Swipe

had been, hearing bombs fall at night and gunshots each day, seeing bodies on the street, learning of family members who weren’t coming back. The four billion people dead or AWOL. Gone for good. And that was already after the worst of it, after General Lamson had come along and turned the tide.
    Those were distant memories now, brushed under the carpet of ten peaceful years without American borders or divisions. And yes, under Cylis, the situation had improved in Europe, and in Asia and Africa too. But somehow, the idea of a totally unified world, East and West together . . . it seemed too good to be true. Worth fighting for, sure. But possible?
    “It’s possible,” Mr. Arbitor said, swiping his Mark against the table again and punching in a percentage for the tip. “And this right here”—he touched his own wrist and pointed to the Mark on Erin’s—“this is the start of all that. This is the symbol. This is what I’m in Spokie to protect.”
    “Okay,” Erin said, not knowing at all what that meant.
    They thanked their waitress on the way out.
    4
    After returning from the new DOME office where Mr. Arbitor had taken her that afternoon, Erin spent the night unpacking, alone in an unfamiliar apartment on the seventeenth floor of a complex at the edge of a town she knew nothing about. It would have had a nice view if the small skyline hadn’t looked so lonely to Erin. The lights weren’t even enough to wash out the stars, and to her it looked as if no one was home, anywhere. She stared out the window and thought of the starscape in her new school, of the Moon Wing in the administrative hall, of the secretary at the desk.
    “Government work,” she’d said .
    “That’s right. ”
    And the look on her face that followed . . .
    What was it Erin didn’t know about her father’s job?
    She turned to fill the shelves and closets and tabletops with tablets and clothes and mementos from Beacon, but looking around the apartment now, Erin couldn’t help but notice that the place her father had chosen was really only big enough for the two of them and the lizard. So instead Erin said good night to Iggy, turned off the heat lamp above his cage, and placed a family album frame by her bed to watch its slide show. She sat above the covers for a long while, thinking sadly of her mother back home, knowing that she wasn’t on her way, knowing that it wasn’t just a matter of weeks, and wondering honestly when they’d see each other again.
    In that moment, Erin was reminded of quiet summer evenings like this growing up, when, like now, her father would stay late with work.
    Except those nights were never so lonely, because always, Dr. Arbitor would be home too, reading to Erin while they waited for Dad in the late hours. She would read Erin anything, not just children’s stories, but news articles and editorials and classic literature, insisting that the world was ready for Erin, and that Erin was ready for it, whether or not she still sucked her thumb. This made Erin feel like the luckiest kid in the world.
    One summer, years ago, Erin and her mom even plowed through the entire works of Shakespeare, acting out all the parts in their pajamas over the course of the passing weeks. And every night, by the second or third or fourth act of a given play, Mr. Arbitor would return home and take his share of the spotlight— usually making up his own parts and speaking in silly voices and fully derailing the story as he did—much to his wife’s chagrin and his daughter’s delight.
    But those memories were far away now, impossible even, and with a small sigh, Erin rolled out of bed to turn off the picture frame so she could finish moving in without distraction.
    It wasn’t until halfway through emptying her last box that she finally got a call from Dad.
    “I’m gonna be late at work, sweetie,” he said.
    “It already is late,” Erin told him. “I’m practically done unpacking.”
    “That’s great! Maybe you could empty some of my stuff too? Just lay it out for me? Don’t stay up too late or anything, but just some clothes and essentials for tomorrow?”
    “Sure, Dad,” Erin said, seeing no advantages to a refusal. She lifted the top few boxes off his pile without complaining, but soon found herself running a hand over one that caught her eye. “Hey, Dad?” she asked, just before ending the call.
    “Yeah?”
    Erin chewed her bottom lip. “When are we gonna be a family again?”
    In her tablet, Erin could