Chapter 4: In which Malcolm helps kill some industries (Part 2/3)
ATTENTION, again:
You know the drill.
bit . ly/ao3strategist4
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AN: Welcome back, friends! Hell, yeah, I finally finished chapter 4! It was a struggle. I'm so happy. I'll publish part 3 later this week after a teensy bit more editing.
Many thanks to those who took the time to fill out the survey for New Athenian values and to those who shared their thoughts on healthcare and constitutions and such. I incorporated all your comments throughout this chapter. And thanks to those who filled out that meta feedback survey for part 1 of chapter 4! I did not expect the tucking-Alicia-into-bed scene to be a common answer for fave moments (at least within the small sample size of that survey), but awwww.
There were opposing opinions on the (perhaps way too technical) healthcare discussion. (I think I'll rewrite that and some other bits someday. Moving on now.) And I SERIOUSLY appreciate you letting me know your thoughts. That's why I asked. I rewrote scenes in part 2 based on the feedback. I wanted to make it better while still writing what I enjoy. It's definitely an improvement from my 2018(!) rough draft. So, thank you.
There will be more work stuff, which is a huge reason I wrote this novel, so I was happy to see the council meeting also included in fave moments. However, there won't be AS much later as there is in this chapter, which was meant to be more "day in the life". There's also nothing else that's as technical as Bae's spiel (save for a smaller thing in chapter 17-ish, but that's Malcolm being Malcolm).
I've updated the bibliography, of course. (On AO3.) I've also managed to edit most of the previous chapters so they read a lot better. (Also only on AO3 so far.)
Back in his office, merely a floor above their conference room within their shipping container complex, Malcolm revisited the findings from the recent round of public consultations. Scanning through the document, he considered how to amend the drafted city values.
Freedom and Safety
Equality and Justice
Truth and Accountability
Collaboration and Innovation
Self- and Shared Empowerment
Beneficence and Non-Maleficence
Critical Patriotism
Six twin pillars and a special seventh to build the foundation of New Athens.
His heart raced at mere words. Would removing a pillar or two cause the foundations to crumble? Was there a weak link or a missing column that'd cause the others to crack?
No pressure. If he or the councillors or their respective teams had missed something, they'd had the backup of the public, who'd already provided input. The constituents' very involvement, too, provided democratic legitimacy.
No pressure. Perhaps what Malcolm was doing meant little in the first place, if values were too inflexible to change even with this exercise. Because if cultural pillars were more permanent than the physical pillars currently being erected, how could he possibly think that settling on a list of words would influence how New Athens would be founded?
No pressure. This document wouldn't necessarily be permanent. Making errors in codifying a set of values and principles for a generally uncodified constitution could only do so much harm.
Despite the reminders, the burden loomed over him. Institutions were rigid; values were sticky. But Malcolm comforted himself again in the fact that, even in its "finalized" form, this was merely the first draft of an evergreen document.
It certainly seemed like people were getting that. There had been a comment pointing out that constitutions were better uncodified. He'd also gotten a random request during training from a poli sci student who asked for a sort of "living tree doctrine" in the spirit of democracy and continuous improvement. Not very American perhaps, but there was reason to take inspiration from the country that hosted his parents' first wedding.
Malcolm remembered then how Frank had pitched to a crowd of Americans that focusing on "peace, order, and good government" would better ensure the opportunity of "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness"—and how Frank had then politely rubbed it in all their faces that the American Dream was more a reality up north. Canadians at least hadn't needed to be tricked into being given healthcare.
Will the 69% of respondents who rated Truth and Accountability as high priority bite us in the ass for doing things like tax-incidence-related accounting schemes? Malcolm wondered. For the time being, he let himself think not. Maybe he could argue that Accountability trumped Truth in this case.
He combed again through the debrief of the survey from the last consultation round. Some 50% of respondents had rated Collaboration and Innovation to be "very important". It seemed a tad low…. Ehh, what the hell, he'd just propose to leave it in. It was a useful reminder to avoid competition for the sake of competition and to be wary of depressed innovation caused by excessive collaboration. Half saying "very important" was enough.
Merely 43% said the same for Beneficence and Non-Maleficence—do good and do no harm—which had replaced the earlier draft's set of Respect and Compassion. Meant to be a catch all, Malcolm now supposed Beneficence and Non-Maleficence were too vague, too unrealistic, too redundant, and too jargonistic to be meaningful. He'd kick 'em out.
When he reviewed Bae's comments on Critical Patriotism—namely, the popularity discrepancy among public servants versus the general public—Malcolm realized a potential misunderstanding and miscommunication. (Unless he was the one misreading the situation.) Was the public—or at least 74% of respondents—not concerned whether or not decisions would be made by civil servants with unblinded allegiance to the city they governed? Or was it that the public didn't subscribe to such values themselves? Or was it that Critical Patriotism was repetitious? Perhaps he'd never know.
Regardless, what values-based mechanisms wouldn't cover, rules-based ones would. In a move to please both Friedrich and Finer, the city government was both recruiting candidates who had the moral push to embrace these principles and imposing laws and other moral-pull measures that would force rascals to find extra creative ways to break rules.
So. What would Malcolm propose here? Perhaps it'd be better to rephrase Critical Patriotism to something more obviously about the public interest. And, to make an even number of pillars, maybe they'd also classify this value as a pillar instead of a bedrock. That'd simplify things. Uncodified constitutional systems were difficult enough to understand anyway.
Making note of his suggestions, Malcolm sent off the new draft to the team and tasked Pravir to ensure that public communications on constitutional matters would be kept at an eighth-grade level and be ready by Monday.
Not five seconds later, Malcolm's computer dinged again.
Pravir: Wrapping it up Friday morning.
Of course he would.
After catching a glimpse of a city-sponsored fabula praetexta, held to honor Apollo on his special day, Malcolm headed for the woods of Camp Half-Blood. As he strolled past the clearing where Gaugamela 2.0 had happened, a rush of pride bloomed within him at the memory of their victories. A reverse Romeo and Juliet indeed. Oh, Percy.
Wafts of pine and mud tickled his nose as he sauntered deeper into the woods, and once he arrived at a spot with a bench-shaped rock cushioned with leaves, he took a seat.
His watch ticked and ticked: one past, two past, three past, four past…. It was 10:07 now, and the drumming of his fingers resembled the drum in his chest. He kept waiting.
A few minutes later, light thuds fell behind him on the forest floor. Malcolm swiveled around.
From the thick of the groves, a dryad emerged, her skin coursing with more chlorophyll than usual—topped only in the state of desperation he'd witnessed whenever Camp Half-Blood was under siege. The leaves in her wreath rustled as she shook her head.
Malcolm's heart dropped. "Didn't go well?"
Marcella sat herself beside him, her crossed legs as rigid as a tree. Self-consciously, Malcolm straightened his back before she could scold him for slouching. But Marcella was too preoccupied for even that.
"You know," she said through her teeth, "some aren't going to want to do anything with any fossil fuel company."
"It's different!"
"Well, what did we expect?" Marcella said in a sigh. "Some people simply don't care about reducing emissions outside this city. And if it doesn't sound perfectly pristine like wind or solar—"
"But solar's—!" Malcolm began to erupt. No, he totally didn't need to go through this.
"Oh, I said. Jake Mason, too," Marcella told him. "But they did seem more receptive after I mentioned that Europe has many biomethane projects. Although, I should note, with this crowd, it might help more to call it renewable natural gas instead of biomethane. The dryads seemed to like it more. A few also appeared more convinced after Jake said he and his team had explored onshore wind only to determine that we would have to cut so much of the woods to get enough space. But, overall, they all barely budged."
Malcolm remembered Jake inquiring about wind zoning regulations earlier this summer and Marcella advising the rest of the Council that an onshore farm would get in the way of New Athens's future expansion.
He ran his tongue over his teeth at a twinge of guilt. "Are there people still pissed we cleared the eastern woods for the city?"
"Less so. But naturally, they're insisting on expanding Mare Novum," she said, referring to the offshore wind project being proposed by a New Roman company. "So, I asked them to please, please help put up the money for it or submit a solution to our Offshore Open Challenge, because it is currently not cost-effective for the city government to allocate funding for more turbines right now—not when offshore is already much more expensive to begin with, even with Percy Jackson's help."
Malcolm huffed amusedly as Marcella took a breather from her rant. Her bright green skin finally turned to her darker brown.
"I made it clear we need a mix of renewables, even if we didn't want to help New York transition," she said. "I don't know what it will take for enough to get on board to avoid protests. The other issue that concerns them is the public funding. Jake sent us new operating cost estimates today. The costs might be low enough for us to decrease the subsidy to a more publicly acceptable amount."
So, technically, the RNG project could work. Economically, it'd provide riches, especially if Jake's company, Vio Life, licensed out their tech to mortals. What remained, therefore, was how to help Vio Life get the social license to operate their project—and appease opposers to the city funding.
Perhaps there were other angles to take for the next external advisory committee.
Malcolm glanced at Marcella. "Could we estimate the emissions coming in from outside the city? To compare? Project versus no project? Is that…?"
Marcella shook her head. "It's too tricky to be accurate. We could try. But it likely won't convince the rest anyway, if they're afraid methane leaks will happen here, despite Jake's assurances."
After a long pause of the two silently grumbling, she had her own proposal:
"I was thinking we can lead a future discussion—not necessarily as part of the formal committee—with wind and solar. The opposing dryads will like that. We're using wind and solar anyway. No matter. And then we can discuss our plans for solar waste and then segue into existing industrial waste, municipal waste, and forest residues. The satyrs especially will like that. And we can bring up what useful things Hephaestus is already doing with slag and co-products from these sorts of projects. The demigods will like that. And with that order of presentation, maybe that will be their 'aha' to okay the project."
"That could help," Malcolm said, much more hopefully. "On top of that, I have another idea…. What if we could somehow show people Long Island's trash shipments?"
Marcella thought. "We can arrange a one-way IM with Iris. We could maybe even track the trucks and trains to other states or show some sort of simulation," she said. "Why? Do you think the visual would convince them?"
"So, one problem is that they see renewable natural gas competing with solar and wind."
Marcella's eyes shined a brighter green. "We could reframe it," she mused. "It would be about waste."
"Yeah. And another problem is that they don't see the waste issues as a New Athens problem," Malcolm said. "They don't see it as their problem. So, if we say, 'We all live on Long Island. Many of us eat at mortal restaurants, stay in mortal motels, and get here using mortal vehicles. The city also sources a lot of things locally. Our actions help produce all this waste and, on top of that, emit greenhouse gases from gasoline and fossil natural gas. This is our problem, too. And the city is accounting for scope 2 and scope 3 emissions, not just direct scope 1 emissions.'"
"And also: 'What would happen if other states stop taking Long Island's trash?'" Marcella added.
"That, too," he agreed. "Then we can go, 'Long Island's spending X much money to truck waste off the Island because there's no space for landfills anymore and they're only incinerating some of the waste for energy. Mortals haven't worked out an immediate solution for the rest of the waste, but we have one.'
"'So'," he continued, "'why should New Athens ignore this problem? Why wouldn't we take advantage of being given money for the ingredients not only to create a source of renewable fuel for vehicles and materials for buildings, but to also replace some of Long Island's fossil natural gas with renewable natural gas?'"
"'If'," Marcella said, "'you let us build some sort of tubal device to inject renewable natural gas into Long Island's fuel network system.'"
Malcolm smiled. "Now then they'd think we're being shady."
"Let me propose it then," she offered. Marcella snickered, looking him up and down. "I think they would hate you for even saying 'pipeline'."
Malcolm laughed. "Ouch?"
"Well, do we want this to work or do we not?" she said.
Malcolm met her eyes. "Thank you, Marcella."
She waved him off and produced from the deep pockets of her dress a container of apple slices, berries, nuts, and a tissue, leaving Malcolm to wonder once more if this was just a Marcella thing or if it hadn't fully hit her that the ten-year-old she'd met had grown into a fully-fledged demigod. But he took her offer all the same.
At the Camp Half-Blood amphitheater, Malcolm and Marcella joined their fellow city councillors in scattering in the front row among a dozen industry representatives, advocacy group leaders, and youth delegates, as well as thirty curious members of the general public.
As he'd promised, Leo had come from Bunker Nine, piggybacking Alicia, who was now crunching on an apple slice from Malcolm's lunchable. While they waited for the meeting to begin, Malcolm munched on some almonds and studied the scene. In the seconds he took to note new attendees and acknowledge Connor and Travis Stoll plopping down nearby, Leo had gotten Alicia to throw blackberries into his waiting mouth.
As Alicia giggled, Malcolm shot Leo a look. "Let's try to avoid risking injury, shall we?" Malcolm said to the both of them. "Allie, do I want to know what trouble he puts you up to in Bunker Nine?"
"There's no trouble!" Alicia insisted, just as Leo protested, "Hey, I'm careful with the kiddo! She's a Michelin Man in the Bunker, just wrapped in safety features."
"And you?"
"Set a good example for young engineers," Leo said.
"Better be."
Instantly, Leo sent one of his signature troublemaker smiles Malcolm's way. "If I hurt my handsome face, then you wouldn't be able to admire it." He winked.
Malcolm took a look at said face as Alicia laughed. "That would suck," he said.
At Chiron's beckoning, Malcolm stood to get the show on the road. Once they'd passed the hellos and thank yous, Percy claimed dibs on the first five minutes.
Striding up to the center of the amphitheater in his easy yet confident stature, Percy commanded everyone's attention. His weighty gaze—blazing a more startlingly green than normal with that teal t-shirt Aphrodite campers had complimented him on at breakfast—landed on councillor after councillor.
"First: for the love of Poseidon and Amphitrite and Pontus and Thalassa," Percy said, "can we please ban plastic straws? And those plastic six-pack rings? And all single-use plastics?"
Leo leaned towards Malcolm. "Instead of those boring 'refuse, reduce, reuse, repair, recycle' posters and hashtags," he said, "you could do something like, 'Suck dicks, not straws.'"
Hilarious, considering some men apparently didn't recycle because they figured it made them look gay.
"You offering? Or asking?" Malcolm muttered. He knew full well he could never utter those words to Leo's face.
Leo clamped his lips together, but couldn't keep his shoulders from shaking—which felt like a better accomplishment than actually hearing Leo's literal LOL.
"I've been putting up mesh netting around Long Island Sound to catch the garbage," Percy was saying, "but I'm pretty sick of it, and we need real solutions from all retail industries.
"And second: We also really need to deal with microplastics that end up in the waters, so the city should regulate sectors like the fashion industry until it uses better materials and makes fewer clothes. So, maybe we put a high tax on synthetic clothes or something."
"Excuse me?" From across the amphitheater, Drew Tanaka, daughter of Aphrodite, shot Percy her infamous stink eye.
Beside Malcolm, Connor snickered to Travis. "He's really underestimating how important clothes are to them."
Percy removed his hands from the pockets of his Bermudas. "Look, many Atlantians also love fashion, my sister included. That doesn't mean they mindlessly buy a gazillion items made from horrible materials only to wear each piece seven times on average before throwing them out. Which does happen. Which is insane."
"Oh my gods, he's really doing it," Travis said. "He's really doing it."
As Percy went on about higher consumption and cutbacks in quality, Drew scoffed. "Our clothes are good quality, so they're more in vogue and they last longer, which means people want them. We're doing our part."
"Yeah," her brother Jax said. "Our clothes are also donated. We know some—a lot, okay—we know a lot of other people's clothes are thrown out, not donated. But the Aphrodite cabin makes sure that our clothes are repurposed."
Next to them, Marcella said, "We appreciate all those efforts. But, speaking honestly, I—and my department—would be with Percy on this. It is our responsibility to reduce waste and we have to consider the second-order effects. If the A— if anyone keeps producing clothes at such a high rate—"
"But we donate them!" Drew exclaimed.
"Yes, the clothes are donated," Marcella said. "But those donations would displace other donations, would they not? Then the clothes that would have been donated would go to a landfill. So, in the grand scheme of things, there's more waste. We need absolute reductions in waste, not just nasoniless waste per quantity of clothing. The same goes for microplastics."
Malcolm wondered if her words would come back to haunt them when dealing with the biomethane issue.
In the millisecond silence, Percy got in another word. "I just want to stress: No one here sees the consequences of fun weekly shopping sprees and five-minute bubble tea drinking. But we do. And I can tell you that there's even way more plastic hidden deep in the ocean than on the surface. The rivers and oceans shouldn't be a— It shouldn't be a trash pit. I shouldn't have to spend every day saving turtles and fish and dolphins and other species. My work shouldn't have to exist, and especially not because of New Athens.
"Hades, a research team found plastic fibers in the guts of animals in the Mariana Trench. The Mariana Trench!That's 36,000feet deep. This isn't even considering landfills, like Marcella said. And there's tons of microplastics in oceans because our clothes are now made with plastic. We all eat microplastics. There's also microplastics in merwomen's placentas. Don't be surprised if researchers find out that that's happening to mortals, too. Or demigods or dryads."
Still seated, Jax crossed his arms. "Do you have evidence for any of these claims?"
"I'll share some Atlantian research if you really need it," said Percy agitatedly. "It's not that hard to understand. Polyester and other synthetic fabrics are partially plastic. Guess what happens when we make clothes and do laundry? Microplastics come off and end up in the ocean. And we can barely even recycle polyester."
Drew sneered. "You know, there always seems to be an air of sexism here in how fashion is targeted disproportionately in comparison to other sectors. I just really wonder how much we're targeted because women are perceived to do less useful things. So let me point out: fashion is an industry. This is art! Why are you only attacking fashion? How about the other kinds of art? The paintings and other crafts? How about all the useless robots Hephaestus makes that no one does anything with? You know how much paper and plastic they use?"
As Pravir futilely tried to calm down his siblings while seemingly avoiding their and every other person's gazes, Malcolm saw Alicia looking up at him and Leo with wide eyes. He made a mental note to talk to her later.
"I don't see why we shouldn't look at all those sectors, too," Percy said.
"There's a lot of livelihoods that depend on this industry and are hanging in limbo," Drew said. "With a tax like Percy's suggesting— I just— This is ridiculous. Prav, come on, you know this."
Rayel looked at her incredulously. "You know, you can't just ask him for leniency because he's your brother."
"Look, the city isn't even open yet," Pravir said flatly. "It's not like jobs are 'lost'. So, there's no money for 'retraining'. And maybe in the process of adapting, businesses could figure out how to operate without cutting jobs. There's also a bunch of environment- and climate-related grants, which Marcella and Malcolm can speak to. Or, we also have all that info on our website."
Drew's glare told Malcolm that Pravir might've had to figure out backup accommodation plans that night. Maybe Hermes could offer him refuge.
After a look from Chiron, Malcolm jumped in. "Alright," he said. "Thanks for that. Percy, we'll review the research on plastic bans. We just have to make sure we won't cause worse problems elsewhere, or else we'd just play whack-a-mole. For example, fewer grocery plastic bags, which people do reuse, like for trash, might mean more single-use garbage bags. And needing to use reusable totes might cause an unholy increase in emissions. We're not sure. We'll look into it. And the tax squarely fits in our Zero Waste Strategy and goals for cleaning the Sound, so we can look at incorporating it into the plans."
"Well, of course you'd side with him," said Jax.
Malcolm turned to him. "With the proposal? To use sin taxes to cut waste and water pollution? Because it's the environmentally responsible thing to do?"
"Malcolm," Drew beseeched. "What if there are other policy instruments and technical measures? We can't just make these assumptions. Why not work with industry and think outside the box? There could be programs with innovative solutions! Like maybe the waste-to-energy thing Marcella's been talking about."
"We're doing that while trying to cut overall waste," Marcella said.
Drew spread her arms. "Well, we could explore more technologies to make waste disappear—"
"We can't just make waste disappear," Percy said.
"—or incinerate it with no emissions."
"How would that be possible?" Percy retorted.
Drew glowered at him. "I don't know! There could be research to look into it! Things do disappear! Monsters disappear. Has anyone ever looked at the possibility of vaulting trash and CO2 and other stuff off with those scummy things?"
As Percy fell silent, every other camper followed suit.
"No one," Malcolm said in a raised voice, "is going to Tartarus—or opening a portal to it—over clothes. Or for any reason." He took a breath. "Thanks, everyone, for your perspectives. To clarify something before we move on, I think there might also be some misunderstanding about our funding programs. The Hephaestus Cabin gets funding for applied R&D, not so much pure R&D, which isn't as productive. And, Drew and Jax, I'm sure there are some things you can apply your skills to to fit the eligibility criteria for our current funding. So please take a look at that option. There is help."
Another twenty minutes passed, with few complaints on taxes on any packaged water and much hurrahs on updates of the city's nasoni plans.
Malcolm ended the town hall with another call for blood donations.
All the way to Cabin Six, Malcolm did his best to assure Alicia she could definitely continue her Bunker Nine experimentations. Percy was already waiting by the doorway for Annabeth, who'd just changed from rayons to polyesters and was now zipping up her leather cuirass.
"How'd it go?" she said, laying a peck on Percy's lips.
Malcolm left them to it and let Alicia pull him by the hand towards the cabin library, where they found Claire, Zeke, and Sophie crowding around some purple cardstock in Conrad's hand. In his other hand, Conrad held a matching purple rose.
Malcolm zeroed in on the flower. That couldn't possibly have been something from or to Grace. Could it?
"Ooh, what's that?" Alicia rushed to them, tiptoeing to try to peek at the purple paper.
Conrad handed the items to her.
Yeah, clearly not.
"Why don't you read it out, Sha?" said Claire.
At once, Alicia stopped in her tracks, her eyes held high above the heathered card balancing in the tips of her fingers. Her siblings gave her nods of encouragement. But Alicia didn't move.
"It's in Greek," Conrad said. "You can translate it."
Finally, Alicia focused on the card. After a moment of concentration, she slowly read aloud as Malcolm silently followed along the words:
Dear Alicia, Annabeth, Claire, Conrad, Malcolm, Sophie, and Zeke,
COME TO CELEBRATE!
You are cordially invited to the Festival of Atlantis.
Celebrate Atlantis and its people with food and fun.
When: Friday, July 22nd at noon (Atlantian Time)
Where: The Palace of Atlantis Courtyard
Bring your appetite.
Gifts will be accepted in the fundraiser for
the Atlantian School of Art and Design.
The RSVP details were crossed out and replaced with a cursive, handwritten 'Tell Percy.'
Aside from a few hiccups—on "courtyard" and "fundraiser"—Alicia had provided an accurate translation. Best part? She knew she did.
"Make sure you're free. It's actually her birthday," Percy told them from the doorway. "It's celebrated on the fourth Friday every July. She kind of uses it as an excuse to throw a party for everyone."
A party. Was that not wasteful spending? Malcolm thought rather scathingly.
But, he then figured, perhaps a "party" could also be considered as civic engagement. Maybe the party wasn't taxpayer-funded. And maybe it wouldn't make a difference if it were.
Ugh. So much for overcoming his wretched, stupidity-inducing jerk reactions about her.
By now, his siblings were filing out of the cabin, giving Malcolm the space to change into his training clothes—and to think. So, with several minutes to spare for training prep, he could afford to do a little dissecting.
At the mere thought of Rhode, he automatically felt a ball expand and rise in his chest.
Annoyance, he easily deduced.
At what?
Her presumptuousness, for one. Her amusement by him, for another.
Why had she pestered him of all people?
It didn't seem so much like she had despised him more than others. Not at all. Perhaps it was more so ingroup-outgroup bias. Rhode hadn't teamed up with other campers, had she? She hadn't been in a position to know them well enough to treat them as entertainment.
A tiny, tiny bit of him was… what was that? Flattered? How dumb. But, oh, how… how special it was to have received her attention. This… this person… this… multihyphenate had directed her gaze, spent her thoughts, taken her efforts… at him, of him, for him….
'I think it's admirable…' 'Don't just stop because I'm teasing you a little.'
She had given him a genuine compliment.
And she'd also given dozens of other people genuine compliments.
(That bubble-balloon-ball in him lost some air. Was that a flicker of disappointment?)
But—and the deflation then ceased—it wasn't quite the same, was it?
At this point, he also noticed some sort of swarm in his abdomen.
Nerves, he gathered. He recounted the moments he'd unknowingly walked into the unrelenting jaws of her wit and the times he'd been released from her traps at only her will—over and over, invoking both his ire and intrigue.
'I'll make this easy for you.' 'You could show me what's worth complimenting.'
It was startling to think. She'd asked him. Perhaps not only him, but him specifically.
How much of it was because she'd found him amusing? Was that even a good thing? Could it be anything but a good thing?
'You're not as covert as you think.'
Malcolm felt his neck heat, and his mind resisted her accusation and his own acknowledgement of it. But he told himself that someone like Rhode, as with Aphrodite, or even Reyna or Bae or—well, some others he knew at camp—were objectively prone to arrest people's attention. It wasn't just Rhode. So, so what if he had been looking?
And what reason was there to be embarrassed anyway, when Rhode herself had been looking back?
There'd also been that moment, he thought, at the end of their weird conversation, when he'd suddenly felt more ruffled than before he'd spoken.
But why?
Why? Amid the clamorous protests cluttering his head, Malcolm saw right through their deceit. He hadn't exactly wanted to turn her down, that was why. Sure, it still hadn't made sense to take up her offer, but the idea... With her Gaugamela-invoking smarts, unfathomable power, efficient guile… and the shrewdness in her gaze, and those alluring colors, and her soft s—
Malcolm left the matter in a limbo, backed up, and followed another train of thought. The swarm jittering within him indicated he was nervous, yes. But there was something else—something not unpleasant, in fact.
He focused on the feeling. It felt like he was grateful or something and— What was indicated by this sense of elation? Luck? Grateful and lucky for something… shared between them. Like an acknowledgement of each other's—
Ah, and there it was. At the heart of his own ingroup-outgroup bias: trust.
Malcolm had to bite the inside of his mouth as joy and relief and pride ballooned in him, threatening to crack his stony facade. Despite their differences, they'd managed to find that… even cultivate it.
'That's considerate of you.'
The words—his and hers—ran loops in his head.
Trust, huh?
Those other campers didn't share that with Rhode, did they? They didn't have that huge shortcut of being close to Percy. And they hadn't teamed up with her, hadn't fought alongside her—alone, no less. They hadn't saved or been saved by her….
"What are you laughing at all by yourself?"
Malcolm got his bearings. A couple feet away, Zeke looked at him amusedly while snapping on his knife holster.
Malcolm's jaw twitched. "I'm not laughing."
Zeke's eyes were narrowed. "You are smiling, though."
"It's just…" Malcolm shrugged and let his grin fly free. "Like, can you believe it? They've been engaged!"
Malcolm turned his face away and collected his xiphos and grappling hook.
"I know, right?!" Zeke said. "Man, I still can't believe Annabeth hid it for this long! She sucks at hiding things!"
From outside the cabin, Annabeth peeped her head through the open door. "I heard that!"
"You know, if you told us sooner, we could've started planning your wedding sooner," Zeke said.
"Fair," Annabeth shrugged.
Percy threw an arm around her. "I think it worked out well, though."
Annabeth grinned at him. "I think it did, too."
The group of eight made their way to the arena. When Zeke began to explain that Annabeth had just made him PM of her wedding, because gods knew she despised dealing with Gantt charts, Malcolm did his best to listen.
And he reminded himself not to extrapolate like a dumbo. (But really, what in the hells of Hades was that offer?)
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