Page 14 of Ezra
Media likes to paint us as violent. Yes, some of our marches have devolved into riots, scuffles with the police, arrests. But we always condemn them. We bar offenders like that from our events, if we can. Humanity First hasn’t bombed or killed anyone.
Why does it take people losing their lives for us to be heard?
I push such thoughts away. I’m far too exhausted to keep thinking about these things. I want to be safe, see my mom and dad, decompress, maybe cry into a few pillows when nobody’s looking. The farther I travel from the museum and the bustle of New Carnegie, the better I feel, like weight is lifting from my shoulders, little by little. Mellon Fields is a decent suburb, and my parents’ home is spacious and comfortable, tucked away in a cul-de-sac in an affluent neighborhood, far from the crime and noise of New Carnegie’s thick steel heart.
The moment I step through the front door, my dad’s there, holding his tablet. He swiftly sets it down on a nearby entryway table. “Jesus, Kitty, I was on my way to get you.” He throws his arms around me and pulls me into a hug so strong, my back cracks. And that’s just before my weeping mother catapults into the both of us, tightening the embrace.
“We were so worried.” Her normally perfect mascara is running. “I was pacing ruts into the kitchen floor.” She pulls away and cups my face. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
I half-heartedly wave my bandaged hands. “Just a few cuts and bruises. I might need to get a tetanus shot, but I promise I’m okay.” My attempts to assuage her don’t save me from her assault of kisses on my cheeks and brow. “Mom. Mom! I said I’m okay. Really. I’m fine.”
It’s a lie, but it’s one I’m happy to tell if it makes her worry less.
“The city’s implementing a mandatory curfew,” Dad says gravely, brushing dust from my hair. “My god. How close were you to the blast?”
“Too close. I was in the bathroom,” I admit. “Had I not been, well?—”
“She’s alive,” Mom interjects. “I don’t want to hear about that. I’ve aged ten years in one night as it is. Is nothing safe from these TerraPura monsters?”
“What about your coworkers?” Dad asks.
“Arnold is okay. So is Di,” I reply. “My friend Zoey, one of the guides, was taken to the hospital with several others. It’s too early to say right now.”
“It’s the march all over again.” My mother locks the front door and ushers us farther into the house. “Stay away from the windows.”
“There’s no reason for that kind of paranoia,” Dad reassures her but doesn’t fight it as we head into the living room. The tablet in his hands currently displays news about the attack on the museum, as well as a muted live feed of reporters on the scene. “I’ve been very careful about our home address. Nobody knows where we live.”
“This man is going to be the death of me,” Mom says with a weary sigh. “It never hurts to be careful.”
“We need to make sure we address this.” Though Dad’s voice is calm, the rumbling volcano beneath his surface—his anger, resentment, conviction—are just moments from exploding. “I’ll reach out to our communications team, ensure we issue a public statement. As if battling these goddamn androids wasn’t enough, now we have these end-of-the-world psychopaths using them to kill people. This has TerraPura written all over it.”
“Robert, your blood pressure,” Mom warns him, her attention still on me. “Katrina, I’m glad you’re all right, but I wish you both would listen to me for once. We all need to be more careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have to explore the possibility that our family might be a target for these terrorists,” she says. “What if they were after you, and they know where you work?—”
“Mom, nobody was targeting us specifically at that rally. We know that,” I reply. “There was a huge story on it. They were after Nick Kane, the CEO and founder of EverFed. He and his wife were the targets in that attack, and the TerraPura android detonated because?—”
“Because Humanity First wouldn’t let them get away with beating a man near to death and stealing his property,” Dad finishes for me with a slow sigh. “I remember.”
“Besides,” I add, “I can’t put everything on hold because a bunch of android-worshippers happened to target the museum. This is what terrorists do, Mom. I won’t let them control my life.”
“And if something happens to you?” Mom cuts in heatedly. “If you’re injured, or God forbid, you died? What are we to do then?”
“Dying free is better than living in fear,” I say. I can’t back down from this argument. Mom means well, but if she had her way, I’d be locked away in a velvet-padded ivory tower somewhere. “Mom, I’m scared out of my mind. My hands arestill trembling. But folding under all of this? Now? I can’t. I’m finally finding myself and what makes me happy outside of Humanity First. I support this cause, same as you both, but lately it feels like...”
I fall silent, searching for the words and sensing the weight of my parents watching me. I don’t know how many times the three of us have gathered here in this living room, debated over everything from politics and religion to why green bean casserole is literally the most disgusting food ever made. I’m lucky that every argument, every moment of bickering, came from a place of love instead of hatred or a desire for control.
“Feels like what?” Dad presses.
“It’s like it’s become my entire personality, who I am,” I finish reluctantly. “I had all of these dreams. These ambitions since long before Schroeder screwed you over, Dad, and built BioNex.” He tenses when I drop the name, and I carry on quickly. “I know we’re fighting for the right thing, but I finally had something that was mine, you know? I could work and dream of the day I get my degree, board a plane to France, and study what I love. It’s fine that neither of you get why I love it, but?—”
“Never apologize for your passions,” Mom cuts in. “We’ve always been supportive. Just because we don’t understand it doesn’t mean it isn’t yours.”
“Thank you.” I settle down a little, reassured they’re listening to me. “Dad’s right. I think this is TerraPura. I’ll be surprised if the police announce anything else. And sowing chaos is what they want. They’d love it if we bunkered down and never left the house. We’re their loudest critics. The museum is closed for now, but I’m going to reach out to Arnold tomorrow, see if there’s anything I can do.”
“Let him know we’ll be holding a fundraiser for the victims.” Dad strokes the graying stubble on his chin. “I’ll start planning agala. High society can’t resist an opportunity for good publicity, so they won’t refuse. We’ll show the city we can come together in the face of adversity. People have forgotten we aren’t just a city of industry. We’re a community. An attack on one of us is an attack on all of us. It’s always been that way.”
