This new scene continues the story of a radical idea and the people willing to risk everything for it. Feedback and beta readers are warmly welcome.

The kitchen was quiet.

Outside, snow drifted lazily across the darkened park. Inside, the kettle hummed softly on the stove.

Alias was grinding coffee. Crack … Turn … Crack … Turn.

He enjoyed the sound.

Machines were at their best when they remained simple enough to reveal what they were doing.

Behind him, pages rustled.

Sofia sat at the long wooden table.

The appendices were spread around her in uneven piles. Several pages had already been annotated. Others were covered in arrows and notes.

Alias noticed three different colors. He sighed.

People only used three colors when they were becoming enthusiastic. "You're smiling."

Sofia looked up. "I am."

"Should I be concerned?"

"Probably."

Alias nodded. "A reasonable answer."

The kettle clicked. He poured water into the coffee press.

For a while neither spoke.

Then Sofia tapped one of the appendices. "This part is brilliant."

Alias glanced over. The annex discussing lotteries, conflict, and distributive arbitration.

"That's fortunate."

"I'm serious."

"I know."

She sat forward. "The insight is obvious once you see it."

Alias remained silent. That usually meant she should continue.

"Every distributive system eventually becomes political."

"Most things do."

"Because somebody has to decide."

"Usually."

She nodded. "And the moment somebody decides, everybody else starts arguing."

A faint smile crossed Alias' face. "So you've discovered politics."

"Don't be annoying."

"I'll do my best."

She ignored him. "The thing that fascinates me is how much effort societies spend deciding who deserves help."

Alias sat down opposite her.

Now she had his attention.

"Go on."

Sofia gathered a few pages.

"Scholarships."

"Hm."

"Development grants."

"Hm."

"Housing support."

"Hm."

"Cultural funding."

"Hm."

The hum grew steadily more ominous.

Sofia pointed at the pages.

"Entire ministries."

"Hm."

"Entire bureaucracies."

"Hm."

"Entire careers dedicated to deciding who deserves what."

Alias smiled.

"You're starting to sound like me."

"That's because I'm right."

"That's exactly what worries me."

Sofia laughed.

The sound echoed softly through the kitchen. For a few moments they simply enjoyed the conversation. The rare pleasure of finding somebody who had followed the argument all the way to its edge.

Then Sofia leaned forward. "You know what the funny thing is?"

Alias immediately became suspicious. He knew that tone. Important mistakes often began with that sentence.

"What?"

"I think most welfare systems are secretly trying to solve the same problem as Pegged."

Alias placed his cup on the table. Not abruptly. Carefully.

Alias sighed. "I knew letting you read the appendices was a mistake."

She grinned. "You should have hidden them better."

"I underestimated your determination."

"You underestimate many things."

"Mostly people."

Sofia ignored the opening. "As I was saying..."

A dangerous phrase.

"...most welfare systems are trying to allocate opportunities."

Alias nodded cautiously.

"So?"

"So maybe the criteria are the problem."

There it was. The first step. Not an absurd step. A perfectly reasonable one. Which made it far more dangerous.

Sofia continued. "What if certain forms of assistance were simply allocated by lot?"

Alias stared at her.

Not because the idea surprised him.

Because it didn't.

"Student grants."

"Hm."

"Microfinance."

"Hm."

"Development aid."

"Hm."

"Certain housing programs."

"Hm."

The familiar hum had returned.

Sofia smiled.

"You're doing it again."

"What?"

"The humming."

"It's a warning signal."

"For whom?"

"For me."

She laughed. "Imagine explaining this to a ministry."

Alias smiled despite himself. "A ministry of what?"

"Any ministry."

"The Ministry of Human Resource Allocation."

"That sounds fictional."

"Give them time."

Sofia laughed again.

Then shook her head. "No, seriously."

Her expression softened. "What if Pegged actually points toward something bigger?"

There it was.

The question.

Not technical.

Moral.

Alias looked down at the pages.

At the notes.

At the enthusiasm slowly colonizing the margins.

And felt two conflicting emotions simultaneously.

Admiration.

And concern.

Because Sofia had understood.

Far more quickly than he had hoped.

"You're already building a society."

She frowned.

"No."

"Yes."

"I'm thinking."

"No."

Alias shook his head. "You're planning."

The distinction lingered between them. The kettle emitted a final click.

Sofia folded her arms. "You really haven't thought about this?"

Alias laughed.

The answer surprised her.

"Of course I have."

"And?"

He looked toward the window. Toward the snow in the dark. Toward nothing in particular.

"And every time I do, I become slightly more uncomfortable."

Sofia smiled. "That's not an answer."

"It's the only honest one."

She studied him, carefully.

"You think I'm getting ahead of myself."

"I think you're being Sofia."

"What does that mean?"

Alias considered.

Then smiled.

"You see a possibility and immediately start wondering how it could improve the world."

"And you don't?"

The question hung there.

For a moment she thought he might dodge it.

Instead he answered immediately.

"I see a possibility and immediately start wondering how it could make things worse."

Neither spoke.

The words felt heavier than the conversation that had produced them.

Finally Sofia shook her head.

"That's a terrible way to live."

Alias smiled. "It's served me well."

"It's served your paranoia well."

"Also true."

She laughed.

He smiled.

The disagreement remained.

Untouched.

Neither convinced.

Neither offended.

Yet something important had become visible.

Not a disagreement about lotteries.

Or welfare.

Or redistribution.

Something older.

Sofia believed that intelligence, institutions, and deliberate effort could improve the human condition.

Alias suspected that every attempt to improve the human condition eventually produced people convinced they knew how others should live.

The silence stretched.

Then Sofia pointed at the appendices. "So what do we call it?"

Alias frowned.

"What?"

"The economic implications."

"You've already named it."

"Pegonomics!"

Alias closed his eyes.

"Please don't."

"It's a perfectly respectable term."

"It's a terrible term."

"It's growing on you."

"It absolutely isn't."

Sofia smiled.

Which was unfortunate.

Because she knew she was going to keep using it.

Alias stared at the ceiling.

Then at Sofia.

And realized that the real danger was not that she had misunderstood the appendices.

It was that she had understood them perfectly.

Too perfectly.

The thought was strangely reassuring.

And deeply alarming.