“When I was in the rehabilitation center in Delma, I had a lot of time to think about people and cities and brokenness. Badly broken bones never heal perfectly, and neither do broken societies. Many people have tried so hard to heal the City, to change it. I wanted to do something different. I work with groups who want to build a community without external walls and internal barriers, a community that can do everything the City will not.”

“Is this an attempt at a heavenly city?” Chance inquired with gentle skepticism.

Miranda blinked, not expecting what felt like a sneer from Chance, but in the pause she considered swiftly, acknowledged the point, and smiled. “We are not angels. Competition. Choice. Some people want walls, and that’s part of their strength and their vulnerability. In Midhaven we offer another way.”

“This is ambitious,” he said, still cautious.

She nodded. “It is. Fortunately, according to some, I may have plenty of time to see it unfold.”

The landscape began to change from dry, open land to clusters of dwellings and pools of unexpectedly green parkland. Miranda continued her commentary. “There is an underground lake beneath all this. We have wells feeding the oases, and only temporary houses are allowed out here. We still have to improve transportation, but that’s coming.”

Chance was looking ahead. “The skyline is very low,” he noted.

“Early days,” Miranda said. “Besides, we build below more than above. It’s best to be out of the noonday sun. Khabir says I’m making a crepuscular community—by which he means we’re active around dawn and dusk with two sleeps in between. But the nights are pretty vibrant too.”

The road dipped into a tunnel as Miranda explained that the rudimentary grid of city streets for central Midhaven was, like so many working spaces, mostly underground. Minutes later they were at her door. The large room inside was illuminated by sunlight from light tubes and skylights, pale stone walls curved to a high, domed ceiling, and the air felt cool and dry. Miranda brought Chance to a chair in front of her desk and tried to play hostess, but as she spoke more about the agencies that had designed Midhaven and arranged for the first settlers, Chance kept her free of distraction by playing host himself. Still listening, he wandered around the place, unhindered by the flimsy and haphazard room dividers—cloth screens with more artistic than functional use. He found the tea, biscuits, cups, and saucers, and when he went to answer a ring at the door, it was with kettle in hand and an air of being familiar with the place.

“Hello, Miranda—oh. Good day.”