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by looking at her. Currently, Dr. Arbitor stood, resting both arms casually against the glass overlook above the B.C.S.E. trading floor, absorbing the frenzy and trying not to think about . . . well, anything at all.
    A decorated professor of economics, Dr. Arbitor had transitioned from academia to public finance the moment General Lamson implemented Europe’s Mark program ten years ago. Ever since, it had been her job to ensure a smooth transition between the American Union and European Union economies. For years, Dr. Arbitor had flown back and forth between Beacon City and Third Rome over in Europe, working tirelessly toward the day when the two countries might finally be one.
    But just over two weeks ago, with the signing of the Global Union treaty pushed hastily through Parliament on both sides of the Atlantic, that day had arrived just a little bit too soon.
    Indeed, from the perspective of the Beacon City Stock Exchange, it was a worst-case scenario: a scramble that Olivia had worked ten years to prevent. But looking down on that trading floor now, seeing the aftermath in full force, Dr. Arbitor found to her terrible surprise that frankly, amazingly . . . she couldn’t have cared less.
    Olivia had been fielding frantic calls all day from every corner of the Global Union, putting out economic fires and issuing press releases to what felt like every last newspaper this side ofthe Atlantic. “What are you doing to fight inflation?” people were asking. “What do you have to say about America’s debt?” “Do you think General Lamson adequately thought through the effects this merger would have on Marked pension plans?” And on and on, the same old stuff.
    In fact, unless, by some grace of Cylis, it had ended without her, Olivia was pretty sure there was another conference call going on back in her office right now, at this very minute, even as she stood out here on this quiet balcony.
    So, after a few more short moments of respite, she turned around, braced herself, and walked right back into the thick of it.
    “I’m sorry, what was that?” Dr. Arbitor asked as she sat back down at her desk. “’Fraid you were cutting in and out for a minute there.”
    The voice on the other end of the line sizzled with anger and agitation. “I said we really need you over in Third Rome—now—to pick up the pieces on Europe’s end of this transition.”
    “It isn’t my fault your Parliament pushed that G.U. treaty through before Barrier Street was ready, Bill. We’d been prepping for this merger for nearly a decade now. You’re telling me you couldn’t have waited another three months? I mean, what did you expect would happen?”
    Dr. Arbitor took a deep breath and tuned out the next several things Bill said. When it seemed he was done, she shrugged absently. “Sure, Bill. Whatever you say.”
    “Does that mean you’re getting on a shuttle? Does that mean you’ll be here in the morning? Because I really need for it to mean that you’ll be here in the morning, Olivia.”
    “I have to go, Bill. We’ll talk.”
    “We’re talking now. I’m asking for answers now , Liv.”
    Dr. Arbitor ended the call without even registering she’d done it.
    And for a moment, then, she sat, staring blankly at the wallscreens of her windowless office. In front of her was a drawing, displayed electronically just as it had been every day for the past six years, sketched long ago by her daughter, Erin.
    “Any word?”
    The voice came unexpectedly from the doorway behind her, and Olivia jumped when she heard it. She turned in her chair and nodded when she saw him.
    “Hiya, Mac. Good to see you.”
    “Just wondering if . . . I dunno. Just wondering if you’d heard anything, maybe.”
    Dr. Arbitor shook her head. She knew Mac and Erin had been close. Summers growing up, Erin spent nearly every day cooped up in this small Barrier Street office, and indeed, nearly all of that time had been spent with Mac. Mac taught Erin everything he