“Why do I have to go to Hanoi?” Kaylieburrow whined. “I don’t want to go to Hanoi.”

“We’ve got to get out of town,” Seresto said, pushing her up the steps of Air Force Two.

“Afghanistan!” Astarte yelled over the whipping winds of the runway, blinking against the contacts that made her irises the color of blood. “She wants to be as far from the Afghanistan fuck-up as possible.”

*****

On the flight to Singapore, Astarte crept away from the other interns as they slept and went to where Kamala sat at her desk.

“It’s a shitshow,” Astarte said, holding up her phone.

“He might be done,” Kamala said. She had become relaxed in the air, the plane constantly monitored for recording devices.

“We should get some pensive shots for social media,” Astarte said, holding up her phone.

Kamala smoothed her hair and rubbed her teeth with a napkin. “Does it all look OK?” she asked.

“Beautiful, ma’am,” Astarte said, holding her phone in position.

Kamala leaned forward to look at the window and began to compose concerned and in-control on her face.

“A little closer, ma’am, for the light,” the tall intern said.

“I like the new look,” Kamala said. Astarte compulsively ran a hand lightly over her short, grey-white hair.

“Very pale,” Kamala said. “Powerful.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Astarte said, snapping pic after pic.

“We’ll be in Vietnam, sucking shrimp heads, while Jen and Fistula take care of the coffin-dodger,” Kamala said, a genuine grin finally on her face.

“Finnegan, ma’am,” Astarte said softly.

“I know her name,” Kamala snapped, “And I know her father, the miserable little poon hound.”

*****

“Singapore?!?” Kaylieburrow whined.

“Will you just fucking shut up?” Seresto snapped, muscles rippling under the skin of her jaw.

“Yes, we are stuck in Singapore,” Astarte said. “Go back to sleep.”

“Whhhhhhy?” Kaylieburrow asked. Astarte wondering what would happen if she just slapped her. Slapped her over and over again and then switched hands when the one got tired.

“There has been a Havana incident,” Kamala said, standing in the doorway of the intern kennel.

“I thought we were in Singapore, why are we in Cuba?” Kaylieburrow asked.

“Dear fucking God in Heaven, please shut the fuck up,” Astarte said. Kaylieburrow began dry sobbing for effect and pulled a blanket over her head.

“A Havana incident!” Kamala said. “Embassy personnel have been attacked, apparently with some new weapon, a weapon involving sound.”

“Are they sending us home?” Seresto asked, putting on her clear-lensed glasses to look serious.

“Not yet,” Kamala said. “Not until the Afghani airlift is over.”

“That could take months!” Kaylieburrow squawked from under the blanket.

Astarte kicked her leg, hard, and began to prepare an Instagram post of appropriately performative appearance.