"Laura," Mark said a week later. "You gotta help me."

They sat on the roof of the embassy. Two of the modular containers met a third here, producing a flat space about four meters across. The solar netting that stretched over the space kept out most of the slime, if not all of the rain, and made the distance to the ground a little less terrifying. The masts of other buildings rose up around them, squirming with commerce.

It was a disquieting sight for Laura, but the place had no cameras.

The UN embassy did not respect privacy. In addition to the security cameras on the outside walls, every room had its surveillance. Every day, every member of staff sent home an encrypted hard drive full of footage. Yoshida, Chadwell, and Severo all attempted to meddle with other people's data, and Steiner let them because she was doing it too.

Interestingly, the humans' system of mutual distrust and quarrelsome eavesdropping ended up working very much like the Quotidians' system of competitive solidarity. Every action of every clone in a hive was knowable to every other clone, because why wouldn't it be? Of course the interests of one clone were absolutely congruent with the interests of another. And of course every hive aimed its cameras at every other hive, because you couldn't trust those mutt-bastards next door.

Of course, not every line of sight could be covered. There were always blind spots, and these were an essential part of civic health.

Laura didn't know any of that, but she had developed instincts for what sort of conversations were appropriate for what sort of places. She had to operate under the assumption that the rooftop was bugged. Certainly, the phone she held in her hand couldn't be trusted, but she wanted Koen to be in on this conversation. And Laura wasn't planning on saying anything treasonous. Just mildly insulting.

"Chadwell and Ahmed are trying to take away your cultural performance?" she asked.

"Of course I don't care who gets the credit." It was not even a lie any more. It was a habit so ingrained it had become almost physical, like the protective coloration of a stick insect.

Koen took Mark at his word, however. "Maybe we can all do something. I cook. Nelly sings. Severo does Judo. What about the Ambassador?"

"No," said Laura. "I believe at one time he practiced shot-put in university, but he pulled a muscle in his back."

"Well, what about painting?" Asked Koen, unwisely.

"No."

Mark looked at her. "Do you paint?"

"Only digitally. I don't show them off."

"But you showed them to me," said Koen.

"That must have been a moment of vulnerability," observed Mark, which made both Koen and Laura feel miserable.

Mark took mental note of Laura's pride, a secret even from herself. Then he cleared his throat with the air of someone moving on from other people's awkwardness.

"This isn't supposed to be a talent show," he said. "Like, 'come on down to see the amazing performing humans. One of them cooks!'"

Koen and Laura both smiled with relief and agreed heartily. That would be ridiculous! Just as Mark wanted them to.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"I hate this," said Koen.

Mark cast a sharp glance at his phone screen. "What was that?"

"I hate not being able to go anywhere."

Mark stood down.

"This is just like during the Lockdown, except I'm the only one locked down."

Mark was slightly piqued at Koen's self-pity, and chose the smallest needle in his arsenal to retaliate. "Laura and I are locked down, too." And, at Koen's uncomprehending expression, he increased the force a notch. "Do you think we've been flipping back to Earth every weekend? We're stuck in the Embassy for the next four years."

"But aren't we talking right now about this event you're doing out in the Zogreion?" asked Koen.

"Exactly. I need to get in there, do my thing, and get out. I need to keep things small. Doable."

Koen frowned. "Wait. You mean you guys never just…go outside?"

"Koen," said Laura. "The Embassy is the only place off of Earth that's safe for humans." She was still blushing, trying to ignore the fact, and irritated that she had to.

"You mean crime? Someone will mug you?"

Mark shuddered. "Who knows what will happen? Koen, it's impossible to predict what might happen out there."

"And yet we must go out into it," said Laura. "We must uphold our end of the deal."

Mark wondered if that comment might have been an attack on him, but decided that Laura was talking to herself. "Yeah," he said. "We ate a contract and everything."

Laura gave a short, sharp nod and refocused her attention outside of herself. "We must decide the nature of the performance. Give me a good plan, and I'll help make it happen."

"There is a lot of...input," said Mark. "Chadwell wants me to recite Shakespeare. He says that shouldn't be too much of a challenge. Ahmed has this ever-growing list of goods she wants me to sell. Coffee, sports cars, cloth. Ambassador Li wants me to just turn on a giant TV that shows a performance by this dance troupe he knows."

"Then we should do that. The dance troupe has won many awards."

"I don't think mix Sty hired me for my skill with a remote control."

"Well, what did she hire you for?"

"I don't know! That's what I need help with."

Koen was distracted by a creature on his windowsill. It wasn't a bird, but it moved in the same alert twitching. An abdomen like a tube of toothpaste pumped frantically. Brightly colored bristles flexed around the anus. A line of stiff paddles rippled. No, not paddles, they had holes in the middle, like flattened rings. Something to do with directing airflow? It was easy to see how those dragonfly wings had evolved from four origami limbs, which meant the animal must use its jaws to cling to surfaces. What did it eat? Once his quarantine was over, could Koen put up a bird-feeder?

The creature's eye scanned across Koen's face and it flew off.

That's what he hated so much about this quarantine: the sense that he was gone from the world, and nobody missed him. But little face on a screen was better than nothing.

He turned back to his laptop.

"What do you think, Koen?" Mark asked him.

And the idea was there. "What were you doing when the Quotidian hired you as a performer?"

"Nothing. Just talking. Having a meeting."

"It sounds like you sold yourself as a meeting monkey."

A cold silence.

"I mean," said Koen, "humans have meetings. We talk to each other in a special, human way. That's new and interesting to Quotidians. I'd know more if I could see footage of the conversation in question."

"It's probably classified," said Mark, who was embarrassed by his performance at that meeting and hoped nobody would ever watch that footage. "But what are you saying? The Quotidians want me to conduct a meeting with them?"

"Or," said Laura, "a team building exercise."

"You are good at that," said Koen.

"A team building exercise with you?"

"No, with nonhumans!" Koen was getting excited. "Bring them to you. Audience participation."

The idea scared Mark, but he'd been scaring himself for such a long time that he mistook the sensation for eagerness.