Swipe

infinity.
    “’Scuse us,” Mr. Arbitor said, and the woman jumped and spun around. “I’d like to register my daughter for class here. I believe you got my message last week—”
    “Mr. Arbitor! Oh yeah, sure, I remember.” The woman spoke in an old-fashioned Midwestern accent that made Erin feel farther from home than ever. “Pleasure to meetcha. Nancy Carrol.” She extended her tiny hand to shake theirs. “From Beacon, aren’t’cha! Oh, sure, that’s a long ways.”
    “It is,” Erin agreed.
    “And what brings you to Spokie, now?” she asked as she pointed to a Markscan on the desk.
    “Business.” Mr. Arbitor shrugged, and he and Erin swiped their hands under the scanner.
    Ms. Carrol read the back of the Markscan and wrote some things on her tablet computer. “And what is it’cha do?” she asked, but before Mr. Arbitor could respond, the answer popped up on the screen she held in her hands. Ms. Carrol’s eyebrows lifted well into her forehead.
    Erin couldn’t tell if the woman was impressed or afraid. “Government work,” she said.
    Mr. Arbitor smiled politely. “That’s right.”
    And everyone knew that was the end of that conversation.
    3
    For lunch, Mr. Arbitor suggested they stop at a Spokie diner for “some local flavor,” and while Erin had no desire to know what that was, they were soon looking over the menu in their corner booth.
    Beside them, a television frame flashed world news at a low volume, and their table displayed snippets from the local paper, which could be expanded and read by tapping on the glass surface.
    Erin was skimming an article on a recent Spokie kidnapping when her father directed her attention up to the frame.
    “Seems Lamson and Cylis are close to a treaty,” Mr. Arbitor said, and they watched on television as the general in chief of the American Union met with the European chancellor overseas.
    Erin nodded. “It’d be good for us, right?”
    “Best thing possible,” Mr. Arbitor said. “Anything to avoid another war.” He swiped his Mark against a scanner on the table and tapped his order into its interface. “Besides, the chancellor’s ideas are good. His E.U. policies make sense. Practically every speech Lamson gives, he’s singing the guy’s praises . . .”
    “Everyone is. Mom can’t say enough about how great it’s been over there recently.”
    “I’m aware.” Mr. Arbitor rolled his eyes. “She certainly visits enough to know.”
    “She has to, Dad—it’s her job.”
    “And yet I’m the bad guy for bringing us to Spokie.”
    “Let’s not talk about it,” Erin said, and she swiped her own Mark to place an order.
    “You know, your mom’s not the only one ‘forging unity’ these days.” He waved his hand dismissively as he said it.
    “Okay, Dad.”
    “What do you think we’re doing out here, anyway, huh? What do you think ‘government work’ actually means?”
    “I don’t know , Dad. You won’t tell me.”
    “You think your mom’s algorithms would do any good if there weren’t people like me to—”
    “Dad, drop it.”
    There was a pause. A waitress came by with Erin’s grilled soy cheese sandwich and Mr. Arbitor’s tempeh burger.
    “ Enforce it,” Mr. Arbitor said quietly.
    But Erin didn’t respond.
    The truth was, Erin’s mom was gone quite a bit. Ever since she’d had Erin, Dr. Arbitor had worked increasingly from Europe, facilitating the merger of A.U. and E.U. economies as the Americas adopted Cylis’s Mark program under the encouragement of General Lamson. Now that a treaty was in the works to merge governments too, Dr. Arbitor was overseas half of each year.
    “Will Lamson still be in charge?” Erin asked, watching the news on the wall.
    “Of the American branch, sure.” Mr. Arbitor was absorbed in his sandwich.
    “What about Parliament?”
    “They’ll still be around. Like how it used to work with state governments in this country.” Mr. Arbitor wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Why, you gonna run for office?”
    “What’ll they call it?” Erin asked.
    “Call what?”
    “The new country.” On the television, Chancellor Cylis was smiling and waving to the cameras.
    “It probably won’t happen for a while yet,” Mr. Arbitor said.
    He pushed his plate away and stood up to leave.
    “But when it does.”
    Mr. Arbitor smiled. “The Global Union,” he said.
    “And then there won’t be any more conflict?” Erin thought back to the earliest years of her childhood, of how scary it