During the normative fifties, the AU went far underground. V had been on the fringes of AU activity, traveling to indigenous communities in Mexico, trying to understand more of their practices, taking mushrooms in ceremonies, imagining a bolder organizing system. Nalita and Fran, two queer activists of color, found one of V’s pamphlets in a Bay Area bookstore and reached out to him. V used some of the AU’s funding to bring Nalita, Fran, and a few other members of their lesbian reading group to his home in Mexico, where they spent days dreaming about how to transform the AU into a more horizontal, rhizomal structure. And, with the blessing of most of the AU original founders, they did.

For subsequent chapters on the early Rhiz, the AIDS crisis, the arrival of a billionaire’s heir on the scene, as well as the protocols behind income redistribution and the council of Black trans Elders, the pre-summons novice must advance.

I kept turning and found only empty pages. I wondered if post-summons novices and other higher members could unlock the chapters. Was Stone part of the Rhiz? How much did she get to read? I looked out into her empty living room. Damn, she was probably off at the Rhiz-Port or beaming into another queer’s home. Come to think of it, she’d never exactly explained her affiliation with the U; maybe there was none, or she used their archives for some other purpose. I pictured her in the library, sitting right next to me looking through old Rhiz files as I read my mystery novels. For a queasy moment, I wanted to break up with her to avoid the untenable sense that she’d kept all of this from unsophisticated Pen.

Admittedly, I hadn’t thought the Rhiz would be interested in Stone, who was so low-key about her queerness. In other words, I was surprised that Stone could be admitted into the Rhiz without seeming to have suffered greatly for her queerness.

Was that messed up?

I set the book down on its side. The prism still shot out of the Rhiz symbol on its spine. I cupped my hands around it. It glowed and then flattened into a large, illustrated holographic map. The Rhiz-Port.

The map hovered before me, about as wide as a coffee table. I moved my hand toward a drawing of crystal towers, the Palace of the Elders, and an oval outline appeared above it, with a larger, animated view of the gleaming structures and the series of interlocking courtyards that spread out around them.

“Black trans Elders, mostly women, reside in the Palace of the Elders,” a crisp voice narrated. “They eat fruit, bathe, play music, send out messages to summon lovers, whatever brings their desire. Every month, they hold open counsel sessions in their gardens. The Elders sit out on large divans near cascading waterfalls, and certain problems are brought to their attention, and either fixed or laughed at.”