Keepers

by Brenda Cooper

  “No threats?”

  “The cities have an ultimatum to answer the president. It’s tomorrow at noon. But they won’t give in and he knows it, so it doesn’t really mean anything. No one thinks the feds have political teeth, whether or not their weapons are real.” He stopped, and a rare frown crossed his face. “Except maybe those few who know where the nukes are, or if they’re real.” He lowered his voice. “I did get to go see the city’s formal EOC. If you get a chance, go. It’s—wow. I can’t even describe it. Screens everywhere, and robotic everything, and the situation status is really neat.”

  “Hey! My sit-stat boards were neat!”

  He laughed. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s . . . organized and searchable and the AI’s and the robotics are pretty fabulous. There’s real-time reporting hanging in the air. Literally.”

  “So why are we even here?”

  He arched an eyebrow and spoke in a low and overly serious tone of voice. “What if those systems are hacked?”

  She curtseyed at him. “How do you know ours aren’t?”

  “I don’t. But they’re not government systems, and maybe no one knows about them.”

  He pulled her briefly to him, and then turned and went to answer a question from someone he’d been working with.

  Eloise came in and clapped three times loudly, and then climbed onto a table with Lucille Moore. Lucille was old and burly, almost but not quite fat. She wore plain dark gray clothes and comfortable shoes, with only her red hat and a red belt to add color. In contrast, Eloise looked ready for a board meeting, in navy and white with low-heeled black boots and her hair pulled into a neat ponytail.

  Lucille spoke first. She sounded precise and calm. “There are three primary fronts that we are monitoring. These are the port, city systems, and the physical land perimeters.

  “First. As of last night, we identified two tankers we were worried about. One has been cleared. The other has . . . defenses. The city’s teams have been assembling around it, and there is an assault by city forces planned for 11:00 a.m., which is in exactly one hour and fifteen minutes from now. Other teams are sweeping the waterfront looking for anything we might have missed. We are backup communications and logistics for this assault, and our operations team will need to pay close attention.

  “Many cybersecurity challenges have been identified. There is a list on the right side of the situation status board. All response is being coordinated through the Seacouver Cybersecurity Unit, with three backup teams that work is being spread to. None of them is us. We are monitoring only. If we are assigned a role, it will be to mitigate damages but not to clean systems.

  “We have a team assigned to Julianna’s and Jake’s holdings. They will come to the Incident Commander for this room if they need anything.”

  Lucille paused and caught her breath, made sure everyone paid attention. “We have identified at least ten possible strike teams approaching or already near Seacouver. Estimates suggest there are more. We are one of three locations working on identifying enemies approaching. The other two are listed by the board. One is in Vancouver and one is in Tacoma. Any questions?”

  There were, of course, and after about ten minutes the collected staff from two shifts fell silent. As long as they were meeting, less work was getting done. Lucille nodded. “I’d like to thank my crew. Go home and sleep. Eloise will brief you all on the next shift.”

  Eloise stayed on the table, watching the room like a predatory bird, while the shift Coryn and Imke were replacing all filed back to their desks to wait for the briefing to end so they could go home. Blessing and Day joked and laughed. Coryn frowned at them, wishing they would act serious. Being part of an EOC seemed so solemn, so important.

  She sighed and kept herself from trying to change him. If Blessing had taught her anything, it was to use humor in the face of great odds.

  Eloise drew her attention. “The operational plan for this shift is to work on all of the tasks as outlined by Lucille. Your assignments are on the check-in table. If you haven’t yet checked in, do so.” She called out a few specific jobs. At the end, she said, “Coryn, Imke, please see me,” and jumped lightly off the table.

  Coryn hadn’t even seen Imke so far this morning. She searched the room and found them wading toward Eloise from the far side by the coffee.

  Eloise pulled them both quite close to her and spoke quickly, voice low. “I need to talk with you, but none of us is free right now. I’ve assigned you to be the liaison for the city’s main EOC.”

  “How many EOCs are there?”

  “There’s one central hub. It’s here—just two building’s over. Easy to get to and from. You’ll carry messages today. Some messages don’t belong on electronics, especially in a cyber fight.”

  “Okay.”

  “Namina will take you. Go.”

  Imke looked puzzled. “Are there any messages for us to take now?”

  “No. You’re to be on a schedule—fifteen minutes in each place, and fifteen to get back and forth. Both places will see you about every forty-five minutes. Don’t get sucked in over there. Do your jobs.”

  This must be the job Blessing had done. “We’ll do our best.”

  A small line had queued up close to Eloise, keeping a barely respectable distance from them. She whirled away from Coryn and started answering other people’s questions.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Valeria had just opened the bar half an hour ago. Only a third of the chairs were full, and most of the people there were women—or the old. So far, neither Henrietta nor Agnes had appeared. Lou served; it gave her a chance to talk to more people than sitting still would.

  There was an air of sadness and resignation, with none of the sense of guilty escape she’d felt here the last time she came. Patrons either drank extra or a little less than she would have expected. Some hushed conversations ended when she came close.

  Another hour passed, and the bar remained quiet. Lou led Valeria into the back room under the pretense of asking where a certain type of wine was stored. “They’re all shocked and surprised.” She thought of Paulette’s complaint about being kept in the dark. “Maybe no one told their women. Paulette was shocked.” She paused. “Maybe we should get them drunk. I want to buy a round for everyone, but you can say it’s from you. A holiday wish for the town. And then if you could sing something sappy about safety and war, I’ll serve and listen. We can engage Felipe in the same thing, and Cheryl. Even Alondra. So if you can pass that along, maybe we can shake some information free.”

  She expected Valeria to be excited about the idea, but she looked stiff and angry.

  “What?” Lou asked.

  “These are my people. Most of the ones that are left. They are the ones who’ve been here a long time, or the children or the wives of the newcomers. I don’t want to betray them, or to spy on them.”

  What was a bar for if not to gain useful information? “Do you mind if I buy them a drink?”

  “No.”

  Lou pushed a little further. “What about singing to them? Songs that might comfort them?”

  Valeria started straightening bottles of ketchup and mustard and canned pickles on the shelf in front of her. “I don’t care about the cities. You know that.”

  “My sister is there. And so are your sons!”

  Tears welled in the corners of Valeria’s eyes and her hands shook. “I know.”

  “And the funding for what I do comes from the city. And neither of us wants everyone from the cities to spill out here.” All of that felt inadequate. “We don’t want innocent people killed, right?”

  Valeria stepped back, still looking at the shelf and not at Lou.

  Did she know something she hadn’t told Lou? “Talk to me!” Lou demanded.

  Valeria turned to her, her face a mask of frustration. “I have lived here and sweated here forever. I’ve protected my family here. You’ve been here what? Months? If I betray these people, I will have to leave. I have a few rules th
at have helped to keep us safe. One is that I do not spy. My family does not spy. I will not put my boys—who are with these people’s own children—in jeopardy. We cannot help you.”

  Lou sighed, and spoke softly, aware her words were going to hurt. “Isn’t one of your rules to keep some distance? But Diego and Santino and Ignacio broke those. War breaks rules.”

  Valeria blinked at her, pursed her lips, and turned back to the neat shelf, counting salt and pepper containers.

  Lou leaned close to her and whispered, “What if you sing, and I buy drinks, and I listen. No one else. Most of the people who may be left are not your people. I need to know what is going on. I’ll be careful.”

  Valeria rolled her eyes.

  “What will happen to these people if all of the young men they sent off die? What will happen to you?”

  Valeria flinched and took in a deep breath, blowing it out sharply. “If I sing, then you may listen.” Anger edged her words. “But only you. No one else.”

  ‡ ‡ ‡

  An hour later, Valeria climbed up onto the stage. She had pulled her hair up and tied glittering strings of faux-diamond flowers into it and made up her eyes with sparkly dark blue shadow and dramatic paint. She should have looked beautiful, but as she moved toward the stage, she looked more reluctant than showy. She paused for a long time with her toes on the edge of the stage, watching the crowd, letting them finish sentences and sip drinks and slowly slide their attention to her.

  Valeria usually shone when she was performing for a crowd. Any crowd. Right now, she looked vulnerable and a little shaky. Lou almost wanted to go rescue her.

  Valeria shivered and then spoke quietly. “We have empty beds in most of our homes tonight. There are three in my household. We are here in this bar sharing drink and stories because a community must come together in hard times.” She licked her lips, her movement and voice completely devoid of the subtle sexuality that usually imbued her. The lack of it made her look almost her age, more grandmother than goddess.

  She continued. “Do I have your permission to sing healing songs and share some poetry? It would help me, but I only want to offer it if it will also help you.”

  Lou shook her head slightly, amused despite the gravity of the moment. Valeria was, in fact, playing this perfectly.

  A woman near the front spoke. “I’d like that.”

  Others nodded and offered encouragement, and Valeria began with a low, sweet song of love between families, between father and son and mother and daughter.

  Lou took water, wine, and cider out to the main room on a tray, offering it freely. About half the people in the room took it, most of them murmuring thank yous. A few refused, some with looks that suggested they wouldn’t take a perfect rose or a gold coin if it came from her. Still, when she finished, all of the wine was gone and most of the water. A few glasses of cider remained.

  She ignored the slights as best she could, and sat in the back, listening. Valeria sang three more songs and recited a poem. The room began to feel warmer, and at least one woman shifted her hands to her eyes to hold back tears. An older man and woman held hands near the back.

  How did Valeria do this?

  Alondra came into the room with more water, and Lou added a few fresh glasses to the tray of leftover cider and followed her out. Twice she perched briefly on the edge of chairs or just paused and made small talk, trying to get people to relax some. She refrained from asking any direct questions.

  No one spoke to her of anything important. The men were gone. They apparently hadn’t felt like telling people where, although the city could probably tell via satellite shots. But did they have bombs? What were their plans?

  Valeria started a poem about men coming home from war, and then she stopped, her voice choking. She turned it into a lullaby, and then she stepped away from the small stage, almost stumbling. Astrid went to her, holding her, and Sofia passed them both, taking the stage. She looked hesitant.

  People gave her the benefit of the doubt, waiting quietly.

  She said, “Three of my brothers went wherever the men who are not here also went. I will sing three happy songs for them. Think happy thoughts and think of your loved ones while I sing, and perhaps we can send them a smile on this cold night.”

  Sofia’s songs succeeded in making Lou smile, although they didn’t shake any information loose from anyone. Lou raised her half-empty cider glass with the rest of the room when Sofia finished the first song.

  She realized she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off of Sofia for the last few lines. She might, some day, grow into Valeria’s place. If she didn’t let Henrietta woo her into danger.

  Even though it was still early when Sofia smiled and gave a flouncy bow and stepped down, the women and old men began to leave. They talked in low tones, a few of them glancing back at her, or over at Shuska, who stood quietly by the door even though it was clear her services as a bouncer wouldn’t be needed tonight.

  Henrietta hadn’t come. Neither had Agnes.

  By ten o’clock, the bar was fully empty. Lou brushed up against Valeria as she carried a set of dirty plates to the kitchen. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Did it help?”

  “It didn’t help me. But maybe it helped the people in the room.”

  Valeria nodded, looking weary.

  This time, Lou did feel sorry for her. The bar felt hollowed out with so many people missing. Two generations had been plucked out of the community and sent away.

  ‡ ‡ ‡

  Felipe stroked the floor with a mop, the water running clear from it as he finished the last rinse. Sofia and Alondra stood by the door, laughing and pulling on gloves. Lou helped Astrid wipe up the cabinets with rags so hot they turned both women’s knuckles red.

  The door opened and Paulette stepped through, her baby in a cloth carrier that held the infant at her chest. “Lou?” she called.

  Lou dropped the rag and went to her. “Are you okay?”

  Paulette nodded, although her hands shook. She looked like someone had stolen all the color from her face. Lou led her to a table in the part of the bar that had already been cleaned up, ignoring Felipe’s frown.

  Paulette stayed standing, rocking, one hand on the back of Jude’s head and one hand on the back of the chair. She whispered, “I know something.”

  “What?”

  “Jude.”

  “Yes?”

  “Jude kept a diary.”

  It took Lou a moment to understand that she meant her brother and not her baby. “He did?”

  “Electronic. On his wrister. But he backed it up at home. No one is there now, and I wanted to know where they went. I downloaded his diary to my wristlet and I listened to some of it.”

  Lou sat, and gestured for Paulette to join her. “What did you learn?”

  “If I sit the baby will cry. I can’t sit.”

  “Okay.”

  Paulette licked her lips. “Mathew.”

  Lou waited.

  “Mathew. Do you know Mathew?”

  “Alondra’s dad. Yes. I do. He shot at me once.”

  Paulette’s eyes widened. “He had an ID. A real city ID. I mean, one that the city didn’t even question, with his own real biometrics coded into it. He worked for an institute. The Modern Training Institute.” She paused, staring at the wall above Lou’s head. “I’m sorry. I need to tell you the right thing.”

  Lou smiled, her throat tight. “Take your time.”

  “Mathew was supposed to be helping people like us get into the city. Not us, we don’t want to go. But helping people do well there.” She leaned down and kissed baby Jude on the head. “Mathew used the classes and his job to take bombs into the cities. Nukes. He went from the loop in Spokane to the cities.”

  Lou felt stuck to the floor, frightened. She whispered, “To which cities?”

  “Seacouver. Portland Metro. Chicago. Calgary. Salt Lake City. That’s all I found. But I think some other cities might have them too. I didn’t li
sten to it all. I thought I should tell you.”

  Lou felt cold, and slow. It was hard to even get the words out to ask, “How many?”

  “I don’t know. Jude called them payloads, and he rambled about nuclear war and all that. He talked about Korea and Fukushima and Hiroshima, all the accidents and the bombs mixed up. He liked them. I had no idea my brother liked bombs.”

  Lou took in a deep breath. Another. Her heart was racing. “What does he plan to do?”

  “Bomb the cities. Kill as many as he can. Scare the rest.”

  Lou took another deep breath. She looked around. No one was close enough to hear. She didn’t know if she wanted an audience or if this should be secret. Shuska would be good, but she wasn’t in the room right now. Valeria had said something about taking her to move boxes in the back of the store. There was Felipe, still concentrating on his mop. Alondra and Sofia, but they shouldn’t hear this.

  “Do you know when?”

  “He took them over the summer. One at a time. I don’t know why.” She fell quiet. Jude wriggled and stretched his arms out. Paulette looked down. “Oh—you mean when they want the bombs to go off, don’t you? No. Maybe New Years. Maybe sooner. I can give you the files. I have them. They’re on my wristlet. Someone else needs to read it.”

  Yes. Julianna. The city needed to know this now. “Yes. Soon.”

  “Will you take them? I can’t leave and take care of Jude. I don’t want to be caught with this, either. Maybe people will listen to you.”

  “Did you tell anyone else?”

  Paulette’s eyes widened. “Of course not. I don’t want anybody to know I can do this.”

  Lou winced. “I’m glad you’re capable. You did right. I’ll take them.” She held her hand out, and Paulette sat down and leaned back, maybe to keep the baby in the position she wanted him. She took both hands off the child and used one to unbuckle the strap of her wristlet and hold it out. “I’ll say I lost this. If anyone asks.”