“…the truth of it, which you will find in no legal textbook, is that the law for the common man and the law for the Proxy is two different things.” - quoted attributed to Sören Hausgård, professor at law, Copenhagen Arcology

He didn’t ask what would happen to him, better to not tempt fate.

“Nothing,” ventured Sara.

Nina coughed.

“What Nina means that they will be under purview,” Andreas said, jumping as both Nina Abrukha and Deputy Sara kicked at him.

“And… the preacher? Am I in trouble?”

“A gathering of more than 50 individuals without a permit is a crime. Proxies are not under forerunner jurisdiction, though I guess that the senior in charge of your Tutelage will have words with you.”

“Oh please Nina. What judge would prosecute it? Between the drugs, the petty misdemeanours and not the mention the campers-” Andreas’ mouth cinched shut.

That feeling Martin had felt in the Skyline habitat, on seeing the familiar way Hong and Isla speak, the ease with which Calix wore her Chassis openly came roaring back. He was not one of them.

“Yeah,” he said in the sudden silence.”What about the campers?” The bandages of his Chassis rose, tense.

Andreas held up his hands.”Nothing.”

Martin could still see it, and even worse, hear it. They had broken up this demonstration with passive means. In Sala, there’d be blood on the ground. Why would anyone bother with arcology denizens when the unruly masses of the camps bothered to exist?

“You know, this chip you carry on your shoulder is going to make you list.”

Martin paused. Had the senior Deputy really said that?

“You don’t-“

“Don’t know what? That you feel as if the world is unfair? The feeling is written on your face, and it is.”

Sara tried to grab Nina’s hand, who slapped the limb away. “You are all curling him. What’s allowed for an ordinary provincial does not remain so for a Proxy. Or, should we let this opinion fester?”

Her voice was kind, though the words speared Martin.

“This is how it began in North America. They thought that Proxies and artificial consciousnesses should rule, but do you think that sort opinion was born in a day? Mark Laur too, was born in a provincial camp.”

The dark feeling in his chest warred with his indignation.

Something about the way she said it stuck a false note with Martin. He dredged up old history lessons, the memory suddenly crystal-clear. The Chassis…?

“Laur was white and he wanted control for the sake of power.” Martin gestured to street where crowd had so recently been listening to a preacher preach the doctrine which in turn had been inspired by the American Troubles.

The old lessons from the rhetoric-module reminded themselves.”You’re conflating it. Laur and his likes wanted power for a small set of people. I…”

What did he want?

“I don’t want the people of the camps to be without a voice.”

Nina conceded the point with a nod, less so with words.

“The limited democracy of arcologies wouldn’t work if the campers had a say. For democracy to work, the people voting need to have a stake in the matter.”

“Which they would have, if they were allowed to actually live in an arcology and not squat in the dirt!”

The volume of his words staggered upwards.

“Maybe you shouldn’t antagonise the teenager,” Sara began, interrupting the, Martin hesitated to call it a discussion.

“I’m 20.”

Andreas, Sara and Nina Abrukha shared a smile that infuriated him.

Andreas clapped his two colleagues on their respective backs, startling them.

“Heard that? He’s drinking age.” He gave Abrukha a warning glance. “We’re grabbing that drink now.”

His eyes sought Martin’s. There was an apology there.

“Want to join us?”

That feeling Martin carried in his chest, like a pit that had been excavated and never filled, loomed. He still felt that there was more to say about campers and their lack of say in the world.”I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

***

“…and then I woke up in the hospital.”

Andreas whistled. He pushed another shot towards Martin. How many had they done now? Four? He felt limber, but could tell from experience that he’d regret this in half an hour.

“And then?”

“Then nothing. That was two days ago.”

“You’ve had one hell of a crucible. Keep it up and they’ll probably let you join the task group when we reclaim Luleå.”

“Andreas!”

“Oh, cool it Abrukha.” Andreas scratched his chin, whispering.” Don’t go around telling just anyone, but in 2096 we’re going back to Luleå.” He drank deeply from his mug of beer.”Back home.”

Martin stared down at the black liquor. He needed to shave. Luleå had fallen two months after Camp Redsjö. Even then, in the orphanage, through that thick morass of grief, the news had penetrated.

Sweden once had four arcologies, boasted such in fact due to the lack of attacks. Until it didn’t. The Arcology Accommodation was supposed to take people beyond the ghost of nationalism, but when Luleå fell, Sweden had mourned. Then, it had just been another stone around the neck. But now…

Martin took the fifth shot. “Why now?”

He had removed the Chassis on entering the bar - he didn’t want to be gawked at - so the quick glances the three Deputies shared went too quick to parse.

They had the sort of rapport that only longtime friends had. When had Martin last shared that sort of contact with anyone?

“How much do you know about the Holds?”

Martin nodded at the senior Deputy.”It’s the short for ‘stronghold’. The homebases for the Host, yeah?”

“Sixteen and seven!”

“What,” began Martin.

“UNTIL WE REACH HEAVEN!”

He just stared. The bouncer slammed a wicked-looking baton against the wall; the bartender spun several glasses through the air, filling them the brim; and the nearby tables shook beneath fists.

“How long til we reach heaven,” cried Andreas.

“SIXTEEN AND SEVEN!”

One customer inhaled his drink and removed a lighter. He spat it out, lightning the spraying fluid on fire. The bartender got up and hosed it down with foam.

“There are seven Holds,” Sara said, the liquor having loosed some of her taciturn manner. Martin was too busy staring at the small uncontrolled fire.

“That we know of,” shot Nina Abrukha back.