Chris starts laughing. It’s a good sound — I’ve missed it.
“She’s twenty, Devin,” he chuckles.
“Huh.” Devin shrugs. “You don’t look it.”
I sigh.
We climb the steps into Herrmann Hall. The door is arched. Inside, I’m struck with the unique, old-fashioned vibe of the building. It’s beautiful. Dark flooring, light walls, and a wooden concierge desk. Navy officers and National Guards are manning the area. Those that are sitting down stand up immediately as Chris and I enter the room.
“As you were,” Chris says, tilting his head.
I am used to this, so I don’t flush with embarrassment like I would have in the past. Devin smirks and walks to the front desk, where a young man in the dark blue camouflage of a Navy uniform greets us.
“Tell the reps from Oregon and Washington that California just arrived,” Devin says. “This way, Senator.”
He gestures to a long, ornate hallway. The Spanish tile and blue carpet running down the center resembles the long walk into a throne room. It makes me a little uneasy.
“I’ll show you where you’ll be staying while you’re here,” Devin tells me. “Both of you. If the representative from Mexico gets here on time, we should be able to hold Negotiations as soon as tonight.”
“How are the Naval forces holding up here?” Chris asks.
“Couldn’t be better at the moment,” Devin replies. “Monterey is among the most secure military strongholds on the west coast. Omega won’t touch it right now. Their forces are concentrated down south.”
We reach the end of the hall. The main stairwell extends above us. I feel like I’m inside a castle. We climb the carpeted stairs to the next level. Up here, the halls are narrower and lit with generator-powered lights. Devin walks to the center of the hall. There are two doors.
“One room for you,” he tells Chris, “and one for the Senator. Your security detail can still do its thing. We’ve secured the entire base. The Navy’s protecting the city on the water, and the National Guard is protecting the city on the ground. You’ll be safe here.”
I raise an eyebrow.
Safe is a relative term, anymore.
“Thank you,” I say.
Devin gives me a key — it’s old fashioned, metal. I slide it into the lock in the door on the right and open it. The room is lovely, Spanish style like the rest of the building. There is a bed, chair, table and a bathroom. Wide windows overlook the huge, open courtyard between the two major halls of the connected buildings.
“We’ll notify you immediately when the representative from Mexico arrives,” Devin promises. “Do you have any questions? Anything you might need?”
I share a brief glance with Chris.
There’s nothing that I need right now, aside from rest.
“We’re set,” Chris replies. “But can I talk to you for a minute, Devin?”
Devin nods.
Andrew, Vera, Sophia, Elle and Bravo leave the room. Chris slips into the outer hall with Devin. I close the door behind them, walking to the window again. The courtyard is full of soldiers and military vehicles. It is a well-organized operation. And, unlike Sacramento, it seems to be impenetrable.
We’ll see how long that lasts.
The meeting room looks as scary as a battlefield. A long, narrow room stretches before me, huge windows covered with thick curtains. A table stretches the length of the space, modern and dark. There are thirty swiveling chairs. Chairs also line the walls of the room. The ceiling is swirling with ornate designs in burnt oranges, deep reds and gold tones. There are armed guards every few feet in the room. A huge American flag is hanging above a large piece of artwork at the opposite end of the table.
I take a deep breath.
Chris is standing behind my shoulder. Uriah, Vera, Andrew, Sophia and Devin May are to my right, remaining in a standing position. The table is relatively empty. Only four people, along with their armed escorts, are here.
I’m wearing black combat fatigues and a jacket, hair pulled tightly into a bun, armed with a handgun and a knife strapped to my hip. I walk to the table, nod at the representatives, and take a seat. There is no friendly banter or introduction. I simply sit down in the chair behind the CALIFORNIA placard.
Chris takes a seat in one of the chairs at the edges of the room. There are plenty of people gathered, listening and watching. Naval commanders, National Guard Officers, security details, armed guardsmen and militia leaders.
“Welcome, Representatives, to the Negotiations.” A tall black woman with short hair is standing at the head of the table. “I am Commander Jen Amal, leader of the California coastal militia group Seahawks. I will be the presiding mediator for these negotiations. Thank you to the Representatives who have made the long and dangerous journey to Monterey to engage in these discussions.”
A beat of silence. A bead of sweat slips down my temple.
I do not show my fear. I keep my hands folded. I am the picture of calm.
Commander Amal gestures to a short, stocky man with a gray beard. His placard says OREGON. “Senator Ken Thrawn, Commander of the Oregon militia group Titans.” He nods respectfully, and I notice that his left hand has been amputated. “Senator Nathaniel Mero, Commander of the Washington militia group Red Fox,” Amal continues, nodding at a younger man with long brown hair and a scarred, beaten face.
Commander Amal gestures next to the man with the CANADA placard, a white-haired gentleman wearing a camouflage jacket and thick black gloves. “Senator Marshal Sullivan, Commander of the Canadian militia confederation group The Strikers,” she says. Then she turns to a woman sitting behind the MEXICO placard. She is pale white with black hair and blue eyes. A deep, red scar cuts through her cheek, into her lip. And yet somehow she is still beautiful. “Senator Anita Vega, Commander of the Mexican militia group Coyotes.”
Commander Amal surveys the room and then holds an open palm in my direction. “And representing California in the these Negotiations to join the alliance is Senator Cassidy Hart, Commander of the Freedom Fighters and Operation Angel Pursuit.”
My face warms when she mentions my name. I feel slightly out of body, like I’m dreaming. I tell myself to relax. This is not a battlefield, but it might as well be. I have to go into this with the same mentality:
Keep it together. Failure is not an option.
“Senator Hart, since you are representing the state of California, the entity who wishes to join the Pacific Northwest Alliance, will you begin the Negotiations?” Commander Amal suggests.
I nod. I have been around the block when it comes to this war with Omega, so I figure… why not be direct?
“I’m representing California, as you know,” I say, projecting my voice. It echoes in the big room. “What do we have in common? We are all fighting Omega. Omega has taken everything from us — our homes, our families, our friends. Our way of life. But they haven’t taken away our will to fight, or to be free. That’s what unites us. That’s what brings us together.” I briefly lock eyes with Chris. I continue, “California, Mexico, Canada. It doesn’t matter that we’re independent countries. Right now we’re all on the same playing field. To stay alive and to maintain our freedom, California needs your help, and you need California’s help. Our coastline is huge, and we need help keeping it secure, and keeping Omega from pushing into the Central Valley and taking our agricultural resources. In helping us, you will be helping yourselves. As long as Omega can’t get a stronger foothold in California, their chances of breaking our defenses anywhere on the Pacific coast are significantly slimmer.” I hold my hands out. “It’s simple, really. We need you, you need us. It’s a win-win situation for everyone. Omega needs to be destroyed, and together, we can achieve that goal.”