We took Kelsey out of the building and escorted her to gather her personal effects—clothes, a laptop, a tablet, that sort of thing—before loading her onto a skiff bound for Tuvalu. Every Tulanto citizen had dual citizenship through our original land sale agreement, a fact often overlooked until exile became real. It was just one of the many ways our nations remained tied at the hip.

  The trial changed something in me.

  I used to think I was protecting property—assets, infrastructure, classified systems. But Tulanto wasn’t just tech. It was an idea. A merit-based society, upheld by impartial AI, wasn’t a “set it and forget it” utopia. It needed guardians. Defenders.

  Because when someone steals our tech… they’re not just stealing code or machinery. They’re stealing sovereignty. And without that, bigger nations will force their vision of “what’s right” on us.

  Over the years, as Tulanto’s prosperity outpaced that of our donor nation, Tuvalu became the place we quietly sent the unwanted. The backwater for those we couldn’t trust, but couldn’t abandon either. Even so, our castoffs were still world-class by most standards. So we made sure they lived in comfort. Close enough to watch. Far enough not to interfere.

  Our mutual protection agreement with Italy, which was still in effect even after all these years, also had cutouts for these types of things. It's why Italy and Tulanto had so much history and tourism comparatively.

  At the time Italy thought it was making a deal with a rogue scientist in a shell state. They soon learned that AG had greater plans than just his own safety.

  In the days that followed the trial, we were busy running a global dragnet through our intel units—trying to locate, track, and isolate where Vincent—code-named ColdWind, we later found out—might be.

  I was pretty sure this was my very own Inspector Vincenzo Rinaldi. Most people used variant names as cover, and this one fit the classic infiltration scheme.

  Handholding me through Italy—possibly to lure me away from Mateo and his operation, if he could. Smart.

  I’d pegged him as just another bureaucratic stooge.

  With my advanced pattern recognition and threat modeling, I should’ve seen it. I knew watching for false flags constantly would turn me anti-social—maybe even psychopathic. But I couldn’t help it. I still felt it.

  If I’d snapped his neck back then… maybe none of this shit would’ve happened.

  Even with all the bullshit since the exile, Ey and I made time for ourselves. We took a quiet weekend down south—one of the smaller beach towns we’d built to attract tourists. Simple. Quiet. Sun, sea, and soft sheets. It felt earned.

  Poor Frank stepped up as the official Deputy of Domestic Security. Basically chief of police and Coast Guard admiral rolled into one. He reported to me—more formality than function—but I had my eyes aimed a little farther past our own coast these days.

  Mai and Shinya had been officially recognized as citizens of Tulanto and managed to snag a nice, open-spaced property near the House on the Hill—gifted by His Majesty, who, for some reason, treated Mai more like family than subject.

  Not that I was jealous or anything—I was dating a noble, after all.

  Mai was definitely going to get a nobility before me. I could feel it.

  Career-wise, she’d stepped into Sir Mellon’s shoes as his deputy with ease. His son, Hugh, seemed relieved; the man enjoyed being out in the field, bouncing from one safehouse to another like it was a lifestyle tour.

  Shinya was now officially Island-bound, and looked to be taking over training for our next-gen field operatives. Tulanto needed to reinvest in its ground-level intel assets, and this was the perfect role for someone with his particular skillset.

  Jane had left the island shortly after receiving her permanent body. A one-off bespoke chassis, designed to handle her unique CPU and neural architecture. The motor functions were second to none, and yes—there were some toys installed for emergencies. That body wasn’t for field ops, though.

  Instead, she and Vance had collaborated to design mission-specific bodies that could be printed and activated at any of our global safe houses.

  Honestly? I think Vance was going to ask her out at some point.

  But the coward dropped the idea too easily.

  I was in my office, a small shoe box hoteling space somewhere in the basement of the administrative offices when my phone rang.

  On the phone was none other then my best friend in the world Reginald Tevanson, of Tuvalu security officially, unofficially my intelligence liaison -- I wonder if he gets two paychecks for that.

  "Hey Reggie, what do I have the pleasure of hearing from you today?" I said in a flat rote voice.

  "You son of a bitch! Why do you people keep sending your rejects to us?"

  "I'm assuming this is about Marva?" I asked.

  "Yes this is about Marva! She hasn't even been here a month and all of my informants are reporting one or two moves from her already"

  "She's a smart lady Reggie, I'd keep an eye on her."

  "Of course she's smart, she's Tulantian!"

  "Not anymore. Now she's Tuvaluan and your problem. But I will say, if you need any resources for her let me know. I want her watched Reggie. And I want you doing the watching Reggie."

  "You're not my boss Kay! You don't--"

  "Yea, yea, we can do this dog and pony show or you can get what I'm saying. The heat is on, the Americans are running out of patience with not being the best and they are actively looking to undermine us, us being both of our nations -- we are tied at the hip regardless of if you like it or not. So this is what we will be doing. You and I will be having these calls monthly. You will ensure you know what shes doing -- I don't care if you need to date her, but we use her to keep a pulse on them. Drop her small tech to peddle out, see who she makes friends with. Do you understand Reggie?"

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  He sighed, a long sigh, I wondered where he got such large lungs and then finally after a beat of silence gave a resigned "Yea, makes sense Kay. But remember you owe me. I'm not your subordinate here. This is a favor."

  "Tulanto runs on favors Reggie."

  AG had asked me to meet him in his office.

  He wasn’t at his desk. Wasn’t even inside, really.

  I found him near the edge of the patio—out past the sliding mana-glass wall that opened the whole back of the building like it was breathing. Sunlight poured across the marble floors and spilled into the living garden beyond. I’d seen this place a dozen times. It still didn’t feel real.

  The House on the Hill wasn’t a house. It was a damn habitat—divided by design into cordial directions.

  Layered terraces curved out like the steps of some ancient ziggurat, each level lush with flowering trees, shaded pools, and sculpted greenery that made you feel like the mountain had grown the building itself.

  Below us, the ocean stretched in molten orange beneath the late-day sun. The occasional shimmer of a mana whirlpool danced just inside our designated economic zone. Somewhere beyond, diplomatic ships drifted by—pretending not to watch us too closely.

  AG stood with his back to me. Painting.

  An easel had been propped beneath a shaded alcove, angled just so, away from the salt air. A blank canvas had already become something else—slow, deliberate strokes forming light and shadow, a coastal silhouette that wasn’t far off from the real thing.

  “Even kings need hobbies?” I said quietly.

  He didn’t turn. Just cleaned his brush and nodded.

  “I find clarity in translating the world into shapes,” he said. “When you paint, you stop seeing names and histories. You only see weight. Distance. How a thing balances against light.”

  I stepped closer. The scent of ocean and oil paint hit like memory. “You called me.”

  He set the brush aside and finally looked at me.

  “Yes Kay,” AG said. “The world is watching now. And I need you to start behaving like it.”

  “I'm still security,” I said. “not diplomacy--that's State.”

  “Incorrect,” he said, voice steady. “You are security. Therefore, you are diplomacy.”

  He let the words hang a second, then added:

  “How many Infiltrators are waiting in the Cave, Kay? Not fielded. Not printed. The real ones.”

  “In all, sir?” I asked, thrown by the sudden pivot. He nodded once.

  “Five thousand heavy models. Three thousand fast-response models. Fifteen hundred advanced models. Seven hundred and fifty vanguard types. Two hundred relay models for command and control. All mana-hardened. That doesn’t include active Coast Guard units, Tuvalu security operatives, or our on-demand printers—though those are lesser quality.”

  He didn’t blink.

  “That’s our security force, Kay. Do you not think that’s reason enough for others to stay on the good diplomatic side of us?”

  He paused just long enough to let the numbers settle.

  “That’s five battalions of security, Kay. Not to mention our other trump cards—the ones we can’t deploy without consequences. But these?” nodding toward the numbers as if Kay had drawn them on an invisible whiteboard between them. “These we can.”

  I let that hang between us for a second. The ocean whispered under the cliffs.

  “I’m not a statesman.”

  “No,” he said, “You’re better. You’re unfiltered. You don’t care what the room thinks of you. You’re a realist in a sea of theater. That’s exactly what they’ll respond to.”

  He walked toward the patio edge, looking out over the layers of Tulanto—its labs, its towers, its people.

  “The Japanese delegation arrives the day after tomorrow,” he said. “They won’t apologize for Mai. Or her fiancé. They might even hint at asking for her back—not outright, of course. But they’ll posture. Twist the blade, then act like they’re offering us a clean slate. It’s all a dance.”

  I frowned. “You want me to dance?”

  “I want you there as yourself. With Ey. With the team. I want them to see what strength actually looks like. Not weapons. Not tech. Will.”

  He sighed, probably tired of always having to explain his genius plans to plebeians like me.

  “Look, Kay. We have all this in spades. But our only ally—besides Tuvalu, of course—is Italy. And that’s a strained relationship at best. We need to learn how to trust again. We need to open up a bit. But that doesn’t mean a fire sale.”

  I frowned. “This… this is not usually my job.”

  “It is now.”

  He folded his arms. The weight of it wasn’t paternal. It was sovereign.

  “We pruned the garden from our internal weeds,” he said. “now help us protect it from the outside locust.”

  "Ok. But one question." I said to his nod.

  "Are you using the royal 'we' in that last sentence or not?"

  He smiled, and took both my hands in his, looked me in the eyes and said "Alas, we will never know".

  TAI had arranged for tea.

  Which meant, of course, the timing was perfect, the garden was spotless, and the tea itself was precisely two degrees hotter than comfortable—because anything else would’ve been sloppy.

  We met on the west terrace near the reflecting pool, a quiet, breezy patch of calm built for diplomacy and posturing alike. A pair of low tables waited beneath the arched stone awning, each set with Tulanto-pressed ceramic and bite-sized sweets. The scent of lemongrass hovered in the air, stubborn but not overpowering.

  I was mostly there to observe. Mai had been asked. I had been included. There’s a difference.

  She arrived dressed for comfort, but with purpose—soft linen wrap, comm band visible, tablet tucked under one arm. Not her usual field kit, but this wasn’t a field op. This was what came after.

  TAI stood to greet her, smile just subtle enough to be genuine.

  “Thank you for coming,” TAI said, always formal with Mai. “Would you like green, black, or the jasmine infusion?”

  Mai raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression androids didn’t entertain preferences.”

  “Why wouldn’t we? They’re your preferences, not ours. Aesthetic principles, yes?”

  Mai made a face and sat. “Jasmine. Why not?”

  My Ey poured without another word. Losing herself in the moment. Simply enjoying the ritual. I took my seat last, still quiet. Still watching.

  “I’ve been reviewing the post-exile metrics,” TAI began, her tone sliding into that precise diplomatic register she used when talking with AG or foreign press. “Our projections for regional sentiment have skewed higher than expected. A blend of fear and fascination. Useful, but unstable.”

  “And you want my help stabilizing it?” Mai asked, taking a careful sip.

  “No. I want your insight. You’ve been where I cannot go. You’ve felt things I cannot model. Kay can simulate, I can extrapolate—but you live it.”

  Mai glanced my way, then back to TAI.

  “You could’ve sent this request by packet. Hell, you could’ve had Kay ask me. Why this?” she asked gesturing to the tea.

  Ey’s eyes flicked toward the horizon, her voice softening.

  “Because we’re past metrics now. This is the part where stories begin. And I don’t want us to write the wrong one.”

  That got a pause.

  Mai leaned back slightly and cautiously asked “So what’s the version you’re afraid of?”

  “That we become just another nation with a stockpile. Seen not for what we build, but only for what we can unleash. For what we could take, not what we give back to humanity.”

  “We’re already seen that way.”

  “Yes, by the loudest” Ey said. “but not by everyone. Not yet. That window is narrowing.”

  I stayed silent. I could’ve added a dozen operational factors to the mix. Field assessments, diplomatic overtures, policy triggers. But this wasn’t about the grid. This was about tone. About vision.

  About trust.

  TAI—no, Ey, when no one else was around—turned to me briefly.

  “I know what AG wants us to be. But I also know what we can be. And you—both of you—are the closest things this island has to a conscience.”

  I smiled with a small laugh.

  Mai outright scoffed. “That’s rich.”

  “Conscience doesn’t require virtue. Just awareness.”

  That shut us both up.

  For a moment, it was just tea. Sipping. Wind. Distant sea birds screaming like they’d been briefed on global politics.

  Then Mai spoke again.

  “So what’s the ask here?”

  TAI folded her hands. “Be visible. Be thoughtful. Show that strength can be thoughtful. Let them see you as something besides a security risk. Let them see why Tulanto has never needed to poach—because we simply wait until you ask to join.” she said gesturing to Mai.

  “Easy ask,” Mai said. “Hard act.”

  Ey smiled. Just a little. “That’s why Kay will be the android sword and shield to your human olive branch.”

  I watched the exchange unfold like a play I hadn’t rehearsed for.

  “We’re attending the delegation, yes… but we’re engaging in the talks openly as an android-and-human team?” I asked.

  Ey nodded. “Yes. Publicly.”

  Mai looked at me and smirked. “Good. I clean up prettier any way.”

  “Confirmed,” Ey said, straight-faced.

  I just sipped my tea.

  It was still too hot.