"You drew all this?" Vera said.
"Oh no." Montalban laughed. "No human being could ever construct a map this sophisticated. Investor-analysis correlation engines use distributive intelligence."
"Your map doesn't make any sense. It looks like a plate of spilled food."
"That's why I'm explaining it to you," he said patiently. "It's true that you lack any formal executive power here. Still, you're clearly central to what happens here, and this map shows it. The cultists here really look up to you: and I can guess why. First, you were born here. You were the last to leave the island, and the first to return to it. You're a motivating, legitimating factor for them."
Vera shrugged. "Can't you talk to me about how you feel? Just tell me what you want."
"You have star quality. That's the simplest way I can put it."
Vera cut him short with a wave of her arm. "All right: This is a beach, am I right? That's seawater. That's a rock. Those are the ruins. Do you see any 'star quality' here?"
Montalban drew a taut breath. "Of course I know that! Tell me what you saw in that microcosm that I sent you."
"What?"
"The hobject, the microcosm. That diplomatic gift I conferred to you. You know. The crystal ball."
"Oh. That bubble thing." Vera shrugged. "I'm too busy for hobbies. I gave it away."
His face fell in raw incredulity. "You did what ?"
"Well, it was a gift, wasn't it? I gave it away as a gift."
"You didn't explore the microcosm? You didn't engage with its interface?"
"How would I 'engage' with a ball of seawater?" She paused. "I remember it had some little shrimps swimming inside. Were those supposed to be valuable?"
Montalban sat up with a look of pain, as if his back ached suddenly. He gazed out to the ruins in the sea. She realized that she had failed him in some deep and surprising way. Montalban was genuinely shocked by what she had done. It was as if he had cooked her a seven-course banquet and she had crassly thrown away the food and smashed all the plates.
He slowly tapped his fingers on his knee. He didn't know what to do next. He was completely at a loss.
She spoke up. "I see that I've hurt your feelings. I didn't mean to do that. I'm sorry."
"It's just…Well…" For the first time, Montalban was unable to speak.
"I'm sorry about it, John. Really."
"I knew this assignment would be difficult." He sighed. "I'm going to say this in the simplest, bluntest way I can. You love this island, right? This place means more to you than anything else in your life. Well, I came here to give it to you. It is my gift to you. That's what I meant to say to you. You will be the duchess, the queen of Mljet. I will put this place at your feet."
"You think you can do that, do you?"
"Yes, I know I can. Because I've done it before." A flicker of pain crossed Montalban's face. "I said that I am a facilitator. I'm good at my work. I'm one of the best in the world, and the world is a lot bigger than this island. If you want this place that you love so much, if you want this island to be your own island, then you can have it. That prospect is written in the stars, or rather, it is written in this very fine analytical map in the dirt here."
"What do you ask from a girl, when you give her a gift like that, Mr. Montalban?"
"I don't ask for anything. That's why it's a gift. If you will agree to hold up your part of this deal I want to arrange, then every other element will swing into place. That work will take me a while, but I know that deal can be done: the financing, promotion, production, residuals, a user base, everything. Everything that a modern tourist island needs."
"So you want me to go into business with you, in some way? That's what you want? I'm not interested in business. I already have a business. I'm very busy all the time." Vera stood up. "I think you should go back to California."
"Sit down," he demanded. She sat again.
"Look," he said, "your status quo is just not in the cards for you. You don't understand this yet, but your story here is already over. You and your Acquis people here, you are way past the stage where you can be just a little extreme techno-start-up on some private island where no one important will notice. That story is gone. Because you accomplished something amazing here. So you have been noticed. You had a big success. The Dispensation always notices big success. Always. So: If we don't arrange that as a win-win-win outcome for all the stakeholders, there's going to be friction."
"I think I understood that last part," Vera said. "That was a threat."
"That's realism. Things gets ugly when the two global civil societies clash."
"How ugly do things get, John?"
"Unnecessarily ugly. The Acquis is the Acquis, the Dispensation is the Dispensation, and the third alternative is chaos. It can be terrible chaos. Like the chaos on this island before you redeemed it."
Montalban looked down the beach, where Karen was cheerfully playing with his daughter. "The Dispensation and the Acquis are a stable, two-party, global system. But the world is in desperate shape-so we have to try extreme solutions. Most of them fail, because they are so extreme. But whenever they work- that's when the world has to take notice. The whole point of having our two-party system is to have a system for reality checks against the extremist groups." Montalban spread his hands. "In any place but Europe, they'd teach that in elementary civics classes."
"We're not an 'extremist group' here. We are rescue workers and geo-engineers."
"Of course you're an extremist group. Of course you are! You've got mind-reading helmets on your heads! Look at those shaven patches on your scalp! You don't even walk like normal people here-you all walk like you could bend over backward like crabs! Plus, this island is covered with weird labor camps that practice sensory totalitarianism! Anyone from the outside world could learn all that in a day."
Montalban knotted his hands. "So: The reason the Acquis was allowed to work here is that the climate crisis is bipartisan. If the seas rise, then the ark sinks, and we will all drown. We know that. So when it comes to fighting the climate crisis, we are willing to allow anything. But when you succeed at what you try, that's different. Then the consequences come."
"Why don't you run along home and let us finish the job here?"
"That is not a reasonable option. Your little experiment here: It violates civil rights, it violates human rights, it exploits desperate refugees as indentured labor with no access to the free market…This place is scary. I can rescue you from all that. I can save you from all those consequences. Because I will make you its queen."
"I can't even understand what you're saying! What exactly do you want from me? Use some real words."
"Okay: Here's the elevator pitch. Instead of being a test bed for a weird neural cult, Mljet becomes what it should be: a tourist island. Mljet becomes a normal place. It's decent, it's noncontroversial. This island has been saved, redeemed, reconstructed. That work is over. The cult relocates elsewhere."
"Where do my people go?"
"We give them an assignment that's better suited to their talents and technologies."
"Where are you putting my people?"
"The Lesser Antarctic Ice Shelf."
"You're exiling us to Antarctica." Vera looked at the glimmering edge of her native hills. "All right, that part I finally understand. Thank you for finally telling me."
" They go, Vera. You don't go. You stay. You encourage them to leave this place and work on the ice, and you remain here under the new dispensation. Because we're not 'exiling' the cult to Antarctica: we're promoting the cult to Antarctica."