******
Vincent sat down in one of the black leather chairs outside the usual door. It was nearly 8:00. The ground transport had eaten up much of his time, as Jessica had warned him it would. The traffic in the city, though working hours had long since ended, never seemed to thin. With the refugees coming through the halos and the activists protesting outside the Capitol, the streets were nearly overrun. Vincent wasn’t bothered, though. The energy in the air was infectious. There was a shared, crusading kind of spirit, and it filled him to the brim. He didn’t mind working after hours any more than Jessica did.
“Just through here.”
Vincent stood when he heard the voice. The door across from him had opened.
“Allow me to introduce you to your guide.”
A hulking, red-haired man in a black suit stepped into the hall first. He was pointing to Vincent with his left hand, and ushering three people through the door with his right.
“Vincent Smith,” the man continued. “Vincent, meet the Lees.”
Vincent stepped forward with a bow. The father, a lean, small-framed man with narrow eyes and olive-colored skin, bowed back.
“They are in your charge now,” said the red-haired man. He turned to the family. “You’re in the best of hands.” He smiled at them, then disappeared back through the door.
“Nice to meet you,” said Vincent. “We’re happy to have you here.”
The father bowed once again. “We are very grateful,” he said. His English was a bit broken in parts. “You can call me Steven. This is my wife, Zoey and my son, David.”
The woman behind Steven bowed but said nothing. Vincent bowed in turn. The boy, not yet in his teens and almost identical to his father, did not bow but reached out his hand instead. Smiling, Vincent shook it.
“It’s nice to meet all of you,” he said. “Where are you from?”
“East,” said Steven. Vincent nodded – that was description enough.
“I assume you’ve already spoken with someone about other potential refugees?” asked Vincent. “Any family you might have?”
“Yes,” said Steven. “My parents were not able to escape. The man we spoke to seems to think they can be rescued. Is that true?”
Vincent nodded. “We’ll do everything we can,” he said. “The Senate is enforcing the necessary trade blocks and organizing search and rescue as we speak.”
Steven nodded in approval. “We were lucky to make it out. Your spies assisted us.”
“Well we’re glad you made it,” said Vincent. He smiled at them. “Would you like me to show you where you’ll be staying?”
Steven nodded, graciously. “Yes please.”
Vincent motioned forward down the hall. They started to walk. “It’s not too far,” he said. “The refugee homes are actually attached to the halos.”
“The halos,” said Steven, “that is what you call your air defense system?”
Vincent nodded. “We kept Newsight’s original name for them,” he said. “But they’re completely under Senate control now.”
Steven looked around, seeming unimpressed. “They are different than ours,” he said. “Not as much security.”
“We don’t need much,” said Vincent. “The air defense network hasn’t been activated in years, and the identity checkpoints are no longer in use.”
Steven frowned. He glanced back at his family – David was listening intently. “So we will not be identified?” he said. “To be monitored?”
“You’ll be ID’ed,” said Vincent. “But only with paperwork for census purposes. For school, as well.”
“How are the schools?” joined David. “Are there simulations?” He said this last part a bit nervously. Vincent shook his head.
“No simulations,” he said. “Just teachers.”
David nodded, but he still seemed skeptical.
“What information does the government request during the identification process?” asked Steven. There was suspicion in his voice. His eyelids were pulled close.
“Just standard things,” assured Vincent. “Name, family ties, region of birth – details like those. You’ll be assigned an ID number as well.”
“And they track you?” said Steven. “With this number?”
Vincent shook his head once again. “No tracking. Your information will go into a database with your picture and your fingerprints. That’s it.”
Zoey, the man’s wife, tugged at his sleeve. He turned to her and said something, rapidly, in another language. She returned something in the same tongue, with several nervous glances at Vincent. Vincent watched, patient.
“My wife is doubtful,” said Steven, turning back to Vincent. “She does not trust the government. Ours worked very closely with WeSee. At first they did not collect much, but that changed very quickly. How do we know that will not happen here?”
Vincent could have predicted the question. He fielded the same one day in and day out. The refugees they received from WeSee in the East and Allwatch in the North all had the same suspicions.
“Public officials are vetted now more closely than ever,” said Vincent. “The government’s and anyone else’s collection of personal data is limited, and we’ve gone to great lengths to make sure it stays that way.”
“With regulations?” pressed Steven. “That is what our government tried. It did not last.”
“No, not with regulations,” said Vincent. “The Senate actually regulates our businesses very little. It’s the people who regulate them. If a company comes close to overstepping its bounds, the people take action. They boycott; they protest; they do whatever they have to. No one wants another Newsight. We’re protected by memory now. We don’t need litigation.”
Steven didn’t look convinced. Still, he turned to his wife to translate. When he turned back to Vincent, he pressed no further. They walked in silence for a while.
“What about the attacks?” David spoke up. “You said there haven’t been any?” The boy was trying to hide it, but the fear in his voice came through regardless.
“Not recently,” said Vincent. “The last prominent terrorist organization we had to deal with was Newsight, and they’re long gone now.”
Vincent slowed them to a stop outside of a second door, the one that led to the refugee residences.
“Is there anyone else?” asked David, when they had come to a stop. “Does anyone else have missiles?”
Vincent froze with his hand on the knob. The rawness of the question raised a lump in his throat. It was questions like those that drove him time and time again to the halos, to the refugees.
“Yes,” said Vincent. “There are people with missiles.”
David’s face fell.
“But the halos have stopped every attack so far,” said Vincent. “You don’t have to worry.”
Vincent smiled at him, then at his parents. “All right,” he said, turning back to the door, “this is where all refugees begin their stay. The residences are…” He trailed off when he saw David out of the corner of his eye. The boy kept casting nervous glances at the ceiling, as if he expected it to come crashing down at any minute. Vincent felt the lump rise up in his throat once again. Taking a step back from the door, he crouched down so he and the boy were on the same level.
“I won’t lie to you, David,” he said. “You might not be completely safe here.”
David looked up at the ceiling once again. His lower lip was starting to tremble.
“But even if you’re not safe,” said Vincent, “you’ll be something even better.” He took the boy by the wrist, and David pulled his eyes from the ceiling. Vincent smiled at him. “You’ll be free.”