Chapter 5: In which Malcolm doesn't actually hate a party (Part 1/3)
Kalí chroniá! (Happy new year!)
There's some (Ancient) Greek dialogue here. There'll be even more in Part 2 of Chapter 5. On Archive of Our Own, you can roll over the text (or tap on mobile) to see the English translation. FanFiction . n e t doesn't allow this. This site also messes up formatting, but it's perfect on AO3. For a much better reading experience, read this chapter on AO3 (remove the spaces):
bit . ly/ao3strategist5
I have also joined tumblr! Links to meta discussions (on reader concerns about taxes lol and other things) are on AO3.
The Percy-versus-Drew saga inflamed Camp Half-Blood for four more unbearable days, until it was finally eclipsed by some Taylor-Kanye phone call drama that swarmed through cabins more forcibly than Gaea's past attempts to overthrow camp. Malcolm very much wanted to be excluded from any of this brouhaha. But when Drew wasn't busy gagging at fashion choices left and right, or waging war for her parasocial relationship with Ms. Swift, she remained dead set on lobbying for a CCUVOWM (i.e., carbon capture, utilization, and vault-off-with-monsters) strategy.
"Just letting you all know," Pravir said, during a council meeting on Monday, "I wouldn't put it past my siblings to sneak around City Hall. And I wouldn't put it above them to charmspeak any of you when they're asking about R&D funding."
Malcolm gaped. "Sheesh. Well, then we should really fast track those advanced security measures. I'll talk to Clarisse—"
At that, Pravir scoffed. "I already did. She and Brett are on it, and Chiron's talking to Harpocrates on Wednesday."
"Awesome," Malcolm said. "Thanks."
Unlike Marcella's headshakes, Pravir's came with a hint of an eye roll. "I don't need headpats for following protocol."
Malcolm held in a sigh and another (and very snarky) thank you. "'Kay." Ass, his brain supplied in reflex.
There'd never be any winning with the dude, Malcolm supposed. Pravir was like Rhode in that sense. Except, where Rhode came with a smorgasbord of moods, running the gamut from outrage to coquetry, Pravir just came (to Malcolm anyway) with two settings: neutral or vicious.
As Ainsleigh narrowed her eyes and Chiara widened hers, catching Malcolm's eye with a half-a-second look, Rayel said, "Yeah, I kinda like the wholesome vibe we're trying to create here, though."
"Yeah! Me, too," Chiara said. "Okay, so, I'm reviewing the last of the pitches later with you, right, Malcolm?"
Silently thanking the both of them, he replied in the affirmative and welcomed an argument with Bae about means testing. Sorely tempted as he was to agree with Bae just to spite Pravir, he managed to use a level of restraint that would've made Athena proud.
Since the City Hall break room didn't come with a punching bag, Malcolm blew off his steam by putting on the top of his pile a briefing he'd requested from Pravir on equitable academic tracking models—completed by Pravir three days early.
Tracking was one of the few things they'd respectfully skirmished about on the campaign trail—and exactly why Malcolm had wanted him to lead the Education Department. While Malcolm had proposed that New Athens should educate students at their appropriate ability levels without, of course, introducing modern-day segregation in public classrooms, Pravir had said he agreed with the intent but could suggest alternatives to tracking.
His memo was still saying the same thing:
Under the illusion of meritocracy and holistic admissions criteria, public schools using tracking can run afoul of the United Nations' Sustainable Development Goals, which the schools may claim to adopt. There is also the danger of mis-tracking in such schools, which can lead to severe underrepresentation of Black and Latino students (from lower-income households) [3, 4].
If it were anyone else, Malcolm wouldn't think anything of the curiously pointed way this briefing had been written (in that the digs the piece took sounded very much like it was directed at the Illinois Science and Mathematics Academy). But it was Pravir's pen that had touched this piece last.
Malcolm carried on.
Tracking does not help to decrease achievement gaps across race or class [3, 5, 6]. In fact, tracking worsens inequality and would further privilege a student who is already blessed with the means to attend elite universities [3, 5, 7].
That the memo used the singular "student" and plural "universities" was not lost upon Malcolm. It also wasn't lost upon him that these quips were coming from the guy who went to frickin' Princeton, which had to be the worst offender of all the Ivy Plus. Maybe not; he couldn't confirm. But it was still Princeton, leagues more atrocious than either Columbia or Chicago. Still, Malcolm got the point. And where Pravir schooled was beside that point. Perhaps it also informed his advice….
Malcolm scrolled further down.
Furthermore, academic tracking might seem beneficial to high-track students, but it harms their ability to socialize with the rest of society [3, 6, 9, 14, 15].
Oh to Hades with you, Pravir.
No other sentence had more than three citations.
They really needed to deck out the break room.
A rigorous reading of the literature would inform policymakers to abandon futile attempts to adopt a tracking system that prevents discrimination and long-term inequality.
Malcolm rolled his eyes. He could just imagine Pravir smirking as he wrote "rigorous".
Instead, a wealth of research suggests employing a Schoolwide Enrichment Model, which does more to improve outcomes for all students and reduces achievement gaps across race and class….
For his three-page memo, Pravir provided five pages' worth of references. Malcolm was this close to thanking the guy for his work. And what better reason to thank Pravir than the fact that he had enough research to get away with all the shots he'd taken?
The wise thing to do here, Malcolm concluded, was to (1) not feed the trolliness and (2) abandon his own campaign promise and back Pravir's. But he still insisted on some sort of school choice—or something to its effect. He'd throw as many fits as needed before he'd allow Alicia's intellect to waste away just because she happened to be born in 2009.
He sent Pravir his approvals and suggestions four days ahead of schedule. If that meant he'd have to really step on it tomorrow to finish reviewing Mazaa's latest infrastructure proposal and Marcella's updated marginal abatement cost curves, so fuckin' be it. As long as he did it on time (and he would), he was sure Athena wouldn't mind.
They really needed that punching bag, Malcolm thought again, now filled with remorse for subjecting a daughter of Tyche to bad statistics.
For the past hour in one of City Hall's conference room pods, he'd watched Chiara suffer through a (sneakily?) rotated 3D pie chart, fancy shapes scaled to the wrong areas, a few unfortunately truncated graphs, a couple unfortunately untruncated graphs, and countless violations of Tufte's principles.
He himself had wrestled with whether to interrupt this dunderhead who wanted a big pool to throw parties at—and who had conveniently forgotten the fact that Camp Half-Blood had clean lakes, or that both camp and New Athens had easy access to Long Island Sound.
But it was worth sitting through all those presentations to discover promising ideas he'd never even thought of. A daughter of Mercury, for instance, had pitched a new business for non-disposable takeout containers and cutlery, to be shared by restaurants and returned to depots.
Then, a child of Nemesis had proposed establishing a centralized service to rent out disability accommodation tools to organizations, as well as to offer support services to both employees and employers.
And perhaps most fascinating of all of today's funding requests was for the invention of a son of Trivia and a daughter of Apollo: liquid bandages made out of a nectar-lidocaine-polymer solution. The lidocaine numbed; the nectar healed and prevented the lidocaine from being absorbed into the bloodstream; and the polymer provided the coverage. Clinical trials on demigods found statistically significant results in numbing and healing effects, as well as infection and scarring prevention. Side effects were minimal. The duo planned to reinvest resulting profits to continue developing a similar product for satyrs and dryads.
A fourth victory in the battle for funding seemed imminent for the current group: Nils, a son of Nike, and Andi, a son of Ares, who were presenting their idea of a new arena. So far, they had managed to avoid Chiara's pursed lips, head tilts, and twirls of the purple streak in her hair. Drawn in by the details Nils was outlining, Malcolm envisioned the ways Cabin Six could use the space in their group training. Truly, the arena was astounding. Larger space, attached armory, en-suite showers, first-aid room, cutting-edge safety measures….
Matching Nils's exuberance, Andi filled in some other details. "Many New Athenians would agree that we need a public state-of-the-art arena like this over what's currently proposed," he said. "So, the city can divert funding from outdoor parks and some community centers, and allocate space over here…"
On the projector was a city map with a large circled area in the southeast of New Athens.
Now it was Malcolm's turn for a head tilt. They wanted to put in an arena… where restaurants and shops were zoned?
"And as we can see," Andi said, "the cost fits in the recreation budget for the next two years. We can start with the basics in year 1. And to complete construction and roll out the extra features, we can use the higher recreation budget in year 2—"
Oof.
Shooting what we hoped was a furtive glance to his right, Malcolm could see Chiara's hands clench in her lap as she grimaced. He had to bite the insides of his mouth to keep himself from snickering at the sight.
"—and a little funding," Andi concluded. "So then finally, New Athenians can have the high-tech arena they deserve—something the goddess of war's gotta like."
Mm…
Chiara gave Malcolm another of her half-a-second looks. "Will the goddess of war like this?" she said.
Malcolm faced the guys. "Do you have a contingency plan on how else to secure the funds?"
Nils opened and closed his mouth a couple times.
"Ten percent of it," Andi said. "But we'd like this to be a public space, so ideally, this would be publicly funded and free for all."
"The thing about that, though," Chiara said in near nonchalance, "is that the budget figures you use, including the higher one from year 2, come from revenues from what you want your arena to displace. And if even that won't cover these costs…."
"Then this grant could cover the rest," Andi answered.
The guys turned to Malcolm, who returned a contorted smile.
"So, it's a no," Nils said.
"Sorry," said Malcolm.
Andi looked like he was trying not to huff in frustration. "Is there someone else we could talk to? Maybe the rest of the council?"
"So. You're going for Athena's personal funding," Chiara said. "Although the council does vote on big stuff like this, a condition of her agreement with the city is that he'd have to approve recipients." She pointed at Malcolm.
Nils's eyes narrowed. "And that's kosher? Look, I won't claim to know the rules, but something sounds iffy about a public official having any control over a boatload of outside cash from his mom."
Malcolm gave him a disarming smile. "We really, really appreciate that you care about"—corruption—"ethical financing," he said.
Even though you brought it up only when you found out you weren't going to get the money.
"But let's be clear," he added, "Athena is an Olympian, not a corporation. And she's way too hands-off to be considered a lobbyist. She just acts as a patron who's helping to protect both the camp and the city."
You seen the forty-foot statue outside? You mighta passed by it, ya know, every day.
He went on. "Now she's allowing us to choose what services she can help with. My 'control' functions like a first round of applications. It's a small condition to getting a lot more funding to everyone's benefit. She wouldn't be as confident in helping this city so much if I weren't here. Because what she knows—and what you might like to know—is that I'm not basing this on my opinions or hers. The Council looks at data. We've already conducted surveys and they—"
"The weird combo menus," Andi interrupted.
Malcolm figured he was referring to the conjoint profiles that survey participants were to choose from—the different lists of varying tax rates and recreation services, including a mix of cultural and recreation centers, gardens, trails, playgrounds, and more.
"Yes," he said. "With those 'weird combo menus', as you put it, our highly skilled statisticians, like Chiara and Bae, use this method called conjoint analysis—" This was too much. "Which we can get to another time. Or in Bae's class, better yet."
As Nils looked back dubiously, Andi said, "And that method is in no way extrapolation. Which I'm sure Bae's class warns you about."
Chiara slapped her palms on her lap. "Okay," she said, "so, basically, if you just ask people how much things are worth to them and how much they're willing to pay for them, they don't really know. They just make up some numbers. Because it is difficult to know exactly, right? That's why we survey people using the… 'weird combo menus'. It's something common in industry actually, when marketers try to figure out what to price a product or what features to include in a product.
"Using those 'menus', we crunch some numbers from the data and use something called compensating variation. That allows us to figure out how much people value different services. It tells us how much people would give up to get something. That's actually one way we're measuring wellbeing.
"So, what the data show is that the average person and even the median person benefits more from a new arts center and some outdoor parks over indoor training facilities."
Andi shifted on his feet. "We could just get people to vote on this directly, though, especially because New Athens is supposed to be more democratic than the rest of the country. That would be fair."
Malcolm sighed. You're here to ask for money, he thought, not to debate our political system.
"But we still can't get every person to vote on every suggestion," Malcolm said. "And it's especially ineffective when people don't have the capacity or time to make all these decisions—and to do it in an optimal way. That's what the surveys are for, and that's what we're for.
"Well, why not set a new precedent?" argued Andi. "We'd gladly vote on these things. You know, maybe it is possible. There's not that many people here yet. And then you guys could do other things. Like deal with Drew, for example. We can also do our own surveys and petitions, so you actually know what we want, and then you just have to carry it out. Like a democracy. We're Greek for Zeus's sake. This is New Athens. The people should get to decide."
Nils held out an arm. "No, no, no. Dude. That's actually why Aristotle didn't like democracy. Mob rule shit."
Well, well, look who paid attention in Chiron's philosophy classes.
"Right?" Nils turned to Malcolm. He looked so proud of himself. "In Politeía. "
"Fuck Aristotle," said Andi.
As Malcolm opened his mouth, realization struck Nils. "No!" he blurted. "Plato wrote Politeía. Aristotle did Politiká. But his views weren't too too different."
Andi rolled his eyes so hard, his head violently flinched and rolled along with them. "Fuck the both of them."
"Both meritable points," Malcolm cut in as they began to devolve into a bicker fest about slavery-defending sexists and ad hominem arguments. "We'll see how our current system works first. But, ya know, once we have surpluses, it'd be cool to look at participatory budgeting. So others, even youths, would be as civically engaged as you are. Then people can"— have fun— "responsibly choose as a collective where the money goes."
"But right now," said Chiara in a more pointed tone, "the budget is focusing mainly on the essential infrastructure New Athens needs before our March 12th grand opening. Especially things that Camp Half-Blood doesn't currently have."
Andi and Nils looked at each other dejectedly. Malcolm thought he should offer some credit… even if he didn't really mean it.
"Thanks for the idea," he said. "At least you put thought into it, did some research, and made calculations, which is great. Really. It would be nice to have a new arena for sure. I'd use it. We'll keep this idea in mind for Phase 2 of New Athens. It's not a complete no. We just know we can't do it now."
"You're welcome to provide ideas on the parks, though," Chiara said brightly. "Rowan's sorting that stuff out, so you can talk to him."
"Please do," Malcolm said. "And you should seriously ask Chiron if the features you proposed can be rolled out at Camp Half-Blood somehow."
Once the meeting had adjourned and Andi and Nils had been escorted out, Malcolm shook his head. "Like we could even fit an arena that big," he muttered to Chiara. "And damn, the cost…."
Chiara put on a voice. "Yeah, but that's just, like, details."
July 22nd arrived. Malcolm put on his nicest jeans.
As his siblings chattered outside the cabin in the warmth of the summer, he finished French braiding Alicia's hair, tying the ends of her hair with one of those twisty-twisty, bobbly hair ties.
As if it were any Cabin Six field trip, their siblings had implicitly designated Malcolm the carrier of supplies. But this wasn't a typical field trip. They didn't need nectar, ambrosia, or medical supplies in Atlantis. They did, however, need that four-foot-tall waterproof cylinder whose very existence was enough to taunt him.
"Hey, Alicia. You did great work on this," he said, spinning the heavy roll on its circular base. "You should be proud."
While the words came easily, he had to force himself to dispel the worms that wriggled in his stomach under Alicia's wondrous scrutiny.
Speaking quietly, he said, "I can carry this, but I think you should be the one to give it to Rhode. You think you can lift it?"
Alicia's brows scrunched. "It's not that heavy!" she protested.
Yeah. Only because she was a demigod.
Malcolm held in a laugh. "It is about as tall as you, though."
Before he could second-guess himself, he held one hand out for Alicia to take, lugging the log in his other arm as they set off outside.
As bulky as the cylinder was, its contents were outweighed by the thoughts in his head. Ten days had passed since Annabeth's birthday. Ten days theoretically available to… have no time to be covert. And how little reason others would have to say no. But that was irrelevant, Malcolm told himself. Which was both comforting and not, depending on the angle he looked at this.
He cleared his head as he fell in step with his siblings, and on the way to the beach, he listened in on Alicia's social studies lesson, with Percy analogizing all seas and oceans to America, and Atlantis to DC. Hearing a hint of a huff on his opposite side, he switched frequencies to Claire and Conrad.
"It was better, though," Conrad was saying.
"Tell me that the next time you finish a marathon fifteen minutes before I do," Claire said.
It had actually been closer to twenty if Malcolm could remember correctly, but he wasn't going to mention that.
"Hey," Conrad said with the biggest smirk. "At least you were upright."
"Conrad." Claire shot him a glare.
"Oh, come on!" he said.
With a grin nearly matching Conrad's, Annabeth prodded elbows with Malcolm and nudged her head towards the two.
"This guy..." Conrad laughed to him.
"From the Nike Cabin," Annabeth footnoted. "During training."
Conrad wheezed. "He… he flexed so hard in front of Claire… he fainted," he ended, at the highest pitch Malcolm had ever heard come out of him.
Joining him and Annabeth in hysterics, Malcolm received a glower from Claire.
"Oh my gods, stop!" she groaned. Suddenly, she rounded on Conrad. "I don't talk about Grace."
"But that's—" Conrad spluttered. He stopped there.
Claire cocked her head. "How?"
"It's not like you—" Conrad shut up again.
Claire raised a brow the exact way Athena hmm-ed her kids. Meanwhile, Malcolm and Annabeth quickly averted their eyes and tried not to elbow each other. Conrad then offered some comments on the oh so interesting camp activity schedule for next week.
Once they'd reached the beach, Percy handed them each a shot of nectar that would allow them to "breathe underwater and all that good stuff" for about twelve hours.
Under Percy's watch, the Athenians one by one took their shots and waded into the water to test the effects. Once underwater, Malcolm took a hesitant breath. No water ran up his nose. When Rhode's flood had struck the battleground, he hadn't had the time to process the sensation. Now, completely submerged in the sound, he noticed that he felt a little snug compared to being in the outdoor air, yet warmer than being housed in Percy's air bubbles.
Looking around him, Malcolm saw Percy guiding Claire, Zeke, and Alicia on how to walk on the ground and found Conrad and Sophie floating around with nervous glances at Annabeth.
"You're fine," she said. "Breathe." Her voice was not muffled but clear.
Sophie stuck out her tongue. "I don't taste the water."
Once the Athenians passed Percy's tutorial, they returned to the surface, where Percy distributed pearls that he likened to Portkeys. Following his instructions, they crushed the pearls beneath their feet.
The bubbles that surrounded each of them on the trip to Atlantis seemed like nothing more than entering a closet and emerging in Narnia. The bubbles had quickly popped, revealing an underwater scene by a white building complex. A couple dozen buildings stood before them, adorned with sea stones and abalone shells with rainbow reflections.
Though they had traveled far below the photic zone, their surroundings remained a brighter blue than Malcolm would've expected. He couldn't figure out how sunlight could've reached these depths and suspected that that nectar he drank probably increased his eye sensitivity.
Despite the heavy aroma of beachiness, Malcolm also couldn't taste the water here either. It smelled saltier, though, and there was a tempting scent of grilled fish that seemed to linger on his tongue.
Marveling at the miracle that he was here, Malcolm tried to take in everything: the plant beds abounding in rivers of colour, jellyfish flickering like string lights, octupi making their own light show… Olympus didn't have anything like this.
On paths lined with luminescent pearls, Percy led the Athenians towards the palace. They passed a courtyard, where a group of water spirits mingled and munched on hors d'oeuvres, marched through humongous, open double doors, past guards positioned in strategic areas.
Within the walls of the palace, it was easy to spot Rhode. It wasn't so much what she was wearing, considering she was snapping pics with the guests who twinned her in all shades of red; one had only to follow the direction of the crowd's gazes. Percy led the Athenians to a quieter hallway and greeted nearby guests. After several moments of Rhode greeting a few water spirits and laughing at something some dude said, she turned their way, her dress twirling as she did so.
Rhode's eyes brightened as she caught sight of the most recent arrivals. "You're here!" she said, arms outstretched. Light glinted off this necklace-like thing that seemed to wrap around her under her dress.
Percy came in with a bear hug, and the Athenians exchanged birthday wishes for pressed cheeks as Rhode hugged them one by one. Malcolm's turn came last.
"Happy birthday," he said again. Making reacquaintance with a floral whiff, he learned that her hugs came with a little, comforting squeeze. After she let him go, he waited a beat and said, "Alicia has something for you."
Rhode's striking eyes fell back on him for a moment then flew to Alicia and the towering object she was hugging as she hobbled over to Rhode.
"Here you go," Alicia said brightly.
Rhode gasped excitedly at Alicia, giving her all her attention. "A present? Can I open it?"
"Mm-hmm!" Alicia said, nodding proudly.
Rhode tore apart the wrapping paper, opened the tube, and removed from it a 6x4 loosely rolled sheet of fabrics. Setting aside the case, she magically unfurled the roll, hanging it upright in the air—no, water.
Rhode gaped at the image. Her eyes flitted all over the tapestry, a woven depiction of her and her water horses in action. In the distant backdrop sailed a ship hoisting four flags. Above the ship flew seven little owls.
One of Rhode's hands flew to her chest. "Oh, Fates, this is gorgeous!"
Malcolm couldn't help his lips from stretching into a smile. And as much as he hated attention, he also wanted Rhode to look at him. Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted her to know.
Rhode continued studying the tapestry, focusing more seriously on her likeness. The image of her concentrated on something several strides away from the beholder, conveying the intention that opposed the heedless way her hair flew about her. In the air, the train of her silky sundress floated between the forces of her aqua cavalry.
Training her eyes on the horses, the real Rhode ran a finger over the woven ornamentations that formed their manes. Suddenly, she swiveled around.
Malcolm felt the weight of her gaze before turning to face her. Rhode was smiling in that curious way she had back in the Blofises' kitchen.
Well, ya know… you deserve it.
You said not to stop the—
It was a good game.
Two seconds had gone by—or perhaps not even two. But with everyone there, even that was far too long, and Malcolm needed her attention off him ASAP.
He darted his eyes to Alicia and gestured towards her. "Alicia had the idea to do some art about that capture the flag game."
(Sure, it had taken a couple more comments to have led her all the way there, but he wasn't lying. She had had that idea.)
"She also helped pick the colors," Zeke piped up, "and she did the border, too."
Rhode observed the threads that framed the piece. "I love how it looks. The weaving is perfect and the colors really complement the rest of the piece." Crouching to Alicia's level, Rhode took her hand. "Thank you, Alicia," she said warmly. "I love this. It's incredibly beautiful."
Alicia was quiet as she picked at the fabric of her dress with her free hand. She looked as if trying to hold back her smile. Malcolm caught Percy and Annabeth exchanging one of their looks.
"And thank you," said Rhode, "each and every one of you, for this." She made eye contact with everyone and looked at Malcolm last. "It's really so sweet of you."
Leaving the piece up, she gave more half hugs to his siblings and offered them all a tour of the palace.
Busy people had no time for subtlety, so Malcolm hung back, letting his siblings walk up in front of him. As if tuned to his wishes, Rhode, too, fell behind the pack. But even with the rest of the crew up ahead, Malcolm couldn't for the life of him do anything but walk at Rhode's side as she and Percy pointed things out.
It felt too much to even ask how she was. But because his siblings would obviously be alerted if he said nothing, he forced out questions and comments about the palace and the event. He swore he was paying attention when Rhode told them about the art exhibits around and the new art school. And he really was mentally present when she pointed out the food stands out in the courtyard.
When they'd reached the pantry, a group of waiters and waitresses emerged, some carrying buffet refills, some carrying canapés. One approached Rhode's side and offered a tray of mini dolma. "For you, Rhódē and guests?"
Rhode took the entire plate. "Chárin soi oída, Achaios. These are ridiculously good. I've been gorging on them all day." One by one, she handed toothpicks to the Athenians. Again, Malcolm was last. "And for you," she said. Rhode herself stabbed a dolma before offering it to him.
"Thanks," he said as casually as he could muster. He didn't know what exactly was in the leaves, but took the toothpick, not trying very hard not to brush his fingers against hers.
Rhode watched him munch on the dolma. "Good, right?" she said.
Malcolm swallowed his last bite. "Nice tang," he said. "Well spiced, too."
Rhode smiled and continued to play hostess, catching up with them all and making casual conversation as she swayed to and fro on her feet, and at one point leaning on Percy while guffawing at one of his deadpans. But it wasn't long before she had others lingering nearby, sending her none too discrete glances.
"Percy, Annabeth, why don't you show everyone around?" she said. "Annabeth's done such an incredible job helping remodel the palace. You should all see it."
With a promise to see them all later, she attended to her other guests. As she did a 180, so too did her demeanor. Back straightened, shoulders back, upper arms fixed at her sides, she now addressed her guests with a softer, contained voice. "Geiá sou! Pós eíste óloi símera?"
Malcolm wondered if her code switching came with cognitive dissonance. How much effort did that take? It looked exhausting to go all in one moment, then go all in the next.
With her constituents, her laughs weren't as boisterous as they were with Percy, but despite the change in disposition, Rhode's grin remained nearly as bright. She held her stamina, conversing with person after person, group after group, her dangling gold earrings shaking at each turn of her head, her bangles clinking as she talked with her hands. It seemed she did that more when she was speaking Greek.
Tearing his eyes away, Malcolm directed his attention to Annabeth and Percy's tour. If he had to rate it, he'd give it 4.5 stars out of 5. One guide was perfect; room after room, she shared expert insights into the decisions behind the natural building materials, open-floor layouts, Greco-Roman geometrics, and even security measures. And then she chose to quiz the other guide on his architectural know-how.
"And what can you tell us about this area?" Annabeth said, once they'd reached a distinctively contemporary section of the palace.
"This would be the parlor, where Atlantis entertains guests," Percy said confidently. "Note the horizontal rooflines out there, reminiscent of Frank Lloyd Wright's style."
Perfect marks for knowledgeability.
"Which style specifically?" said Annabeth.
Percy whipped around to face her. "Prairie," he said with a wink.
One star off for unprofessionalism.
"And then we have overhanging flat roofs," Percy said gesturing towards the features, yet still staring at Annabeth's adoring face, "which create broad terraces and balconies. Which is also what Wright did with…"
Robie House. The Emil Bach House.
Percy raised a questioning brow. "Fallingwater?"
That, too.
Annabeth nodded in awe and pride.
And half a star added, because Malcolm wasn't enough of a grinch to want to see Annabeth looking anything but joyous.
It was a shame the rest of the world couldn't see what she'd created. Perhaps he was biased, but it only took Malcolm a quick evaluation to conclude that the Palace of Atlantis outmatched the works of many mortal greats.
Borrowing from the best and bringing in her own takes, she'd managed to co-create something with more form than Louis Sullivan's towers and more function than the futuristic spectacles of self-venerating starchitects like Zaha Hadid—and far more timeless, more beloved, more everything than that fugly, faulty building Frank Gehry had created for MIT. ('I love his Guggenheim, but gods forbid,' Annabeth had said when she video-called Malcolm on campus during a visit to her cousin Magnus, 'if I ever design something like this, please send me back to Tartarus.' And he swore he would—because an Annabeth who did that would obviously be an imposter.)
It was Annabeth's signature to make a simultaneous nod to the past and a promise to the future. The palace did the same, fusing Midwestern with classical European, Wright with Burnham, in a very Atlantian way.
Of all her works, Annabeth had said it was the Palace of Atlantis that had brought her most out of her comfort zone. She'd worked with coral; accounted for fish locomotion; forwent her preference for glass walls and simple cubism; opted for protective charms instead of windows; and employed an organic simplicity specific to the marine world—all in all, embracing constraints with an attitude that'd make Gehry proud.
"I like the flowy motifs and detailing on the walls and doors," said Sophie. "They're like waves and seaweed."
"Like the building's part of the ocean," Conrad said. "'Married to the ground.'"
"Quite Wright-esque," said Claire.
"Who owes it to Sullivan," Malcolm said, thinking rather of the Wainwright in St. Louis and more so the Guaranty in Buffalo.
Annabeth's sparkly eyes dished out A-pluses to their matching grays.
"Ooh!" Zeke pointed to the similar patterns on the capital of the nearby pilasters. "And those ones look like eels and cephalopods."
"What are cephalopods?" said Alicia.
Annabeth answered before anyone else could. "Maybe the original Greek will help. Kephalópodes. Can you break it down?"
Under seven pairs of eyes, Alicia was too focused to waver. "Is it like kephalḗ and pódes?" she said as her eyes brightened. "Head and feet? Oh, like an octopus?!"
"Exactly!" Annabeth offered her and received a high five.
"I like them, too, Annabeth," Alicia said. "They look really pretty."
Annabeth's smile widened. "I'm glad you think so," she said. "It wasn't all me, though. This was a joint project. I worked with some local designers to come up with patterns that were simple and modern, but very much still traditional Atlantis. They also made these beautiful sculptures of all kinds of marine life, like that giant squid there. We actually first thought of putting the sculptures by the walls right outside here, but ended up putting them outside to draw people towards the garden."
And that was what Malcolm loved most about Annabeth's work. The mark she wanted to make on the world was to create people-centered, context-fitting spaces. More than landmarks or places, her designs were experiences, with a seamlessness that he knew held so many secrets. Because beneath the deceptive simpleness was anything but behind the scenes.
He'd seen all the considerations she'd pondered over for her proposals—lighting, colors, angles, acoustics, crowd flows, and more. Using architectural psychology to influence user behavior, she almost manipulated people by drawing them to certain areas of a space and having them interact a certain way to help them use the space effectively. Whether to chat with a group, enjoy an intimate one-on-one, or find quietness alone… to commute in a jiffy, take a relaxed walk, or chill for hours… she thought of every detail.
Now, seeing Annabeth's visions come to life, watching her watch people using her spaces as she'd intended, and knowing her work would be used for centuries (if not at least a millennium), ignited a spark of pride in Malcolm that got him grinning like a loon—not too different from when he'd finally witnessed Olympus post-construction.
Malcolm nodded at her. "Looks even more awesome in real life," he said, causing her to exhale a laugh.
"And now you've seen them all," Annabeth said. "Favorite?"
Malcolm considered her collection of other works in Olympus, New York, California, and Massachusetts.
"He'll pick something in New Athens," Conrad guessed. "I still haven't seen the Bay Area ones, but I'd pick Olympus."
Malcolm thought for a second. "Well, I will get the honor of actually using those spaces, so yeah. Maybe City Hall. I seriously can't wait to work there. Or if that apartment unit I just bought on pre-sale is nearly as amazing as your concept art suggests, I could go with that."
"Annabeth," Alicia said with her doe eyes, "can I see your other buildings sometime?"
Annabeth wrapped an arm around one of Alicia's shoulders and drew her in. "When I visit them next, I could bring you with me," she said, looking down at her littlest sister.
Grinning, Alicia hovered around Annabeth, transferring babysitting responsibility over to her, whether she knew it or not.
Walking by Ionic columns that lined the pavilion, they all sauntered back to the festival and encountered yet another magical scene. Atop standing tables, candles flickered in air bubbles. Merwomen and mermen floated around the tables, their tails spinning like rudders and swishing like fish.
Malcolm didn't know what he'd expected. In hindsight, T-shirts or even dress shirts would've probably looked stupid on them, but it was a shock nonetheless that most merpeople wore absolutely nothing aside from the common purse or fanny pack. He jokingly wondered if there were textile shortages in the Atlantic. Yet, it somehow seemed less scandalous to see merpeople topless. The clothes they did have on—which tended to be made of fish scales and netting—seemed to act more as jewelry that just drew more attention to their chests. Whether that was normal wear, Atlantian wear, or party wear, Malcolm didn't know. Not one demigod said a word.
In the center of this pavilion, an orchestra completed the ambience, with flutes, strings, and traditional drums. At the bar, a set of mixologists whipped up drinks while another set taught a group of guests how to make what looked like an ouzo martini slush. Other pavilions had their own theme: A dance floor blasted European pop and EDM under flashing strobe lights, while another pavilion, furnished with huge lounge sofas, played jazz.
And all around the courtyard, guests crowded around buffet tables, stocked with keftethes, all kinds of fish dressed up in all kinds of ways, large bowls of horiatiki salad and watermelon salad, and a host of other dishes. The dessert tables—plural—were filled with baklava, cupcakes, ice-cream, aguas frescas in five colors, and bougatsa in an abundance of flavors: cinnamon, lemon, chocolate and hazelnut, and honey and pistachio. Malcolm figured he could spend hours observing and eating the food alone.
But then he came upon a big picnic area and, to its right, at least five stations dedicated to crafts. A dozen Atlantians to a table were occupied with beadwork, other jewelry, painting, and pottery decor. Several nereids floated around, fundraising for the Atlantian School of Art and Design.
A little tug on his hand told him day care responsibility was transferred to him again. He'd figured Alicia would come back to him, what with Annabeth fielding wishes and questions about her upcoming wedding to a son of Poseidon.
"Mal, can I go there?" Alicia said, pointing to the opposite side of the courtyard, where kids and teens busied themselves with all sorts of activities.
Malcolm let her lead the way. There were stations for wheels of fortune, face painting, an eating contest, cookie decorating, a pin-the-tails-on-Triton game, bubble making, and even a scavenger hunt, which seemed to excite Alicia most despite her apprehension. Malcolm encouraged her to hang with her peers, figuring it'd get her used to parting with one of her security blankets. Estelle couldn't be the only kid she'd befriend.
At another station, a line of kids and guardians waited their turn to receive goodie bags consisting of a plant, a couple sand dollars, and a slice of cake. Rhode joined the nereids distributing the gifts and chatting with kids, until she sat by a play area to meet a boy who'd just reached the bottom of a slide. His mop of dark curls floated wildly as he beamed and ran towards her for a hug. Rhode returned the gestures but said nothing. Her bangles rattled below her motioning hands, and the boy then pointed to a seating area to Malcolm's left.
Standing by the nearby benches and watching the duo was a nymph looking about Malcolm's fathers' age. Her arctic blue eyes verged on a glare—one more intense than Rhode's, Drew's, and even Clarisse's. Malcolm would've thought she was Rhode's bodyguard if he hadn't already recognized her face. And though her gaze was locked on the play area before her, he suspected she noticed him looking at her.
Time to speak.
"You're Galene," he said.
Finally, the woman trained her frosty eyes on him. "Yes, I am."
"I'm—"
"I know who you are, Malcolm Pace."
He couldn't figure out if her intonation and words sounded more like a threat or like she was showing off. It kinda reminded him of Athena—which meant he'd had practice.
"There was an article I read about you," he said. "You wrote a letter and then got hired as Rhode's Chief of Staff? Must've been some letter."
"She liked it," Galene said with a self-satisfied smile. "You are mostly correct. I oversaw correspondence first, then I became her Chief of Staff. Aside from some rounds of maternity leave and sabbaticals, I have been at her side ever since."
He wondered how many "some" was to an immortal. Which reminded him…
"I started reading your textbook," he said. "I have the 149th edition. That's quite a feat!"
Galene turned her body to face him head on. The way she evaluated him was almost exactly the way Leo stared down contraptions before disassembling them without a hitch. "I wasn't aware the tellurian world kept up with the marine world," she said. "They tend to know little about us."
"I try to read about different things," Malcolm said. "I was curious. I wanted to ask— And I'm not sure if either of us would really understand, since our perspectives are so different…. As immortals, is it actually easier to enact long-term policies, or do people still care too much about the short run?"
Galene thought for a second, pausing like she had every other time before she'd spoken. "I'd say you answered your own question," she said.
Which part?
Galene studied him for a long moment. "And what I would also say to that," she said, "is that people like you might find it easy to gloss over the here and now."
Malcolm tried to figure out what kind of people he was. Children of Athena?
"Economists," Galene clarified. "You care so much about what will happen in the long run. You may think— and be right —that things need to be… corrected. But those 'corrections' often spell out pain. Things that cause misery, longing, loss, shame…. They're very real, and no graph—no equation—can truly account for that."
You can make those considerations and build that into models, he wanted to protest.
"Oh, you can try," Galene said, "and I'm sure it's more helpful than not doing it at all, but it's not comparable. So, conduct your cost-benefit analyses, but also meet people. Acknowledge their pain. And take care of them."
And how about people in the future, huh? Or people outside jurisdictional boundaries? Who's going to do public consultations with them and address their pains?
"I see," he said.
The tug of Galene's lips told him she caught him. It was like he was a kid again, and Mama B had caught him returning a slice of sweet potato pie to get a second slice of pecan pie.
"No, I do get it," Malcolm said sheepishly. "It's not like you can see any of those personal impacts anywhere on a graph or in the math. And I'll be wary of that. Would you happen to have any other helpful advice you might want to share? I do appreciate it."
"An easy one," Galene offered. "Avoid New Public Management approaches. I understand the temptation of Thatcher and Reagan's thinking—"
"Now that's leaning too much into the stereotype," Malcolm butt in with instant regret. But his mouth plowed on with no care for rudeness. "About 'people like me'. I'm trying to avoid creating a hollow state."
Galene's coolness finally warmed. Her grin felt like a laugh. "I was merely making sure that a Chicago boy doesn't resemble… a Chicago Boy."
"Another stereotype," Malcolm said with mock offense—and he wondered how the hell she even knew where he was from, or perhaps where he'd studied.
Galene laughed for real this time—perhaps at her own joke.
"New Athens doesn't work that way," he said. "Our approach is to look at evidence. But if what works turns out to be a New Public Management approach… so what? It works, doesn't it?"
"I'm sure you understand that that approach might not always help you. Searching for answers in evidence."
"Because the approach is still biased?" he guessed.
"I was thinking more along the lines of there being too many uncertainties," Galene said. "You'll get stuck. Don't stick yourself." After a breath or sigh, she told him slowly, "The worst part of our line of work, I'd say, is all the bad that we do. That we're forced to do. You want to do good—or perhaps the least bad. But framing it that way… If you have a heart and if you have shame, it is still mind-twistingly challenging to navigate these situations and move on from them." Her eyes seemed to pierce through his skull. "I don't mean unpopular decisions," she said. "I'm sure that's not much of a problem for you."
In what way? Malcolm was bursting to ask. Did she think he didn't care about upsetting constituents? Or did she think New Athenians would generally agree with him?
But he kept to Galene's pace of speech.
"I mean when there are no Pareto improvements," she said, "and when you don't know—when no evidence in the world can truly tell you—what move you should make, what promises you should break, whose trust to violate, which ethical rules you should breach, whom you should hurt."
Heavy stuff.
Malcolm just nodded. His mind whirred with thoughts about Marcella, Jake, and the committee of demigods, dryads, and satyrs. And then Percy and aquatic life, and Drew and her employees. His constituents were there before him, all asking for aid; yet, there he was, grasping at Pareto improvements out of reach. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many options he explored, someone was going to be harmed.
"It's been some 2,600 years since I've had this job," Galene said. "It remains just as difficult today. I don't even take the heat."
"Rhode does."
Galene nodded once. "All four of them."
"And it's easier for them," Malcolm realized.
"No term limits."
For a moment, they shared a silence and then talked books until Galene's grandson called her for a potty break. Malcolm bid her thanks and goodbye.
"I wish you the best," Galene said in farewell. "You seem to have the proper heart, the right head atop your shoulders, and an appropriate level of compunction. Don't stick yourself." At that, she swam off with her grandson.
It didn't take long for dread to worm under his skin and sit its five-ton ass on his chest. Malcolm tried to think of all the things he didn't know and all the ways he could go wrong. The only person with some political power who actively hated him was Pravir, but Pravir hadn't even bothered to run as chief policymaker. In fact, no one had.
Maybe they'd thought it was pointless, because no one else had dedicated three degrees and nearly all of their work opportunities to plant the seeds of a city-state. Maybe they thought it was rude, since it had been Malcolm's idea in the first place to build New Athens. Maybe they thought Athena would smite them?
Oh no. What if someone had considered running and an owl glared at them?
There should've been no need to bother about such doubts. He could prove it anyway. Right?
Okay. If Athena didn't threaten to smite an opponent, his power was legitimate.
(Premise 1) ¬S → L
Athena threatening to smite anyone would have been dumb.
(Premise 2) S → D
Athena wasn't dumb.
(Premise 3) A → ¬D
So: He knew Athena well enough… A. Not exactly a statement, but whatever.
A
If A, then not D, per premise 3.
A → ¬D
If not D, then not S, per transposition of premise 2.
¬D → ¬S
And if not S, then L, per premise 1.
¬S → L
Ergo, L.
(Conclusion) :. L
Phew.
But a re-evaluation of his propositional calculus lit his nerves aflame. His first assumption wasn't exactly accurate. After all, there could be other reasons his position wasn't at least perceived as legitimate. After that snarky response that he'd sent to "Your Rich Lawyer Daddy Fed You Access to an Ivy Off a Silver Spoon", Anonymous had interjected that all the years he'd dedicated to establishing New Athens wasn't the proof he suggested he'd be most qualified, but rather proof that he was the most privileged. Which… also had a point.
Despite everything he'd seen, maybe there was something he'd forgotten, something he wasn't seeing anymore. Maybe there was a hidden solution to New Athens's dilemmas. An answer to his ponderings on pollution and pipelines, populism and protests, promises and popularity.
Or maybe Galene was right. No matter what the Council did, this would simply be one of many future righteous mistakes.
