“Dr. Earnshaw.” Dash put down his fork. He rested his elbows on the table. “You are a woman of science. You understand from your history books that every major leap in history, from the Industrial Revolution to the Digital Age to the Internet Age to whatever comes next, was made possible by white men.”

Sara could think of multiple facts to contradict him, but there was no use arguing with a person who would not accept basic truths—another hindrance to the contact hypothesis.

“Even our mastery of technology is a double-edged sword. Jobs that men do are becoming obsolete.” Dash pointed his finger at Sara. “The number one occupation for men without college degrees is driving vehicles. What’s going to happen when self-driving cars and trucks take over the roads? Technology, innovation, education. White men are being deprived of the dignity of a paycheck. When women control the purse strings, men are demoralized. They turn to alcohol and pills. They leave their families, abandon their children. We cannot let that happen.”

Sara guessed respecting and appreciating your wife was not an option.

Dash wasn’t finished. “American politicians have spent the last two hundred years trying to accommodate and appease the black and brown man. Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Independent—they all do it. We give the mongrels schools and they want white schools. We let them ride the bus and they want to sit in the front. We pay them to entertain us and they try to shove their opinions down our damn throats.”

“Daddy,” Grace whispered, as if swearing was the worst of his crimes.

“Accommodate, accommodate, accommodate.” Dash had started banging the table again. “There’s not enough clean water and air and food to go around. Not everybody can live in a nice house with a big TV. Letting the mongrels wrongly believe that they are entitled to what the white man has is exactly why we are at this inflection point. We cannot let them take our power.”

Another loophole in the contact hypothesis—the fear of competition.

He said, “This is why the Framers of the Constitution specified the right to bear arms in the Second Amendment. So we can take up arms and tell the government that they are wrong. White men were the only men endowed with those rights. Our lives are the only lives that matter.”

Sara bit her lip. The Framers had not written the Second Amendment. They had devised the process by which the Constitution could be amended.

He said, “The focus of our government has at its own peril turned away from nurturing the white family. It’s basic economics. If you take care of us, then everything else will fall into place. There are enough scraps for the rest of them. You’re a doctor. You know the scientific facts. Superior genetics preordained the white man to lead the tribes of the world. We cannot allow ourselves to become relegated to second-or even third-class citizens.”

Sara could not let that one go. Medical history was riddled with this crackpot nonsense. The study of humors, blood-letting, phrenology, female hysteria. None of it was harmless. The so-called science of the American eugenics movement had inspired the atrocities of Nazi Germany. Will’s severe dyslexia was the type of disability that would have qualified him for forced sterilization or outright murder.

She told Dash, “It would really suck to be treated like a minority, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re making fun, but you’re hitting my point exactly. White women with their abortion and their birth control and their careers are choosing their own selfish desires over the propagation of the race. Miscegenation, inter-breeding mongrels, whatever you want to call it. Every problem this country faces can be boiled down to the coming doom of the Great Replacement.”

His eyes glowed as he said the words. Sara could see where a person as angry as Dash, as isolated and alienated, would think of his philosophy of hatred as the solution to their problems.

It’s not your fault, brother. It’s everybody else.

“My ladies.” Dash made sure his girls were paying attention. “Listen carefully, because this is the most important lesson that Daddy will ever teach you. The races fall into a pyramid. The white man is always at the top, then as his subordinate you will find the white woman, who need only serve one master. Below, you have your various races. Not every person on this earth is equal.”

“That truth isn’t self-evident?” Sara invoked the opening lines of the Declaration of Independence. “I thought all men were created equal?”

He wagged his finger in her direction. “You don’t want to argue the Constitution with me, Dr. Earnshaw.”

Sara held back a pained sigh. Dash was a stupid man’s idea of how a smart man sounded. And his philosophy didn’t matter. His noxious racism and sexism and xenophobia did not matter. What mattered was the greenhouse, the Structure, the Message he was planning to send.

Everything we’ve been working toward for the last three years comes down to tomorrow.

Sara asked, “What are you going to do about it?”

“The Message, that’s what we’re doing about it. There will be great sacrifices, and I always mourn the loss of life, but we have got to accept losses if we are going to make true and meaningful change. The enablers, the mongrels, they grow like weeds and periodically, we have to cut them down.” Dash shook his head. “It’s terribly sad, but it’s the natural order of things. Sometimes you have to cut back a rosebush to make a beautiful flower.”

Sara felt the threat behind his flowery language. “How many lives will be lost?”

“Multitudes. So many will be dead that I doubt historians will be able to tally a final number.” Dash retrieved his fork and knife. He cut into the steak. “I’ll tell you what, Dr. Earnshaw. I am a man of my word. I said you’ll be freed and I meant it. We’ll need a witness to the Message. I think an articulate, thoughtful lady such as yourself will make a persuasive argument on our behalf.”

Sara tried not to fixate on the fact that the defining trait of a witness was survival.

Was he giving her false hope?

Joy asked, “Daddy, when will we know if the Message worked?”

“You’ll know when you know.” This came from Gwen. She was standing behind Edna, her fingers digging into the girl’s shoulders. Her dour demeanor put a look of trepidation on her children’s faces. “I want these plates cleaned or no one will get ice cream tonight.”

The girls obediently picked up their spoons and started to eat.

Gwen wrung her hands in her apron as she sat down. She was eating the same food as the girls, but on a plate instead of in a bowl. Sara noticed a rash on her hands. She had managed to rub the skin raw with her apron.

Sara hated the thought of talking to Gwen, but she asked, “Is Benjamin any better?”

Gwen’s lips snapped into a straight line. She was no longer trying to hide the hostility she clearly felt toward Sara. “The Lord will decide his fate.”

“I might need to adjust his medications.” Sara offered, “I can re-examine all of the children. I’d be happy to help wash them down, change sheets, anything to make them more comfortable. I’m sure you’re tired.”

“I’m not tired.” Gwen picked up her spoon. “You will return to your cabin where you belong.”

Dash said, “I’ve told Dr. Earnshaw that she can spend as much time as she likes inside the bunkhouse.”

Gwen’s fist tightened around the spoon. Her eyes locked with Dash’s.

Was she jealous?

Dash said, “Gwendolyn, let’s remember that Dr. Earnshaw is a guest here. We should make use of any help she offers.”

His tone was enough to send Gwen into an angry silence. She shoveled food into her mouth so quickly that the sauce dripped down her chin. Her children absorbed her mood. Some of them looked like they wanted to cry. Grace’s bottom lip started to tremble.

Sara gave in to a desire to punish Gwen for the misery she brought. “Girls, you know how I met my husband. Do you know how your mother met your father? I bet it’s a very romantic story.”

Gwen’s spoon hovered between the plate and her mouth.

Sara felt regret warm her face. The question was meant to be shitty, but the math made it cruel. Joy was fifteen. Gwen was in her early thirties. Dash had passed forty a few years ago.

“Well.” Dash adjusted his sling, though judging by the way he’d moved his arms, he no longer needed it. “That’s a funny question, isn’t it, my little ladies?”

The girls silently waited. They had clearly never heard the answer before.

Dash said, “We were high school sweethearts. What do you think of that?”

Grace gave a dramatically long sigh. To a young girl, the idea was romantic, but she wasn’t considering the age difference. The only way Dash would’ve been in high school at the same time as Gwen was if he was working on the staff. There was nothing romantic about statutory rape.

Dash said, “Papa Martin introduced us. Isn’t that right, my darling?”

Martin Novak.