Enough of the civics lesson, she told herself as she pulled her bike up outside her destination. It was an old building, maybe as much as a hundred years old—on the east side of the road just north of Pine. A weird, anachronistic shape among the plasteel and construction composite buildings that surrounded it, her destination was built from red and white blocks of stone —real stone, not some ersatz façade—with little towers, or maybe turrets, on the corners, and a central steeple. Graven in the stone over the front door was the building’s original identity— the First Christian Church—but Sly knew that it hadn’t been a place of worship for at least two decades. Now it was the home and base of operations of her friend Agarwal.