Chapter 3
THORN
Delilah Thorn was thoroughly sick of Atlanta. Not that anyone had treated her poorly or that she faced any hardship at all. It was just that she had discovered she missed the action of being in the field, and standing around all day in a suit either talking to politicians or waiting to talk to more politicians was not her idea of a job worth having.
She walked across the courtyard to the main Congressional meeting hall, which was a low-slung building in a park setting filled with benches and small fountains. Thorn, raised to revere the tall glass-and-steel needles that dotted the Manhattan skyline, which were surrounded by concrete plazas and asphalt streets, still didn’t feel entirely comfortable in a place where government buildings sat in the middle of green space.
It didn’t help that she couldn’t see any obvious signs of security, either. At home, Aegis checkpoints were in every subway station, surrounded every government building, and were even temporarily set up in random spots on a daily basis. Security was ever-present and always in view.
The Free States, which were composed of Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida, did have security, it was true. It was simply not as pervasive, or as obvious, as it was in the Union. Thorn had spent a week scouting every security station within several blocks of her quarters and the congressional building itself, and had found security to be lacking, at least by her standards. Her hosts had found her behavior amusing and had assured her security was as tight as it needed to be.
“Agent Thorn!” shouted a familiar voice from across the plaza. Thorn turned to greet her main contact in Atlanta, Representative Fowler. She was a slim blond woman who always managed to look cool and refreshed, even in the scorching Atlanta heat. Today, she had a single small bit of hair tucked behind her left ear while the rest was secure in her standard bun. Thorn assumed the loose tress was a fashion choice because she trusted Aileen Fowler to have made sure every hair was in place before she left her house this morning, and to have kept those hairs in place ever since by force of will if necessary.
Thorn stopped and held out her hand, which Aileen took in a firm handshake that Thorn appreciated. Free States men often seemed worried they would crush Thorn’s hand when they shook it and their limp grasps, so different from the solid grips Union men preferred, were something Thorn had not yet come to appreciate. Like security, some things were simply done better in the Union.
The Free States definitely had their charms, and the fact that the Free States had a congress that was currently 54% women was one of them. The Union had not yet reached that percentage of women in Congress.
“Good morning, Aileen,” said Thorn with genuine warm wishes. Aileen was more straight-forward than other politicians Thorn had to deal with, and she was grateful for that.
“Good morning. I’m glad I caught you. Have you been accosted by Monroe or Johnson yet? They were on a tear last week about the upcoming vote.”
Thorn shook her head. “Haven’t seen either of them.” The upcoming vote was all anyone could talk about in Atlanta these days. Despite having given up slavery shortly after the War, the Free States had forced minorities to live in their own neighborhoods, had not allowed them into universities, and had not permitted them to run for office. In the past few years, several pro-minority suffrage groups had risen to power and had been tearing down the old ways wherever they could.
So far, that had meant blacks now had the right to live outside their traditional communities, though in the real world, that meant very little. If a community became mixed-race, the white people tended to leave. It had also meant blacks had been allowed to vote in local elections, for school boards and town mayors. But state and federal elections were still off-limits.
That might change next week. Or it might not. The votes in the Free States’ Congress were too close to call right now, with several legislators refusing to indicate how they might cast their ballot just yet. Ostensibly, they were still examining the issues at hand. Thorn thought they were merely waiting until the last minute so that they could properly assess which vote would assure their next election victory. Did their constituents care enough about blacks voting to make them vote no? Or did their constituents care more about other issues, like corporate pollution of the oceans, the threat to Miami and other coastal cities due to rising sea levels, or the current squabbles between the British and German Empires that threatened the smooth trading with both?
Nadine Monroe and Laymont Johnson were pro-suffrage leaders who had been lobbying the undecided Congress members daily. They had even been bothering Thorn, though she thought that was a waste of their time. She was only a guest here, but they seemed to think that the fact that blacks had been able to vote in the Union for over a century should make her a strident voice on their side.
Truth be told, Thorn did agree with them. But her position was too delicate for her to take sides in the Free States’ internal issues. Also, Laymont Johnson was a pig, and that was an insult to pigs.
“I’m a bit surprised, but then, I haven’t seen Nadine in a couple of days,” said Aileen. “That’s unusual, especially this close to the vote.”
“Maybe they’re busy. I can’t vote, so I don’t know why they want to talk to me so much.”
“You haven’t figured out yet that by being the lone Union voice here, you’re somewhat of a minor celebrity. They’d love to have an endorsement from you,” said Aileen. “They mentioned you yesterday to someone else; I was passing them in the hallway and overheard them speaking.”
“Huh,” said Thorn. She followed Aileen to a bench and sat down next to her. “I’ve told them multiple times I can’t get involved.”
Aileen shrugged. “It’s hard to put them off, even if your reasons are legitimate. Believe me, everyone else appreciates the situation you’re in and I, for one, am glad you’ve been able to handle it so gracefully. That last year and a half hasn’t been easy for anyone.”
Thorn nodded. “Thanks. It’s been a rough ride, but well worth it.” She wasn’t entirely sure that was true; being stuck in Atlanta for long stretches of time had been a severe test of her relationship with Mayfield Porter, the agent she’d met and grown attached to during her first field experience. They’d even set up a small apartment together, but Porter was often assigned elsewhere, and they rarely saw each other these days. Thorn missed him, but her schedule kept her from having too much time to dwell on it.
“Any word from New York on an actual, official ambassador being assigned here?” asked Thorn.
Aileen laughed. “I’d tell you if I knew; it seems they’d let you know first, anyway. But don’t worry, you’re doing a great job.”
Thorn plastered a thin smile on her face. She was glad she had lived up to the job for the most part—her interracial relationship with Porter had been politely ignored by the Free Staters, perhaps because neither of them had an official title and Porter was out of town more often than not—but basically being a social butterfly to smooth the way for the eventual arrival of an actual Union ambassador was wearing.
Attending parties and committee meetings in Atlanta just wasn’t the same as being with the people you were helping, being on the ground and seeing up close what was really going on.
“I’m co-hosting a party with the governor’s wife this weekend. I’m sure you’ll get an official invitation, if you haven’t already, but I’d just like to say, while I have you here, that I’d love to see you there,” said Aileen. “The new ambassador from the Japanese Empire will be attending, and everyone will want to get a look at him. I think he’ll be interested in you; he’s apparently related to the ambassador to the Union so he’s more familiar with your customs than you might think. And the German ambassador will be there as well.”
“Of course I’ll be there,” said Thorn, though her heart sank at the thought. Another party. More ambassadors to tiptoe around. More protocol minefields to unravel. At least she’d met Helmut Bauer before and wouldn’t mind seeing him again. He had a sense of humor she could appreciate. Besides, the German Empire had a long history with the Union. Ambassador Bauer was as much, if not more, of an ally to the Union as anyone else in Atlanta.
Still, it was another party that would be full of uncomfortable meetings and coded talk that was polite on the surface, and full of subtext. She hated it all.
If only she could get back to the field.
“Well, I’ll see you this weekend,” said Aileen. “If not before, in the halls.”
Aileen got up and went into the building, which was named for Joseph E. Brown, the governor of Georgia when the War had begun. That it was faced with brick and painted the color of chocolate was apparently a coincidence that had tickled Thorn the first time she realized that what she had innocently referred to as “the brown building” was indeed, “the Brown building.” Aileen had once told her that the paint color had been chosen to go with the gold carpet that lined the hallways, and that had been chosen because it had been the only color available in the quantities needed during the last series of renovations.
Whatever. Thorn didn’t care about the building color or carpet color, amusing as Aileen’s comment had been at the time. Why did she even know why that particular carpet had been chosen? But then, Aileen was a font of information on many fronts, and thus was someone Thorn had come to rely on when her own education on who was who, or what protocol was proper, had been useless.
Her phone rang. Thorn wasn’t used to this new technology yet; the Free States had imported personal phones from Europe; they were expensive but Thorn was willing to put out the money to have a phone in her pocket at all times.
It was Mayfield Porter calling. Thorn’s heart jumped a bit; Porter and she shared an apartment, but between his stints acquiring more training at the Citadel and working undercover in the West, they only saw each other every few months.
“Hi,” she said. “How’s it going?”
“Not too bad,” he said. “Though it’s the rainiest March anybody can remember. I think I’m spending more time rescuing people from rising flood waters than doing my real job. You?”
“Oh, it’s great,” she said. “There’s a party being given by the governor’s wife this weekend. Too bad you can’t go with me.”
He laughed, well aware of how much she hated diplomatic soirees. “Sounds fantastic; sorry to miss it.”
“How about I pull people out of floods and you go to the party?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll stick with what I’ve got,” he said. There was some commotion on the line that Thorn couldn’t quite make out; other people around Porter were clearly alarmed by something. “Oh, crap,” he said after a few moments, “there’s another levee about to go. See you soon. Love you.”
“Don’t get washed away,” she said. “Love you, too.”
He hung up. Thorn looked at her phone with some sadness, wishing they’d had a chance to talk just a little longer. She’d never had a serious relationship before, and now she’d jumped into one where she barely got to see her lover. Porter was an excellent undercover operative, which meant he was brave and resourceful and didn’t take himself too seriously. He was gorgeous, had a great sense of humor, and liked to try anything new. Thorn had never known how much fun it would be to just be with another person day after day, but she’d spent more time laughing when she was with Porter than she had in the entirety of her previous life.
Thorn tried not to miss him too much when he was gone, but it was hard. Life somehow simply had more color when he was around, more joy. She’d discussed it with her sister once, but her sister had warned her such relationships would never work, and to find someone else who was more readily available on Thorn’s schedule.
Then again, her sister had never managed to date anyone for more than three months before kicking the guy to the curb. So perhaps she wasn’t the best person to be handing out relationship advice.
“Excuse me, Agent Thorn?”
Thorn looked up, not surprised, considering Aileen’s comment, and not particularly pleased to see both Nadine Monroe and Laymont Johnson coming her way. What was that saying about speaking of the devil?
“Good morning.”
She decided not to add how can I help you? which she often did for the Free States’ Congress members. She was not sure how she could help Monroe and Johnson in their pro-suffrage efforts, as much as she might like to, and didn’t feel like spending time with them, in any case.
“There’s a matter of some urgency we need to discuss with you,” said Monroe, with a quick sideways glance at Johnson. She was clearly well aware of his unpopularity and lack of people skills and wanted to circumvent Thorn simply telling them to go away.
“There’s a gallery opening I’m supposed to be at soon,” said Thorn, which was technically true. The only reason Thorn had even considered going was that she had nothing else to do today, and looking at some art might stave off boredom.
Now there was nowhere she’d rather be.
“Yes, some others are going to be there as well,” said Monroe. Her frizzy red hair was even more out-of-control than usual in the humid spring air. She wore a tweed jacket and skirt that was clearly more expensive than anything Thorn had ever worn, or even contemplated wearing.
Tweed was the fashion this cool spring season due to Atlanta’s ties with the British Empire, and the Southern belles who wanted to show off their support for the British. Thorn only knew that because she’d been on the receiving end of a few “poor dear” type comments from congressional spouses who’d been too happy to pity her about her wardrobe in her vicinity.
Thorn didn’t care about fashion; a year ago, she’d allowed herself to be swept into a few stores by well-meaning women like Aileen, who wanted to make sure Thorn did not embarrass herself in committee meetings. Even so, she missed the simple black-on-black Citadel uniform that she had worn in her job for the Union government in New York.
In those days, she’d sat in a cubicle all day, watching video feeds. Eighteen months later, she was a pseudo-ambassador, sometime field agent, based in the Free States of America. Home was a thousand miles away, a gleaming city of glass and metal spires with flags lining every major boulevard.
Thorn was sometimes surprised to find how much she did not miss the city, even as she detested Atlanta. Sometimes she wondered where she was ever going to feel at home again. And when.
She realized the other two were waiting in silence. Thorn stared at Monroe, unsure of what the other woman wanted.
Johnson shifted his weight from foot to foot. That was unlike his usual overconfident self. “Problem?” Thorn asked at last.
“Yes,” said Monroe quickly at the opening. “We need you to go undercover.”
Thorn almost laughed. These two weren’t Free State officials. They could hardly need her to go anywhere. The long faces of her companions stopped her. They were serious.
“Undercover?” she asked. “In the West, I suppose? What’s so important there?”
Monroe clamped her hands in her lap until her knuckles were white. “My daughter.”