Page 31 of The Brightness Between Us

The reel switches to other news.Sources: Dimokratía Secretary of Defense missing after explosions heard in Brasilia. Local Fédération authorities have not yet released a statement.

I stare down at the globe, at the sand-colored cyclones ofhot dust swirling around Mari and into Old Iraq, around everywhere except Firma Antarctica and Firma Arctica, the green oases at either pole. It’s undeniable: the Earth is a worse planet than it was when humans arrived. The last species of seagull recently went from “vulnerable” to “endangered.” Seagull!

Sri would argue that the best way forward is to let humanity die off here, to stop the contamination. Today I’m really seeing their point.

Should we really be settling new planets?

My sister is dead.

I take a long swig of my precious Wild Ginger PepsiRum. The label shows a paradise of tropical palms and thick green grasses.Drink the Escape, it suggests. Don’t mind if I do.

I came off the Cusk Academy assembly line. I’m an heir to the Cusk fortune. And here I am, smoothly flying into something that looks like a supervillain’s lair.

It’s not that humans in general might be the enemy. MaybeIam the enemy.

Really should have asked for two more bottles of Wild Ginger. It’s going down fast.

The taxi slows, hovering at the edge of Disponar. With onyx access I shouldn’t have to wait for permission to land; I should already be gliding into the executive bays, where I’ll be greeted by a virtual attendant who’ll let me know whichresidential suite is mine. But instead my taxicraft is stopped in space. I can feel the beginning of a tension headache. I’ve basically imprisoned myself by getting in this taxi. There’s no way out, unless I’m willing to plummet through Earth’s atmosphere for three minutes and splat at the end.

This isn’t good. Have my mother’s goons figured out that I’m traveling on Minerva’s onyx?

My taxicraft rocks gently in the thin atmosphere, buffeted by the occasional gust from a ship accelerating out of orbit on its way to the moon. An automated message appears before my face:Disponar is at capacity, due to a booking for “Molina Quinceañera” until 14:00 on November 8. Please wait for more information.

Oh. There’s just a party. I place Minerva’s onyx card on the reader and tap in her special code. The taxi glides into motion.Permission granted. The Cusk Suite will be liberated and cleaned and ready for you within thirty minutes.

My sister is dead. But she got me a room.

I take another sip of PepsiRum. Looks like I’ll be crashing a quinceañera, and kicking someone out of their quarters to boot. I hope it’s not the lucky birthday-person themself.

I put sunglasses on and keep my head down after the taxi lands, refusing the helping hand of the attendant. I do accept the water patch he offers, though. Can’t forget to hydrate.

I keep my eyes out for guards. A police officer gives mea long look, but he licks his lips lewdly when I pass. That’s fine. You can stare at me because I’m hot. Just don’t stare at me because I’m supposed to be arrested.

As I pad through the hallways to the Cusk Suite, I call up the pleasure satellite’s reservations and glance through, so I can plan my day to avoid the worst crowds. There’s a daylong party in the “pool”—a floorless spot, where you can dance with the Earth distant below, magnetic forces suspending your body in open space. Even drunk on PepsiRum, it’s not my scene. The tech has been revamped since the Telos satellite dropped a teenager eight kilometers to his death, but I’m still not looking for that kind of thrill. Instead I’ll probably be heading to the hyperreal erotic simulation rooms, which are just about the most distracting place you could ever imagine being. I need something to keep this yawning grief over my sister and desolate fury at my mother to the edges of my mood and no closer. I’ve already been flicking through which avatars I’d like to choose to frolic with in my fantasy waterfall. One is actually named Wild Ginger. Probably product placement. Their body is covered in freckles, like carbonation. It’s too perfect.

I am beyond sad, and beyond furious. No one watching me stalk by would know it, I don’t think—I’ve got serious repression skills—but I’m simply shimmering and vibrating with feeling. It’ll come out eventually, probably in some ultra-destructive way, but not yet. That’s another side effectof my childhood. I always wind up eating my fury cold.

I’ll find the most incandescent distraction I can in the meantime, while I wait for the crush of hopelessness. I scan through the quinceañera’s agenda. That’s when I see the listing. It appeared at some point over the last minute:

17:00 (NEW): [Private concert for Molina Party Guests] The Heartspeak Boys

No. The universe has to be kidding me.

Maybe my sister is dead. Maybe my life’s purpose has been ripped from me. Maybe my mother has betrayed me so fully that I’ll never speak to her again. Maybe I’ve lost my faith in the country and corporation that produced me. Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my tragic days chasing the nearest pleasure instead of working toward some other abstract future that will only turn out to be a fresh lie. Maybe the only person who ever really loved me is long dead on a distant moon.

But, as far as nearest pleasures go...

Devon Mujaba. Biggest crush of my life.

Is here.

That’ll do.

Chapter 3

Skinprint mods are strictly against Cusk Academy code. That was actually a recent development; as the cold war escalated and Dimokratía kept emphasizing how pure and healthy their cadets were, word came down from Fédération that we couldn’t get any more skinprints, piercings, fragrance implants, none of it. They yanked those of us who had them out of bed in the middle of the night to get our bodies purified.

So obviously the first place I head while I wait for the Heartspeak Boys concert are the modification stalls. I’m now quite buzzed on PepsiRum, so I don’t take long deliberating. I don’t deliberate at all, in fact—I just pick the most expensive artist and tell them to go at it. Flashing Minerva’s onyx card gets me suite access, so rather than milling around with the hoi polloi I settle into my private lounge and wait for the artist to arrive with their tools. I order another PepsiRum in the meantime.

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