The Affinities (25 page)

“Military installations. Whole cities, maybe. The TV people don't know anything. Communications are down all across the subcontinent.”

“Jesus!” Aaron said. Mama Laura shot him an injured look. “I apologize for the language,” he said, “but if things get really hot I might be called back to DC.”

He started to reach for his phone.
“Aaron,”
Mama Laura said before his hand made it past his lapel.

“I should check my messages, at least.”

“Did the people you work for have our home number?”

“Sure, but—”

“In that case, in the event of an emergency, the phone on the side table will ring. Until then, please enjoy your meal with the rest of us, no matter what's happening halfway across the planet.”

It was not a negotiable demand. “Of course,” Aaron said, though for the next few minutes he cast reflexive glances at the video screen in the next room, blank and silent in its corner. I couldn't help exchanging a look with Jenny. If Aaron's visit was cut short, we might have to change our plan. Or abandon it altogether.

But Rebecca's question seemed to have piqued my father's interest in her. “You're Geddy's girlfriend,” he said, though they had already been introduced.

“That's one thing I am.”

“I guess that means you're a
lot
of things.”

“Aren't we all?”

“They tell me you belong to one of those Affinity groups?”

“Actually, no—”

“Adam here works for one. I forget which.”

“He's a Tau,” Rebecca said. “But I'm not a member of an Affinity, Mr. Fisk. I'm enlisted with New Socionome.”

“Enlisted with
what
now?”

“New Socionome. It's kind of a global collective for designing new ways to connect people, outside of the framework of the Affinities.”

“You're probably wise not to call it an Affinity, given that Aaron wants to pass a law against them.”

“He means the Griggs-Haskell bill,” Aaron said. “You've heard of it?”

“Of course,” Rebecca said.

“It's just a way of regulating a troublesome and problematic business. I'm no fan of government regulation, but in this case it's necessary. I guess you approve of that, given that you've chosen not to join an Affinity?”

“Actually no,” Rebecca said. “I don't approve of it. I think it's worse than unnecessary. As it's written, the bill would grant oversight powers to the largest Affinity, which is Het, which would just give an authoritarian Affinity even more political clout than it already has. It's a clusterfuck.” She blinked into the silence that descended on the table. “Uh, sorry, Mrs. Fisk.”

My father was less offended by her language than by her refusal to defer to Aaron. “How's
your
club work?”

“New Socionome's not a club. It puts together small circles of people in ways that enhance cooperation toward loosely defined long-term goals. Each circle has open valence, which means they can expand any way they want and include anyone they feel like including. It's like creating the grain of dust that nucleates a snowflake.”

“My word,” Mama Laura said, awed and bewildered in equal parts. “I've never heard it put that way.”

My father said, “I guess it's not a particularly
exclusive
club. For years, the golf club here in town? You couldn't get in if you were a Jew. But they relaxed that rule.”

Geddy flushed but said nothing. Rebecca seemed, not
startled
, exactly, but at a loss for words.

It was Mama Laura who finally spoke up.

“Charles,” she said, in the tone she usually reserved for misbehaving children. She waited until she had my father's complete attention—a hostile, skeletal stare. “Charles, we all know you're ill. Believe me,
I
know it. The doctors told me exactly what to expect. I know what my duty is. I will feed you if necessary, clean you, see to your needs. Speaking plainly? I'll empty your bedpan when the time comes, and I don't expect to be thanked for it. But Geddy has come home with a new friend he wants us to meet. And I think she is a lovely person. And I am very happy for both of them. And it matters a great deal to me that my son is happy. So even though you're sick, and even though the fact of your sickness has tied the tongue of everyone else at the table, I won't let you ruin this meal as you have ruined so many others. Speak civilly or keep your mouth closed, because I mean to have a pleasant dinner this evening, with or without your help.”

My father gaped at her, eyes like cueballs in pockets of crepe-paper skin.

“There's peach streusel for dessert,” she said. “Or ice cream, for those who don't like streusel. And I can start a pot of coffee as soon as everyone's ready.”

*   *   *

The conversation veered into less nervous territory. Mama Laura asked Jenny about her mother. Jenny's father Ed Symanski had died a year and a half ago, of liver cancer. Her mom continued to live alone and in a condition of alcoholic dementia in the family house, which was falling into disrepair. Jenny had recently been granted power of attorney and was in the process of relocating her mother to an extended-care facility. There was a facility near Utica that was well regarded and prepared to deal with Mrs. Symanski's alcoholism as well as her chronic confusion, but the chances that Jenny's mom would move there without a fight were slim to none.

That was all true, but it was also a convenient excuse for Jenny to stay in Schuyler past the weekend, after Aaron would have flown back to Washington. And once Aaron was out of the way, Jenny could do what she had agreed to do for Tau. And for herself, of course. Mainly for herself. Incidentally for Tau.

My father had made no response to Mama Laura's rebuke. He was silent during dessert but seemed more sleepy than sullen. After coffee he excused himself and allowed Mama Laura to escort him upstairs. Aaron took a bathroom break, but his hand was reaching for his phone even as he left the table. Soon we could hear his voice from behind the door off the hallway, terse unintelligible questions blurred by the echo of an enclosed space.

“I think it would probably be okay to turn on the TV in the living room,” Jenny said, meaning it would be better to get some news we could all share rather than insult Mama Laura by trawling our phones for information. Geddy located the remote and pushed the button. The old panel lit up weakly, already tuned to a news channel, a pixilated image of night over water with lights in the sky. The newscaster's voice was offering carefully hedged speculation:
according to the best available reports.… the fog of war … we cannot confirm …

Mama Laura came back downstairs, gave the TV a dubious glance, and asked whether anyone might be willing to help with the dishes. I volunteered. Dishwashing was traditionally a female task in my father's household, but he wasn't here to complain and Mama Laura accepted my offer with a smile. We were drying the china when she asked me about Amanda: “That girl from India you brought here years ago, do you still see her at all?”

“She's from Canada, not India. And she lives in California now, so I don't see her very often.”

“Too bad. I liked her. I know you did, too. Is there anyone special at the moment?”

“I know a lot of special people.”

“Yes, in your Affinity. But I meant someone, I guess you could say,
intimately
special. A girlfriend.”

“Lots.”

She toweled a chipped Noritake serving dish and set it in the drying rack. “That sounds kind of sad to me. Don't you ever wish you could just be with someone you love, as simple as that?”

“Is it ever as simple as that?”

A rueful smile. “Maybe not. And, Adam, let me say I never did believe what your father said about Tau, that it's all homosexuals and dope smokers.”

“Well, not
all
,” I said. “But we're well supplied with both.”

“I'm not sure that's funny.”

“I didn't mean it to be.”

Three hours before the lights went out.

*   *   *

Aaron called us into the living room. He had been on his phone again, but he tucked it back into his pocket as we settled into chairs. Geddy left the TV on but turned down the volume so we could hear my brother's news.

“Okay,” he said. “Mama Laura, I'm sorry, but we have to go back to Washington tonight. They're prepping a plane at the local airport, and the very next thing I have to do is call a cab.”

“Is it as bad as that,” Mama Laura asked, “what's happening in India?”

“No one's sure. There's absolutely no electronic communication of any kind coming out of the country right now. We think that's because Chinese malware took down all the telecom infrastructure—Internet nodes, telephone exchanges, satellites, and relay stations.”

The Chinese were allied with Pakistan, and a small fleet of Chinese naval vessels had been parked in the Arabian Sea for weeks, but this was the first direct intervention by China, if that was in fact what had happened. “Most likely it's just a smokescreen,” Aaron went on. “It's not that the Chinese are attacking India, more like they're drawing a curtain so Pakistan can stage an attack the rest of the world can't see. Maybe also limiting India's capacity to respond. We'll know more in a few hours, if our own communications aren't affected.”

Rebecca said, “Why would they be?”

“Part of the smokescreen. Our own military has the finest surveillance satellites in the world, but about half of them have stopped talking to us. We've also got unexplained power grid problems in New York City, Los Angeles, Seattle. Some kind of highly engineered, cleverly targeted software virus, possibly bleeding over from the attacks on Indian infrastructure. And it might get worse before it gets better. That's why they need me in Washington. Congress is being recalled to convene an emergency session tomorrow morning.”

Mama Laura said, “Are we in danger?”

“Nobody's bombing
us
, if that's what you mean. But an infrastructure attack is technically an act of war. Of course, the Chinese are denying responsibility. Nobody really knows where it goes from here. The situation will get better eventually, but it might get worse before it improves. Jenny, you need to pack the bags. I'll call a taxi.”

“I'm not going,” Jenny said.

We all stared at her.

“Not an option,” Aaron said. “Travel's going to be disrupted. That's inevitable. If you don't fly back with me, you might be here a lot longer than you expect.”

“All the more reason. I can't leave my mom where she is. Sooner or later she'll hurt herself. And … dealing with her won't be easy, but I'm psyched up for it now. Postponing it would be hard on both of us.”

This was the moment, I thought. If Aaron suspected anything, Jenny's reluctance to leave would confirm his suspicions.

But he didn't so much as glance at me, and the look he gave Jenny was merely contemptuous. “Look, if that's what you want.…”

“It's what I want.”

“Well … I'll miss you, of course.” This was for the benefit of the family. I gave Jenny credit for not rolling her eyes. “The rest of you, please try not to worry. This is very bad news for the folks in Mumbai, but the most it'll mean for Americans is a few days' inconvenience. I'll be in touch when I can.”

“Go on up and say good-bye to your father,” Mama Laura suggested.

“Right, of course,” my brother said.

*   *   *

Another limousine pulled up out front and carried my brother away.

It was a clear night, moonless, cool but not cold. An hour later we could have stood in the backyard and watched his chartered plane cross the sky from the regional airport on its trajectory to DC, navigation lights strobing green and red in the darkness. Two hours later we could have stood in the same place and seen the Milky Way wheeling overhead like a scatter of diamond dust, free from any obscuring urban glare. Because that was when the lights went out.

 

CHAPTER 16

Growing up, I had never considered my brother Aaron to be a bad person.

A pain in the ass, sure. Often. And with an undeniable streak of cruelty. The first time I noticed that streak—the first time his meanness struck me as something characteristic about my brother, distinct from the usual schoolyard cruelties—was when I was nine years old and Aaron was a week shy of his twelfth birthday. We had been in the park adjacent to the school on a slow Saturday morning, me pitching softballs (pitching was my only athletic skill) and Aaron taking practice swings. Neither of us was likely to make the MLB draft, but I was drawing my own measure of smug satisfaction from Aaron's inability to hit my slider.

Also enjoying Aaron's swing-throughs was Billy-Ann Blake, ten years old, who lived three streets east of us and who was amusing herself by heckling from the otherwise empty bleachers. Billy-Ann was a tall, gawky girl whose parents let her run around in pink denim overalls. That morning, the summer sun hammering down from a silvery-blue sky, she repeated what must have been every scatological epithet she had ever overheard at the town's Little League tournaments, which was quite a catalog. Aaron was frustrated and embarrassed, and with every taunt from Billy-Ann his complexion turned a deeper shade of red. Finally he threw down the bat (
“Sore loser!”
Billy-Ann shrieked) and walked off the field, tossing a terse
see you later
in my direction.

I gathered up glove, bat, and ball and made my own way home. Aaron showed up around lunchtime, sweaty and sullen and uncommunicative.

Not long after lunch, Billy-Ann Blake's mom knocked at the front door. Mama Laura took her into the living room, and after a brief talk Aaron and I were called to join them. It seemed that Billy-Ann, after taunting Aaron, had been walking through one of the park's paved trails when she was pushed from behind, fell face-first into the asphalt, and suffered a spectacularly bloody broken nose. She was at the hospital with her father now, and although she hadn't seen who pushed her, she was certain it was Aaron Fisk.