Page 12

VALE

I get back onto the highway. There are cops out, and I see someone pulled over.

We’re on the lookout for the PS, but I don’t think they have jurisdiction here in Ohio.

Whenever I see flashing lights I tense a little, and I can’t stop watching for them even when we switch drivers and I’m in the passenger seat.

“Looks like we got away pretty clean that time,” Mark says, a little uncertain.

I’m not known for making conversation—I find it pretty difficult. I prefer someone give me orders or explain how to do something, rather than expect me to answer them.

“Not that guy.” I state the obvious. Sure, we might have gotten away, but it wasn’t a clean mission. We lost a man, and he may have compromised future rescues.

“What do you think they’ll do to him?” he asks.

I shake my head. My guess is as good as his. How can I end this conversation and not have to talk anymore? “He’ll be sent to a camp. ”

“Oh.” Mark finally stops trying to engage me in conversation. I hear a murmur in the back, but I’m not tempted to listen and try to join in.

I pull a map out of the glove compartment and take a look. I think we’ll stop in Toledo. I can get a few hours of sleep before we start the trek across Canada, and the others can clean out the van, pick up some food to bring along.

Most of these guys have probably never been out of the PS and don’t realize how things are in the Midwest. It’s a pretty sweet setup.

I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about moving down here someday.

The climate is milder than Anchorage, for sure.

But despite the good vibes, equality of the sexes, and a lot of freedom to pursue individual interests thanks to their universal basic income, it’s still lacking something.

When an animal has nothing to fear—no predator, no lack of food, no conflict in their surroundings—they start to lie around. Look at animals in zoos and how they start to hurt themselves or act in unnatural ways. Zookeepers have to give them drugs to calm them down and help with their anxiety.

My dad and I discuss this a lot. He thinks humans get it wrong when they think safety will make people feel good.

It’s the whole problem with the PS. For one thing, they don’t know when to stop.

They won’t be satisfied until they put a chip in everyone’s brain and force them to be at peace all the time.

But there’s always people who thrive in dangerous environments, taking risks, like the wild animals I see in Alaska.

As comfortable as it is here in Ohio, they lost something just like the rest of the world when they signed the Universal Accord.

That thing they lost, that’s what the Forge wants to bring back. We will forge a new world, where life isn’t about waiting to die, but about people having control over their own lives. They can choose to do great things or terrible things, and face the consequences of the choices they make.

The PS thinks we want to bring the guns back, but the guns are only part of it.

We want to bring back a world where something can happen.

Where every day is not one after another spent online if you’re in Canada, in some community center learning German or pottery in the Midwest, or tending your garden in the PS.

In an hour we pull up to a motel that’s next to a community center. They kept a lot of tech here, letting AI take care of their governing and planning.

Once robots could run the service sector—making coffee, fixing plumbing, even giving a great massage—they got UBI organized and focused on hobbies and sports and the kinds of things that bring people together and give them something to do.

My dad says everyone in the Midwest is retired. Like, everyone.

We check into the motel and Mark and I grab a quick nap in the room.

The guys do a decent job cleaning up the van. I try to smile but end up giving them a nod with a not-frown, which should be enough. Might as well get them used to the way things will be up north. We head over to the community center.

I catch up to the guy who was at the courthouse with Amity Bloome.

I guess I’m still thinking about her. He has red hair and pale skin, and he’s humming quietly to himself.

He’s kept the SafeGuard we took off him, the fake, and he’s fiddling with it while we cross the street.

I let my eyes linger on his hands and I’m surprised to see he’s managed to reset the device. He’s programming user information.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

The kid, Zeph, gets a little redder, if that’s possible, but doesn’t stop typing and scrolling on the little watch-shaped device.

“It’s an interesting design,” he says. “Double encryption?”

“Did you learn about that in the PS?” I didn’t think they let men in on the design of their security apparatus.

He looks up. “PS. What’s that?”

“The Peaceful Society,” I clarify.

“Oh.” His fingers finish and he slips the SafeGuard into his pocket. “I taught myself. Took things apart, found some old programming books. I like figuring out how things work,” he admits.

“Then it’s good you’re getting out of there,” I say, surprising myself with all this chatting.

“I guess.” He looks conflicted. “There are people I’ll miss.”

I wonder if he means Amity. And just like that I’m thinking about her again, tall and tan and freckled, and the minty smell that clung to her .

“Maybe I’ll go back someday,” he says a little wistfully.

“Maybe.” I’m doubtful.

We reach the door to the community center and head inside.

It’s crowded this time of evening, with people on exercise bikes in a windowed room to our right.

A long table in another room shows a spirited discussion and a whiteboard, and there are steps down to a library that’s bustling with parents and children.

They do have some nice resources out here.

We head to the kitchen where we’re picking up a food order that should get us across the border and most of the way through Canada. The big box is heavy with packaged meals and wrapped-up sandwiches. I don’t have to pay because that’s all been arranged ahead of time by the Forge.

A couple of people are working in the kitchen and a girl closes the fridge.

She’s pretty, with long braids and a nice figure.

My eyes rest on her while I’m thinking about the drive across Canada, but I guess she takes that as an invitation and gives me a flirty look, running her eyes up and down me.

I sigh and turn away. I’m on the clock, and frankly, there’s something about me that can’t get interested in someone I just met. My dad says when the Adamson men fall, they fall hard and forever.

I know he’ll be carrying a torch for my mom forever, even if he has women stay with him sometimes at the Forge. I don’t even go that far. It’s hard to trust people, and I don’t want a girl in my private room. The thought makes me nauseous, actually, although I’d never admit it.

I try not to show any disgust on my face, this girl doesn’t deserve that. I turn away and quickly herd the men back outside.

“Eat something, then we head to the border,” I grunt and grab a sandwich to eat at a picnic table.

It’s still light out, but it’s getting later and I’m surprised how many people are out and about in town.

When I see a mom and dad holding the hands of a little boy my chest feels tight, but I push it down.

It’s a sweet little Black boy with his parents enjoying the walk home from his piano lesson or whatever they were doing. His parents look down on him with so much pride, it’s like the three of them are in a bubble of happiness together. It feels so familiar.

I had that. That little boy was me ten years ago. Full of love, full of optimism. Heading into a future that would be better, safer, and more peaceful.

I know my mother worked so hard to leave me that legacy. Little did she know how wrong things would go, how her own organization and government would turn on her once she started to expose their hypocrisy. How dark my father would become without her.

I shiver and hope that boy stays in his bubble, and nothing ever comes to burst it.