Kimia thought of the rope.

“Momentum.”

The interviewer waited.

“Nozhing happening zhere is irreversible yet.”

“Yet?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe war is likely?”

Kimia looked at her.

“I believe enough people are behaving as if zhey're afraid of war zhat zheir behavior may help create one.”

Eliane went still.

There.

Kalgkur would like that.

The philosopher from Akalos might too.

Mass egregores. Fear becoming infrastructure. The phantasm acquiring ammunition.

Eliane asked: “Would you support greater Heart intervention?”

Kimia's expression hardened slightly.

“Zhat depends what intervention means.”

“Military?”

“Not wizhout defined objectives.”

“Economic?”

“Already happening.”

“Diplomatic?”

“Always.”

“Do you support continued VSEA presence?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because wizhdrawing soldiers from a deteriorating allied security situation to make a philosophical point would be irresponsible.”

Eliane let the answer stand.

Kimia added: “Keeping soldiers there without understanding what zhey're for would also be irresponsible.”

There.

Both. Always both.

The world refusing cleanliness.

Eliane nodded.

“Is that likely to come up at the Diet?”

Kimia looked at her.

“I assume you know why I'm traveling soon.”

Eliane smiled.

“We read schedules too.”

“Zhen yes.”

“Are you optimistic?”

Kimia almost laughed.

“No.”

The interviewer waited.

Kimia continued.

“But optimism is not required to do useful work.”

That ended the answer.

Perhaps the interview too.

Eliane looked toward the crew.

One operator signaled.

Enough.

Eliane closed the folder.

“We have one final question.”

Of course.

“What would you want someone in the Val Salian Passage who has never visited Peshtul to understand about it?”

Kimia thought.

The first answer was too large.

The second too sentimental.

She imagined Kalgkur.

Survival became culture.

No.

Not exactly.

She thought of Yira writing music. Vehm drinking too much and then admitting he needed help. Tarkhe refusing to flatter her. Kalgkur buried beneath useless history. The cold garden. The old statues. The long memory. People who showed up.

Kimia looked at Eliane.

“Zhat people here are not relics.”

She paused.

“We live now.”

The sentence was small.

She continued.

“We remember old zhings because a lot happened here. We dress certain ways because we like them. We speak certain ways because zhat's how people around us speak. We have computers, factories, radios, aircraft, arguments about taxes, terrible music, good music, addicts, saints, cowards, decent people, morons.”

One of the crew laughed unexpectedly.

Kimia smiled.

“We're not a museum of hardship.”

Eliane nodded.

“Then what is Peshtul?”

Kimia looked toward the tall window.

Outside, the light of the Peshtulan summer lay over the city.

“A place people live.”

There.

Nothing more.

Eliane smiled.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

The red camera light went dark.

The room changed immediately.

Everyone breathed differently.

Kimia felt it.

The actress had left the stage.

Her shoulders lowered.

Eliane stood.

“That was excellent.”