Stacia rolled her eyes. In her experience, Opportunity Zones amounted to new occasions to exploit and displace communities, typically hers. The way her mother told it, her family barely survived their O.E. neighborhood being designated an Opportunity Zone. LISC declaring eminent domain on their houses, whole businesses torn down for an interstate that bifurcated their neighborhood. The nearby university declared the owner of land tracts. Her people couldn’t move to the dream of Muungano fast enough. If LISC operated true to form, before they decided to open an Opportunity Zone, no community members outside of their internal enclave were consulted. Stacia did a brief internship with the Indianapolis Chamber. She’d just left Amachi and dealt with the emotional hole by piling her life with work and school and training. Adding more and more until the demands of time lines caused her life to implode. And she had to re-create herself. Eventually she leveraged that experience against them, advancing into LISC itself. She never worried about being tainted by entering their spaces because she was Muungano, born and bred. She carried her culture with her wherever she went. After she gained her requisite experience, she transferred to Titan. And quickly rose to captain.

“It’s funny how areas already wealthy with resources and relationships seem to be the ones labeled Opportunity Zones. Where, pray tell, might this Opportunity Zone be located?”

“The wormhole, of course.”

“I will need a drink. Of the non-caffeinated, preferably alcoholic variety.” Stacia moved to her bar, keeping him in her peripheral view, and tucked a pehla stick into her belt. “Make your pitch.”

“LISC wishes to share resources, putting community-level development on its center stage.”

“Yes, you are all about inclusive economies. History abounds with so many examples of capitalist concern for human-centered work.”

“Many resources are simply underutilized, especially in … underdeveloped areas.” Zenith couldn’t help the snide edge that slipped into his condescending drone. “We simply want to come alongside certain communities and help revitalize and empower them to reach their full potential.”

Stacia hated words like empower and revitalize when applied to her community. It implied that the people there had no power and that their community was dead. “Where are you from, Zenith?”

“Mars. Born and raised.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Stacia took the empty seat. With all due casualness, she scanned for any other devices. “The Mars colony was an ongoing experiment in economic redlining. All the one percent of earth retreating to their own planet after their machinations wrecked O.E. Planned-for, intentional, and legal segregation.”

“In our defense, we’re an inclusive one percent.” Zenith yawned. He set his cup and saucer down. They flickered before disappearing entirely.

“So inclusive, half of your capital city seceded.”

“Bronzeville did seem a little … aggrieved.” Leaning over, he grabbed a piece of fruit she didn’t recognize from a nearby plate.