Dinner Parties
How to Stand on the Precipice of the End of University and Not Go "Uh Oh"
This is an irresponsible article to be writing.
Not in terms of content, but the entire concept of writing out something on Substack about my senior thesis while stressed out that my thesis isn’t finished is probably one of the most irrational things I have ever done. The pure joy I have experienced about my imminent graduation has given way to a yucky, oily, rank mixture of jubilation and existential dread. At this moment it is due in five days and I have only just completed my first draft. I have comments from my professor on the first half, very few of them good and most of his words totally excoriating the entire literature review. And because of the amount of time I dedicate to writing this massive hulk of a paper, I’ve fallen behind on the other estimated eight thousand classes that I also need to finish to graduate. Every day is a new grade from a month ago while the professor gets caught up, and every time I check it I let out an “oooooo” or an “ouch” or an “oh, fuck”. Then I sit down and go back to writing my thesis, because even that feels like a refuge from all the other impending disasters demanding my attention. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been enthralled with the new season of the Star Wars tv show Andor, where one character says in the previous season “I don’t have lately, I have Always. I have a constant blur of plates spinning and knives on the floor…”
I’ve been thinking about that line pretty often.
So of course the healthiest solution here is not to actually do my work but to complain about it and spew it all out into the blogosphere. At this point, it’s either that or work on my novel. And speaking of my novel, I really want to talk about one currently unfinished chapter.
I recently have become enamored with dinner parties as a plot device. I’m not sure how this started, but I estimate it was around the time I started reading Frank Herbert’s Dune. One of the earlier chapters is at a dinner party, and it goes far in making sense of the nigh-incomprehensible beginning of that novel. Nothing is more fun for me than writing up a world, but I have issues trying to figure out how to get that world into the story in a naturalistic way. Then I remembered all the criticisms of the piece i received in the UK, including that my writing style is so dense and technical that it reminded the Workshop of Dune to the novel’s detriment. I throw so much proper nouns and acronyms and concepts at the reader that at first, I don’t want them to necessarily be able to make sense of. What was missing, however, is a scene that anchors the world into actual conversation, allowing for a certain amount of exposition that comes across more engaging than clumsy.
As I keep writing the chapter, it has ballooned to being by far the longest in the piece so far. Honestly, it might be too long. At the moment I have yet to even reach the chapter’s climax, I’m stuck trying to write a character’s profound and world-expanding toast while having absolutely nothing profound to say at that point in the story. But other than that, it’s some of the most fun I’ve ever had with writing this novel.
A bit of background, first—this chapter follows Normandy Vega-Zhou, the second of the three protagonists weaved through the story. At the moment, her story—and her character—is the most fleshed out I’ve got. At the moment probably around 50 percent of what I’ve written is from her perspective. So who is Normandy Vega-Zhou?
Normandy, and her narrative foil in Gale Suleiman—the last perspective followed in the novel—are both two people completely bought into their parts within the system. She is an Operator in the Leviathan Group. “The Group”is the shadowy organization that enforces peace across the planet with a massive network of satellite weaponry. Her job is to control one of their groups of satellites. She sits behind a desk with a headset and a console, and it makes her one of the deadliest people in the world. She is the daughter of two prominent retired Group officers, putting her on a destiny that she had no real intention of ignoring. She is a rising star that in the prologue takes down a massive hostage situation with zero casualties. Her competence makes her professionally headstrong, but completely alienated from common society. She does not harbor any disdain for civilians, but is often awkward when among them. There is a paradox in Normandy’s head, she is simultaneously dedicated entirely to the Leviathan Group and harbors no issues with its actions, but is uncomfortable with the power and status they wield in society.
Normandy’s entire life is centered around the Group—there is no way for her to separate herself from the organization even outside of work. She goes home in a Group flycraft (my idea for a futuristic helicopter-type vehicle with no wings or propellers), and lives with her coworkers in Group dormitories. Her partner, Alia Fairbanks, works a few desks away in the very same office. Her childhood was defined by playing with other Group children, going to Group academies, and weekends cajoling at Group parties. At no point in her life was Normandy not completely enveloped by a bureaucratic cult that rules the entire planet.
I have some struggles at this point with making her character, as the concept of the Leviathan Group is much more complex than it seems on first glance. As was said by Cassius in the other chapter I’ve debuted:"
“They had the most thorough dominance over the use of force ever seen, yet almost never exercised it. They ensured liberty and welfare for all by requiring states to follow the International Forum Charter but did so by pointing a million barrels of the largest guns at everyone on earth at once. They never enforced policy or ruled any population that was not a member of the organization. They were at once the most brutal tyrant and the most ardent defenders of liberty.”
The Leviathan Group is founded 200 years before the story as an emergency measure, after a civilization nuclear war is stopped at the last second. The spacefaring states attempt to force control of orbit by wiping each other out, and their respective space forces, who have developed a common professional culture with each other due to their shared experience working in orbit, mutiny simultaneously. Humanity in the setting is traumatized by almost wiping itself out, and the orbital networks coalesce under one single polity. The Leviathan Group thus is not a state, and has no interest in ruling—the only thing under its purview is crisis response, which they handle with unmatched speed, brutality, and success. By any objective measurement, the Group is more responsible for the collective safety and stability of humanity than anything else in history. By giving the global monopoly on violence to a neutral, technocratic power, humanity is mostly robbed of its own agency by the very system that grants them their freedom and protection while asking for nothing in return. The Leviathan Group allows any and all criticism against them and enforces no laws, but if an insurgency uncovers a mothballed nuclear silo in the Rocky Mountains, they will shear the mountain in half without hesitation.
Normandy is okay with all of this—at the point we find her in her life, she has already worked through her thoughts on the moral ambiguity of her own insular society. But this does not stop the general population from feeling nervous whenever she walks by. The Group values pure utilitarianism—their buildings are monolithic, brutalist concrete structures set away from cities. Their uniforms are drab (I’ve started playing with using “drabs” as a pejorative colloquialism for Group officers), charcoal-grey formal jumpsuits, like a cross between military dress and a mechanic’s outfit. Because of this, they are highly visible wherever they go. People give them a wide berth, quiet their voices, and avert their gaze when she walks by.
Anyway, I think that should be enough background context before I throw the actual excerpt at you. Drop some questions in the comments if anything is confusing or not adequately explained. I’ll be back in italics somewhere between paragraphs to make note of anything that feels salient.
Normandy Three:
Manhattan, BosWash International Zone, USA, 17 September 9:05
Normandy was a blur through the lobby of Leviathan Group BosWash Command, stopping only to be scanned through by security. Her hand almost caught in the elevator as she shoved her arm through, just barely making it on. She could have waited a few seconds for another one to arrive, but it would be a waste that would make her even more late.
BosWash is the name of the “Hypercity” that encompasses much of the Eastern Seaboard, basically one gigantic city stretching from Boston to Washington DC.
Normandy was never, ever late.
Her ears popped as the elevator descended into the depths below the city. BosWash command stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the high-rises of upper Manhattan. It was separated from the island, connected by a kilometer-long causeway to the glass spires needling the sky. Most of then were neodeco styling of steel and brass and marble shooting up hundreds of meters and covering enough area to be seen from space. Command had none of this, instead it was a nearly windowless building squatting in a fortress of monochrome concrete. The nearby Rikers Prison Museum looked more pleasant and inviting. It favored the ultimate expression of function above form, entirely utilitarian and uncaring entirely in the fleeting of architectural trends. No matter what was in vogue among the architectural Workshops of New Renaissance, Command would always be an ugly building.
Normandy’s ears popped twice on the way down and her head still felt stuffed by the time she exited the elevator. She was hundreds of meters down, sitting securely below the harbor, once again in her usual space. The doors opened with a muted chime declaring her to be on the overview floor. A din of activity filled her ears with currents of gray uniforms flowing between the desks and rooms and co-ops that split them apart. She began walking with speed across the floor of the gigantic atrium, its warehouse shape criss-crossed by hanging offices and skywalks. The walls and ceiling darkened the titanic room as they projected a simulacrum of orbit, the darkness of starlight made the upper walkways darker and darker. They were lit only by small fixtures in rooms and by the glow of the small amount of Earth that could be seen near the ground floor. It was a beautiful and constant reminder of their work, but Normandy had no time to pay attention to it as she wormed through the throngs.
This part is earlier in the chapter, I’m planning on either expanding it or cutting it into its own chapter, depending on how long it ends up being.
Langley, BosWash International Zone, USA, 17 September 17:43
—
Normandy had just stuffed what must have been her fourteenth mini-quiche into her mouth when her beret was pulled off her head. She turned around, startled, to see her brother Paris twirling it around his finger, a mocking smile plastered on his face.
„Hats off in the house, right? You’re disrespecting our hosts.“ He tossed the hat into his other hand with a flourish while grabbing a champagne flute off of a passing serving table.
„Sure I’m the one disrespecting our hosts. Did you remember to fold the couch back up so the guests didn’t think it was a bedroom?“ She snarled at him before attempting to steal the beret back, but he swiped it into his Olympian’s jacket before she could grab it. The party continued around them, a low hum of activity punctuated by occasional laughters and clinking of empty glasses on trays. The servers kept making their rounds, winding through crowds and avoiding obstacles with robotic precision. Somewhere, a man guffawed at another suggesting that they should send a kinetic strike on his ex-wife’s house.
„God, this is a real Group’s group, isn't it?“ Paris said dejectedly. „I remember these parties having more interesting guests when we were younger, what changed?“
Normandy had to begrudgingly admit he was right. Before their parents became empty-nesters and moved out to Langley, their Brownstone was filled to the brim every weekend with artists and politicians and enclavers of all stripes. Now, it seemed nearly everyone was suited in the austere grey of their dress uniforms. „It’s Langley, Paris, not Newark. It’s either Group people or lobbyists out here. No Olympian is gonna want to go through the pain of chartering a flycraft just to hear a bunch of laserjargon that hushes up whenever an outsider gets close.“ Paris scoffed, the term outsider clearly annoying him, much to Normandy’s delight. He definitely stood out among the crowd in his ostentatious jacket pulsing with the Olympic colors, the five rings emblazoned on his back. As she looked around, she noticed no one else was wearing a beret, so she decided to drop the argument.
„You know, someone told me the President might be making an appearance.“
He said, smile stretching across his face when he figured he knew something Normandy must not.
„Paris, no one cares enough about the American President to invite her to a Vega-Zhou dinner party, least of all you. Whoever told you that was joking.“ As if on cue, Alia appeared behind him, making a show of rolling her eyes at Normandy before making her presence known. She had decided to forgo protocol, wearing a black dress that accentuated her long legs and heels that made her tower over Normandy and her brother. Paris noticed the change in her face and turned around, looking up toward the sharpest-dressed person at the party. „Alia! Please tell your girlfriend about the rumor you mentioned while she was too busy to help set up.“ Alia snickered at him, holding a pregnant pause with a long swig of her champagne. „Partner.” She corrected, “And Paris, I was fucking with you. You’re stuck with Groupies the rest of the night.“
His ears reddened with embarrassment. He looked as if he was about to slink away, but Alia blocked his path of escape and forced him to keep talking to her. „But I mean, he is right Normandy. Can’t we try and make the conversation a bit more interesting for our resident star athlete—or, sorry. Athlete’s crew?“ She took another sip of her glass and handed the full one in her other hand to Normandy. „Our jobs aren’t all cubicle terminal-shuffling, right? I mean, did you not tell him about Mogadishu?“ Normandy could tell what she was trying to do. It made her feel a bit mean, but Normandy could never pass up an opportunity to torture her brother.
„Mogadishu? Oh, right—the hostage situation. I glossed over it in my feed earlier. Was that a Group thing?“ He butted in, attempting to seem informed, though he was probably one of the few people on the planet who had not yet figured out they had stopped it, instead of the Somalian police.
„Yeah, it was a group thing. Hunter-killer division, sector Canaveral.“ She whispered through Normandy’s piercing glare. It was almost like Alia was trying to tread upon as much protocol as she could, much to her chagrin. Paris’s eyes went wide, his head racing to put the pieces together.
„Wait, so are you implying what I think you’re implying?“
Alia emptied her drink for dramatic effect, while nodding wordlessly and pointing a finger at Normandy. „Yup, our very own esteemed sat-tasker in residence, my beautiful killing machine.“
Now it was Normandy’s ears turning red. Paris’s eyes flashed as he pulled up the news reports, mouth hanging open in astonishment. A quiet „Wow“ was all he could get out, sending Alia into a fit of laughter that filled the room and turned several heads their way.
„So—over 30 dead, none of them civilians with no reports to the police or signs of disturbance? How is that even possible?“ Normandy felt her confidence slipping.
„Umm, I can’t really divulge mission methods.“ She said weakly. Alia scoffed.
„That’s nonsense! We’re all friends here, right? Your sister’s being modest. She hunted them down just from the sound of a passing flycraft that wasn’t even audible in the broadcast and programmed all the sats manually. Thirty lasers, hitting every target, right through their brain stems, missing all civilians. Poor bastards were dead before they fell to the ground.“
„Alia—Operator Fairbanks. Shut. Up. Please.“ Normandy snapped through gritted teeth. If anyone overheard them they would both be spending the next week getting periodically screamed at by their superiors.
I usually assume my dialogue reads as clunky and not very natural. It’s gotten much better over the years, but I’m not sure it’s up to par with the rest of my prose yet. I welcome any suggestions for improvement, especially if it’s a critique over a compliment.
Alia threw her hands up in mock defeat, but the apology in her eyes was real. Mercifully, the conversation was abandoned as Normandy’s father forced his way through the crowd and wrapping her up in a hug. Leonid Vega cut an imposing figure, both in reputation and in physicality. Like Alia, he had eschewed the dress uniform in favor of a modest, well-tailored classic suit that did very little to hide the man’s gigantic sportsman’s frame. Normandy gave in to the embrace, knowing all too well that once the former professional footballer-turned-field operative had his arms around someone, it was pointless to resist. Despite being nearly seventy, his black-grey hair retained a fullness and shine to it, curls draped down like the demigod heroes of old. It matched well with the grey sash draped on his arm that signified him as a Leviathan Group retiree, though Normandy rarely saw him wear it.
„It is lovely that you managed to get over here. I know you must have a lot on your plate right now, but you still carved out time for your family. But can you please lessen up on your brother, just for the night?“ Normandy repressed the urge to groan.
„I don’t understand why you put up with him. How long has he been on the couch this time? Two weeks? Two months? It seems to me he deserves a little humiliation.“ She responded in a hushed tone.
„Sure, but look at the people around you. None of them are important for his career or life choices, but they are for you. And it reflects worse on you if you spend a prime networking opportunity bullying your down-on-your-luck sibling.“ He was right, to Normandy’s growing annoyance.
„Plus, I think this time is different. Anastasia didn’t kick him out—it must be something else. Maybe he just likes our company. I mean he lives halfway around the world and yet we see him more than we do you.“
Normandy lessened her embrace out of frustration. She could have spent the night looking into the anomaly, but instead she was stuck hundreds of kilometers away in a guilt trip, and her brother got to be a noncombatant all night. Her father seemed to want to say something else, but noticed Normandy’s mother across the room, a desperate expression on her face.
„I’m sorry Anza.“ He said, defaulting to Normandy’s childhood nickname while apology stretched across his face. „Wenjie is cornered by that fellow from World Heritage that she can’t stand and needs an extraction.“ He parted the crowd once again. Normandy looked around, desperate to distract herself with something other than more hors d’oeuvres. Neither Alia nor her brother were around, though she had a suspicion where they may have gone.
I suppose I should probably explain some of the terms being thrown around—Olympian, World Heritage, and New Renaissance are all polities known as “enclaves” which are basically countries without any territory. People become citizens of enclaves, they have voting power in the International Forum, and generally have more influence and political power than states, due to the orbital network and future technology making it easier for people to move around. Paris has built an identity around sports, so he became an Olympic citizen, which affords him massive benefits to his standing in society, gives him access to the Olympic medallion system (basically a parallel currency based on team performance), and a guaranteed career path in his dream position.
Gale Suleiman is an influential member of New Renaissance, which is more or less a massive artistic collective with its own parliament and economy—think Andy Warhol’s Factory on a global scale. Cassius is a member of the Associated Press, which allows him to work with journalistic resources and get stories that would be impossible as a part of private or state media. I have written up about two dozen different enclaves, most of which exist more as world building, but others play important roles in the story. World Heritage, referenced in the previous paragraph, was created as the successor to UNESCO, and is a coalition of historians, archeologists, anthropologists, and other professions/interests dealing with the study and preservation of humanity’s past.
Her hunch was proven correct as she scaled the fire escape out of the guest bedroom and up to the roof. It was mercifully still, away from the constant din of small-talk. Alia and Paris were giggling to each other, passing a cigarette between each other while staring off into the starless sky.
„Guys, come on. You’re gonna smell atrocious once we get back inside.“
They were startled, too busy to realize Normandy had appeared. Paris quickly composed himself, waving the stick as an indication for her to come over.
„Not this time, I threw some nodor in the cocktail. It’s the only way to survive at these things.“
She approached her brother with hesitation, though realizing the telltale smell was nowhere to be found. Alia kept giggling at the worry in Normandy’s face.
„Normandy, come on! You’re brother’s good for something for once, just oblige him a bit.“
She took the cigarette into her fingers and drew in. She was met with a conglomeration of tobacco, cannabis, cloves, and the vaguely disgusting taste of the scent-neutralizing nodor. She began coughing uncontrollably, and passed the stick off to Alia before she dropped it. Their laughing got louder. „You are very out of practice, Norm. Almost makes you wish you weren’t such a bore at Academy.“
She glared at Paris while continuing to cough, but managed to collect herself a bit to let out a few breathless words. „Please do not call me Norm, asshole“ was all she could get out before another series of coughs overtook her. Alia walked off, before returning quickly with a bottle of water, which she took gratefully. The stillness of the night was interrupted by an ambulance, sirens blaring as it flew through the streets below.
„So, besides avoiding our parents, what are you two doing up here?“ Alia scoffed in mock annoyance. „Why on Earth would I be avoiding Leonid and Wenjie? I’m pretty sure they like me more than you and your brother put together.“ Paris nodded his head, still giggling like an idiot as he took another drag. „At least they like her more than me, not sure about you though.“ He said. „I mean, they’re great, but every day its where’s Normandy? Where’s our beautiful Esperanza? Why didn’t she come here for dinner? Why can’t she be the one sleeping on our couch and stealing our food all the time? And Paris, whatever happened to your crew position?“ Normandy groaned and stole the joint out of his hand, ready to take another smoke without embarrassing herself. „Oh, yeah, sure. That sounds exactly like them.“ She snapped back, before adding: „but what did happen to your position? Dad says this couch stay is different, you and Stasia are still together. What gives?“
Paris’ face darkened. „Come on, we’re enjoying ourselves. Can we talk about something more fun?“ It was out of character for him, which only made Normandy want to dig deeper.
„Come on, I told you about Mogadishu, I’m owed some Olympic gossip in return, aren’t I?“
„Sure. But that was more fun. Plus, you didn’t tell me shit. My old friend Ms. Fairbanks broke the seal on that, not you.“ Alia looked engrossed in the verbal jousting between the siblings.
I am not sure I am doing a good enough job to establish Paris and Alia’s relationship—it’s never said in the story, but I am attempting to imply that they were friends before she met Normandy, and was actually the one to introduce them.
„You know what? I’m feeling generous—must be the weed. If you tell me why you’re stuck on the couch for the thousandth time, I’ll let you in on a Group secret.“ Alia’s eyes went wide, and Normandy’s eyes were suddenly fed a message. WHAT ARE YOU DOING, OPERATIONS IS ONE THING BUT A SECRET MIGHT BE TOO FAR. Normandy repressed the urge to snap back at her out loud.
WELL LOOK WHO SUDDENLY CARES ABOUT PROTOCOL. DON’T WORRY, I’M JUST GONNA FEED HIM A YARN ABOUT THE CANAVERAL ANOMALY. NO BIG DEAL.
OKAY, FINE. BE CAREFUL.
Most characters in the story have some level of cybernetic implants, but they are so omnipresent that I thought it would be an interesting writing tactic to never really draw attention to them. For example, Normandy’s eyes are completely artificial, but they’re never refered to as anything other than “eyes” when they feed her information or she receives a message.
Paris took another, worried hit of the joint before passing it to Alia.
„It’s all a bit fucked, honestly. I swear I had nothing to do with any of it—but my career can’t afford the attention of a court case, so I’m sort of in hiding.“ Normandy raised an eyebrow, much more interested than she had been when she asked the question.
„Okay—don’t look at me like that. I am a competent and successful Olympic crewman, I’m not this family’s failson counterpart to your incredible success. This genuinely was not my fault. You know my team, right? Phaedon Cohort, for Korfball? I’ve made head of the advance crew—or I did before my world ended. We started dominating every Olympics, and despite the sport being obscure our career success is based pretty much entirely on performance, so it’s made me pretty wealthy recently—at least when medallions were concerned. I mean, you haven’t even seen my new place. It’s right in the middle of the Olympic Village in Sarajevo, it’s got an amazing view of the old stadium. I should’ve known it was too good to be true.“
Fun fact—Korfball is a real sport! It’s Dutch and a friend of mine was on the team while I was studying in Lancaster. I went to a game one time and could not for the life of me figure out what was going on.
He looked off into the distance. Normandy handed off the cigarette to her brother. He finished it off and stamped it out on the ground. „I should’ve known! But we ran so many different tests! They had no augmentations, no substances in their system, they were all perfectly clean. They were too clean, to be honest. None of them had so much as a speeding ticket or a night in jail or even an injury. I guess I thought maybe they were all just lucky.“ He turned around and dropped to the ground, sitting to face Normandy and Alia while he clutched his legs to his chest.
„And some AP dickhead thought that was strange, so he dug too deep and he figured out what I had ignored for years—none of them were real. Their backgrounds had been fabricated, papers forged, names given, but everyone—the entire time, were never born. They were grown.“
Normandy stood stunned, mouth agape while she processed what he said. Never in her life could she have expected this was what sent Paris back home. Alia interrupted the confession.
„Sorry—what? You mean—„
„It’s exactly what I mean. They fed all the genetic material they could get their hands on into some black site Pseudo-Sapiens. Literally, anything; Jesse Owens, Michael Jordan, Max Verstappen, Indira Costello, Guanyu Saul, living or dead. As long as the corpses had enough remaining genetic material it was thrown into the mixture. All 30 team members, designed from the ground up and gestated into adulthood. The scale is incomprehensilbe—and the only reason it hasn’t broke yet is because the OAF’s lawyers have delayed it as much as possible. But it may be the story of the decade when it does come out, and anyone caught in the proceedings—even just as a witness—will effectively be ruined. It’s not just about sporting ethics, you know. There were massive, massive crimes and coverups done here. Hundreds, thousands of people might be implicated. We’re talking about fraud, human rights violations, billions of medallions heaped upon billions of Euros. I mean, fuck, someone will be going down for desecration of corpses and DNA theft! So yeah, I’m on the couch until the story breaks, and all I can do is pray to any God I can think of that I’m too small a target to get subpoenaed. It could spell the end of the Olympics, the whole enclave might burn down once this comes out. The conspiracy went all the way to the President! I’m pretty sure the whole council is implicated!“
Even though this world is close to a utopia, I try to include the human beahvior element as much as possible. There are still massive scandals, still injustice and scapegoating, everyone still acts like we always have even if society makes sure everyone lives in luxury and safety. But that provides an opportunity to see what these scandals might look like—the Olympics still pull all sorts of skullduggery, but what would a doping scandal look like in the 24th century? Maybe it’s a secret cloning regime! The chances to add interesting events happening parallel to the story without directly affecting it are endless, and in my opinion go really far at making the world feel lived-in.
He put his face in his hands as Normandy was left completely speechless, her mouth hanging open while she failed to find what to say. She knew the Olympians had always been rife with corruption, even since the organization’s founding, but this had reached an entirely new level. At the very least, the sanctions from the International Forum would damage the enclave for generations, just from the vat-growing alone. She rarely paid attention to international law, but the practice had been integrated into the text of the IF charter as soon as it became technologically feasible. And how deep did it go? If a lowly korfball team was engaging in this practice, were bigger teams doing it as well?
„Jesus, Paris. How did they keep this hidden for so long?“ She asked. He looked up, an exhausted, bashful expression on his face. „I’m not sure, seems to me something this gigantic would have been leaked within months of its inception. But they were found out only because some paparazzo got ahold of some hair or skin samples and the ancestry catalogue returned saying he was a child of over two dozen parents and had zero identifying record. I don’t think the nosey asshole had any idea what he was getting into.“ Normandy began to respond, but was interrupted by a message from her mother scrolling across her eyes.
WE ARE SITTING DOWN FOR DINNER, PLEASE GET OFF THE ROOF—BRING YOUR BROTHER AND PARTNER. THERE ARE SEVERAL PEOPLE HERE THAT WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK TO YOU AND I SUGGEST YOU OBLIGE THEM, FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR CAREER.
Normandy confirmed the message, annoyed. She always preferred her father’s direct approach over her mother’s passive aggressive suggestions, but she gathered herself and made her way back inside anyway.
Alia and Paris followed behind, chattering in hushed whispers. Their giggling banter was gone, replaced by a deadly serious discussion about the impending scandal. The music had stopped inside and everyone was already seated, digging into the salad course. A few servers kept circling the table, but the rest had combined and folded into a much larger dinner setup that just barely fit all of the guests. Most were still dressed in Group Grey, but some others had arrived in more interesting outfits. Normandy could spy the vibrant orange and yellow robe of Calla Liu, an old friend of her mother’s that had converted to Buddhism and rarely left their monastery deep in the Appalachians. He was making conversation with a couple of smart-dressed journalists, some wearing a red-white pin of the AP flag while the others wore ostentatious broaches representing their respective organizations. It was an uncommon and entertaining sight to see such an animated discussion between a monk like Calla and a man proudly displaying the ruby-red animated jewelry reading Vanity Fair in large letters.
Normandy had barely sat down before the questions started heaping on.
„Normandy! How long has it been? I don’t think I’ve seen you since your commencement!“
„How’s the big city? What’s it like being in the nerve center every day?“
„Anything new you can tell us? Us retirees are always so parched for info inside The Group.“
To her sides, Alia was digging into her food and Paris was enjoying watching Normandy squirm, for once appreciating that he was not the center of attention. Her mother and father watched, Leonid with a sympathetic look in his eye, Wenjie peering expectantly.
„Umm, sorry can I take a bite of my food first? My stomach’s a pit right now, even though I probably ate a dozen of those quiches.“ Everyone around the table laughed politely, giving her a brief respite to eat.
The salad was unsatisfying. The table resumed its conversations, though thankfully they were no longer all directed towards her. The woman in grey sitting across from her began speaking through a full mouth before interrupting herself to clear her throat. She looked about the same age as her parents, though Normandy did not recognize her. „Ms. Vega-Zhou, I don’t believe we’ve met—I’m Schuyler Hamlin. Liaison to the Directorate, Sector Jiuquan.“
„Pleased to meet you.“ Normandy said, her eyes trailing the pasta course being laid out in the kitchen.
„So—Mogadishu was you, right? Very impressive, most of my people couldn’t hit a bunker with a fusion bomb. And it was outside your sector? It’ll almost be a shame once you get promoted out of the hunter/killer role.“ Normandy was barely listening, distracted by some absurd argument Paris had engaged in with a different officer at the table. She noticed her mother glaring at her, not needing a message to get her thoughts across. Get your head out of your ass and talk to Hamlin.
Normandy put more salad into her mouth, giving her a moment to collect herself before responding. „Well, you know, I can’t share anything about my targets, but…“ She nodded subtly.
„I’ve mostly been working on an anomaly I noticed in my report—my satellites were moving between sectors for a few minutes last night, and I think somehow some out of Sriharikota got caught in my system as well. It corrected itself, but its not something I’ve ever seen before.“ Schuyler narrowed her eyes, before masking her face with a neutral expression.
„Very interesting. I’ve gotten a couple reports out of my office as well, but the Directorate said they were aware of the issue. Apparently it’s a minor anomaly, nothing to worry about.“ Her tone was too similar to the response from Normandy’s sector chief, as if she was trying to get her to move to another subject.
She did not have time to pry further as the servers wheeled around, offloading a plate of Aglio e Olio in front of each of the guests. She attacked the meal with gusto, finally feeling a bit satisfied.
„It’s probably just Simulations fucking with the rest of our systems again. Didn’t they turn a couple satellites off without warning a decade ago?“ The room looked scandalized by the assertion, coming from another grey-dressed man that was much younger than the rest of the guests, closer to Normandy’s age than that of her parents. He turned to her, extending his hand across Alia’s lap to reach her. „Haile Sagan, Director, Sector Kourou. You’re a serious rising star in our hemisphere, Vega-Zhou.“
She took his hand, suddenly nervous. Normandy understood now why her mother was pestering her so thoroughly—she was in the presence of one of the Directors. She had heard of Director Sagan before; Kourou was a well-run, generally uneventful sector. It clashed with her impression of the strong, boisterous, energetic personality that was clasping her hand so vigorously.
„We hear a lot about you up in Manhattan, Director. It’s good to finally put a face to the name.“
He smiled back, genially, before Alia chimed in.
„You’re a former field operative, right? Why take a boring position like Kourou instead of the expeditions office?“ He looked over at her, seemingly unsure of how to respond. „Oh—sorry sir. Operator Alia Fairbanks, hunter/killer division, sector Canaveral. I don’t share in our resident prodigy’s notoriety.“ She added with a smile. „Pleasure to meet you, Alia. And to answer your question—of course I wanted the Field Office over Kourou. But The Bedouin’s got the position still firmly in his grasp. I don’’t see him resigning for at least another decade.“
„I always thought he’d keep it till he dies!“ Added a short, red-faced man whom Normandy recognized as another friend of her father’s. „Are you sure he can die? How old is he now? 150? 200?“
The entire room erupted in laughter, throwing out absurd ages and retirement timelines for The Bedouin. Paris slumped in his chair, looking confused and irritated. Normandy leaned in to his ear.
„Director Al-Kader—The Bedouin is an in-Group nickname for him. Supposedly, he’s quite a character.“
He turned to face her ear. „You’ve never met him? The name sounds familiar.“
„Dad served under him during the Arctic War. And no, I haven’t met every member of the Leviathan Group, Paris. No one, including the other Directors, is exactly sure of where he is at any time. They say he travels with a small contingent of his most elite soldiers, roaming the Sahara like the days of old.“
Paris scoffed at the idea. Normandy herself was unsure if it was actually true or just another part of the man’s mystique.
„Yeah, roaming the desert like a nomad. I’m sure that’s more difficult nowadays than it was back then, having to avoid the stretches of solar panels and green spots.“ Leonid must have overheard, because he let out a snort of laughter while attempting to chew his food.
„I’m sure he manages. There’s still thousands of kilometers of desert out there—oh thank god, the meat’s ready!“ Normandy fought the urge to drool over the plates of roasted miniature duck as the server slid the plate off its tray and onto her spot. It took immense effort, but she held decorum until everyone had been served. She waited impatiently as her mother clinked a fork against her glass and stood up to make a toast…
That’s the end of the excerpt—though not the end of the chapter. I’m worried it might be too long, having too many setting changes what with moving from Manhattan Command to the Langley dinner party, then to the townhouse roof and back to the dinner party. I hope it is clear why I enjoy dinner parties so much as a setting—it is so difficult to not just dump exposition on the reader, and I think I was pretty clever with how I handled all that. Out of context it might not be entirely clear how important this chapter is, but nearly everything brought up, even in passing, is putting names and events into the reader’s mind that will come up later. The Bedouin is a major character later in the story, and the offhandedly-mentioned Simulations Department plays a central role in Normandy’s story that is hinted at here. Even Paris’ crisis in the Olympics, while not necessarily being too important, is thematically resonant with the core conflict of the entire narrative.
What I guess I am trying to accomplish with the dinner party is to give a small peek behind the curtain with the other stories playing out in this world even if they’re not present in the narrative. Earth in 2309 is populated by 11 billion people, and the human cost present in the narrative will carry far more weight if I can give the impression that all those individuals are living out their own narrative. Plus, it’s just really fun to flesh out ideas in my head and reference them in my writing, distilling them down into a readable anecdote that makes the reader interested and immersed in this world. The story only really delves deeply into the culture and society of the Leviathan Group and New Renaissance, but if I can give the impression that the other facets of this world are still just as real and tactile as the ones in focus, I have succeeded in what I set out to do with this novel.
Substack is informing me that this thing is such a beast it won’t even fit in an email, so now is as good a time as any to end it. Thank you for making it to the end of this article! I hope to start a more consistent writing schedule once I’m done with school next week. So far both of the posts I’ve made about my novel have discussed sections that I have already written since I’ve been too busy to make any progress, but I’ll kick it into overdrive once I realize how bored I am without schoolwork to do. Catch you later!