Timemaster
Washington, Capital of the United States of America
Isabella Sumner looked at herself in the mirror, examining the lacy blue dress, fretting how it lay. It took her an hour to do her hair before she decided on a braid, put up like a crown over the brown locks that flowed loose to her shoulders. She didn't have that much time to spend on her dress. The party, she knew, was already starting.
"Do I look like a child?" she said, looking down at herself.
"No, Izzy. You look grown up." her middle sister said. Amelia, at twelve, was three years younger than Isabella, which was old enough to have an opinion that counted for something. She was laying next to their youngest sister, Dolly, an eight year old, a child, who couldn't understand what Izzy was worried about. The two rested like planks on the old four-posted canopy bed, a dark wood old thing draped in a floral pattern a granny might love, having been here in the Queen's Room of the White House since forever as far as Isabella or her sisters knew. As the eldest girl, her father allowed her to claim this room as her own.
"Grown up? Do I?" Izzy played with the dress, trying to make it lay a way that pleased her, but no matter what she did she felt like a little girl dressing up to go to church.
"They make your boobs look grown up!" little Dolly said, giggling.
"Dolly! Don't talk like that" Izzy turned around and did her best to look offended, though she was ashamed to admit to herself that she was worried about exactly that part of her too, among all the rest.
"You're fine." Amelia stood up and looked in the mirror from behind Izzy. As she grew, the middle sister's blonde hair and crystal blue eyes were joined by a strong chin, making her look like the reborn likeness of their great grandmother, Amanda Hexad, who had been the first woman President.
Izzy took one last dissatisfied look at herself, but her middle sister grabbed her by the shoulders. "You're the 'Infanta', people love you, you're just nervous."
"I know I am, but I can't stop." Izzy replied.
"They'll be paying attention to the dumb boat anyway. Don't worry. You get to go out on your own! I'm so jealous."
"Oh, I wish you could go too, Amelia."
"Don't worry about us." the middle sister said. "Just go out there and have fun. We'll find our own fun, maybe bring the Ouija board to Lincoln's room for the gajillionth time and see if we can talk to him."
Izzy smiled softly. "I have your thoughts?" she asked.
"You have our thoughts." Amelia replied. "Now go out their and knock them dead!"
Izzy's stomach fluttered as she went down the stairs, through the entrance, and to the front of the White House where a carriage was waiting. It had once been an automobile until petroleum fuel was all used up in the world, well before Izzy was born. They gutted it, put a box seat where the engine once had been, and rigged it to be pulled by horses. The inside had been changed as well, made so two long seats faced inward toward the center. She climbed into the leather interior, careful with her dress. The driver closed her door, climbed into the box seat, and set the horses to motion. Izzy looked back, and as the White House receded from her she felt lonelier than she'd ever been in her entire life.
Washington passed by. Here, in the center of the city, all was pristine. Electricity still flowed here, provided by the USS George Washington. The top floors in the canyons of old brick offices had been turned into apartments, but otherwise they had been maintained to look the same as they did before the country fell apart. Traffic was on foot, or bicycles. Horses and horse-drawn carriages were rarer, most of the later made of old automobiles. Izzy's carriage turned south, the setting sun eclipsed by the White House. Traffic was light, letting them move quickly across the mall, the marble sight of the capital building on one side, and the dreaded Washington monument on the other, the latter with its steel tip bright orange in the dying light of evening.
It was only minutes away now. What would she say? She ran through all the worst scenarios. She could trip, or offend an important person. How would she handle the fall-out of something like that? The City Wall was coming closer, a long steel bulwark held in place by girders like ribs on an ancient metal snake. The closer it came, the closer she came to the moment of truth, because the gala was exactly on the other side.
Her carriage passed silently through the gate on Ohio Drive. In the water on the east side were the cement remnants of older bridges, now just their supports lonely in the water. She stuck out her head, catching a glimpse of the Jefferson Memorial covered in stringed lights, the field glowing underneath them as if illuminated by fireflies. In that field were the tents, the food, and well-bred people mingling all over, wearing their best clothes and their best smiles. When her carriage pulled up, people took note of the Presidential seal on the door. All attention was on her, like a Queen arriving for her coronation. Her driver opened her door. When she stepped out, somebody announced her.
"Ladies and gentleman, the Infanta: Isabella Sumner."
She stood there, smiling, paralyzed. The people wore elegant gowns and recreations of fine old clothes. They applauded, and she waved in the genteel way she had been taught. When they went back to their mingling, she felt the loneliness again.
"May I escort you?" she heard a young male voice, and when she turned to look she saw it came from Declan Estes. He was only a few years younger than her, meticulously groomed, and to her relief, very openly gay. She smiled, but felt self-conscious about looking manic, so made an attempt to control her expression. "Virginians are gentlemen!" she cooed.
"That's what they say." he said, taking her coolly by the arm. "Pardon me, but I do not know what to call you. Is Infanta a title?"
"No." she giggled. "It's a nickname, some guy used it in an article and it stuck."
"Isabella will do?" he asked.
"Yes." she replied with one affirmative nod. "How are you and yours finding the capital?"
"This is a place of opportunities." Declan said. "Wait." He stopped a waiter in his path and lifted a small treat from his tray. It was a twinkie: an manufactured food from before the war, so full of complicated chemicals that those still around were edible fifty years after production had ceased. They were cut into slivers and dipped in cream. She took a sliver and tried to eat it as cleanly as she could. He smiled watching her struggle, and she had to try not to laugh.
"Someday I should get you to try ribs." he said. She giggled and said nothing. Their conversation was cut short when another announcement was shouted to the crowd. Everybody went quiet at once.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Vice President of the United States, John Sumner."
A smattering of applause, as polite as what Izzy had received, now greeter her half-brother as he stepped up to a podium, dressed in a gilded blue uniform with an old-timey naval hat complete with a feather, the glittering waters of the Tidal Basin at his back. This was the first time she saw the ship in the middle of the basin, a wooden sailing vessel with holes for guns, now bathed in the harsh beams of spotlights.
"Friends, neighbors, relatives." her half-brother said. "On this beautiful summer night, we come together to celebrate that our government is still going strong. The insurgencies in this country are can't last forever. Two days ago, not far out from Norfolk, a patrol I had the honor of leading discovered two such insurgent groups fighting on wooden ships, pretending to be pirates." he paused, and the crowd politely laughed. "We intervened, and with the justice of our constitutional government on my side, I personally adjudicated the issue. One of the vessels it turned out belonged to actual pirates, caught in US waters. That is their ship you see in the harbor, built by insurgents to steal the hard work of fellow Americans. We have no need for it, so we thought we'd put on a little show for you to remind you that we are still here, fighting the good fight. Enjoy!"
He stepped down. The people politely applauded. The lights dimmed, and slowly rising from speakers all around came the swelling sound of a classical piece. It built up toward a crescendo, bells rang, the spotlights danced on the Basin's surface, and she expected it to reach a climax in voice or horn.
Instead came a cannon. A shore battery, usually posted facing the Chesapeake, had been moved where it could fire on the pirate ship. The explosion was the harshest sound she knew, and its echo carried on long into the night. It startled her, and she let out a high-pitched squeak. Declan didn't notice. He just watched the ship, his face focused and stoic.
A second went off. She saw its shot splash into the lake. The music was still going, excited and fluttering, but it was easy to forget behind the sound of guns firing and fading away.
A third shot! A fourth! On the fourth, the shot hit its target, and the front of the tiny ship was smashed into splinters. The bow fell off, leaving the center of the ship mangled and gaping, the water swallowing it quickly. There was no more taking turns. The artillerists fired at the sinking ship as quickly as they could, pelting it and the water around it with iron as the people applauded from the shore. Just like that, the main event was over and the music faded to silent.
People went back to the party, but Declan looked on, watching the spot where the ship went down. Izzy feared she might have to leave him thoughts, and she dreaded doing that and putting herself at the mercy of the event.
"The capital is a beautiful place." he said.
"I've heard good things about Richmond."
"Yes." he looked behind them, toward the Jefferson Memorial festooned in lights. "You've done a better job of keeping the important parts of your city intact. Look at that! Other places would've fortified it, or pillaged it for the stone, or used it to house a water purifier for the Potomac. But you kept it a monument to an old American hero."
"I haven't seen that many cities." she said. "Though I would like to someday take a tour of the country."
"That wouldn't take long." Declan said.
"No, the whole country! I've read about places like San Francisco and Los Angelas. But even if I couldn't go that far, maybe see the civilized places, like Richmond, and Boston."
"New York?"
"Those old men? My father says they are no better than slavers..." she paused, horrified by what she said. "I'm sorry..."
There was a pause. "Don't worry." Declan said, smiling politely. "There hasn't been a slave in Richmond for ten years."
"We are one country." she said, still blushing. "We should host your family at the White House some time."
"That would be lovely." Declan said.
Isabella Sumner looked at herself in the mirror, examining the lacy blue dress, fretting how it lay. It took her an hour to do her hair before she decided on a braid, put up like a crown over the brown locks that flowed loose to her shoulders. She didn't have that much time to spend on her dress. The party, she knew, was already starting.
"Do I look like a child?" she said, looking down at herself.
"No, Izzy. You look grown up." her middle sister said. Amelia, at twelve, was three years younger than Isabella, which was old enough to have an opinion that counted for something. She was laying next to their youngest sister, Dolly, an eight year old, a child, who couldn't understand what Izzy was worried about. The two rested like planks on the old four-posted canopy bed, a dark wood old thing draped in a floral pattern a granny might love, having been here in the Queen's Room of the White House since forever as far as Isabella or her sisters knew. As the eldest girl, her father allowed her to claim this room as her own.
"Grown up? Do I?" Izzy played with the dress, trying to make it lay a way that pleased her, but no matter what she did she felt like a little girl dressing up to go to church.
"They make your boobs look grown up!" little Dolly said, giggling.
"Dolly! Don't talk like that" Izzy turned around and did her best to look offended, though she was ashamed to admit to herself that she was worried about exactly that part of her too, among all the rest.
"You're fine." Amelia stood up and looked in the mirror from behind Izzy. As she grew, the middle sister's blonde hair and crystal blue eyes were joined by a strong chin, making her look like the reborn likeness of their great grandmother, Amanda Hexad, who had been the first woman President.
Izzy took one last dissatisfied look at herself, but her middle sister grabbed her by the shoulders. "You're the 'Infanta', people love you, you're just nervous."
"I know I am, but I can't stop." Izzy replied.
"They'll be paying attention to the dumb boat anyway. Don't worry. You get to go out on your own! I'm so jealous."
"Oh, I wish you could go too, Amelia."
"Don't worry about us." the middle sister said. "Just go out there and have fun. We'll find our own fun, maybe bring the Ouija board to Lincoln's room for the gajillionth time and see if we can talk to him."
Izzy smiled softly. "I have your thoughts?" she asked.
"You have our thoughts." Amelia replied. "Now go out their and knock them dead!"
Izzy's stomach fluttered as she went down the stairs, through the entrance, and to the front of the White House where a carriage was waiting. It had once been an automobile until petroleum fuel was all used up in the world, well before Izzy was born. They gutted it, put a box seat where the engine once had been, and rigged it to be pulled by horses. The inside had been changed as well, made so two long seats faced inward toward the center. She climbed into the leather interior, careful with her dress. The driver closed her door, climbed into the box seat, and set the horses to motion. Izzy looked back, and as the White House receded from her she felt lonelier than she'd ever been in her entire life.
Washington passed by. Here, in the center of the city, all was pristine. Electricity still flowed here, provided by the USS George Washington. The top floors in the canyons of old brick offices had been turned into apartments, but otherwise they had been maintained to look the same as they did before the country fell apart. Traffic was on foot, or bicycles. Horses and horse-drawn carriages were rarer, most of the later made of old automobiles. Izzy's carriage turned south, the setting sun eclipsed by the White House. Traffic was light, letting them move quickly across the mall, the marble sight of the capital building on one side, and the dreaded Washington monument on the other, the latter with its steel tip bright orange in the dying light of evening.
It was only minutes away now. What would she say? She ran through all the worst scenarios. She could trip, or offend an important person. How would she handle the fall-out of something like that? The City Wall was coming closer, a long steel bulwark held in place by girders like ribs on an ancient metal snake. The closer it came, the closer she came to the moment of truth, because the gala was exactly on the other side.
Her carriage passed silently through the gate on Ohio Drive. In the water on the east side were the cement remnants of older bridges, now just their supports lonely in the water. She stuck out her head, catching a glimpse of the Jefferson Memorial covered in stringed lights, the field glowing underneath them as if illuminated by fireflies. In that field were the tents, the food, and well-bred people mingling all over, wearing their best clothes and their best smiles. When her carriage pulled up, people took note of the Presidential seal on the door. All attention was on her, like a Queen arriving for her coronation. Her driver opened her door. When she stepped out, somebody announced her.
"Ladies and gentleman, the Infanta: Isabella Sumner."
She stood there, smiling, paralyzed. The people wore elegant gowns and recreations of fine old clothes. They applauded, and she waved in the genteel way she had been taught. When they went back to their mingling, she felt the loneliness again.
"May I escort you?" she heard a young male voice, and when she turned to look she saw it came from Declan Estes. He was only a few years younger than her, meticulously groomed, and to her relief, very openly gay. She smiled, but felt self-conscious about looking manic, so made an attempt to control her expression. "Virginians are gentlemen!" she cooed.
"That's what they say." he said, taking her coolly by the arm. "Pardon me, but I do not know what to call you. Is Infanta a title?"
"No." she giggled. "It's a nickname, some guy used it in an article and it stuck."
"Isabella will do?" he asked.
"Yes." she replied with one affirmative nod. "How are you and yours finding the capital?"
"This is a place of opportunities." Declan said. "Wait." He stopped a waiter in his path and lifted a small treat from his tray. It was a twinkie: an manufactured food from before the war, so full of complicated chemicals that those still around were edible fifty years after production had ceased. They were cut into slivers and dipped in cream. She took a sliver and tried to eat it as cleanly as she could. He smiled watching her struggle, and she had to try not to laugh.
"Someday I should get you to try ribs." he said. She giggled and said nothing. Their conversation was cut short when another announcement was shouted to the crowd. Everybody went quiet at once.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Vice President of the United States, John Sumner."
A smattering of applause, as polite as what Izzy had received, now greeter her half-brother as he stepped up to a podium, dressed in a gilded blue uniform with an old-timey naval hat complete with a feather, the glittering waters of the Tidal Basin at his back. This was the first time she saw the ship in the middle of the basin, a wooden sailing vessel with holes for guns, now bathed in the harsh beams of spotlights.
"Friends, neighbors, relatives." her half-brother said. "On this beautiful summer night, we come together to celebrate that our government is still going strong. The insurgencies in this country are can't last forever. Two days ago, not far out from Norfolk, a patrol I had the honor of leading discovered two such insurgent groups fighting on wooden ships, pretending to be pirates." he paused, and the crowd politely laughed. "We intervened, and with the justice of our constitutional government on my side, I personally adjudicated the issue. One of the vessels it turned out belonged to actual pirates, caught in US waters. That is their ship you see in the harbor, built by insurgents to steal the hard work of fellow Americans. We have no need for it, so we thought we'd put on a little show for you to remind you that we are still here, fighting the good fight. Enjoy!"
He stepped down. The people politely applauded. The lights dimmed, and slowly rising from speakers all around came the swelling sound of a classical piece. It built up toward a crescendo, bells rang, the spotlights danced on the Basin's surface, and she expected it to reach a climax in voice or horn.
Instead came a cannon. A shore battery, usually posted facing the Chesapeake, had been moved where it could fire on the pirate ship. The explosion was the harshest sound she knew, and its echo carried on long into the night. It startled her, and she let out a high-pitched squeak. Declan didn't notice. He just watched the ship, his face focused and stoic.
A second went off. She saw its shot splash into the lake. The music was still going, excited and fluttering, but it was easy to forget behind the sound of guns firing and fading away.
A third shot! A fourth! On the fourth, the shot hit its target, and the front of the tiny ship was smashed into splinters. The bow fell off, leaving the center of the ship mangled and gaping, the water swallowing it quickly. There was no more taking turns. The artillerists fired at the sinking ship as quickly as they could, pelting it and the water around it with iron as the people applauded from the shore. Just like that, the main event was over and the music faded to silent.
People went back to the party, but Declan looked on, watching the spot where the ship went down. Izzy feared she might have to leave him thoughts, and she dreaded doing that and putting herself at the mercy of the event.
"The capital is a beautiful place." he said.
"I've heard good things about Richmond."
"Yes." he looked behind them, toward the Jefferson Memorial festooned in lights. "You've done a better job of keeping the important parts of your city intact. Look at that! Other places would've fortified it, or pillaged it for the stone, or used it to house a water purifier for the Potomac. But you kept it a monument to an old American hero."
"I haven't seen that many cities." she said. "Though I would like to someday take a tour of the country."
"That wouldn't take long." Declan said.
"No, the whole country! I've read about places like San Francisco and Los Angelas. But even if I couldn't go that far, maybe see the civilized places, like Richmond, and Boston."
"New York?"
"Those old men? My father says they are no better than slavers..." she paused, horrified by what she said. "I'm sorry..."
There was a pause. "Don't worry." Declan said, smiling politely. "There hasn't been a slave in Richmond for ten years."
"We are one country." she said, still blushing. "We should host your family at the White House some time."
"That would be lovely." Declan said.
