Huma wondered what the point had been about asking the management about Cassidy Jones' location in the first place. Usually bluffing worked fine when it came to access to the Rainbow Shirts, which is what Huma ended up having to do anyway. Well, Joel Rotierre was a fairly new staff member, with an unusually high rank, so Huma wanted to make an impression anyway. What really baffled Huma was why Barack would hire someone like Joel Rotierre in the first place. Joel was short, ugly, white and not particularly trustworthy, given the generally pointless upstairs errand.
But such concerns were not, at the moment, particularly critical. They only came to mind because when Huma had finally gotten as far as Cassidy's holding cell, Huma couldn't escape just how exactly opposite it was from the description Joel had implied. It was a dank, disgusting little room. Huma's first glance of Cassidy Jones was of the diminutive woman carefully looking over some mushrooms.
Huma rejected an offer of having a guard in the room. Cassidy was astonishingly short. Huma was nearly thirty centimeters taller- so naturally Cassidy was no physical threat. And confident as usual, Huma would surely be able to psychologically intimidate the terrorist into submission. But first things first- Huma wanted to give off a friendly disposition.
"It's a real shame that they stuck you down here," said Huma. "I could help. I've got some pull to get you a nicer room. And if they say no, I could always report on your mistreatment."
"Oh, I'm fine," said Cassidy. "There's a fungus room at the Botanical Garden, but I've always been curious whether natural poor maintenance in older buildings facilitates usable conditions for fungal development. I actually specifically requested a basement room so that I could conduct some proper fungus study here, and the results are beyond my expectations. It may be possible to breed edible cultures in rooms like this. I don't know how desperate anyone might be for something like that, but research is research."
Cassidy said all of this while staring intently at the mushrooms growing in a side corner, jotting down notes on a writing pad with nimble, fast-moving fingers. Huma was partially impressed by Cassidy's dedication, yet pitied the person for resorting to such a crude method. And there was, of course, the side problem of Cassidy being rude, however inadvertently.
"Ahem," said Huma, sitting down on a chair. For a basement room it was decently furnished. A big bed, a chair, a desk, a bookcase, some posters. The computer was old but probably had Internet access. Huma observed that it hadn't been touched in quite some time.
"Oh," said Cassidy, turning around with a start. "I'm sorry, I interpreted your statement as being sincere, not an excuse to start talking to me. I'm very bad at that sort of thing."
Cassidy got up and sat on the bed, facing Huma. Cassidy let out a sigh, observing the sheer length of Huma's legs.
"If I had longer legs, I could walk farther and see more," said Cassidy, idly and distantly. "But I suppose I would need to eat more to maintain them. I'm not sure it would be worth the effort."
"I"m actually not originally this tall," said Huma. "My long legs are partially the result of cybernetic enhancements."
"Never mind then," said Cassidy, shuddering. "I've no interest in such modifications. Life is complicated enough as it is."
Huma started tapping on the desk. Cassidy was not expressing much in the way of curiousity, simply sitting quietly and looking around the room as if waiting for Huma to leave.
"Aren't you curious about who I am and why I'm talking to you?" asked Huma.
"I already know who you are, I think," said Cassidy. "Huma...um...Huma...that reporter person, who's all over the Internet? I'm sorry, I can't remember your last name."
"Reid," said Huma. "But how-?"
"You're not wearing a Social Justice Army uniform," said Cassidy. "So you're not someone directly affiliated with them. You're the only person I can think of who would have access to this facility based off of an indirect working relationship."
"They're not called the Social Justice Army," said Huma curtly.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Cassidy. "I try to use the most appropriate word contextually but I'm afraid I lose track of which term is supposed to be offensive and why. It's a bit non-intuitive you know. The notion of social justice is at least nominally good. But Rainbow Shirts makes them sound like Nazis. Didn't the term used to be Social Justice Army? Do you know why they changed it?"
Huma observed Cassidy quietly for a moment, trying to detect any feeling of hostility or disingenuity. But however much Huma observed Cassidy, and compared Cassidy to the various past thugs Huma had interviewed within these walls, the person seemed guileless and unfailingly polite.
"What is your relationship to Jerry Shankar?" asked Huma.
"He comes to ask me for advice frequently," said Cassidy. "This isn't necessarily as remarkable as it sounds. Many Iowans do so owing to my reputation as an Oracle. However, I have known Jerry Shankar for a long time. He holds a special place in my heart, as I do in his."
"So are you romantically involved then?" said Huma, trying to avoid being offended by Cassidy's use of gendered pronouns.
"Goodness no!" said Cassidy, wretching in disgust. "Why would you even think something like that?"
"Is it because he's black?"
At that moment something very peculiar happened. Cassidy shut down. Cassidy stopped moving and even seemed to stop breathing. Cassidy's eyes were perfectly still. Huma tried waving a hand in front of them, to no effect. Then, all of a sudden, they rolled over several times and Cassidy gave a epileptic shudder. Cassidys head shook rapidly. Cassidy seemed to be back to normal.
"Was I in a trance?" asked Cassidy, nervously and clearly disheveled.
"I, uh," said Huma, "I think so yeah."
"I'm very sorry," said Cassidy. "I thought I was at the point where I didn't do that in front of other people anymore. It's been...several years, I think, since I received such a sudden influx of information I couldn't handle it. You, you're quite something you know that? Just one little question, why, it told me so much about you, and how you've changed."
With that last comment Cassidy gestured faintly in the air. Huma was unnerved.
"What do you mean changed?" asked Huma. "Have we met?"
"It was a very long time ago," said Cassidy. "You were a different person then. A credible opponent. Capable of tremendous deductions. A real threat. That I could forget your name is a bit remarkable, although it really just goes to show how much you've changed that I have this kind of trouble reconciling the person you were with what you became."
"Ah!" said Huma, fingers snapping in self-satisfaction. "So it's a Jewish thing! No wonder you're working with Jerry Shankar."
Cassidy took in a deep breath. Huma thought that Cassidy was trying to avoid getting angry, which made Huma optimistic that headway was finally being made against Cassidy's inner narrative.
"It's not what it looks like," said Cassidy, exhaling. "I was meditating, trying to avoid going into another trance. That comment wasn't quite as shocking as your question, but only because the question had primed me to better understand your internal logic."
"What is it about racism and anti-semitism that surprises you?" asked Huma. "Surely you know all about the miscreants who worship Jerry Shankar."
"No miscreants worship Jerry Shankar," said Cassidy. "That is a misperception that he has carefully calculated in order to manipulate your reaction. I am using the plural you here, of course. Jerry Shankar's goals are far beyond dealing with the likes of you or the Rainbow Shirts."
"All right," said Huma. "What does Jerry Shankar want then?"
"The complete and utter destruction of the United States as an abstract concept, permanently relegated to the dustbin of history,"
"Why?"
"Because he is a being of pure hatred directed at the United States."
"What does he have against the United States?" asked Huma. "Did they kill his family in a drone strike? We don't do that anymore."
"Jerry's family did not die in a drone strike," said Cassidy. "He's every bit as American as you or I. Although I suppose that, technically speaking, this would have been no protection had anyone ever successfully identified him as an enemy of the state."
At this part Huma gave out a laugh. Huma had been carefully tracking this entire conversation in memory, picking out statements that could definitely be used to disprove the Oracle's omniscience, and there it was. Proof that Cassidy was a fraud.
"I thought you knew who I was," said Huma.
"I do," said Cassidy.
"But you didn't notice that I'm not really an American?" Huma said. "I haven't even been naturalized. I've just been on my visa forever."
"Ah, once again I must apologize," said Cassidy. "I think of Americanism as being a marker of cultural identity, not legal status. I had assumed you also believed likewise."
"I do!" said Huma, suddenly feeling defensive. "It's just, um, this isn't my homeland."
"I see," said Cassidy.
They sat in awkward silence for another moment. Huma was feeling embarrassed enough to be looking for an excuse to leave.
"Why did you want to see me?" asked Cassidy.
"You're Jerry Shankar's partner in crime," said Huma. "Doesn't everyone?"
"That's what everyone thinks, yes," said Cassidy, a distant look on her face. "But nobody seems to have any real idea what to actually talk to me about. In this building I am not taken seriously. I am considered a madwoman, so whatever advice I can offer falls on deaf ears. Not that anyone asks the right questions."
"What's the right question?"
"Defined in terms of your goals, of course," said Cassidy. "Not my own. The best question to ask me would be, well, quite simple really. How do we defeat Jerry Shankar?"
"OK," said Huma. "How do we defeat Jerry Shankar?"
"Don't fight him," said Cassidy. "His hatred feeds off of the willingness of others to prove him right. All the power Jerry Shankar has right now is a direct result of his effectiveness in provoking you. Given time, people would forget him, doubt he was ever real."
"Ha, right," said Huma, smiling, pointing at Cassidy in a playful manner. "Don't fight the fascists. Great idea! Always works!"
"Make fun of me, misunderstand me all you want," said Cassidy, sighing. "It's not like I particularly want you to succeed anyway. I would appreciate it if you could go now. I'd like to get back to my studies."
"It was nice meeting you," said Huma, standing up and offering a hand for Cassidy to shake. Cassidy's grip was cold, clammy, and weak. Huma interpreted this as a mark against the strength of Cassidy's soul as Huma left the room. Huma did not stop to wonder why it was that a person who obviously didn't like Huma all that much would even agree to shake hands at all.