Page 14 of The Brightness Between Us

The worst part? He really means it. “Yarrow, please,” I say. “There’s little enough to talk about when every day is the same. It’s been a while since our big yak attack. I’m basically healed. We’re counting on you. Give us something interesting.”

He shrugs.

A breeze wafts off the plains. Even though it’s weak, in Minerva’s dense air the wind’s force is enough to set my bowl edging toward my lap. I hold it in my palm to keep from wasting my portion of birthday pudding.

“Here’s something I’ve always wondered. Did paper clips have a power source?” Yarrow asks. “Like, how did they keep the paper together?”

“That’syour interesting thing?” I ask.

“There is one minute remaining until the sixteen-Earth-year anniversary of Yarrow’s birth,” OS announces.

Dad leans back in his chair, the printed polycarb bending dramatically. He gestures to Father. “You tell them, flufferskunk. Go back almost eighteen years ago. Or almost 30,018 years ago, depending on how you think about it. Did paper clips have a power source?”

“No,” Father says. He considers how to explain. “Paper clips got their power from their shape.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you’re both pointedly ignoringmyquestion about what you were arguing about,” I interrupt.

“Was it like a spring?” Yarrow asks. “It, what, it sprang the papers together? Wouldn’t they just fly everywhere? How did that work?”

Dad starts to say something, then stops. “I don’t know. Howdidthey work? Friction? I feel like the answer to these things is usually friction.”

“I wishwehad paper,” I grumble. I don’t like the sound of my voice. I decide I’m going to try not to grumble anymore.

Father starts gesturing with his fingers and explaining with way too many Dimokratía words, too fast. Dad starts laughing, and then Yarrow and I follow.

“Ten, nine, eight...,” OS starts. Rover projects candles over the algal sugar pudding. For years we used to make birthday candles out of pressed carbohydrates, but fire is hard to maintain in Minerva’s atmosphere and it’s depressing when candles go out on their own, so we switched to projections. These candles are Yarrow’s favorite color option, sparkly green black.

The projections are so pretty. To make birthdays feel special we don’t use them on other days. I lay my hands on the table and rest my chin on top of them, getting my eyes right up to the sixteen candles and their oily movements.

“Make a wish, Brothership!” I say.

“Prepped it a week ago,” Yarrow says. Only my brother would prep his birthday wishes in advance. Probably about wanting peace and happiness for the whole universe.

“Three... two... one...,” OS says, drawing out the last word. Under Yarrow’s and my direction, our resident AI has acquired some good dramatic flair over the years.

Yarrow blows. The projections flicker out believably, the one he’s farthest from even needing an extra go to extinguish.

We all clap.

When Yarrow leans back, I’m shocked by what I find on his face.

My brother isn’t there. It’s like he’s someone else entirely. His eyes are dark, cold, lifeless. I’ve never met anyone new before, but it’s like a stranger has suddenly dropped into our family.

I’m on my feet before I even know it, Real Chair pitching behind me onto the packed soil of the settlement, wind yanking it farther and farther away from the table. Seeing me, Father staggers to his feet, taking my hands into his. “Owl, what’s wrong?”

I turn toward Yarrow, fear at what I’ll find twisting up inside me. But my brother is back. He’s looking at me with concern, just like the dads are.

“I’m fine!” I say.

I go retrieve Real Chair, and when I return, I find that they’re all staring at me. LikeI’mthe crazy one, not my brother, who just spent a second being someone else. My skin pricks with sweat. “I swear, I’m fine! Stop gawking!”

“Okay then,” Yarrow says. “Maybe you want to have a seat and eat some birthday pudding?”

I set Real Chair down, hoping the others don’t notice my shaking hands. I know what I saw. But I also know my fathers’ journey on theCoordinated Endeavor, of not knowing the reality they were in, the one they thought they knew. There could be more to my brother than I’ve ever known. Or the problem could be me. Or the world we’re in. We could be in a simulation of OS’s design, for all I know. I give my thighs a good slap. Get it together, Owl.

“So, what did you wish for?” I manage to ask Yarrow. Maybe knowing that will help explain what just happened to him.

“He can’t tell you that,” Dad says. “That’s against birthday rules.”

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