a matter of public record
The offices of the License Commission are exceptionally busy. Thankfully, Poincaré's information checked out: Pasteur, from PentaFive Omega, was working that shift, and a good dose of Block solidarity would obviously come in handy. Pound sees her signalling for them to wait, which makes that vague sense of unease creeping into her stomach feel just a little bit more pressing. While Pontecorvo is distractedly going through his notes, Penhaligon catches Pound near the entrance, quick and quiet, not quite looking at her.
"I can't believe you're actually going through with this."
"I told you I would."
"But why?"
"Duty? A sense of purpose? The gratification of helping our family? Having a taste of domestic bliss, just as advertised?"
"I'm fucking serious." He holds her by the arm, staring her down. Behind the anger in his eyes, there is much more pleading. "You're gonna have a baby? With the man who hates everything you represent, enough to shred your neckerchief to pieces in front of the whole family? A man who..." He sounds exasperated, and whatever he lets trail off into the air, Pound can sense reaches far beyond the present situation. "I just can't believe it's him."
"You know, Penny, we never actually had a conversation, Ponte and I." She releases herself from his grasp, the realisation there will be no convincing Penhaligon lagging just a few seconds behind her lips, already continuing the sentence. "Turns out that's all we needed to see that we have a lot more in common than-"
His whole face distorts in disgust. "The fuck are you saying? That you're in love with him?"
"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying... things have changed."
Before Penhaligon can respond, Pasteur calls Pound and Pontecorvo for the interview. When Pound looks back into the corridor, Penhaligon is already gone.
The interview begins with Pasteur moving swiftly through the easy questions. Favourite colour, favourite musician, favourite film. A whole relationship's worth of small talk, compressed into one frantic day, delivered now like it's old material. Then she slows down.
"Alright, now, let's see..." Her pen hovers just above the page as she scans it for the next question. "What do you admire most about your partner?"
Ponte goes first. Her resilience, how she defied him without breaking, how she's the first person he looks for when he walks into a family meeting... Nothing Pound hadn't heard before. On her turn, Pound says she admires how resolute - and stubborn - he is. How far he'd go to keep the family alive.
Pasteur's pen doesn't stop moving, but her eyebrows are raised. She spells it out as she writes. "Resolute... in defense... of the Bunker," she says instead, winking at them as she underlines the word "Bunker" twice on the form.
"Very well! Just one more question." Pasteur's smile has the particular warmth of someone's favourite aunt, the kind that makes you want to confess things you hadn't planned on confessing. "What's the most attractive thing about your partner?"
Something in Pound scrambles. Not nerves, exactly. Just the sudden, humiliating realisation that she's never actually considered this. And now every thought she has arrives at once, tripping over the ones before it. One: he's so much smarter than anyone gives him credit for. For all his unfiltered, unrefined register, he's effectively the éminence grise of the Mastiff party. Apparently, competence is her type. Two: he's weathered, not worn down. His temples have started greying at the edges, and it suits him far more than it should. Three: his eyes are a genuinely unfair shade of green.
"She's beautiful. Obviously." He pauses to look at her. "But mostly, I think, I appreciate that she puts up with all of my bullshit." He catches himself too late, and glances at Pasteur with a timid smile on his face. "Sorry."
Pasteur's already writing "is accepting of his more difficult qualities" on the form. Pound catches herself, reaching for something safer than what's actually in her head. "He can't help mentoring people. Even the ones who never asked for it." They all laugh. Relief settles somewhere under her ribs. Whatever she'd been thinking, she wrestled it back under control.
"All of this looks really good, my friends. Now the final part of the process is a separate file review." They knew this was coming, but none of them had really seen their own file. Pound is taken to another room by Talbot, a TerraThree wearing an immaculate suit, faintly unnerving in the way genuinely sharp people can be.
"Your file is quite interesting." Talbot says, without preamble. "Says right here, citizen at risk of dissidence." He leans back on the chair, turning the monitor to face her. Dissidence. The word blinks at her from the screen.
"Is this because of my father? Because he was a Rhino?" Before she can contain herself, her arms are crossed tightly in front of her.
"I don't know what inner dealings caused the file to flag dissidence, Pound. Says here you are an Elephant voter, applying for a union with someone who is essentially the leader of the Mastiff party." He doesn't say that as an accusation, merely a fact. The assertion still arrives at her with bared teeth.
"I thought political affiliation was private."
"Nothing is private down here."
"Fine. Yes. I was an Elephant voter. I was raised conservative, obviously you know my father was Rhino, that's right there on my file, and we all know how that ended, but somehow I'm now dating the head of the Mastiff party and not only that, but I find myself entwined with said party, and I genuinely could not tell you the exact day that started happening, I used to have a whole argument ready for people who believe what he believes, and I can't find it anymore, it's just... gone, and I don't know if that's called changing your mind or if it's called being talked out of something, but either way it isn't dissidence, it's just what happens when you fall for someone."
Talbot lets the silence swell up around her. "OK. You don't have to be so defensive. I didn't really ask you to defend your politics, you volunteered that yourself. I merely commented on what's going on between you and Pontecorvo." His eyes look too small under the thick-rimmed glasses. "That's what happens when you fall for someone? That is a long fall."
Pound is suddenly very aware of how dry her throat is. "You would know. You're the one reading the file."
Talbot writes something down and doesn't share it. Penhaligon crashes in, bumping into some shelves and knocking a couple of books down, too bright-eyed for the hallway lighting, words spilling out before anyone can stop him.
"I'm being reevaluated. Schneider Commission. They want character witnesses." He stands in the corridor between the two rooms, something close to hope on his face, which is somehow worse than his usual dread. "I thought you two as a couple would make for good references. Now. If you can?"
"We're mid-interview, Penhaligon. If you can wait." Pound hears Ponte say from the other room.
"We'll come the second we're done," Pound says. "I promise."
Penhaligon nods and disappears back into the corridor. Talbot takes the opportunity to end his interview and calls on Pontecorvo to review his file. In the waiting area, Pasteur tells Pound she's seen enough, she's happy to grant the union. She makes small talk, about Popper and the upcoming election; the excitement before the Bounce tournament; and how odd was it that earlier that day, the License Commission had approved a Union between three people? Then, almost as a throwaway: "I didn't know Pontecorvo knew how to smile."
There's no time to sit with that. Ponte finishes with Talbot and they're told to wait again while him and Pasteur deliberate with the rest of the Commission. Pound glances at the clock, counting the minutes before the Schneider Commission offices close. She can see Penhaligon pacing down the corridor, waiting for them to be dismissed.
"He asked about our history," Ponte says once they're alone. "The file was... brutal. Many instances of verbal abuse, public destruction of property... He wanted to know how we went from that to..." He gestures at the two of them, before picking up her hand into his. "I told him PentaFive settle things roughly. That it's just how we are, brutish. That we're like the movies they show in the cinema, first a slap, then a kiss. I thought I'd play into his own prejudice." A pause. "He believed it."
Pound doesn't know whether to be relieved or offended on behalf of her whole Block. She settles for both. A few minutes later, Talbot and Pasteur call them back in. The verdict, when it comes, is almost anticlimactic in its plainness: both licenses granted, union and family. A genesis capsule can be assigned as early as tomorrow morning, if they want one.
A whole future signed and notarised on a single sheet of C:\PAPER. They celebrate, of course. Pound hugs Pasteur, Ponte shakes Talbot's hand, and they profusely express their gratitude for the assessment. Talbot, in spite of his signature on their License, still watches Pound. She makes sure to never let go of Ponte's hand. Even Penhaligon joins in the performance, a perfect picture of a couple surrounded by love. Pound can't believe their ruse paid off. It should feel like accomplishing a goal. It doesn't, quite. It feels like the start of something she hadn't planned for.
