Amabile by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Amabile

Page 73

Albany

Morey didn't go home.

He meant to; Amabile tugged at him the way it always did after a lesson learned; but something in Schenectady's winter air had unsettled him. The chanting, the signs, the way people gathered to insist the world could be kinder .... It lingered in his fur like static.

So instead of letting the teleportation device pull him back across the stars, he pivoted.

Albany. A bigger city. Close enough to feel familiar, far enough to feel new.

Pop.

He landed on a patch of slush near the Empire State Plaza, blinking up at the stark geometry of the buildings. Albany felt heavier than Schenectady; more official, more layered, more diverse, as if every block carried a century of paperwork in its bones.

The wind carried a sound he now recognized; chanting.

Morey followed it.

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The crowd gathered on the steps of the New York State Capitol was larger than the one in Schenectady. Signs rose like a forest of declarations:

End the Raids

Protect Immigrant Families

Dignity for All

And woven through the crowd were members of the Black Panthers; modern activists carrying the legacy of the original movement. Their jackets bore the unmistakable panther emblem, and they bopped to the beat of the basketball court. Their presence was calm, organized, intentional. They handed out water, coordinated speakers, and kept the atmosphere grounded.

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Morey watched them with fascination. On Amabile, elders taught that history wasn't something you read; it was something you carried. These people carried theirs with a kind of quiet gravity.

A tall man with a warm voice noticed the fox at his feet.

"Well now," he said, crouching. "Didn't expect a visitor like you today."

Morey dipped his head politely. He didn't speak aloud. Earth wasn't ready for that. But he radiated curiosity the way Amabile foxes did, a soft shimmer of intent.

"You here to observe?" the man asked.

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Morey nodded.

"Good. Everyone should."

As the speeches went on, Morey wandered the edges of the plaza. Albany felt like a city built on decisions; some good, some harmful, all still echoing. The marble buildings reflected the winter sun in sharp angles. The air smelled of exhaust, cold stone, and the faint sweetness of roasted nuts from a street vendor.

He felt the same resonance he'd sensed in Schenectady; people insisting on being seen, on shaping the place they lived.

A young woman with a megaphone spoke about community protection. A college student read a poem about borders and belonging. A drummer kept a steady heartbeat rhythm that reminded Morey of Amabile's winter gatherings.

Feeling like a fox between worlds, Morey sat on the wide stone steps and watched the crowd move like a single organism; angry, hopeful, determined. He didn't fully understand Earth politics, but he understood the feeling beneath them; the desire to make a place real by caring about it.

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Albany, he realized, was real in a way that tugged at him. It was also a capital city, in a state whose largest populations lived in another place not much like it.

Maybe Earth wasn't something to visit once. Maybe it was something to learn in chapters.

As the sun dipped behind the Capitol dome, Morey stood, tail flicking thoughtfully.

There were more cities. More voices. More stories. More people. More diversity.

He wasn't done yet.