“Any gluten, actually, but wheat’s the usual culprit.”
“That’s probably why you had your tonsils taken out, back before you were diagnosed, and they didn’t know why you got sick all the time.”
“How do you know all of this?”
Lyle laughed tiredly. “I’ve recently become an expert in genetic illness. Don’t worry, all I know is your medical history.”
“That’s still a lot.”
“Here’s my theory,” said Lyle, leaning forward. “Cynthia wasn’t just looking for an assistant, she was looking for one she could trust—one she could be as certain as possible was exactly who she said she was, and not a spy from … I don’t know, anywhere. Even within this building you say nobody trusts each other. So she went through our list of rejected models and found someone with a genetic disorder debilitating enough that no one would ever want to copy it, yet light enough that it wouldn’t interfere with your work. Then she cross-referenced that with the old résumés on file to see which ones had secretarial experience. Filter for all those crazy requirements, and the only one left is Lilly Washington: make sure she’s still herself, untainted by the lotion, and boom, she’s hired.”
Lilly stared at him, mouth hanging slightly open. “I…” She shook her head. “Here I thought I was hired for typing sixty words a minute.”
“Sorry.”
“What does it mean, though?” she asked. “Say it’s true: what does it tell us? That Cynthia’s paranoid?”
“No one’s ever argued with that,” said Lyle, “but no one’s ever said she’s stupid, either. Even the people who hate her. If she’s protecting herself this closely, it means her position here, and mine, and yours for that matter, are a lot more tenuous than we thought.”
Lilly laughed, but the sound was completely devoid of humor. “Welcome to the end of the world. Find me someone whose position isn’t tenuous and I’ll buy you a pony.”
Lyle laughed back, and in that moment he seemed to see her in a new light. He returned the gentle tease. “Can you afford a pony on what she’s paying you?”
“A cigar, then.”
“I don’t smoke.”
Lilly smiled. “I’ll dip into my savings, and buy a pony to smoke it for you.”
Lyle smiled, too.
The outer door opened, and Ira/Moore stood imperiously in the doorway. “Come with me, Doctor. Time to meet the General Assembly.”
53
Tuesday, November 27
7:32 A.M.
United Nations, Manhattan
17 DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD
“This session of the United Nations General Assembly will now reconvene.”
Lyle sat nervously in his seat between Cynthia and Ira/Moore, overawed by the size and scope of the room. It was a wide auditorium with rounded walls, filled from front to back with more counters and tables and chairs than he could count. Most of them were empty. The walls were lined with four rows of windows, one on top of the other, which during a normal session were presumably filled with translators or other observers but today were mostly dark and empty. The walls leaned in, and Lyle felt like they were looming over him dangerously. At the front of the room sat a podium, and behind it a broad desk on a dais; behind that a golden wall rose up like a monolith. Even with the room mostly empty, Lyle felt compressed by the sheer weight of the room’s legacy.
“The nation of Japan would like to point out that we barely have twenty members left in attendance,” said the Japanese ambassador. “No resolutions we vote on here can possibly be passed.”
“The United Republic of Tanzania is tired of listening to Japan whine about this.”
“It’s a serious concern,” said Japan.
“Here we go again,” said Estonia.
“Every member nation was invited,” said the man at the podium, “and their failure to attend must be taken as a voting abstention, the same as every other attendance issue.” He had an American accent, and Lyle thought he recognized him from the news, but couldn’t put a name on him. He leaned over to Cynthia and whispered softly.
“Who’s that?”
“Chad.”
“He doesn’t look African.”
“He’s from the U.S. State Department. His name is Chad.”
“Oh.” Lyle sunk back into his chair.
“Japan is right,” said Libya. “One or two attendance abstentions is quite a different thing from a hundred and seventy-three of them.”
“Then what do you propose instead?” demanded Mexico. “Should we just sit back and do nothing while the world falls apart around us? We’ve invited them and they’re not here—let’s try to get something done anyway.”
“The nation of Estonia,” said Estonia, “has heard enough of this assembly’s arguing to last a lifetime. The scientist has arrived, and I say we listen to him. If he has anything valuable to say it will be more than this room’s heard in weeks.”
“The nation of Samoa agrees,” said Samoa, “but does so in a slightly more polite manner.”
“Fine,” said Chad. “The General Assembly officially recognizes Dr. Lyle Fontanelle, and invites him to take the podium.” He stepped aside, and Ira/Moore nudged Lyle to stand up. Lyle walked slowly to the front of the room, his footsteps echoing as he went. He hadn’t exactly been expecting applause, but even so, the silence felt crushing. His mouth was completely dry when he reached the front of the room.
