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24

AMITY

I can’t stop smiling,and I decide it’s because I got to swim after missing so many days. It’s not so bad up here, I think happily as I look far into the distance at the still white-capped mountains.

When I pull open the door to the house I’m hit by the strong smell of paint. The windows are wide open but the fumes are still strong inside. Ren is up on a ladder, a few splatters of paint on their overalls, vigorously rolling lime green paint onto the living room walls. The paintings and posters have been taken down and they’re piled everywhere.

“Hi, Ren,” I say faintly, trying not to breathe too deeply. Ren should probably be wearing a mask or something but instead they seem to be in the middle of shouting a violent story into the next room.

“Basically, everyone in the Midwest gets killed by robots, but not by killer robots, more like locked in their houses and not allowed to leave.”

I blink. I’m pretty sure that’s not what happened in the Midwest.

“I don’t see what killer robots have to say about human systems of justice and imprisonment,” an unfamiliar male voice shouts back from the kitchen.

I haven’t moved. I’m watching the green paint spread on the wall as Ren wrestles with the roller, continuing the discussion.

“The robots are meant to represent our own inability to effect positive change and free will in our own lives. And they’re scary robots, which makes it exciting!”

A man walks through the door. “Come on, that’s a cheap trick. You need to show humans choosing their own destiny, to show the imagined limitations the proto-communist system places around the individual.”

I’m guessing this is Eli. He turns from the green paint to me.

“You must be Ami. I’m Eli,” he says.

“Hi,” I say.

Ren scoffs. “You’d make a terrible storyteller.”

Rather than talk to me more, Eli whirls on Ren.

“Revolution is all about storytelling. It’s an integral part of what we do. You can’t convince people to act until they believe a story that shows them why it’s necessary.”

“And how’s that going?” Ren asks sardonically, climbing down to dip the roller.

Eli looks uncomfortable. “We’re still beta testing. Anyway, our story is better than a bunch of human-starving robots. Sounds boring.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Ren says a little smugly. “Wait till you read it and then tell me it’s boring.”

They must be talking about a story Ren’s writing. I remember they told me they write stories with, and I quote, “lots of violence.”

“Eli,” a voice comes from the kitchen. “Let them work. Can you help me with the vegetables?”

I follow Eli into the kitchen, coughing a little from the fumes. The windows are open in here too. With the fan blowing, it’s easier to breathe.

Moira—Ren’s friend? Girlfriend?—is at the kitchen counter, but she’s not chopping the pile of little carrots in front of her. She’s got a sketchbook open and she’s staring at the page.

“Here I am,” Eli grumbles as Moira doesn’t look up. “Are we working or not?”

“Oh, yeah.” Moira jumps a little. “Sorry, trying to finish this design for the mural.” She shoves the sketchbook aside and assigns Eli asparagus and asks if I can work on shelling peas. I take the peas and a second bowl over to the table and figure out how to pry them open. Out pop the peas, one, two, three, four. It’s surprisingly satisfying.

“I just think they could write something that would help the people see the need to band together and create a new system of shared power,” Eli grumbles to Moira. From Moira’s face, this tension between Eli and Ren is not new. “They’re selling out to fulfill the bloodlust of the masses without a sense of higher purpose.”

“Andtheir writing keeps food on this table,” Moira points out. “Heaven knows, more than my art or Qilan’s translations. And the revolution’s not a big money maker,” she adds gently.

“Our future together is more important than ourcomfort now.” Eli waves a stick of asparagus around in the air. “And where are you coming from?” he asks, turning to me.

Moira sighs.