The streets outside in the undercity are still strewn with debris, still harboring displaced folks with nowhere else to go, still draped with mourning banners of black, white, blue, and gray, but more sectors have power every day. One by one, businesses are coming back to life, families are finding each other, and the community is taking its first, shaky steps toward normalcy.
I thought about seeing what shape Kristina’s penthouse suite was in, but the truth is, this is where I want to be. With the people hit hardest by all that’s happened. People like me and Gideon.
Though a series of monitors and hard drives were Gideon’s first purchases for the new den, he hasn’t found a console chair he likes yet. I’ve got the sneaking suspicion, though, that he’s putting off finding a chair because sitting on the mattress means there’s room for me beside him. Bowl in one hand, he wraps the other around me and pulls me in close against his side.
“Did they start yet?” I ask, reaching over with my chopsticks to snag a mouthful of noodles out of his bowl. His main monitor, connected to a feed he jacked into from the central grid, shows an aerial view of a seething crowd gathered by the Daedalus crash site, secured now with structural supports and construction scaffolding as they rebuild those layers of the city. He’s got the skylights shuttered, so the monitor colors are bright and sharp.
“A few minutes ago, I think. Mu?oz is speechifying.…Here, I’ll unmute it.” He flicks his fingers at the monitor, and suddenly the dull roar of the crowd and the president’s voice come through the speaker system.
“‘We are not alone.’” The camera drone circles in closer to President Mu?oz, who stands behind a lectern, gazing out at the crowd as her words ring out. “Words mankind has imagined hearing for centuries, ever since the first ancient peoples looked up at the stars and made them gods. I stand here today in front of our answer—we are not, we have never been, alone.” Behind her is the rift, its golden glow visible even in the bright noonday sun. With the doorway between universes permanently open, the whispers—officially named the Collective—have been slowly exploring our world outside the confines of LaRoux’s machinery. They’ve been met with suspicion, with anger, with curiosity, with reverence—and, mostly, with hope. Thanks to their aid, the reconstruction of the city after the crash has gone twice as fast as we could have done it on our own.
President Mu?oz takes a beat, eyes scanning the faces of the crowd. “Now we know that intelligence, empathy, and curiosity are not only human traits. We have much to teach, and much to learn. We will enrich each other’s lives as we build a foundation of trust, and hope. I know many among us have questions, or even fears—I know many find that, especially in light of our terrible losses, trust does not come easily. That is why I have created a new position, one voice to speak for the Collective, and to the Collective. In light of all that has happened, some of you may find this decision surprising. But our new ambassador is eloquent and poised, and remains the only human being ever to join, however briefly, with the Collective on the other side of the rift. And no one has reason to work harder toward peace and reconstruction. Please join me in congratulating Ambassador LaRoux.”
The president steps back, to make way for the new ambassador to join her at the podium.
“There she is!” I squeal, poking at Gideon’s leg with my chopsticks. “Holy cow, look at that dress. Jeez, she wasn’t kidding.”
“I still like yours better,” Gideon says around a mouthful of noodles. “The one with the lights and the fringe.”
“The one that got shredded and full of holes because I was wearing it during a spaceship crash?” I eye him sidelong. “I think there’s more dress missing than there.”
“Why do you think I like it?”
I stab at his knee again with my chopsticks. “Shush, I want to hear.”
As the president swears Lilac in to her new position, the camera drone pans across the delegations from each planet. My eyes are trying to find the Celtic knot and single star of Avon’s crest, but it’s Flynn’s face that jumps out of the crowd at me first. I grab at Gideon’s arm, but he’s already grinning. Jubilee’s sitting next to Flynn, and the sunrise-peach color of her dress is beautiful in the sunlight. I don’t think it’d be noticeable if you weren’t looking for it, but I can see Flynn’s got his eyes on her, rather than on the dais up by the rift.
As President Mu?oz shakes Lilac’s hand and retreats to one of the seats on the dais, Lilac steps up to the microphones.
A few days ago, when all six of us gathered in Flynn’s hotel room for dinner, Lilac spent most of it ashen-faced in the corner, writing on and tearing up note cards, as Tarver warned the rest of us not to bring up her upcoming speech at the swearing-in ceremony.