Though she knew it was an honor bestowed on very few, Betsy dreaded attending tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner with the Four Families. She had learned they met twice annually: one for strategic planning meetings and the other, Thanksgiving, for reestablishing their social bonds. Due to lodging constraints at Mansion Inn, the heads of the families selected their guests with great care, and Betsy had been shocked to receive Frederika's invitation. Now that the jack had run out for her experiments, she assumed she would be disposable. She had been expecting to be evicted from her special lab as well as from her residency in the Lukowksi building in Summerland.

Betsy wasn't good with people; she knew that. Just one of the many troubles you faced growing up in a vault underground. Small talk terrified her because she was not in any shape or form a fool, yet her inability to buoy meaningless conversation belied that fact. If she spoke on subjects she knew intimately, such as her research on finding a cure for the type B superflu, she ran the risk of belittling them with her knowledge. Her plan was to act shy. While that wouldn't move her up in people's estimation, her mouth wouldn't let her fall too far either. She had also made up her mind to drink. While many people apparently got chattier when drunk, it was quite the opposite for Betsy as drunkenness stilled her razor tongue.

She had been escorted north from Summerland through driving sleet and arrived wet, cold, and miserable. However the servants drew her a hot bath and she found her room had a closet full of clothes that approximated her size, if not quite her tastes. She found a bottle of Beaujolais on the dresser along with a note from Frederika asking her to make herself at home and that she hoped to see her at the breakfast buffet in the morning.

After her bath she changed into a loose-fitting dress and wandered down to the library to find a book to keep her comany with the bottle. Servants bustled past in the hallways, carrying crates of this and that. Rumor had it that the Four Families pulled out all the stops for their annual feast, a full day of wining and dining to accompany the scheming and backstabbing that attended this function. At the end of the hall she saw a room full suited men smoking cigars, their conversations a low, burbling hum. One man with his hair slicked back eyed her suspiciously as she turned into the library. Feel free to nest among the vipers, Betsy thought.

The lamps in the library were lit and, with a distracted mind, she immediately went to browsing. She was disappointed to find nothing but literature and history from authors she'd never heard of. Row after row of uninteresting titles.

"Care to introduce yourself?" a voice asked from the corner. Betsy let out a small scream. A man who appeared to be her age, perhaps a few years older, sat in a corner chair holding a glass that contained at least a half-bottle of wine. He smirked. "I'm Rudy Reichman."

She had the urge to leave immediately but didn't want to risk offending him. Could she exit after a few minutes of idle chatter? Possibly. But then he was pushing his glass into her hand and calling for a servant to bring up another along with an uncorked bottle of wine. She groaned inwardly as he motioned to the only other chair in the room.

"Our situation is this Ms. Hermann: I'm not going to bed sober, but I'd rather die a thousand deaths than join those assholes. Besides, they're probably conspiring to kill me to usurp the throne, and I'd hate to ruin their fun. This whole political charade is so tiresome, don't you think?"

After ten minutes of listening to him talk Betsy decided he was boorish, already a bit drunk, and too free with his opinions of the other families given their proximity and his volume. She laughed at his cutting assessment of Rivertown and their shit luck to be born into this time and place. He seemed genuinely interested in her description of life in a sub-lab. For a man who spent his childhood in the confines of the Rock, Betsy found this plausible. His eyes glazed over when she started talking about her research, but then he interrupted her mid-sentence. "What do you mean we don't have Internet access? Of course we do." Then his voice dropped low, conspiratorial. "You know, we get messages from the federal government every few weeks now."

Betsy's hand flew to her mouth. The sudden bolt of excitement along with the alcohol in her stomach made her feel a bit sick. "What do they say?"

He shrugged. "Not much. They're impersonal. They have no idea what's going on here and that's why mom and the others want to keep them out. Not until we get a firmer grip on the situation at least. But I guess that's why they're not worried about the food supply running out. If we get close to civil unrest we'll just call in the cavalry."

Rudy cocked his head. "I've got a laptop in my room. You want to go check it out."

Betsy licked her lips. What exactly was happening here? Her brain swam with sudden information overflow and good red wine. It all seemed so very strange. Was it just coincidence? Was she being set up?

"Forget it," Rudy said, raising his hands. "Didn't mean to freak you out."

"No," Betsy, perhaps said too quickly. "No, I'd like to go see. Show me the way."