Three Days in April by Edward Ashton

That’s kind of why I need you to move up your timelines. Waiting until after your finals or whatever is not going to cut it at this point.”
    I have a sudden premonition that Elise might not be the only one in this house who ought to be worried about NatSec.
    â€œDoug?” I say. “Is there something you want to tell me about those documents?”
    â€œNo,” he says. “There’s something I want you to tell me about those documents. Specifically, what’s in them. Like you said you would, remember?”
    â€œYeah,” I say. “I remember. But I’m a little curious about why this is suddenly so urgent. I’m especially curious as to whether having these documents in my possession is going to get a NatSec crowbar dropped on my house.”
    â€œNo,” he says. “Definitely not. Definitely probably not. Anyway, you’ve already got them, so if a crowbar’s on its way, you should probably let me know what’s in the documents before it gets there.”
    â€œThanks, Doug. Your concern for me is overwhelming. I’ll tell you what: I’ll try to get a look at them tonight.”
    He scowls even harder, and a servo over his left ear gives out a high-­pitched whine.
    â€œIs that the best you can do?”
    â€œThat’s the best I can do.”
    His face relaxes, and he lets out a theatrical sigh.
    â€œAll right then. Check in tomorrow?”
    â€œWill do. Disconnect.”
    â€œWhat was that about?” asks Terry. She’s standing in the hallway, with half a sausage link in one hand and a wad of bacon in the other.
    â€œThat was Doug,” I say. “He’s bugging me for deliverables on some work I promised him.”
    â€œIs that who you were going to meet when you left my place yesterday morning?”
    â€œThat’s the one.”
    â€œHe sounds like a real humanitarian.”
    I roll my eyes.
    â€œAh, Doug’s okay. He just tends to focus on his own needs. Pretty much to the exclusion of everyone else’s, actually.”
    â€œAnd that’s okay because . . .”
    I’m trying to come up with a good answer for that when Elise pokes her head into the room and says, “What’s a crowbar?”
    I look at Terry. She shrugs.
    â€œI don’t know either,” she says. “I mean, I know what an actual crowbar is, but I’m thinking that’s not what you and Doug were talking about.”
    I glance over at Gary. His right eye is open now, watching us.
    â€œYou want to cover this one?” I ask.
    â€œSure,” he says. “A crowbar is what Sauron’s Eye gives bad girls and boys for Christmas.”
    â€œUh . . .” Terry says.
    â€œCrowbars are KEWs,” I say, and wing a balled-­up sock at Gary’s head. He sits up, picks the sock up off the floor and throws it back at me. It misses me by at least three feet. I’m pretty sure Gary didn’t play a lot of ball sports as a kid.
    â€œKEWs?” Elise says. “Still not helping.”
    â€œKinetic Energy Weapons,” I say. “They’re basically bowling balls, with little rocket motors attached to them. NatSec keeps a few hundred of them in low Earth orbit at any given time.”
    â€œRight,” Gary says. “Then when someone annoys them—­for example, by conducting totally legitimate and perfectly legal research into their passcode-­generation algorithms—­their little rocket motors de-­orbit them onto that person’s house.”
    â€œYou speaking from experience?” Terry asks.
    â€œNah,” Gary says. “I told you, I work in data entry.”
    â€œI don’t get it,” says Elise. “What’s so bad about dropping a bowling ball on someone’s house?”
    I snicker. Terry catches me, and shoots me a look that borders on terrifying. That brow ridge definitely has its uses, intimidation-­wise.
    â€œEnergy is