inadequacies in your direction.”
“I won’t,” Timor said, nodding and pulling out textbooks. “But, I am worried about where your class is in comparison with my old one was.”
“You’ll be fine,” Katya said, hustling in clutching a pastry and a steaming cup of coffee, bundled in a winter coat and scarf despite the fact that morning was no more than chilly. She set her leather bag down in the row behind Alex, putting her feet up right next to Vivik’s head. “It’s not bad. They aren’t so gifted. Plus, Mr. Windsor offered us tutoring if we need it.”
Emily looked from one new kid to the other slowly, with an uncertain expression. It was obvious from her reaction that she knew both Katya and Timor Zharova, at least by reputation, but that she hadn’t expected to see them here. Alex looked at the two in turn, apparently brother and sister, but he didn’t see much resemblance. Then a light bulb went off in his head.
“This is the gifted class?” Alex turned to Emily in astonishment. “Am I gifted?”
“Oh, God,” Anastasia said, making a choking, coughing noise.
“Well, there are three classes preparing for graduation next year, and this is the advanced course, so, yes, in a sense,” Emily offered hesitantly. “I think that has more to do with your protocol classification, and not nearly as much with your ability. I’ve seen your test results, and they are nothing to brag about…”
Emily trailed off as Grigori and Chandi arrived, entourage in tow, all eyes in the class immediately turning to them, excepting those of the unflappable Miss Martynova.
Grigori was even more imposing in the school uniform then he had been in street clothes. With broad shoulders and a barrel chest, he looked like a soldier attempting casual dress. His unruly brown hair was smoothed in a concession to civility, and his blunt hands protruded from the sleeves of an immaculate and undersized blazer. Next to him, Chandi Tuesday appeared demure and self-assured, riding along in the striking boy’s wake, looking at the class with cool, contemptuous eyes behind her round glasses. The kids following them were a mixed bag; two that Alex knew already, William and Choi, plus some Chinese kid he’d never met and a smiling, chubby girl. Grigori’s lip lifted in contempt when he saw Alex surrounded by Black Sun members, and Alex realized that in all probability, only Emily’s proximity redeemed the situation. He shifted in his seat closer to Emily, and she covered his hand protectively, moist with her own apprehension.
“Alexander Warner,” Grigori hissed. “You choose your company poorly.”
“Get fucked, okay?” Alex snapped back, aware that the entire class had stopped in shock, and that everyone was watching the exchange. He was angry enough that he didn’t care. “I put up with enough of that shit from Anastasia already. I’m not about to take it off you.”
Anastasia smiled as if she’d won a prize in a carnival game. Grigori was briefly appalled, then with a sort of inevitability, his face reddened with anger and his voice got hard.
“Don’t take that tone with me, boy,” Grigori warned, his bag clenched in his hands, tension highlighting the myriad of white scars on them. “You don’t want to do that. The last thing you need is to count me among your enemies.”
“Excuse me, Grigori?” Emily cut in smoothly, putting one hand protectively on Alex’s shoulder. “Could you please back off a little bit? Alex didn’t mean to be rude; he’s just had a difficult couple of days. He’s not himself this morning.”
Alex didn’t even notice that Emily had gone rigid with effort, her eyes glazed over as she looked in the direction of the angry Hegemony students. Anastasia noticed, however, and she gave Emily’s a very hard look before shifting her gaze over to Grigori, obviously fascinated. Grigori fumed a moment longer while Chandi looked confused and the rest of his group shifted nervously and exchanged worried glances, and then he stomped off, taking over one whole side of the classroom with his retinue.
“So many Russians all of a sudden,” Alex said loudly. “It’s like Red Dawn.”
“Alex!” Emily protested. “That’s mean!”
“Our parents are Ukrainian, actually, but my brother and I were both born in Portland. Grigori’s mother is Romanian, though he was, I believe, born in Moscow to a Russian father. Anastasia’s grandmother is Chinese, and she was born in Scotland, and then raised in Oregon. I’m not sure about how that fits in,” Katya said sternly, piling books on her desk. “But don’t let me interrupt your whole racist generalization.”
“It’s not racist,” Alex insisted. “I liked Red Dawn. Red Dawn was awesome.”
“I’m not sure how to respond to that,” Katya said, taking a bite from her pastry. “Except to point out that you are an idiot.”
“Or a really big Patrick Swayze fan,” Vivik offered nervously, taking the seat next to Emily. “Besides, Russian is a nationality. If Alex wanted to be racist, he’d have to know that you were Slavic in the first place.”
Alex couldn’t help but notice that the look Katya gave Vivik was a lot friendlier than any look she had given him thus far. However, he was feeling a sort of generalized good will toward everyone at that particular moment, and Katya seemed more sympathetic than normal. Maybe, he thought, she wasn’t a total bitch — maybe, Katya was only a bitch to him. That meant there was room for improvement in their relationship. Alex smiled over at her, but all that earned him was a puzzled, dismissive glance. Baby steps, he thought optimistically, watching Mr. Windsor make his way to the front of the classroom, baby steps.
Then something Katya had said belated clicked in his mind. He leaned forward, across the empty row of chairs in front of him.
“Hey, Anastasia. You’re Chinese?”
“Alex!” Emily scolded, shocked. He looked back at her innocently; he genuinely hadn’t meant anything by it.
Anastasia answered without turning her head, sounding bored, but not offended.
“In part. My grandmother’s maiden name was Teng. Honestly, Alex. Does the phrase ‘Black Sun’ sound at all Russian to you? Cartels change over time, like living things — they join, split, and evolve. The Black Sun was originally a humble Triad from Macau mainly involved in smuggling cigarettes. After World War II, they aligned a number of their businesses ventures with a Russian political dynasty dating back to the Czars, culminating in an arranged marriage.” Anastasia shook her head slightly, as if she pitied him. “Nationalities don’t mean a great deal in Central.”
“You replace countries with cartels, and then you want to act like I’m stupid for not getting it?” Alex demanded, pulling his arm away when he felt Emily tugging at his sleeve.
“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Alex?” Mr. Windsor asked, looking as amused and benevolent as he always did. “What I could hear of your discussion sounded surprisingly political, given your avowed disinterest in all such things. Care to elaborate further on your thoughts?”
Alex sat down hard, making stinging contact with the molded plastic of his chair. He tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t leave him in deeper trouble than he had already managed to get himself into this morning. Then, with a self-satisfied grin, Anastasia saved him. Again.
“Alex was trying to understand the rationale for the existence of the cartels,” Anastasia said smoothly.
“Ah! An excellent topic. Tell me, Miss Martynova, how would you have answered him, had I not interrupted you?”
Anastasia folded her hands neatly on her desk, her eyes turned demurely down at the notebook in front of her. Emily snuck her hand back onto Alex’s knee, and he let it stay there. He felt that he needed all the reassurance he could get.
“Two reasons. The most obvious, and pressing, is money. Central needs food, fuel, machinery and everything else that it cannot make itself, enough for a small city, every day. A single cartel’s operations can involve hundreds or even thousands of people, who need to be housed, fed, and compensated. A presence must be maintained wherever cartel interests are based, as well as maintaining some form of representation in Central. A Field office, transportation, personnel, equipment… all of this has to be paid for. The cartels do the business that pays for everything, the entirety of this quiet war; every bite of food, every comfort, every necessity.”
“What is it that they do?” Alex demanded, interrupting. “Where does all of this money come from?” The class turned to face him in a sort of group slow motion that made him sweat and his face stiffen. “What, I’m not supposed to ask?”
“Alex!” Emily said, grabbing his arm. “Please stop!”
“Now, there is no need…” Mr. Windsor began in a consolatory tone.
Alex sat back, torn by rapidly shifting impulses; a sort of uneasy guilt that suddenly that blunted the anger
