We Are Satellites

by Sarah Pinsker

  Sophie called from her new apartment to invite them to the grand opening. “No is not an option. Everyone will be there. It’s a tangible victory.”

  It was late January. The sun hadn’t shown itself all day, and they walked across the parking lot under a dusk sky wiped gray from edge to edge. A snow sky, they’d called it when the kids were little, taking bets on when the first flakes would fall, Julie complaining she was the only one who wouldn’t benefit from a snow day.

  “Wait, why does it still smell like cookies?” Val asked, holding the door for Julie.

  Julie smiled. “It’s a mystery for the ages.”

  The place was crowded and bright, a riot of color compared to outside. A mariachi band played in the far corner.

  “Over here, guys!” called Sophie from the center of the room, where she and David sat surrounded by people. Several tables had been pulled close together. Val recognized a few faces from the meeting space, as well as Milo and Karina and Karina’s sister, and Gabe, and Gabe’s father, who walked over to greet them.

  “Tony!” Julie said in delight. “It’s been ages.”

  He smiled. “It’s hard to support them and also give them space, isn’t it?”

  “We’re still figuring it out,” Julie said. “I’m glad the three of them are living together.”

  Val nodded. That solution had delighted them both, as hard as it was to let Sophie go; not that they had any say in it. If she was going to move out, an apartment with Gabe and David was the best solution they could have hoped for. She knew how to look after herself, and they understood how to help her in the moments when she couldn’t.

  They all looked over at the central tables. A few people from outside their group had recognized David and gathered around him, and he was taking selfies with them beside a nacho platter half as tall as he was, while Sophie and Gabe stole chips off the side for their friends’ waiting plates. When David finished posing, he turned back to a diminished appetizer.

  “You work for us now, Congressman,” Sophie said. “Your nachos are our nachos.”

  “Hey!” he said in a tragic voice, and the others cracked up. On his current dose of Quiet—they still called it that, even knowing the real name—his noise was dampened enough that this chaotic, loud, crowded restaurant wasn’t stressing him out, nor was the fact that he hadn’t noticed his sister’s prank. Progress.

  More people arrived: volunteers from the campaign, anti-Pilot activists.

  “There isn’t room to sit with them,” said Julie.

  “That’s okay,” Val replied. “They wanted us here. That’s something.”

  They sat edge-of-center with Tony Clary, close enough to be considered part of the celebration. Julie ordered a fishbowl-sized margarita, and they all ordered tacos, and their conversation, which started on the kids and their projects, drifted in other directions. That was a form of progress, too, Val supposed.

  The party was still going when Julie paid the bill and they put on their coats. Sophie and David came over for quick hugs, then returned to their friends.

  Val and Julie had to push through a crowd to reach the door, and on the other side was winter. The snow sky had given over to snow, and a thin layer had already begun to accumulate on the sidewalk. Julie paused to pull on a hat, then threaded a gloved hand through Val’s arm.

  The flakes were big and heavy, catching in their eyelashes and hair. Val looked up at the sky, enjoying the deeper view, the kaleidoscopic swirl; then back at the restaurant, where another group of diners exited the building and startled at the sight. They put on hats and scarves and started walking in whatever direction would bring them home. Bundled against the falling snow, all blue lights vanished, and it was impossible to tell anyone apart.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would first like to acknowledge that I’m lousy at acknowledgments. For three albums and three books now, I’ve been given the opportunity to say thank you to everyone who had a part in the project, and each time I remember that I should have been keeping a list, but by then it is too late, and I’m forced to rely on my memory, knowing I will inevitably leave people out. How could I possibly fit everyone, in any case? You should all have your names in here.

  Then, too, given that I’m writing this in the midst of a lockdown that I can only hope will be over by the time the book comes out, this feels particularly like a step out of time. Thank you, past and future readers, reading this book by past me, and this note by present me, who will be past me by the time you read it. Thank you also to everyone who helped keep other people alive, in any way you did that, whether staying home or protesting or doing work deemed essential.

  On to the specific acknowledgments:

  Zu first, always, because I don’t think I’m very easy to live with while I’m drafting a book, and she is always supportive despite my obvious shortcomings, and I love and appreciate her more than I’m capable of showing.

  Kim-Mei Kirtland, my agent, exactly the teammate I want for a weird sport where everyone plays by different rules. Also Gabrielle, and Megan, and everyone else at HMLA.

  My editor, Jen Monroe, and everyone at Berkley, including Alexis Nixon, Tara O’Connor, Jessica Plummer, and Megan Elmore, along with copy editor Randie Lipkin. Katie Anderson in-house and Tim Green of Faceout Studio for the supercool cover that I have only just seen.

  The Future Embodied, Fierce Family, and Accessing the Future anthologies, which provided the prompts that got me thinking about this idea years ago.

  Sherri and Rep and the Sparkleponies for reading my outline and chapters. My sisters and my mother, the best beta readers. My father and Esther for celebrations and sustenance.

  Stephanie Simon-Dack, professor of psychological science, for suggesting the rTPJ back in 2012 or 2013 when I came up with the first story that led to this novel and was trying to figure out where the implant needed to go. Ben Kinney for beta reading with brain stuff in mind. Laura McElwain Colquhoun for answering my questions about the inner workings of a congressional district office. David Vincelli for answering computer-related questions (within the book! I did not ask my brother-in-law for IT help). Karen for helping me with the military stuff. Mary Wontrop at Epilepsy Foundation Maryland, and everyone I had the good fortune to get to know at EFMD and AN/EFCR. Seizure first aid is simple to learn and can save lives. If you’re interested in more information or getting certified, go to epilepsy.com.

  Kellan Szpara for being my best writer buddy. Karen Osborne for the terrific pictures and occasional company back when we were still allowed to write in the company of others. Randee Dawn and Judith Tumin and everyone else who let me crash at their homes while writing. The Red Canoe for letting me work in the corner all day back when it was safe to do such things. My occasional video chat coworking buddies. My Goucher students from this very bizarre spring, and everyone at the Kratz Center for Creative Writing. The Ivy, Bird in Hand, Atomic Books, and Greedy Reads for making Baltimore such a great place to be a writer, as well as all the other booksellers and festivals that hosted me, virtually or in person, and do the same for their cities. The Baltimore SFF community and the larger SFF community all around the world. The readers and reviewers and podcasters. All of the editors who teach me how to be a better writer with their comments and questions.

  I read Jeanne Lenzer’s The Danger Within Us after I’d finished my second draft, and it helped tremendously with David’s journey. If this work of fiction made you interested in more information on the real-life gray areas and moral ambiguities in which some medical devices exist, I suggest checking out that eye-opening work of nonfiction.

  And finally, everyone on my morning calls, which have gotten me to my computer to start work even on days when work seemed impossible in this year of weirdness. Thank you.

  READERS GUIDE

  WE ARE SATELLITES

  SARAH PINSKER

  Discussion Que
stions

  We Are Satellites features four people: one who wanted a Pilot, one who felt he needed a Pilot, one who couldn’t have one, and one who didn’t want one. Would you want a Pilot?

  Which character did you relate to the most, and what was it about them that you connected with?

  How would you feel if everyone around you was getting an enhancement that you couldn’t get?

  The novel looks at how Pilots affect education, sports, politics, the military, the workplace . . . What other facets of life can you see it affecting?

  David’s point of view is conveyed in a distinct and unusual way. How did his “noise” affect your reading experience?

  What would you have done in David’s position, with people not believing you when you explained what was going on in your head?

  Sophie’s group used a number of tactics to accomplish their goals, some more successful than others. What worked, and what tactics were less effective?

  What is Sophie looking for that puts her at odds with her parents? Does she achieve her goals?

  How did the characters and their voices change throughout the book?

  What did you think about the ways people in this family solved problems?

  Has the novel given you anything to think about with regard to medical devices?

  Are there any distinct images you came away with?

  What is the metaphor of the satellites?

  Inspiration for We Are Satellites

  Ten years ago I was driving home from work and stopped at a red light. Two schools sat opposite each other on that block, a public high school and a private Catholic boys’ school. The private school’s track team was out and running that evening, and they took the red light as an opportunity to cross in the middle of the street, passing in front of and behind my car, some with long strides and some working hard to keep up. In the middle of the pack, one boy tripped. Another reached out and caught him, seemingly without having looked over.

  That image stayed with me, and the fact of those two schools opposite each other, and I guess those are the reasons this entire novel exists. That was right around the time I started writing fiction again after years in music, and I was starting to recognize the way images could sometimes adhere to other images in such a way that they inspired stories.

  I was working for a multiprogram nonprofit at the time that included the Epilepsy Foundation of the Chesapeake Region (which later separated to become Epilepsy Foundation Maryland). As part of my position, I answered information and referral calls, and learned everything I could about epilepsy. I spent a lot of time listening as people told me their stories, on the phone and in support groups.

  I also attended epileptologist symposia, with the goal of translating doctor-speak and figuring out which of the medical professionals had good topics to bring to our constituents. One of the doctors was talking about potential new therapeutic devices, and it sparked an idea for the brain implant in the book. I immediately recognized the irony in the fact that the thing I was thinking about would be one of those medical devices that was developed to help people with one condition, and that ended up being unhelpful for that condition and refused to the people who had it. With that, two siblings came to mind, and the agonizing decisions their family would have to make. I consulted a friend about which part of the brain to put the implant in, and her suggestion helped me hone the idea. I remembered the boys running in the street, and built a story that led up to that image. I made one of the parents into a writer, too, to contrast with the boys. It sold into an anthology called The Future Embodied, one of my first story sales.

  Not long after, Crossed Genres Publishing put out a call for stories for an anthology they were calling Fierce Family. I wanted to write them a story with a strong and loving queer family at the core, and I returned to the same people from my previous story, this time concentrating on the daughter, Sophie. Sophie’s voice was a delight to write, and even as I turned that piece in, I knew I wanted to tell more of her story.

  After that, I returned to the Pilot concept a few times. I wrote a third story for a third anthology, Accessing the Future, in which I focused on a different character, an early adopter. That story helped me understand the downsides of the technology, which I hadn’t explored in the previous pieces. I figured out certain key facts: that David would join the military, that Sophie would join an anti-Pilot group, and that they would eventually bump heads, but I wasn’t sure how or why. I had a vague idea that it wanted to be a novel, but also that I wasn’t ready to write it yet. I didn’t know enough about the family or the technology I wanted to invent, and I needed to level up to the point where I was capable of telling their story in full.

  I thought about this family a lot over the last several years, as I wrote fifty other stories and A Song for a New Day. With each of those works drafted and edited, I gained new skills. I learned more about medical devices and implants, and the differences in approval paths for devices versus medicine. I explored who my device would help, who it would hurt, what it would complicate. I realized the differences between the four characters, and how they had four distinct perspectives on the Pilot. I gathered more key images: Sophie on the bus, David on the big screen at the baseball game.

  As I wrote the first draft, I developed Sophie’s voice, and Val’s, and Julie’s. Sophie was tremendous fun to write, with all her coiled-up rage and her desire to prove herself. I thought I needed to avoid telling the story from David’s perspective because there was no way to show exactly what was going on in his head. It wasn’t until I tried writing a chapter from David’s point of view that I solved the puzzle: I absolutely needed to find a way into David’s head. It was a matter of seeing everything at once, and then conveying that to the reader, which was a joyous challenge as a writer. The more I understood each of them, the more able I was to give them freedom to make their own choices. That’s always my favorite part of writing fiction: when characters take on a life of their own, and you feel like the conduit. Once that happens, I know I can find my way to the end.

  Even though this is my second novel, the history of We Are Satellites is the history of my writing career, and I’m overjoyed to share this family with readers.

  Reading List:

  Eleven books that inspired me while I wrote We Are Satellites

  The Danger Within Us by Jeanne Lenzer—If you want to know what it looks like in real life when people aren’t believed about their medical devices, read this.

  The Lesson by Cadwell Turnbull—Right when I was trying to figure out the structure and if four points of view was too many, Cadwell came along with a brilliant novel of first contact, told from far more than four perspectives.

  Infomocracy by Malka Older—If you want a fictional political science thriller that also includes a good look at corporate influence on public policy, start here.

  Accessing the Future: A Disability-Themed Anthology of Speculative Fiction, edited by Kathryn Allan & Djibril al-Ayad—Yes, I have a story in here that’s tangentially related to We Are Satellites, but there’s also a lot of brilliant stuff in these pages.

  Disabled People Destroy Science Fiction!—Published by Uncanny Magazine, this special issue edited by Elsa Sjunneson, Dominik Parisien, Nicolette Barischoff, S. Qiouyi Lu, and Judith Tarr is a feast of own-voices fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and more.

  Bellweather Rhapsody by Kate Racculia—This novel features an old hotel and some great music writing, so I was already preprogrammed to love it, but it was a useful marker for including teenage voices in an adult novel.

  The Dutch House by Ann Patchett—It was helpful while I was writing a family novel that takes place over a number of years to read a brilliant decades-spanning family novel.

  The Red: First Light by Linda Nagata�
��You don’t need to like military science fiction to fall for this gripping novel and its sequels. Nagata is great at writing accessible near-future fiction—see also The Last Good Man.

  The Warehouse by Rob Hart—A near-future page-turner about a horrifying corporate future. If you’ve read my novel A Song for a New Day, this is like a glimpse inside a Superwally warehouse, tense and thrilling.

  The Radium Girls by Kate Moore—A horrifying, tragic nonfiction book about the wave of the future and the horrors that it brought to those who worked in the factories.

  Autonomous by Annalee Newitz—Pharmaceutical pirates, military robots, and a designer drug gone awry.

  Photo by Karen Osborne

  Sarah Pinsker’s A Song for a New Day won the 2019 Nebula Award for Best Novel, and her collection Sooner or Later Everything Falls into the Sea won the Philip K. Dick Award. Her short fiction has appeared in Asimov’s, F&SF, and numerous other magazines, anthologies, and translation markets. She is also a singer-songwriter who has toured behind three albums on various independent labels. She lives with her wife and a very energetic terrier in Baltimore, Maryland.

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