Free City Wars by Dennis Palumbo

say how long New York need wait to strike again? If indeedthey weren’t setting new strike coordinates at this very moment.
    Jesus! Bowman shook his head; remembered that paranoia was the most common post-tilt symptom.
    He deactivated the sphere projector and turned on the lights. Cassandra was sitting three seats away.
    He stood up and stretched. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
    “I move rather quietly when I want to.” She sounded tired.
    Bowman came over and sat beside her. “Where’s Gilcrest? Aren’t you supposed to be with him?”
    “He was feeling ill, so he retired to his quarters. His nurse is with him. He’ll be all right.” She put her hands on her lap. Bowman was surprised at how small they were.
    “Jake, he looked terrible.”
    “Yeah,” Bowman said. “It was close back there. I think he knows he’s losing power every day.”
    Cassandra nodded. “It’s funny. I never cared one way or the other about him. It was just a job. Guarding him, attending the meetings. But now—I don’t know. Today—seeing him on the defensive in that room …” She looked down at her hands. “I guess I realize what he’s trying to do. Or what he’s trying to preserve.”
    “Yeah. Preserve is exactly right. This city, Cass. The whole concept of it …” He smiled. “I know how he can get sometimes. I had a fill of it when I came over to Tactics during the War. I would be trying to locate a lost air cruiser over Lake Erie, and Gilcrest’d be right beside me, chewing on that damn pipe and recalling some quaint piece of history from Chicago’s past.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Hey, did he ever tell you about these tribal warlords, used to run the city?”
    “Tribes? In Chicago? No …”
    “He said they used to have boundary disputes right on the streets. Shot at each other from moving cars.”
    Cassandra laughed. “Now you’re making fun of me … or him.”
    “No, no. Not him. I always figured, at least the old guy had something, you know? To care about. Therewas something at stake for him. I understand people with something at stake.”
    “What do you mean?”
    He shrugged. “Let’s just say I know how the old man’s mind works. The thought of another war has got to be killing him.”
    Her glance was searching.
    “And may I ask … what do you feel? About war, I mean?”
    He smiled narrowly. “Oh. You want the career man’s viewpoint?”
    “I was hoping for Jake Bowman’s.”
    “I don’t know if he has one. Other than that war is something that’s bound to happen. Maybe not now, maybe not next time. So the time after that—”
    He looked at her. She seemed to be waiting. She always seemed to be waiting for him to go on, to say more, to reveal parts of himself. Bowman tried to gauge how he felt about that, came up with nothing …
    He said, “What I’m saying is, a certain amount of tension builds up … each city gathering its strength, and then …”
    Cassandra said, “I suppose that’s the way it’s always been.”
    He smiled then at the worldly tone of her voice, appreciating the warmth he now knew lay behind it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he found himself hoping she’d survive the holocaust he knew was coming.
    “I saw the preliminary report on my way here,” Cassandra was saying. She gestured toward the semicircle of instruments now humming quietly. “It’s confirmed then? New York?”
    He stirred. “Looks that way. Government will have to go for retaliation. I can’t see any alternative.”
    They fell silent for what seemed a long while.
    “I have quarters here,” Cassandra said. “And we still have two hours until the vote.”
    Bowman looked down at her hands, still clasped on her lap.
    “All right,” he said.

9
    They lay together, entwined.
    Cassandra stared at the ceiling, and at the shimmer of lights playing there.
    “The wildness was good, Jake,” she said. “I can always tell when it’s good. It took me away from myself.”
    Bowman lifted his