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all that, and a bit more.
    Like a lot of other Optimized children, Vijay had nearly killed himself with drugs and dangerous stunts, which degenerated into actual disfiguration gestures. Years of individual therapy and opto-support groups, combined with some remod surgery to take down the hyperhandsomeness, had straightened him out. But he’d kept the height. Liked the view, he said.
    “Took your time,” he remarked at last. He looked me up and down, taking in what had stayed the same and how much had changed. Vijay had let himself age, but not like I had. After I had the kids, I let myself go, happily and comfortably. Inow was as round in the hip and midriff as I’d always been in the bosom and had streaks of grey in my curling black hair. Vijay’s sleek green thermal jacket was tailored enough to show he was still in very good shape. His hair was salt-and-pepper, but still full and shining. His face was lined, and had that weathered quality that spoke of real sun and wind rather than cosmetic treatment.
    “Yeah.” I shoved my hands into my coat pockets. I couldn’t help glancing around me. Our fellow travelers were paying about as much attention as city dwellers ever do to strangers’ conversations, that is to say, none.
    “How pissed is Misao?” I asked.
    Vijay shook his head, very slowly, his lips pursed. “Not at all. This should worry you.”
    It did. A lot. I looked away and bit my lip.
    The El was crowded. It always is. I grabbed a strap and swayed shoulder to shoulder with Vijay and a mix of sleep-deprived commuters, ebullient college students, bright-eyed tourists, and a hyperactive business wonk. But at least the smells of humanity were as natural as they ever get, and if anyone was trying to sell me something, they had to be quiet about it or the spy cameras would ban them from public transport for six months.
    I could have sprung for a private car. I don’t know why I was determined not to. Perhaps to prove I could handle crowds and the unexpected. There had been a time when I couldn’t, but I was over that. I was a new woman. My own woman with my own good life. I had survived something no one else had. I could take whatever came on my own terms.
    The El snaked through the landscape of sparkling towers, stark white light, and storm-grey sky. Drone-planes and seagulls skimmed past us. At last, we slowed and stopped, andthe carefully designed, accentless, genderless, and inoffensive voice said, “Daley Tower, Number Four.”
    It took several seconds before I could make myself step out onto the platform. In the end, it was Vijay’s patient and sympathetic look that stiffened my nerves. The doors whooshed right behind me and the train slipped soundlessly away, its breeze ruffling the curls on the back of my scalp.
    Don’t stop. Don’t think about it. Just walk . I brushed past Vijay and let him fall into step behind me.
    The entrance to the Special Forces HQ in Chicago is a pair of glass doors with plain metal handles that take your palm prints when you pull on them. The only permanent decoration is the message painted in black on the transparent surface.
     

    UNITED WORLD GOVERNMENT FOR EARTH
    DEPARTMENT OF PEACE AND SECURITY MAINTENANCE
    SPECIAL FORCES DIVISION
    CHICAGO BRANCH
     
    The handle was cold beneath my now-identified palm. I hadn’t been around in such a long time that the door monitor felt the need to flash the small print for me:
    By entering these premises you have forfeited the rights of privacy and anonymity granted under UWG Common Cause Covenant 21:38:06. Personal background search and retrieval may be initiated at any time by any UWG-DPSM-SFD-CB employee or official designate, living or automated. Any word or action committed on the premises may be recorded and usedin any official or legal proceedings initiated by or against the entrant.
    “And you have a nice day,” I muttered as I walked through the door. Behind me, Vijay snickered quietly. The door did not answer.
    I don’t