“BABE,” SAID CALVIN, descending the ladder, and I looked away as he and Fiona embraced (briefly), I’m not sure why.
“Got another job for you two—if you’re up to it.”
“If we’re up to it,” said Fiona, and laughed, at which there was an awkward silence I didn’t understand. “I know: You want us to take a group of bad apples and put down the Norsemen. Am I right?”
The Norsemen were the older group whose territory we’d violated in order to access the White House and National Mall—and who were bound to cause us trouble if we didn’t leave soon.
“Wrong. I want you to go to the National Museum and liberate the Star-Spangled Banner—the flag, not the song—and bring it here to be burned.”
Fiona shot me a glance. “He’s a vandal, Leif, not a fighter.”
“I’m not a killer, if that’s what you mean,” he
