Breach

by Eliot Peper

  “You’ve changed the world many times over,” said Emily. “You’ve built a new system from the bottom up. A long time ago, Commonwealth was a startup. Your insights and decisiveness transformed it into a megacorporation and then an entirely new form of global sovereign entity. You always tried to minimize internal politics because you saw how it slowed everything down and diluted results. You stayed out of geopolitics too for as long as you could, until Dag forced you into it.” Emily remembered the painful isolation of her years in exile. Yesterday’s revelation hadn’t just sent Rachel to the ICU, it had robbed her of her closest advisers and confidants, her chosen successor. I’ve just never wanted to be alone, you know? And that’s what leadership is, almost by definition. It’s taking a step forward when everyone hangs back, raising your hand when others balk. If taking the helm had eaten away at Javier, how must Rachel feel right now? Emily had hijacked her life’s work, undermined her council, and was asking her to take yet another leap of faith. But this woman had never been one to balk at difficult truths.

  “The feed isn’t just technology anymore, it’s everything. And, being everything, it’s subject to the same machinations as any other source of power, whether you like it or not. Sofia argued that infrastructure should be apolitical, that the feed should be neutral. But infrastructure is the foundation upon which we live our lives. Nothing could be more political. Ignoring that fact doesn’t make Commonwealth neutral, it makes it autocratic by default.”

  Emily leaned forward. “The infighting among your lieutenants, this scheme of Lowell’s, even our original hack, all of it is just the court politics that crop up in any autocracy. We are the moths to Commonwealth’s candle flame. Can you imagine how history might be different if Augustus had reestablished the Roman Republic at the end of his reign? Or if George Washington decided not to hand off power to an elected successor? Dag could give you a thousand examples. One way or the other, it’s no secret that big changes are coming. Succession is the fuel feeding this fire. As of yesterday, Sofia was in line to be the next chairwoman. I’m here to tell you how grave of a mistake that is, not because of Sofia—I’m sure she’s brilliant and dedicated and up to the task. No. It’s a mistake because you made her appointment your decision.”

  Emily’s words found a rhythm, picked up enough momentum to carry a freestyle MC solo. “If you want your legacy to survive, you need to bring the same creativity and conviction to governing the feed that you did to building it.” She thought of the protesters and counterprotesters that had delayed Javier’s commencement speech, the raging preacher in the Addis market, the graffiti scrawled along the San Francisco alleyways, the blissed-out junkies on Camiguin, the billions of people like Rizal with no real power but a surfeit of humanity. The world was disoriented by accelerating change. Traditional sources of identity were crumbling. The old rules no longer applied. Everyone was struggling to make meaning out of madness. “You need to find a way to make Commonwealth democratic, to give everyone a voice in the future, even if it delays the arrival of that future or roughs it up a bit. Sofia and Javier and Diana and Baihan and anyone on the feed should have to present their competing visions on equal footing. As much as I’d like to see him executed, we should release Lowell and invite him and his little cabal. It’ll take the teeth out of their coup d’état. In the long run, the only way to defeat your opponents is to empower them. Rachel, you made the feed. You can change the feed. It won’t be perfect. The teh tarik will spill. Nobody will be in control. Early on, the feed needed to be efficient to survive. Now it needs to be redundant, multipolar, and resilient. By establishing a structure for everyone to share power, to participate, you’ll channel discontent into productive contribution and perhaps convince future generations of Emilys and Lowells and all the rest to lend a hand instead of fomenting revolution.”

  And then, like a record spinning to the end of its groove, she was done.

  The moment dilated.

  Once upon a time . . . Appa’s voice was just beyond the edge of hearing. The knight had defeated the dragon and then fell on her own sword for failing to protect the king. Emily had always imagined the moral to be that you had to be perfect, that you had to meet life’s demands, however unreasonable, with unfailing competence. But maybe the real lesson lay in the power of whispers over blades, the danger of failing to adapt and forgive, and the strange magic of recognizing yourself in the alien other. Maybe the knight was the protagonist but not the hero. Maybe, as they sat wrapped in fleece blankets gazing up at glittering night sky, her dad had imagined Emily to be the hero, even though all she did was listen.

  Maybe listening was the most important thing of all.

  Careful to not yank free her IV, Rachel leaned forward, picked up the knife, and cut the blood oranges into neat slices. Dark juice stained the wooden cutting board, and the bright smell of citrus filled the room. She opened the little turquoise jar and sprinkled a pinch of cinnamon over everything.

  Then Rachel plucked up a single slice, indicated that Emily should do the same.

  “After thirteen years of fruitless searching, I had nearly given up on ever having a chance to meet the mastermind who found a way to hack the feed,” said Rachel. “And I must admit that while you’re not at all what I imagined, you do not disappoint.”

  Rachel bit into the slice and then smiled, her lips parting to reveal nothing but pebbled orange skin.

  CHAPTER 41

  Bees ducked and wove through lavender, sipping nectar. The morning was hot, as if the sun was making up for time lost to yesterday’s fog. The windows of the cottage were open to let in the breeze.

  Emily stopped on the threshold, pastry box in hand. A part of her still wanted to turn around, summon a car, hop on whatever international flight was about to leave the Oakland airport, find a plastic surgeon who could make adjustments to aid in evading facial recognition, and spend whatever days were left to her chasing shadows. But ultimately, she would be running from herself. If she challenged others to face up to painful realities, she could hardly ignore her own.

  She knocked.

  Dag opened the door and looked her up and down.

  “It sounds like you’ve had quite a few days,” he said. “Seeing that footage of you at the Ranch brought back memories I’d rather forget, but I have to admit that you appeared to be partying harder than I ever did. I guess age hasn’t mellowed Lowell.”

  “Mellow is not a word I would use to describe him,” said Emily. “In Lowell’s case, age seems to be distilling him into an even purer version of himself.”

  Dag half smiled. “That’s a hard fate for any of us to escape.”

  Then two girls charged up behind him, all curly brown hair and elbows. They both stared at the label on the box Emily held.

  “Fournée!” they squealed, clapping.

  “Girls,” said Diana sternly, arriving at the door.

  “Sorry,” said one.

  “I’m Drew,” said the other. “This is Layla. Can we have some, please?”

  “Hey,” said Diana.

  “I said please,” said Drew.

  “It’s okay,” said Emily, laughing. “I come bearing gifts.”

  She opened the box, revealing a dozen fresh croissants. There was an intake of preadolescent breath.

  “Wait,” said Drew, leaning sideways to look past Emily. “Who is that?”

  Emily looked over her shoulder, Dag and Diana following suit, but the front yard was empty except for the bees.

  Emily looked back to discover the girls were gone, along with two croissants each. Footsteps pattered up the stairs, and they heard the receding sound of giggling and an ex-post-facto shout of “Thank you.”

  Diana sighed.

  Dag gave Emily a shrug. “I told you they were a handful,” he said.

  “Let’s go to the kitchen,” said Diana. “The greenhouse is a sauna this morning.”

  They sat around the kitchen table. Emily transferred the croissants to a plate and Dag made coff
ee. Diana’s eyes never left Emily. Finally, the French press was ready, and they settled in.

  “Dag,” said Emily. “I’ve never actually apologized for what I did to you, and while I know that an apology is next to nothing, I want you to know that I’m sorry. I justified everything with the false logic that I was nudging people, not hurting them, but at the end of the day, it was just thinly veiled manipulation, and all the more cruel for its subtlety. What I put you through . . . Nobody should have to suffer that. There’s nothing I could ever do to make it up to you, but I see all the pain I caused you, and it breaks my heart.”

  Dag laughed, and Emily was once again struck by the extent of his ease, how his contentment clashed with the hunger and ambition that had nearly consumed the man he’d been.

  “You were running quite a racket,” he said. “But if it hadn’t been for you, we’d probably still be living without any real action on climate change, I’d still be a lobbyist, and I would never have wound up with this crazy person.” He nudged Diana. “So. Water under the bridge. But I appreciate the sentiment.”

  Emily tried to imagine what it might feel like to live with a touch so light that you could forgive someone who had mindfucked you for years, who had been drowning in guilt for over a decade.

  “I’m more interested in your absolutely spectacular fuckups this week,” said Diana. “First, I warn you to stay out of the limelight, and you ride Lowell straight out of the Ranch and into international stardom like a dominatrix on a sex pony. Then, you double down by evicting every skeleton from the collective closet of Commonwealth’s board. You, Ms. Kim, are either a total fucking maniac or seriously out of practice at this whole intrigue thing.”

  Emily felt blood rushing to her cheeks. “I—I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually thought that Rachel knew, that the board knew. It just seemed . . . It seemed impossible that you’d all worked together for so long with something like that under wraps.”

  “Remind me to keep your innocence in mind while the world burns,” said Diana. “I mean, holy fuck, of all the things I expected from you, naivete was not one of them.”

  “I think it’s as beautiful as it was stupid,” said Dag. “I mean, Emily believed you guys worked well together because everyone knew, that by acknowledging and overcoming the adversity of the hack, you cemented the bonds that help you lead. Let’s hope you’re all able to summon that much perspective in dealing with the aftermath.”

  “I survived one war,” said Diana darkly. “That was enough.”

  There was a beat where all their attention turned inward. Emily remembered the ashes to which her hometown had been reduced, and felt the undercurrent of divisiveness raging around the edges of her feed.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Dag.

  Diana seemed to return to herself. Her eyes found Emily’s. “So, what did you say to her?”

  “Wait, what?” asked Emily, thrown off by the change of tack.

  “You may be out of practice with clandestine ops,” said Diana, “but I’m not. You don’t think the chief intelligence officer of Commonwealth knows when some creep is scoping our chairwoman’s house? Haruki set up a sniper’s nest in Coit Tower. He had eyes on you the whole time. If you had so much as touched Rachel . . .”

  “I—” Emily fumbled for words, retroactive fear flaring.

  “Rachel sent out an all-staff notification that she’ll be making an important announcement tomorrow,” said Diana. “That’s it, no other details. And she hasn’t backchanneled to any of us, not even Sofia, who called me about it this morning. Our chairwoman-in-waiting is shitting her pants. I had to talk her down from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, which, to be fair, was an entirely sane reaction.”

  “I told Rachel,” said Emily, “that if she wants the feed to survive, she has to find a way to make Commonwealth democratic. All this intrigue that I’m so out of practice at endangers the whole system. If she keeps running Commonwealth like it’s still just a corporation and hands the torch to Sofia, I think the war you’re worried about will be inevitable.”

  Diana stared at Emily for a long time, then grunted. “That sounds like an absolutely terrible idea,” she said. “And what’s worse is that I can’t come up with a better one.”

  “Democracy can mean a lot of different things,” said Dag thoughtfully.

  Emily shrugged. “All I did was make my case. I don’t even know if she listened.”

  “Oh, she listened,” said Diana. “Rachel may not agree, but she always listens.” She paused for a moment. “In happier news, Lowell is going to be a lot less of a problem from now on.”

  “Why?” asked Dag. “Aren’t there platoons of attorneys demanding his release?”

  “There are,” said Diana. “But I heard something very interesting through the grapevine. It’s not public yet, but Freja has officially taken over their entire organization and assets. She had her people reach out to my people to let Commonwealth know and make peace. She’s doing the same with all their other partners.” Diana’s grin had more than a little in common with a shark’s. “Apparently, she’s been preparing this for years and was waiting for the right opportunity. Now she’s hanging him out to dry. She had already seized control of every official account a long time ago, but Lowell didn’t realize it because she ran all their day-to-day operations. Even the deed to the Ranch is in her name. So whenever we put him back on the street, Lowell’s going to be just another private citizen.”

  “Holy shit,” said Dag. “Good for Freja. The old man’s going to go batshit.”

  “If anyone else were the victim, he’d be cheering her on and asking for an encore,” said Emily. So she wasn’t the only ghost he hadn’t been able to hold at bay. She remembered Freja’s tight sarcasm, how her accent colored her precise diction.

  “He had it coming just doesn’t quite capture the rapturous joy of seeing the anvil of justice fall from heaven to crush the right asshole,” said Diana.

  “Fingers crossed that we don’t wind up getting what we surely deserve,” said Dag.

  Diana snorted. “You can say that again.”

  They sipped their coffee, thinking.

  “There’s one more thing,” said Emily at last. She turned to Dag. “I was hoping to ask you for a favor.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Javier reached out a hand as Emily stepped from the pontoon to the dock. Wind buffeted their hair as the engine of the seaplane ticked down. The ocean was a changeable gray, as if it couldn’t decide on a mood. Kids laughed as they ran between classes up at the school. Gulls circled overhead and late afternoon light bathed the Island in a sympathetic glow.

  “Did you ever imagine we’d wind up in a place like this?” asked Emily.

  Javier turned to assess the view and the light kissed his face, softening his gaunt features, calling forth the boy from the man. Emily remembered the first time they had visited this remote location, chugging out on an old fishing boat to see the decrepit house and barn left behind by a family whose children had moved away to chase careers in the city. So much had changed since then. After thirteen years surveying his life from afar, Emily couldn’t quite believe she was standing here on this dock with Javier. Likewise, she couldn’t believe she had spent so long absent from his life. She had missed his wedding, hadn’t even met Markus yet. Javier had matured, come into his own, and was now more of a leader than she’d ever been. And yet he was still the boy who had never ceased to amaze her, whose mind was a prism through which the universe shone. Pride and shame and nostalgia and relief and abject terror warred within her. There were so many ways in which she’d failed Javier, so much she wanted to give him, so much she didn’t want to admit she needed from him.

  “To tell you the truth,” he said, “I had enough trouble imagining where we could get our hands on something to eat or how I’d be able to finish my homework. What’s happened since then”—he shook his head—“sometimes I just don’t know what to make of any of it.
I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and wonder whether it’s all some sort of dream, but then morning comes, and I realize that reality is so much stranger than anything my subconscious could cook up.”

  They walked up the dock, wood creaking under their feet. When Emily had unblocked the contacts in her feed after leaving Rachel’s house, messages had flooded in from Javier, Rosa, Diana, and even Dag. Instead of demanding answers for the avalanche she’d set off in the board room, they’d all been asking where she was, whether she was okay. In the midst of a crisis, Javier had tracked her all the way to Analog. Emily’s obsession with honor, her desire for control, her striving toward perfection, all of these were just different shades of selfishness. Surrounded by friends who had become a family, a family whom she loved even when they fucked up, she had somehow persuaded herself that the unconditional love she extended was not reciprocal, had shut them out when she had needed them most, and they her.

  “Speaking of,” said Javier. “Have you gotten your dossier yet? Rachel being Rachel, she’s not taking anything at face value and is going back to first principles. Apparently, Aristotle thought elections were anathema to democracy because they fall victim to the whole ‘power corrupts’ paradox. Instead, he believed the only way to incentivize leaders to be truly thoughtful and fair was by ensuring that they didn’t know who was going to be in charge next. So Rachel has Sofia and me iterating through complex sortition models to figure out options for turning feed governance into jury duty on steroids. I’m sure she’s parallel pathing researchers on a slew of representative structures as well. My team is working 24-7, and I still have no idea how we’re supposed to have it ready for the constitutional convention, but I guess everyone else is in the same boat. Liane’s recruiting pretty much every legal scholar alive. Baihan’s stuck wrangling heads of state. Diana’s spinning up a major security and counterintelligence op to make sure the convention itself doesn’t get attacked or conned. Rachel even brought in Dag to consult on comparative historical case studies, which is how she stumbled on the whole Aristotle thing. So what does she have you doing?”