Нил Стивенсон - Termination Shock

“Euro Disney!” Chiara cracked.

“Scottsdale, Arizona, is now home to London Bridge,” Saskia pointed out with a wink.

“Perhaps they have room for the Bridge of Sighs!” Chiara shot back.

“There are some in Venice who, sadly, agree,” Michiel said. “We are not among them. We are here to represent those Venetians for whom the Lagoon is the map. Nothing else matters. Venice is our country—our whole country—and if we lose it, we are stateless.”

“Do you see your country as part of Europe?”

“Venice has never ,” said yet another new voice, “been part of Europe.”

They looked up to see a woman standing in the aisle nearby. She might have been anywhere between fifty and a well-preserved seventy. Making zero concessions to the informal Western style that had begun to pervade this train, she was in a long dark skirt, cashmere turtleneck, and blazer with a few well-thought-out pieces of jewelry including a big gold pin depicting the winged lion that was the ancient symbol of Venice. Saskia mastered a brief, ridiculous urge to duck her head around the edge of the table to check out this woman’s shoes. No doubt they would be utterly fabulous and yet tastefully understated.

While pleased to see his aunt—for this was obviously her—Michiel was caught off guard and drew breath to make some greeting. The woman cut him off. Gazing directly at Saskia with big anthracite eyes, she said, “Every time we have made the mistake of trusting Europe we have gotten fucked .” She was frank and firm but not quite scary, though Saskia could imagine a younger version of herself being quite intimidated by such a woman.

“Cornelia!” Michiel said. He turned to Saskia. “Your Majesty, may I introduce my aunt—”

“You’re referring to events that happened during the time of the Crusades,” Saskia said, somewhat amazed. It was impossible to make sense of what Cornelia had just said otherwise.

“Well, the Corsican did us no favors either, but yes, that is what I mean.” Cornelia took a step closer and extended her hand. Saskia reached out and clasped it.

The newcomer showed no interest in anyone else. Chiara, until now a strong presence, had already scurried out of the way. Michiel now followed his sister into the aisle and extended a hand, unnecessarily helping Cornelia take the seat opposite Saskia. The two younger Venetians then just stood there observing, not quite anxious, but certainly alert.

Cornelia put one elbow on the table and cradled her impressive jawline on the heel of her hand, thrusting a couple of plum-colored fingernails up into jet-black hair streaked, just so, with gray. Bracelets cascaded down her forearm. She was looking directly at Saskia. Saskia looked right back at her and enjoyed doing so.

She’d had almost zero sexual interactions with women and had long ago written those off as the result of youthful “confusion.” But her daughter’s incessant demands had put her into a peculiar way of thinking. Every decade or so, some woman came along who seemed like a possible exception.

She wondered if others around them could sense that Saskia’s thoughts were headed that way. It seemed incredibly obvious to her. A faintly wry look on Cornelia’s face suggested that at least one person was having similar perceptions. But then Cornelia broke eye contact, sat back, and sighed. “The Netherlands knows what it is to be abandoned. To be hated by those who are jealous.”

“But doesn’t every country feel that way at one point or another?” Saskia asked. “It is how nations establish a sense of identity.”

“Sometimes it is actually true, though. Venice has been hated and suspected for a long time. Even by other Italians. Especially by them. We are our own country. It is the only thing that has ever worked.”

“If I may,” Willem said. “Oh, I’m nobody,” he added, when Cornelia’s eyes briefly flicked his way. He was bemused, not offended, by Cornelia’s utter lack of interest in niceties. “Just putting this all together: the whole city of Venice will certainly be underwater very soon. Perhaps no city in the world is as vulnerable. MOSE failed because of cumbersome European Union regulation and Italian corruption. Worse, it failed extremely slowly .”

The Venetians all laughed. It was the first time Cornelia had cracked a smile.

“If Venice were free to act in a decisive way, as it was famous for doing back in its golden age, it would just—”

“Solve the fucking problem, yes,” Cornelia said.

“But being part of Italy, which is in turn part of the EU, makes that completely impossible.”

“Completely. Good word.” Cornelia shook her head sadly. “Europe,” she said, in the tone of voice that might be used by the founder of a three-star Michelin restaurant talking about Velveeta.

“So, you are”—and here Willem looked also to Michiel and Chiara—“Venetian nationalists.”

“Did you suppose we were fascists?”

Michiel flinched.

“Don’t worry,” Cornelia went on, “we hate those idiots.”

Michiel smiled.

“We are more like oligarchs,” his aunt concluded. Michiel turned sideways to Chiara, who smiled and put a consoling hand on his arm.

“How many people like you are there?” Willem asked.

“It doesn’t take that many,” Cornelia returned.

“You’re not merely thinking about what I’ll call Vexit—to leave the EU—”

“We want out of Italy. To be like those guys,” Cornelia said, and turned to look back in the direction of the Tree Car.

“Singapore?”

“Yes. And Italy can serve as our Malaysia.”

The same words, uttered in a Venetian coffeehouse, might have seemed a little ridiculous. But on this train rattling across the darkling plains of Central Texas, all things seemed possible.

“Why isn’t she wearing a wedding ring?” Saskia asked, when she had a moment together with Willem, Amelia, and Fenna. They were in Saskia’s private chamber at the back of the Money Car. Fenna was putting on Face Three, more suitable for evening. So Saskia wasn’t free to look around—she had her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling so that Fenna could get at the lower lids—but even so she could sense Willem and Amelia exchanging a look.

“It’s a perfectly normal question,” Saskia insisted. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Fenna snickered, and she knew she had protested a little too much.

“She is so fuckable. Definitely a top though,” Fenna observed. Saskia couldn’t roll her eyes without incurring Fenna’s wrath, but she did heave a sigh. But then Fenna’s phone buzzed and she actually stepped away to check it. Saskia was on her way to being shocked by this unprofessional behavior when she got a look at Fenna’s face and saw the love light in her eyes. Jules was sending her selfies.

“It’s thought that Cornelia’s husband is now out of the picture,” Amelia said, watching Fenna in a bemused way.

“What does that mean?” Saskia asked.

“Early onset dementia. Possibly other issues as well.”

“Where is he?”

“Family palazzo on an island in the Adriatic.”

“Because of course they would have one of those,” Saskia said.

“One of those islands that was part of the Venetian Empire back in the day,” Willem added.

“He hasn’t been seen in public in two years,” Amelia said, “and even then he was showing visible symptoms.”

“I get the picture,” Saskia said. “To repeat Willem’s question: How many people like them are there?”

“Not many,” Amelia said. “Look, our initial background check was focused on Michiel. And he does come from an old Venetian family. They were named to the nobility in 1019.”