack down, and if they couldn’t do that, then obviously whites aren’t the master race and it's our turn to be subjugated. Natural selection, rules of nature. Essentialists are idiots.”

My eyes got wide again. Oh, he’s crazy crazy. I looked at Bishop again, and he looked just as concerned as I was.  Nils, on the other hand, looked like this is exactly what he had expected.  Which, again, tracked.

“I won’t pretend that isn’t deeply concerning to me. I have a question: if our aim is partially to prove that the ‘rules of nature' don't apply along racial lines, but along different axes entirely, do you see yourself objecting?” 

“I’m open to not supporting or disputing your theory until I see it in action. And I’m open to helping convince the idiots who aren’t good for anything else to do what you tell them if you’re correct.” 

I muted my mic and gestured for Nils to do the same.  When he nodded to confirm, I was still barely above a whisper when I spoke. “This is really feeling too easy,” I wondered. “For someone who has spent weeks undermining us and trying to get your army out from under you, he’s caving entirely too fast.”

“He did fail to get my army out from under me,” Nils mused. “Think about his offer. He wants to be the lieutenant that helps coordinate my army for us, and at least for right now, our interests and his genuinely align. Throw the government into chaos, right? Let the world return to ‘rules of nature - predator vs. prey, social darwinist, not…actual rules of nature’ - and see who wins. But he’s spent the last several weeks getting dribbled by me in those spaces because I’m smarter than he is overall. But give him that access…what’s to stop him from taking his orders until our interests diverge and he can take the army we handed him and Order 66 us?” 

I held up one finger and unmuted my microphone. “What are you willing to offer as a gesture of good faith that we can believe you?” I muted myself again and shrugged at Nils while Bishop stifled a laugh. “Worth a shot.”

“The current screen name attached is my more used handle - trace it back and you’ll find more about me. Well within your skills from what I’ve seen. I also have cold evidence of something you’re very interested in. I’ll send you a sealed file in a drop if you provide a place for me to drop it. If you find it interesting, you know where to message me.”

Nils paused, muted his mic, and looked at the trace for the screenname. “Wow. This is…not well sealed.” Then he unmuted. “I want it perfectly clear that you cannot begin to imagine the level of hate I will rain on your motherboard for the rest of time if I open a malware packet.” 

“I would still scrub whatever you find like it has STDs,” I murmured.

Nils gave the code for a blank webdrive we had access to. Then a file was dropped in. Contained in that closed file was a zipped video of a molotov attack on a cafe with two semi familiar individuals and one stranger  cursing at each other to run. The cameraman’s arm was visible, with a very familiar swastika tattoo.

“Opinions?” Nils voice was quiet. 

“Christ…” I swore, rubbing my face. “That’s… Scary, but definitely a show of good faith.  Were there any strings?”

Bishop stood and started pacing and cursing under his breath. “There’s a fourth one.”

“That is neither here nor there,” I forced out, as much as it was killing something inside me.  “Was there anything attached to the file? Tracker, virus, anything suspicious?”

“No,” Bishop replied, slowly. “It was clean. For what it’s worth, this guy is interested in joining up.”

“I’ll be honest, he gives me two heebs and a jeeb, but it’s pretty clear Bishop’s right,” I admitted. “Nils?”

“If we can use him, and he’s not trying to fuck us over, we can make do, yeah.” his response was terse. 

Bishop took his seat again, combing his beard with his fingers. “Then it’s unanimous. Reluctant, but unanimous.  But I do plan on keeping tabs on this guy with as much time as I possibly can carve out, just so the two of you know.”

I can fake a smile

I can force a laugh

I can dance and play the part

If that's what you ask

Give you all I am

Christina Perri, “Only Human”

Lash

By the time Lucas had returned to the hospital, Mori had pulled herself together and was in full combat general mode.  Neither Nils nor I had clued her in to our plan regarding shaming the hospital into covering the cost of care for everyone involved in the fire, and I was grateful that he hadn’t mentioned it in front of her.  With her focused on our parents’ care and haranguing doctors and nurses for updates, I could focus on dealing with the reporters who were already descending on the hospital.

Nils was hovering next to me, his hand close to mine. “Important to ask because a whole lot of people are going to ask unimportant shit and we need to be on the same page to avoid idiot drama that will deflect from our goal: we’re a couple or just good friends? It doesn’t matter what our answer is as long as it’s the same one.” He took a breath. “If you don’t have the emotional bandwidth for that, easy way out is ‘we stick to whatever bullshit they feed us until the cameras go away and something else dominates the news cycle’.” 

I thought it about for a brief moment. “We’re going to be doing a lot of lying, let’s have one less to keep track of. Stick to the truth: we’re friends who recently went on our first date and you were meeting my parents when everything went down.  If someone sticks a camera in my parents’ faces later down the road, they won’t have to think to confirm that.”

He nodded. “That works well enough. Okay, so to clarify our story: The hospital admins - someone even I, with all my familiarity with the hospital staff don’t know by sight - offered this to the people injured in this crisis as a one-time matter because they recognize the extraordinary circumstances involved. They recognize the crisis in the community and have risen to the occasion. We can say some nice things about the doctors that let them share the glory the local news is going to be throwing at us because hey, local news loves a hero. Hospital will be really reluctant to give it back if they can trade for political favors later.”

“Oh, I cannot wait to hear you say nice things about your father.  On camera, where everyone can see it,” I teased, trying to bleed off some of my anxiety.  Truth be told, any anonymity I had up until now was about to be blasted out the window when we spoke to these reporters.  And I would have to use my real name, or my online persona was toast.

The thought immediately made my heart sink, tears prickling my eyes. Toast. The burned out cafe, all those lives wasted… and for what? Because some hateful asshole thought he had the right to - 

I didn’t even realize I was speaking out loud until Nils bumped me with his shoulder. “Hey. I’m not going to tell you it’s okay, because it isn’t. But right now, we can honor the dead by taking care of the living. So let’s focus, okay? We can figure out whoever did this and get it back in blood later.” He offered me his hand. “For right now though, let’s go get some debts waived.” 

He gave a very subtle gesture towards the window, where to my horror, I could already see news vans outside, prevented from accessing the building. Vultures. I took a deep breath, took his hand, and squeezed it. “We look like burn victims, right?” When he nodded, I nodded back. “Then let’s do this before someone stops us.”

The moment we stepped outside the door, hospital wristbands conspicuously visible, we were swarmed.  I played up my shock by turning slightly into Nils, shielding my eyes. Four microphones were shoved in our faces, a female voice demanding “Were you at the fire earlier this evening?”

“Yes,” I answered. “We were inside with my parents when the fire was started.”

“Are you saying the fire was deliberate?” came a male voice from behind the blinding lights on the cameras.

“Absolutely. Someone blocked the exits and threw a burning bottle of something into the cafe.”

Nils took over at that point. “Molotov cocktails. The cafe had been the victim of several attempted arsons prior to this, according to the late owner, Ahmet Yildiz, who had, by the time this last fire claimed his life, given up on getting a proper investigation. He died attempting to help evacuate his customers and community.” His voice was clear, cold, and his words managed to bring across institutional neglect without actually blaming anyone of importance.  “He wasn’t the only one.”

“We were lucky,” I choked out through a lump in my throat. “We have minor burns and some smoke inhalation, but right now my parents and many others are in surgery or the ICU.  One is in the PICU.” As that last part sank in, some of the reporters and camera people around us gasped. “And we are all the lucky ones. At least three people never made it out, and we don’t know if everyone else is going to make it.”

A burst of chatter from the back of the reporters, then one of the men in the front asked a question I’d been dreading. “Can I get you two to identify yourselves?”

“My name is Elakshi Botelho. My parents, Sahar and Lorso Botelho, are still undergoing tests and treatment.”

“And mine is Nils Andover. My father is one of the doctors in the hospital, and my mother works as a lawyer.”

“We’ve heard both of your names from other witnesses at the scene, several of whom credit the two of you with a bulk of the rescues, what exactly happened during the evacuation?” Nils’ eyes flicked towards me. 

I gave the tiniest of nods and took a deep breath. “The only exit was on fire. Nils was able to open one of the metal gates over the other exits.  He, my father, and Uncle - Mr. Yildiz helped carry people out while my mother and I wrapped everyone in whatever cloths we could wet to keep them from getting burned or inhaling smoke.  Nils and my father managed to get me and my mother out just before the cafe exploded.”  My voice was trembling towards the end, and I let the tears just roll down my cheeks. I was too tired to fight them, and it probably helped our cause anyway.

“Have you spoken with authorities about the attack?” the first woman asked.

“With all due respect, I have been more concerned about my family and my community,” I responded. “We plan to speak to authorities when they reach out.”

Nils gave my hand a small pump, as though communicating silently that I’d said the perfect thing, then responded to the next question. “What went through both your heads when the fire went up?”

“Need to exit, wait, the exit is on fire, hey the windows, wait, the windows are blocked and they’re hot, oh wait, I have a leather jacket that can protect my hands while I open them.” Nils managed to drag his normal sarcasm with a trace of entirely uncharacteristic humility as though that was a chain of thoughts that would have occurred to a normal person to describe it all so dismissively. “Following that, ‘hey, leather jackets are fire resistant, I should probably help get people out,’ and somewhere in there is ‘thank God everyone here is sane, compassionate, and also helping’.” 

He took a breath. “Genuinely though, it’s amazing how much everyone came together in the fire, her dad, the cafe owner, her, her mom, everyone just kinda went for it and tried to help as much as possible, evacuate people as fast as possible, tried to help medic as much as possible. The hospital’s risen to the occasion too, in the face of all this: they said they were going to take care of the victims of this attack without charge, and they’ve been giving the victims amazing care.” 

The reporters went wild when Nils dropped that bit of ‘news’ on them. One managed to shout above the others a question about whether Nils’ family connection to the hospital had anything to do with that decision. “Both our fathers work for the hospital,” I confirmed when I felt him jerk like he’d been shot. “But the hospital has very much made this decision out of recognition for what can only be called a heinous act of terror committed against a small community.”

“Is it appropriate for you two to apply terrorism charges to an unknown…”

Nils’ voice cut across the question, coldly. “We just walked out of a building that exploded - killing at least three people - because a bunch of people set it on fire because they didn’t like that the owner was from the Middle East, after the building had been graffitied, repeatedly, with anti-Arab racial slurs. Terrorism is ‘violence committed against civilians for political reasons’ - what the FUCK would you call this if not that?” 

I noticed that Nils left out the ‘by nonstate actors’ part from the definition of ‘terrorism.’ Regardless, murmurs rippled through the crowd.  The point had been gotten across and given them something to chew on for local reports.  The first reporter to recover decided to pursue that point. “Is there anything you would like to say to the people who are responsible for the fire?”

By this point, I was shaking with emotion and dying to go back inside and sit down in a quiet place, see my parents breathing. “You burned down a popular shop full of customers who were minding their own business. There are women dying upstairs for drinking tea and gossiping about their grandchildren.  My cousin, Imran, is dead because he was picking up pastries for his wife and daughters.  My parents are severely injured because they were there to meet the young man I had just gone on a first date with. You attacked people for being people and having lives.  You are a coward, and I hope you have every day you deserve for the rest of your life.”  In that moment, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I spun, pulling my hand free from Nils’ and storming back into the hospital.

I heard Nils answer one more question in a capacity that barely managed to conceal impatience verging on contempt - though that might have been my familiarity with him, the reporters seemed charmed - before I heard him rushing after me. 

“I think we did it, Lash. You alright?”

Brushing tears from my cheeks, I laughed bitterly. “I am the furthest thing from alright. I want to see Mama and Baba, and I want Baba’s beard to scratch my cheek when he hugs me, even though I know his face is burned and his beard is gone. I want Mama to be nosy and pat my cheek and her bracelets clatter and her rings to bump my cheekbone like they do.  I want Mori to be here to visit, not to help make sure my parents are going to survive.  I want to go get coffee and have Uncle wink at me when he sneaks me extra baklava, and I can’t have any of it.”  Without even thinking, I turned and buried my face in his chest, charred leather smell be damned.

“We’ll stay here for them, okay? We’ll be the first thing they see when they wake up. Promise. Your mom isn’t going to be long - it’ll be longer for your dad. But your mom should be coming out within an hour or two at this point.” Nils hugged me then, as though on impulse. His chin fit exactly on top of my head, and he was patient enough to let me ugly cry on him until all I was left with were sniffles and hiccups.