“That’s a relief to hear,” Noam said. He pushed himself up, at last, taking his time, like he was still a little fatigued. “I have to admit I was afraid to come here at first. I’m glad there are some Texans who don’t hate me just for existing.” He gave the aide a weak smile.
“You’re from Atlantia, right?” the aide said.
“My parents.”
“People said the same thing about Atlantia before Carolinia annexed it,” the man told him. “You know that, right? ‘Atlantians are bigoted. Atlantians are closed minded.’”
“I think most Atlantians were a bit busy trying to stay alive to worry about being prejudiced,” Noam said.
“That’s my point, though. Just because something’s a stereotype doesn’t make it true.”
It was ... well. Itwasinteresting to consider. But as illuminating as this conversation had been, Noam was getting real far off track. He had to get rid of this man, not launch into a fresh political debate with him.
“You’re right,” Noam said, conciliatory. “We hear all kinds of things about Texas that I’m sure are untrue. Like that you’re all homophobic.”
“Criticism of Calix Lehrer, a homosexual man, is not the same as homophobia.”
Damn it. Noam had been hoping the man would say something he could work with, like,How could I be homophobic if I’m gay?But that was definitely a long shot. Texas’d never had a queer president. They still had plenty of antiqueer hate crimes too. Even if most Texans weren’t homophobic, queerness still wasn’t normalized for them the way Lehrer’d normalized it for Carolinians.
Ugh. This was pointless. It had been a stupid idea from the start. Seduce some random Texan aide and slip out after while he was still pulling himself together? It sounded dumb even in Noam’s head.
This was the presidential residence. There was absolutely no way Noam was getting into those halls alone—this wasn’t Gordon Ames’s funeral, where Noam was a trusted wanderer.
He’d just have to figure out a way to explain that to Lehrer.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” Noam said. “But I should be getting back. I’ve been gone awhile.”
“Of course, Mr. Álvaro,” the aide said, right back in that professional mode.
He guided Noam down the hall and to the dining room, where the others had started in on the dessert course: an elaborate-looking tiramisu.
Lehrer didn’t attempt to catch Noam’s eye during dinner. It would have been too risky trying to communicate anything here—too many malevolent eyes watching, too much suspicion with lethal stakes. Noam finished his tiramisu in silence; he wasn’t important enough to be spoken to, at least not when Lehrer and the ambassador sat at the same table. Which was fine, anyway. Noam didn’t have anything to say. He still didn’t—
Well. He didn’thaveto have an opinion on Texas. Not yet. Right now the priority was getting rid of Lehrer. Until Lehrer was gone, every other evil was ephemeral.
But the Texans remembered Noam existed by the time they all retreated back to the drawing room.
Gregory Pulver—the Texan secretary of state—handed Noam a glass of bourbon and said, “So, Mr. Álvaro. Tell me about yourself.”
At least the question was banal. It was the same one Noam was presented with every time he accompanied Lehrer to one of his stupid dinner parties. And that made sense, he supposed. Everyone was curious about Lehrer’s new teenage protégé, the one who’d replaced infamous Dara Shirazi.
But Noam always got the impression the question boiled down to one thing:Where did you come from?
“There’s not much to say.” Noam’s typical evasion. “I only joined Level IV a year ago.”
“And yet already you’ve been named liaison for Atlantian affairs,” Pulver pressed. “That’s a lot of responsibility for an ... eighteen-year-old?”
Noam didn’t correct him. “I was qualified. I was mentored by Tom Brennan, who held the position before me.”
Never give anyone more information than you have to,Lehrer had instructed him once, his palm heavy at the nape of Noam’s neck.Make them fight for everything they get, until they’re grateful to learn anything at all.
“So you consider yourself particularly well informed on the Atlantian response to annexation,” Pulver said.
It wasn’t a question, so Noam sipped his bourbon instead of answering.
Lehrer had been deep in discussion with President Méndez and the secretary of homeland security—but maybe he sensed the direction of this conversation, because he turned to face the room. “Shall we sit?”
They claimed their chairs, Noam intentionally picking one opposite Lehrer’s. He didn’t want to sequester them in a corner. There was something about having the minority side of a discussion clustered together that gave the impression ofeasy prey.
