Gou Zaofang dragged a hand across his face in exasperation. “How does a military base of this size allow a single car to get across the border? A car with no weapons, apparently. I thought Americans would have at least a passing familiarity with shooting.”
Sitting cross-legged and reading a newspaper, Brendan Kierkegaard chuckled from across the booth of the jet plane.
“This is funny to you?” asked Zaofang.
“Not at all,” said Brendan sarcastically. “But you must agree it is a kind of game.” He set aside the book and gestured for the flight attendant to serve him a cocktail of Texas-made vodka. “You have to find enjoyment wherever you can during times like these. Otherwise you’ll go insane.”
The attendant offered a pour to Zaofang, which he declined.
“It’s nothing to stress over,” continued Brendan. “They probably felt it imprudent to use the full force available to them on one crazy person. Honestly, I’m inclined to agree.”
“Don’t they hunt? Don’t they play at the shooting range? It’s nothing they don’t see in your Hollywood movies every day.”
“Those are hobbies. War is different.”
Zaofang tapped his fingers on the desk between them, biting his lip.
“It concerns me that the rural areas of your country are the least sympathetic to our cause.”
“The entire South is firmly under Federal jurisdiction. Don’t worry about them. They’re losers anyway.”
“Losers who were led by your party, no?”
Brendan’s TV-ready smile instantly dropped to a scowl.
Zaofang laughed sardonically and leaned back in his seat. “Apologies, Gove’na’. Clea’ly I have touched a ne’ve, but I da’e not shame you for losses in wa’s of antiquity. Yes, we must indeed find enjoyment in such difficult times.”
“However,” he continued, leaning forward, returning to his signature harsh rhotacism. “I need to trust that you recognize the seriousness of our situation. Nevada's nuclear arsenal is holding back your country, and mine, from reaching their full potential. Justice for these meddling seditionists is long overdue.”
“It always comes down to that, doesn’t it?” said Brendan with a thoughtful glance at the newspaper. “I wonder if we’ll ever discover a weapon more powerful than nuclear missiles.”
“Save such nonsense for your speaking events,” said Zaofang. “Call in an air strike on Primm.”
“We’ve tried. Nothing gets past the dome. Whatever missiles we launch are just for show.”
“No. Our barracks. Set an example for the rest of your pathetic border patrol.”
“Now I wonder if you’re the one not taking this seriously,” said Brendan skeptically. “I doubt we’ll be able to conceal a strike like that from the public.”
“I have no intention of concealing anything,” said Zaofang.
Brendan thought for a moment, trying in vain to understand how the past few decades had even led up to such a conversation, then shook his head. “No. That’s ridiculous. It's only three tiny states anyway. I don't see the no need for an escalation of that magnitude.
“Oh you don't?” asked Zaofang. He gestured to the window. Brendan looked down and traced the pillar of smoke to its source.
“Your legacy is at stake, my friend. Do you want your life to be summed up in a trivia question on some game show, or do you want to be the man who finally united your country under one flag?”
Brendan studied the hole in the billboard. A sneer spread across his mouth. “Alright. I trust you have a strategy behind it.”
“I do.”
“And let’s get rid of those damn Bitcoin ATMs while we’re at it.”
Zaofang raised an eyebrow.
“They like it, for God-knows-what reason. If weapons alone don’t solve the problem, we’ll take away everything they care about until they break.”
Zaofang gave Brendan a firm pat on the shoulder. “Now you’re thinking like a President.”
▫ ▪ → ∞
With Karina behind him, Dorian knocked on the door of Alan Hsi’s studio apartment. Alan opened the door, hurried them inside. His eyes darted around the room
“Did anyone see you?”
“Everyone saw us. There’s no privacy in this urban hellscape. What’s wrong? You look like you just witnessed a murder.”
“You didn’t see the news?“
“What, is Brendan mad about his billboard?” asked Dorian. He always took pleasure in addressing elders on a first name basis, ever since elementary school.
Alan turned on the wall-mounted TV that hung between two flags. The news played an aerial view of the guard towers and barracks just outside Primm, engulfed in flames.
“That wasn’t us,” said Dorian.
“Might as well have been,” spat Karina. “Thank you for inviting us, Alan. Do you have any ramen to spare?”
Alan pointed to one of the cabinets and gave Dorian a quizzical look. It wasn’t us, he mouthed silently.
Dorian sat on the couch, sulking as he stared at the footage of the fires. Karina watched the ramen spin in the microwave, standing with her back to Dorian as though the kitchen of Alan’s cramped studio apartment was a separate room.
“All warfare is based on the deception. We can’t get through this if you expect me to tell the truth all the time.”
Karina stepped in front of the TV, the fires blending in with her hair. “We’re not at war.”
“It’s a cold war.”
“No. We were not at war. You and me. I expected you to tell the truth to me.”
“Do I have to explain every detail of every step of the plan? No one listens to me anyway.”
**“I listened to you.” **She burst into tears. “Not anymore.”
“Beep, beep (wow, Dorian)," said the microwave softly. Karina picked up the ramen and walked to the door.
“Thank you for the ramen, 阿郎. I’ll be rooting for you.” She turned sharply to Dorian. “Not you.”
“They’re not going to let you get by here peacefully, you know. They’ll always count you as an enemy.”
“You’re the invader,” said Karina, opening the door to a cacophony of L.A. traffic. “I’m a refugee.” She locked the door and closed it behind her.
Silence.
Dorian turned up the volume on the news, still playing footage of the Primm fires on a loop.
“She’ll be back. Maybe at $300M.” said Dorian. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What am I sitting on? He stood up and pulled out a hardcover book from the corner of the couch.”
“Oh, that’s Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Like the strategy game we used to play, remember? I had to read it in High School.”
“No wonder this place is so cluttered.”
“Actually, I thought you might like it.”
“Oh…” Dorian searched his thoughts, struggling to remember what to say when someone does something nice for you. “Thanks. I can’t read though,” said Dorian.
“Sure you can. We text in Chinese all the time. It’s a classic but it’s- how do you say 白話?”
“Vernacular. But it’s not that. A story is different from a conversation. I flip open to any page and it’s just…”
“What’s this? No wonder your grades are trash. You’re barely passing English and you want to waste your time on this? What’s this word mean? Oh, you don’t know that one. Of course. Typical American arrogance. You get this from your mother. You want to mess around in a fantasy world while someone else toils just for you to waste their hard-earned money on your pointless video games. What are you crying about? You’ll be crying a lot more if you can’t get into a good college and get a real job. These American schools are too soft on you. I’m getting you an accounting textbook. Not this. This isn’t for you. You don’t have the mind for it. Accounting suits you better. Even you can learn basic math. Contribute something of value to society first and then you can chase with whatever stupid dream you want.”
“I can’t follow it. Besides, none of it is real anyway.” He returned the book to the couch corner. He bit his lip, tapping the coffee table. “Coming here was a mistake. The cities aren’t safe. I can feel it.”
“Then why’d you come?” asked Dorian.
Dorian shrugged. “Karina said she missed the beach. It’s her favorite place to read.” Dorian picked up a bong from under the table and drowned his thoughts in the comforting gurgle. "At least I still have my hobbies."
“I’m going to sleep. Let me know when Pretty Boy is ready with his speech.”
“I don’t know why you watch this stuff so much.”
“Anger is a pleasurable emotion, Alan.”