“Is that why you’re heading to Ontario?”
Camila nodded. “The zeppelin bubble was a long time ago, but there’s still many comrades there who know how to build and want to help. Your Etcetera has been putting us in touch with others. He’s a hero to many, for his valor with the Better Nation.”
Now Iceweasel and Gretyl looked grave. Neither of them talked about that day often, though it was a rallying cry for walkaways all over the world, eventually. Camila understood.
“What a time to be alive. If we do make another ship, we should call it The Next Days of a Better Nation.”
“That’s a terrible name for a ship,” Etcetera said. His voice was tinny and clipped from the acoustic properties of their table which he used for a speaker.
“No one asked you, dead man,” Iceweasel said.
“‘Better nation’ talk needs to die in a fire. We’re not doing nations anymore. We’re doing people, doing stuff. Nations mean governments, passports, borders.”
Camila rapped on the table with her knuckles. “There’s nothing wrong with a border, so long as it isn’t too rigid. Our cells hold in the lift gas, they make borders with the atmosphere. My skin is a border for my body, it lets in the good and keeps out the bad. You have your borders, like all sims, which keep you stable and running. We don’t need no borders, just good ones.”
They were off, arguing intently, a discussion familiar to the aerialist world. It turned into jargon about “airspace priority” and “wind immunity” and “sovereign rights of way,” lost on Iceweasel and Gretyl. They bussed their plates into a hopper that slurped them out of their hands, made sure that Rui made good on his promise to get the boys to eat their protein and veg. Lay down in each other’s arms in their hexayurt for a nap. It had been a busy couple of days.
Gretyl nuzzled her throat. “No leaving me for hot Brazilian aerialists.”
Iceweasel arched her neck. “It’s mutual.”
They were asleep in minutes.
[IV]
THE ZEPP TOOK just over a day to reach Toronto, circling to avoid the city’s exclusion zone, trailing aggro drones that zoomed up to the portholes to scan them and take pictures. The winds over Lake Ontario sucked. They had to rise and sink and putter and bumble for most of the rest of a day until they caught a breeze that’d take them to Pickering. Everyone agreed that it was the best place for a landing, far from paranoid zottas holed up in Toronto, insistent their nation had plenty of days to go before it was ready to make way for another, better or not.
They touched down amid a crowd: aerialists and onlookers who helped stake down the guy-lines and fix the ramp in place (making “safety third” jokes, but ensuring that it was solid before anyone descended the gangway).
The Limpopo reunion party hit the ramp blinking. Seth staggered under the weight of Etcetera’s cluster, which he wore in eleven chunks about his body – wrist-bands, a backpack, a belt, bandoleer-slung bricks, some rings. The aerialists followed, led by the children, Jacob and Stan among them, wearing fresh-printed air-pirate gear, head scarves, and blousy shirts and tights patterned with photo-realistic trompe l’oeil chain mail. They collected hugs and complicated handshakes and kisses from their new friends, and returned them with gusto, speaking more Portuguese than they had any right to have acquired in such a short journey.
The touchdown area was a school’s field. The school was a low-slung brick thing, a century old, abandoned for decades and reopened by force majeure, judging from the gay paint job and the banners, the solar skins and wind-sails on the roof.
Tam squinted at it, remembering her own school, built on the same template but run by a private services company that shut down half the building to save facilities costs, putting steel shutters over the windows and leaving it to glower at the paved-over play-areas.
“Nice, huh?” The girl was not more than sixteen, cute as a cute thing, round face and full, purplish lips. Tam thought she might be Vietnamese or Cambodian. She had a bit of acne. Her jet-black, straight hair was chopped into artful mess.
“This your school?”
“It’s our everything. Technically, it belongs to a bullshit holding company that bought the town out of bankruptcy. Happened when I was little, we got a special administrator everyone hated, next thing, it’s bankruptcy and they were shutting it down, putting up fences. Final straw was when they stopped the water. Town went independent automatically after that. Kids did the school.”
“Cool.” Tam enjoyed the girl’s obvious pride. “You go to classes in there?”
The girl grinned. “Don’t believe in ’em. We do peer workshops. I’m a calculus freak of nature, got a group of freaklings I’m turning into my botnet.”
Tam nodded. “Never got calculus. That lady over there with the little boy under each arm is a hero of mathematics.”
The girl bugged her eyes out. “Duh. No offense. Why do you think I’m here? Chance to meet Gretyl? Shit. Biggest thing to hit this town since forever.” She stared intently at Gretyl. “Her proofs are so beautiful.”
“Want to meet her?”
The girl crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, so perfectly adorable it had to have been practiced at great length. Tam barked a laugh, covered her mouth and, to her hard-bitten horror, giggled.
“She’ll like you,” Tam said.
“She’d better,” the girl said, and took her arm.
Gretyl lost her grip on Jacob as they neared, and, sensing the tide, released Stan to tear-ass after his little brother and bring him to the ground. Tam waved her down. “Yo,” she said.
Gretyl dramatically facepalmed at the kids’ retreating backs, then smiled at Tam and the girl.
“Gretyl, this is—”
The girl, who had blushed to the tips of her ears, murmured Hoa.
“Hoa. She’s a fan. Loves calculus. Came here to meet you.”
Gretyl beamed at the girl and threw open her big arms and enfolded her in a hug. “Pleasure to meet you.”
The girl’s blush was all-encompassing.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Gretyl. I use your calculus slides in my workshops.”
“Glad to hear it!”
“I made some improvements.” Her voice was a whisper.
“You did?” Gretyl roared. The girl shrank and might have run off if Gretyl hadn’t caught her hands. “I insist you show them to me, right now.”
The girl lost her shyness. She shook out a screen and took Gretyl through her changes. “The kids kept getting mixed up when we did derivative applications at the end, because without applications when we did the rest of it, limits and derivatives, it was going in one ear and out the other, just rote. When I started to mix in applications as we went, they were better at putting it together at the end.”
Gretyl’s jolly-old-lady act slipped away. She brought down her huge eyebrows.
“Aren’t applications without theory confusing? Without theory, they can’t solve the applications—”
The girl cut her off with a shake of head, crazy hair all over the place. “You just need to be careful which applications you choose. You see...” She produced charts showing how she’d assessed examples with each group. Tam could tell Gretyl was loving this. She was also sure the girl was right about everything. She liked this town.
“Ready to go?” Seth said. He’d tightened the straps on the cluster and wore a speaker on a necklace for Etcetera to use. Tam made herself not stare at it – it was tempting to think of that as Etcetera’s face. But his visual input came from thirty vantage-points.