“Bloody hell. Women in bathrooms.”

  “I’m serious. You’re…” Martha tried not to say “magnificent” and failed. “Magnificent. You leave him, you’ll be one of the richest people in the world.”

  “I don’t get fifty percent if I leave now. Got to do another five years minimum for the serious money. Or he’s got to leave me. Plus they’re launching a new thing next year, Anvil Automate. Takes any process your secretary is doing and automates it, any process anyone is doing online. I don’t just mean mail merge. I mean research methods, I mean writing emails, I mean undetectable artificial secretary to make Zoom calls for you. Zimri is going to be worth three times what he’s worth now. The code for it is beautiful. Like a cathedral.”

  Selah had finished cleaning the blood and makeup off her face. She pulled on her fresh shirt and pants.

  “You know what I think to myself every day? I think, At least where I am I can hold him back from some of it. You know? Like he wanted to set up some moon base—I’m not joking, a bloody moon base—and I said: ‘How about we buy up some habitats on Earth and turn them into safe zones for animals?’ Obviously he doesn’t remember that was my idea but it bloody was. He still wants to do the moon base but we’ve got the FutureSafe zones now. I think to myself, Maybe that’s why I’m in this position, that’s why I got here. For this.”

  “Yes,” said Martha, “I think something like that about Lenk. But sometimes”—she spoke slowly and carefully, placing each word like a board-game piece—“I wonder if that’s going to be enough.”

  Selah took a bright pink pencil from her bag and reapplied a confident winged navy-blue sweep across each eyelid. She turned to Martha.

  “You think about leaving Lenk? You wouldn’t work for Fantail anymore?” said Selah.

  Martha said, “Yes. I have thought about it. Yes.”

  “And? You’ve got no prenup. Go and run a foundation or something.”

  “Yes,” Martha said, “I could do that. I think I’m staying because… I’m trying to work out how to take what Lenk’s built and do something better with it.”

  Selah looked at Martha. Her head started to tip to the side, as if of its own accord. Like the world was turning around and Selah was trying to match it, to keep things level in front of her eyes.

  “Women in bathrooms,” said Martha.

  How does trust build between people? It is an offering and a receiving. It is putting yourself into the position to be hurt, just a little, and noticing that they refrain. It is the reaching out between people, laughing at the same moment. It is building a model of the other person inside yourself, placing them in the palm of your hand, rotating them and saying: Yes. I see the flaws and I see the dangers and nothing will happen here that will truly harm me. And it is saying: I would rather trust you than be alone.

  Selah unhooked her bra under the T-shirt, ran cold water onto the frothy lace, rubbing at it gently with the pads of her thumbs.

  “I mean, it’s fucking biblical. Literally, blood raining down on us. Mate, I grew up with all that, my mum is well religious? Don’t give me church every Sunday—church every day. Blood, frogs, locusts, pestilence, hail, darkness. There are ways to tell if the Lord is done with you, innit?”

  “They had a plague of locusts in Italy. Just a few weeks ago. And South Africa before that,” Martha said.

  “The novel coronavirus. Mpox.” Selah gave a sideways glance. “Hailstones the size of grapefruit in Canada. In summer.”

  They were laughing. Martha had never known anyone who could play this game with her before.

  “Is that true,” Martha said, “about the hailstones?”

  “Oh yeah. I have Anvil alerts for the end of the world, fam. God is so pissed off with us.”

  Is it then that this starts to be something? Is it Selah Nommik saying those words in that order that plants the seed of all that is to come? At the time, Martha didn’t think of it as more than a joke.

  Selah Nommik said: “If we had any, like, old-school prophets, they’d all be telling us to stop everything we’re doing right now and just get on with fixing it. Nothing else. Not until it’s done.”

  “A friend of mine says that too,” said Martha. “That tech people are the only people who can fix this because we’re the only ones who are used to changing stuff this quickly.”

  “Right, because we have to do it quickly. You know. The climate stuff, habitat destruction… eventually it’ll right itself. But it can take six hundred years and we have to live through civilizational collapse, and six billion people will die and we get thrown back to the Stone Age, orrrrrrrrrrrr we can all just get our arses in gear and do it really quickly and have, like, five years of significant pain, live with blackouts, everyone in the world is conscripted to fix it, and then we’re basically through the worst.”

  “There’s a beautiful world on the far shore,” Martha said.

  “There really fucking is.” Selah spun around so quickly that she splattered tiny drops of water onto Martha. “Oh fuck, sorry.”

  “It’s not the worst thing that’s gotten on me today.”

  “Right,” said Selah. “No but look, sorry, you get it, right? I’m really trying but I don’t think I’ve met anyone else who really gets this. There is a beautiful world on the far shore, where we’re not destroying all the species anymore and our cities are clean and beautiful and full of wild birds, and our cars are all electric and all shared, and the streets are safe for kids to play in, and we get to keep TV and the internet and concerts and ball games and all that good stuff, and fine, we’re eating mostly vegan food but it’s good, and if we can just get through the pain barrier as quickly as possible, then we’re there.”

  “I think you should meet my friend,” said Martha.

  “I fucking should,” said Selah, folding her damp bra into her plastic bag. “I should meet your friend and I should meet you and you should somehow persuade your boss Lenk Sketlish to get in on FutureSafe.”

  “My friend is Albert Dabrowski,” said Martha.

  “OK,” said Selah, because for a moment it didn’t register; his was a name from the distant past, which is to say in Silicon Valley about twelve years ago. Then it did. “Just a sec. You’re mates. With Albert Dabrowski?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How the fuck did that happen?”

  “Long story.”

  Selah frowned, thinking. “You know who you should talk to? Badger Bywater.”

  It wasn’t more than six months later that AUGR was born.

  12. so many stupid songs

  We are always in the process of catching up to the future. Only when we get there, it’s never what we imagined. Sometimes, just once in a while, it’s better.

  A long time after these meetings, on the rooftop of a hotel in London on a cold January day, Martha Einkorn had watched Badger Bywater irritate Lenk Sketlish by bringing their own straw to an expensive party. Of course, Badger Bywater could do what they liked, sipping insouciantly through that glass straw with all the family money in the world to protect them. Albert Dabrowski could do what he liked to a certain extent too, since everything had already been taken from him. He was at the party on the rooftop, giving his liver less punishment than it looked like. Most of the fruit punches were straight fruit juice. They all wanted to keep clear heads, and Albert’s liver wasn’t as young as he used to be. Selah Nommik was playing the game, of course, as she’d played it cleverly and well for five long, boring years. But none of them were in quite as precarious a position as Martha. Even to justify coming to London for this, she’d had to volunteer to take on some boring-as-shit sponsor events like “Fantail as a Survival Tool.”

  The raindrops fell on the roof. She checked her thinscreen. It was time. Martha had the dull sense of duty, of lonely, necessary responsibility that she had all the time these days. She took the elevator down to her boring event.

  Martha had done her internet searches about Lai Zhen before the event, of course. Lai Zhen was mesmerizing, hilarious, charismatic—of course she was: 2.8 million people wanted to be her friend. Martha had learned to be cynical about charismatic people. Lai Zhen would almost certainly turn out to be a self-obsessed, narcissistic jerk. Still, it was worth meeting SurlySurvivor. After what Fantail had done in the Fall of Hong Kong, Martha had always wanted to meet people who’d survived it. And Lai Zhen might turn out to be useful somehow.

  There is a thing in human life that can never be predicted or controlled. It is dangerous and terrifying; it destroys your life and fucks up your plans. That’s why there are so many stupid songs about it.

  Lai Zhen took the hand of Martha Einkorn. She was charming and funny; she was witty and self-deprecating. Their palms met. It was like an electricity waking up inside Martha. Oh shit, thought Martha, this is not the time for this. But there’s no way to really know what’s going to arise next.

  She was out of practice but she’d seen Lenk do this often enough. With his various wives and mistresses, his baby mothers and his side pieces. It wasn’t hard. He let slip little vulnerabilities about himself; he made suggestive remarks. A part of her, inside her mind, was saying, This is really not the moment for this inner lake to unfreeze, thank you; stay frozen, please, just for the next few months, just stay frozen. But the part of her that had seen Lenk do this before took the hotel key from her pocket and pressed it into Zhen’s hand as she saw Zhen’s pupils dilate, as she thought, I’m so fucking out of practice at this I’ve forgotten where all the bits go. But this is the thing humans do. Knock knock, says one, can I come in? And though there’s no reason at all to let someone in, though it’d be safer and more sensible and involve less reorganizing of plans to keep the door closed, this is what we’re like. We give someone our hotel key.

  She woke before Zhen that first morning. Looked at her still, sleeping face. Was this even possible? She was, what, eleven years older than Zhen? People made things like that work but could she? Really? She’d barely slept all night for the strange presence of another person in her bed; she’d lain stiff and afraid, a strange and terrible dawn breaking inside her. Zhen muttered in her sleep, something in Chinese that sounded like “bou bui.” And Martha thought: Oh, but I want to. It is morning again and I am standing in the sunshine at last. Her face turned toward the sun and she felt the touch of its warmth.

  She closed her eyes. Once upon a time her father had left her alone in a cold, dark wood close to sunset, and one way or another, no matter where she went, she had stayed alone in that forest for the whole of her life. She listened to Zhen breathing. It didn’t matter what happened next. She’d finally felt something.

  She had a webcam set up to watch her guinea pigs back in California. The housekeeper took care of them every day. There they were, in their castle, Nutmeg wandering over to the hay bale for a nibble. Toepocket—named because she liked to stick her toes into the pocket of her blanket, obviously—sleeping in one of the upper rooms. In bed that morning in London she watched their nocturnal movements on her tablet. They were extremely sweet, and suddenly the demands of an intense job and the affection of guinea pigs wasn’t enough. Would never be enough again. Shit.

  Selah messaged her that day. She said: Level with us, that wasn’t a casual thing was it?

  And Martha had thought of saying it was, it could be. Zhen could turn out to be a shithead. But she knew it wasn’t casual for her, anyway.

  Albert said: Well, shit, congratulations, darling.

  They talked now via private message using pre-agreed pseudonyms on a knitting board. And then on a deep-sea diving board. And then on a board for people living with diabetes. The board moved once a week. They’d memorized six months’ worth when they met in person.

  Badger said: I want to meet her.

  Albert said: My god we all want to meet her.

  Badger said: Yeah but, seriously, we’re really close now.

  Selah said: I think that’s a good idea. I’m not saying we need to check her out but… we are really close now.

  So fine, Badger met Zhen in New Zealand. And Badger thought she was great.

  Albert said: You really like her, don’t you?

  Selah didn’t let Martha answer.

  Look, she’s amazing, that’s why Martha likes her and that’s why we can’t. I’m sorry, Martha. Look at what’s coming. It can only be a few months at most. The weather. The black mould. The war in the South China Sea. The thing is coming and it’s not going to wait for long.

  Martha thought: How have I gotten myself into this situation again? Denial and duty. What I owe to the community is greater than what I myself am allowed. Somehow, after all these years, I’ve ended up back in a compound. She thought of saying no. She thought of the feeling that first morning—terrified, stiff and sleepless, knowing with a frightening certainty the touch of sunlight on her face.

  But she knew she’d already done one terrible secret thing. If the others knew, they would call it all off. So she didn’t tell them.

  Selah said: Look, if and when things do go to shit, you can always bring her with you, OK? When the balloon goes up. You can bring her then. We’re not going to stop you.

  But Selah didn’t know that Martha had already—in a way—brought Zhen with her for the end of days.

  Martha watched Zhen’s talks online, and her videos. She had each live stream calendared. Meanwhile, she ghosted Zhen gently. Replied to each message with something less—a smiley face, a thumbs-up. She watched her crooked smile and listened to her foul mouth describing a disappointing tent, an overly expensive infection monitor. Martha thought: You don’t know that you’re already safe.

  Martha had set up her own Wi-Fi network in her hotel room to deliver a very particular package. One morning, Martha had left the Wi-Fi and the password for Zhen, and Zhen had connected her devices to it. Knock knock, Martha’s internet had said. And Zhen’s entire secure system had no reason to let anyone in. Except for being human. Except for wanting to connect. Except for the moment when one hand touches another. That’s how anything happens. Come on in, said Zhen’s secure system. And then, without anyone knowing, Martha had given Zhen AUGR.

  There is never a good enough reason to trust anyone. Except that we can’t live without doing it. Martha watched Zhen through her screen give this talk and that talk and thought: You’re safe. And one day I can explain it all. After the end of the world.

  when to go

  “By the time you know the world’s ending, it’s already too late, am I right?”

  Si Packship laughed. The laugh was irresistible. Despite themselves, three of the richest people in the world laughed along with him.

  When Martha had found him, his laugh had been nervous, his palms itchy. But she’d worked with him until he was presentable for Lenk, Ellen, and Zimri. There was some mileage in his idea, and even more after she allotted him some funding from her special-projects budget. It could be something Lenk would really want. She didn’t want Packship making her look like a schmuck.

  Si Packship’s presentation skills were perfect. The slides were perfect. His face was perfect, symmetrical and beautiful. You’d buy anything he sold you. You’d feel great about yourself while you did.

  “You’ve all thought about it. You guys do nothing all day but stare directly into the future, right? And you think you’d know exactly when to go. Maybe you believe you can be rational, logical, objective about it. But we know that’s not true.”

  Zimri Nommik stirred in his seat. He didn’t like being woken too early in the morning to go to the inside of a mountain to hear a presentation, and he wasn’t at all sure this man wasn’t insulting him.

  “You might not be rational,” Zimri rumbled, “but I sure as shit am.”

  Si Packship took it as easily as breathing. “There are some decisions machines are just better at,” he said, smiling, and this was exactly what Zimri believed. “People can be swayed by emotion. We stay at the roulette table too long. We freeze in a crisis. Even well-trained, well-educated people who think about this stuff. You know pilots can be so obsessed with getting to their destination that they ignore bad weather? That’s how most plane crashes happen. And the tech industry? We’re optimists. Cognitive bias. We keep on thinking we can fix it, until it’s too late. But”—Packship paused and smiled winningly—“pilots don’t rely on their instincts. They have machines to tell them when to pull up, when they’re about to hit the ground, when they’re going too slow.

  “So let me ask you a question. You have your bunker. You’ve got somewhere to go. But here’s the question: How do you know when to go?”

  With an air of playing along, Ellen Bywater said: “Riots on the streets.”

  “OK. How are you getting to your bunker? Private jet? How are you getting to the airfield?”

  “Limo,” said Lenk. He was enjoying himself. Back to preschool. Unlike Ellen and Zimri, he already knew where this was going.

  “If there are riots on the streets, how d’you think a limo’s going to go over with an angry mob?”

  “America loves wealth,” said Zimri. He motioned with his big, ungainly shoulders.

  “Don’t you think that the day Americans stop loving the wealthy is the day we need to be thinking about?” said Si Packship. “That’s what we’re here for. Not the day everything carries on as normal, but the day it all goes to shit. Let’s say you make it to the airfield. What are the chances your plane is still there? What are the chances it can take off? How are you going to make sure that the fuel hasn’t been drained, sold on?”

  Selah Nommik breathed out heavily, like she’d been winded.

  Zimri put his large hand on her arm and muttered, “We own the supply chain. We can always get fuel.”

  “Let me give you another one,” said Si Packship. “How secret is your bunker?”

  “Secret as hell,” said Ellen Bywater. “There are no loopholes.”

  “I get you. You’ve kept the location and the codes secret. You’ve had your pilot’s background looked into by a dozen different private investigators. No gambling debts, no mistresses, no medical bills. He’s paid well to sit on his ass until you need him, and bring his family with him too. OK. You trust your pilot’s next-door neighbor?”