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  ******

  “I’m glad you’re safe, son.”

  Vincent nodded in response. He directed his attention to the plate of food in front of him, but he remained uneasily aware of his father’s gaze from the left.

  “We both are.”

  Vincent’s mother, sitting straight ahead, caught Vincent’s eye as she spoke. He humored her for the obliged glance of gratitude, then returned to his food. He resettled in his seat, shrinking in at the shoulders. Uttered over the sterile white surface of the table before them, the words of his parents seemed out of place, especially those of his father. They didn’t pertain to the Order, after all, or to some new policy or heavy-handed lobbyist in the Senate. Those were the only sentiments of his that ever seemed truly genuine.

  “Thank goodness no one was hurt,” said Vincent’s mother. Her voice carried even less emotion than her husband’s had. The tone sounded off to Vincent – he felt certain he had heard a more animated version of it when he was younger. Of course, this was a near impossible comparison to make. Vincent’s pre-Seclusion memories, all of them faint and fading quickly, weren’t much use as a measuring post by which to judge things now. Before his father had been elected – or appointed, perhaps; Vincent wasn’t sure – to the Senate, the one thing Vincent remembered for certain was a lack of white. Not in the way of darkness, simply not in the stifling way it existed now. Even in their own dome, in the curved walls all the way to the ceiling, in the bare, perfectly uncluttered tile floor, it followed them. It was present in every room without exception, especially in the room they occupied now. A kind of hybrid between a small kitchen, a dining area, and an area where one might sit in hours of lull to engage with one’s Lenses, the Main was high ceilinged and perfectly round but for the two offshoot, smaller rooms linked to its perimeter. It played host to their nightly meal, at which Vincent now so painfully sat. Of course, dinner was slightly better than afterward when the table would sink back into the floor, the chairs would be spaced wider, and his parents would invite him to share a simulation. These invitations, to what seemed his parents’ indifference, Vincent easily deflected with complaints of school work.

  “You should be grateful, Vincent,” said his father. “The cities had it much worse.”

  “They felt it too?” asked Vincent.

  “Of course they did. They were the ones targeted.”

  Vincent’s mother dropped her fork on the edge of her plate in surprise. “Father.”

  Vincent looked up from his food for the first time. Mother was aghast. Father opened his mouth then closed it again. He cast Vincent a nervous look.

  “Targeted?” said Vincent. “By the earthquake?”

  Father hesitated before responding. He looked across the table at his wife. Her stare was cold, admonishing, but she said nothing. She merely shook her head in disapproval before resuming her meal. Vincent, however, never lifted his gaze from his father.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Father cast his wife another look. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It was the Order,” he said, reluctantly. “The school didn’t want to cause panic, but the Order has been growing more brash.” His tone was no longer quite so apologetic. It never stayed level for long when he was talking about the Order. “The missiles were shot down not too far above the school. We’re lucky they weren’t nuclear or–”

  “Father.”

  It was Mother’s voice again, and it was sharper than before. Fathered deferred.

  “Defensive measures have been taken,” he said, adopting a more neutral tone. “There was a bug in the defense system that allowed them to get that close, but it’s been patched. Nothing to worry about.” He glanced at his wife, as if to confirm he had been convincing enough. After a pause, Mother nodded her approval.

  “It’s a good thing we were relocated to the Newsight Seclusion,” she said. “Their people are so brilliant. After working on the Lenses, the defense system must have been trivial.”

  Father nodded in agreement, and Mother raised her lips in a tightly held grin. Vincent was staring up at them. He hadn’t touched his food for the past several seconds.

  “I nearly forgot to ask, Vincent,” said Mother, her lips falling back into their normal straight lines. “Was everyone frightened when the Lenses went dark? How have you been?”

  Vincent shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about the Lenses. He wanted to hear about the attack.

  “Terrified, of course,” Father answered for him. “You too, Mother. Must feel odd.”

  As Father spoke, Vincent could see the corner of his right eye where the outer rim of a Lens was barely visible. The Senators had been given early access to the newest model. Their Lenses, it seemed, had been unaffected.

  Mother finished chewing her current bite before replying. “I’m just glad you still have yours, Father,” she said. “I feel safer because of it.”

  Vincent opened his mouth, then bit his tongue. Neither of his parents seemed to notice. Mother continued.

  “And things will be back to normal soon, anyway. Mrs. Carsons says the recall has already begun.”

  “Mrs. Carsons,” said Father, slowly, as if tasting the syllables on his tongue. “From Rearing?”

  Mother shook her head. It looked odd when it wasn’t moving up and down. “From Incubation,” she said. “With me.”

  Father smacked the table in realization. Vincent jumped.

  “Her husband is a Newsight man, isn’t he?”

  Mother nodded, looking natural again.

  “I remember now,” continued Father. “What did she say? How long until the recall?”

  “It’s already in process,” said Mother. “Everyone will be shipped the newest model within the week. Mrs. Carsons said even the cities will receive the upgrade. Fatrem mandated it himself. Can you believe that?”

  For a fraction of a second, Vincent saw something novel on his father’s face. There was an upward twitch of his brow, a widening of his eyes, a slight parting of his lips, and then nothing. He was composed again.

  “That is news indeed,” he said. Mother didn’t seem to notice his reservation.

  “It’s quite generous of him,” she said. She was beaming – she could hardly speak of Newsight’s beloved CEO without a smile. “Almost no one in the cities has access to Lenses. Mrs. Carsons mentioned something about an adjustment period, so not sleeping in them won’t be an option.” She shot Vincent an accusing look. Vincent looked down at his food.

  “Well the old pair wasn’t very comfortable, Mother,” said Father. He cast Vincent a warning look. Mother glared at them both, her nose tilted ever so slightly upward. Father noticed.

  “But when you get your upgrade,” he said to Vincent, forcing sternness back into his tone, “you had better get used to sleeping in them.” Then, deciding the matter was settled – though Mother’s look said quite the opposite – he changed the subject. The glimmer of real conversation had been short lived.

  “Speaking of Mrs. Carsons,” Father resumed, picking up the prior thread, “you might tell her I’m a bit cross with the Newsight lobbyists at the moment.”

  Vincent perked up again.

  “Really?” said Mother, frowning. “How so?”

  Vincent fixed his eyes on Father. He could see remnants there of what he saw before: a look not so artificial as usual.

  “The bill they’ve been pushing for comes to the floor tomorrow,” said Father. “Perhaps I’m being old-fashioned; perhaps we all are, but I just can’t see it ever getting passed.”

  “They’re appealing the regulations again?” said Mother. Father nodded.

  “All of them this time. Many of the cities have already conceded. In return, Newsight has used the data to fight the Order. The attacks have decreased for the cities that cooperate with them. It’s just…” Father trailed off. He was in danger of exposing a real expression again. “It’s worth considering the tradeoff.”

  “Well if it will stop the Order then I don’t see why no
t,” said Mother. “Is there much discussion about it?”

  “It’s all anyone has been talking about. Both parties are generally averse to it. There has even been a great deal of nonpartisan talks to make sure it doesn’t get passed. We’re collaborating closer than we have in years.” Father paused, almost frowning, seeming to listen to the echo of the words that had just left his mouth, as if to ensure they had been his own. His face suddenly seemed lined with more wrinkles than Vincent had seen there before.

  “Well,” said Mother, pulling Vincent’s gaze from Father, “whatever you decide, we trust you to make the right decision. Don’t we Vincent?”

  Vincent looked to her, then back to Father, whose face had closed to interpretation once again.

  “Right,” said Vincent.

  Father looked up at this. Vincent stared back, searching Father’s eyes for a look of confirmation, assurance, something, but all he could see were the tiny lines of the Lenses.