by H. A. Swain
“Do you want to leave?”
“Truthfully?” she asks. “More than anything!”
“Guess that water worked, huh?” I laugh.
“I want to go somewhere quiet,” she says, then adds, “But, the thing is…” She hesitates, then sighs. “I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Come home with me,” I blurt out, then feel myself blush.
Uma looks at me. “Really? Could I? Will your brother mind?”
“My brother is…” I stop and chew on the side of my cheek for a moment. My brother is what? Indisposed? Locked away? Waiting for me to find a Moonling so he can be set free? I feel bad for poor Castor, I really do, but I’m also exhausted and ready to call it a night. Plus I have no idea where else to look for a Moonling this late. Mostly, I hope when this is over, Castor will rein in his risk-taking so we don’t end up in this kind of mess again. Of course, I can’t admit any of that to Uma, so instead I say, “He won’t be back until tomorrow.” Then I quickly add, “And anyway, he wouldn’t mind if you’re there. He’d like you.”
She smiles and gives my hand a squeeze. I squeeze hers back and say, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
We Jack-a-Pod to our house on Heather Drive—one of the few still standing this high up in the Hills. To me, it’s always looked like a strange white mushroom growing among the rubble of fallen neocastles built during the heyday of Hollywood so long ago.
“This is yours?” Uma asks, eyebrows up, when we get out of the Pod.
“Well,” I say with a chuckle, “as long as no one comes back to claim it, it is.”
The front door opens for me, and we’re hit by cool, dry, stagnant air inside the darkened vestibule, which is a relief from the late-night mugginess outside.
“The first year we were here, Castor and I sniffed all around these neighborhoods, looking for someplace we could stay once we left the Observatory. When he found this place, we knew we’d hit the jackpot. It’s self-sufficient, solar-and wind-powered, and survived every postquake landslide. We’ve been here ever since.”
We follow Quasar through the mishmash of things that are not ours—white fluffy cloud sofas and chairs levitating above their magnetic bases mixed with junk we dragged up from the city streets and Santa Monica Basin and all the stuff Castor makes—his 3-D printers, toy rocket prototypes, and makeshift lab experiments. I toss Castor’s knapsack on the kitchen counter, then fill a bowl with water for the dog, grab two Lemon FizzBomb drinks for us, and say, “Let’s go out in the garden. It’s nice out there this time of night.”
Out back, on the patio, Uma and I sit in side-by-side lounge chairs while Quasar sniffs along the defunct pool filled with dried palm fronds and decaying leaves. He trots up half-crumbled stone steps to nose around a purple bougainvillea vine where every morning hummingbirds dart like tiny fighter jets.
“Tell me more about you,” says Uma when we’re settled.
“What about me? What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” she says, and smiles. “Where you’re from. What your childhood was like. How you got from there to here.”
I take a deep breath and let it spill. “The truth is, I’m nothing but an undocumented guttersnipe from the Wastelands who snuck in with my twin brother and stole everything we own.”
“A guttersnipe!” Uma bursts out laughing. “Sounds like some weird creature that evolved out of the muck after the tsunami.”
“Maybe it is,” I tease, and hunch over with my teeth bared.
“I know what’s it like to leave the place you’re from,” Uma says.
I look at her and nod. I know Uma’s not a tourist. Otherwise, she’d have a device and currency and a place to stay. I’m not sure what she is or why she’s here, but I don’t need to know until she’s ready to tell me. Right now, I love lying beside this girl where no one can bother us.
“Tell me more,” she begs. “Where did you grow up?”
I tell her as much about my life in the Wastelands as I can. She listens, rapt, to the story, then stops me after a while and says, “Okay, so let me see if I’ve got this straight. You and your brother have a parody Stream called NayRay DeDumpingCart that you started when you were twelve?”
“That’s right.”
“And when you got enough followers, you snuck into AlphaZonia to Stream from inside the city so you could hack product links and make money?”
“Yep. That was Castor’s idea. I thought he was crazy, but as usual, he was right. Our fan base grew once we got here, and he’s brilliant at finding ways to squeeze currency out of followers.”
“I watch Streams all the time. I can’t believe I’ve never seen yours. You have to show me!” says Uma.
“Oh, no,” I groan. “It’s too embarrassing.”
“Come on,” she says, and cuddles closer, so her knees are touching my thighs. “Show me.”
“Fine.” I grab an old refurbished tablet Castor left on the table and command it to project our Stream onto the deck. Grainy, poor-quality holos of our archived Streams from the past few months appear. Except for the night at the Pink Palace. Somehow that one is missing.
“Go back,” says Uma. “Way, way back to the beginning. I want to see how you started when you were twelve.”
“Oh, god, this is going to be embarrassing,” I say, but I scroll all the way back through the archives to my preteen self because I like seeing Uma happy. Then, there I am. As scrawny as a hungry pup. All eyes and teeth beneath a mess of dirty red hair. My ribs stick out and my hip bones are sharp beneath a thin gray men’s T-shirt I fashioned into a dress with a bungee cord belt, filthy pink rain boots, and bright green rubber gloves. My skin is sunbaked two shades darker than I am now.
“Look at you!” says Uma, pointing at the holo of my former self. “You were so adorable!”
“What a wreck!” I say, laughing. “I want to comb that girl’s hair and wash her face!” I reach out toward the younger me, but of course, my hand goes right through the projection.
“Play!” Uma commands.
“Hey, you guuuuuuys.” My younger self singsongs the words just like every CelebriStreamer does. “It’s me, NayRay DeDumpingCart. And I’m here at, well, duh, the Dumps!” I throw up my arms just as Castor pulls the camera back to show me standing in the shadow of a huge pyramid.
Uma gasps. “Is that…” She leans closer to the image on the deck. “Garbage behind you?”
I nod.
On-screen, the younger me draws in a long, deep breath, then lets it go. “Aaaaaah. Can you smell that? Freshly delivered from the Yoobies.” I look at the camera and wink. “Let’s see what we can find!” I scurry up the trash heap like a mountain goat. Castor stays close, keeping the camera trained on my narrow back. Suddenly, I stop and whip around with the exact expression D’Cart uses every time she unveils an amazing new product to experience with her TouchyFeelyTech followers.
“Oh, my gawd, you guys,” the younger me coos. “Can you feel that?” I plunge my arm shoulder deep into the mountain of garbage. “The slimy ookiness of trash against your skin? And what’s that smell?” I take a long, deep breath. “Rotting food and the desperation of the Wastelands? Aaahhhh! That’s the magic of TouchyFeelyTech! Now look at this!” My NayRay self pulls out a titanium alloy hubcap and plops it on top of my head. “This hat is SOOO gorgeous! And comfy, too! Can you feel how light it is?”
Uma is laughing so hard, she has to wipe tears from her eyes.
“I don’t know why we have so many followers,” I admit. “The whole parody thing is ridiculous.”
“No it’s not!” Uma protests. “It’s smart. At least the way you do it. And clearly people love it! How did you come up with it in the first place?”
“I always pretended to be different people. Then Castor found a bunch of defunct tech in an electronics dump and wired it all together so we could Stream.”
“He sounds really smart.”
“He is. He probably could�
�ve gotten a scholarship to MUSC if my father hadn’t…” I stop.
“Oh, Talitha.” Uma looks at me.
“Never mind! It doesn’t matter. MUSC is another stupid place full of elites. Yoobies! MUSCies! They’re all the same.”
“Talitha, listen,” she says, then stops.
“Yes?”
“I should tell you something…”
“Okay,” I say, and wait for her to go on. But our little reverie in the tiny oasis of my garden is interrupted when Quasar bays and runs toward the back gate, his teeth bared as he snarls.
“Oh, no!” I yell, and reach for Uma’s hand. I pull her off the lounge chair and run behind the date palm tree, where we crouch.
“What’s happening?” she whispers, her hand hot in mine.
“I don’t know,” I whisper back. “Nobody ever comes up here.”
I look for something blunt and heavy to defend us against an intruder, but there are only wispy dried palm fronds littering the ground. Quasar continues to snarl and bark, making himself sound ten times more ferocious than his tiny body could ever be. I hear footsteps crunching through the gravel around the side of the house.
“Who is it?” I yell, my voice as deep and menacing as I can manage. Uma tucks herself close to my side as we grip one another tight. The gate swings open, and I shout, “Stop right there!”
“Talitha?” Someone peeks around the corner of our house, then jumps back when Quasar lunges. “Call your dog off, god damn it. It’s me, Mundie,” he says, annoyed.
“Mundie?” I step out from behind the tree, still holding Uma’s hand. “Quasar, come. It’s okay.”
Mundie comes into the garden and stops short, then backs up two steps when he sees us. Quasar tangles around his legs, sniffing intently to make sure that he’s safe.
“Who’s that?” Mundie demands, finger pointed at Uma.
Uma and I both stand up straight. She drops my hand and steps behind me into the shadow.
“Just a friend,” I say.
“I’ve never seen her before,” says Mundie, rudely.
“She’s not from here. Is everything okay? Why are you here?”
“Didn’t know I needed an invitation.” Mundie strides forward. “I need to speak to you.” He bugs his eyes out in Uma’s direction and adds, “Alone.”
My heart climbs up in my throat at the thought of Castor in more trouble. “Hey, Uma,” I say, my voice a little shaky, “why don’t you go inside and wash up before bed?”
“She’s staying here?” Mundie snarls.
“You sure you want me to go inside?” Uma whispers into my ear.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “Mundie is a friend,” I lie, and try to smile, but it feels more like a grimace. “We grew up together. I just need a few minutes alone with him.”
“Okay.” She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze before she turns to go. “But I’ll be right inside.” She stares hard at Mundie, who squints at her, trying to get a good look at her face in the dim light.
Once Uma’s through the patio doors, Mundie stomps toward me. “What the hell, Talitha?” he demands. “Who’s that girl? Why were you holding hands?”
“I wasn’t holding her hand!” My cheeks burn with guilt, even though I’ve done nothing wrong. “We were scared. I didn’t know it was you. Quasar was barking his head off. You could have pinged to let me know you were coming.”
“I did! A thousand times tonight. But you never answered.”
“Oh, right,” I say. “I wasn’t using my device. I have on other Wearables. Still, why are you showing up here late at night?”
We stand on either side of the table. He stares at me for a moment, then says, “Who is she?”
“Just some girl,” I tell him. “I found her in the Wildlands. She had no place to go. I felt sorry for her.” I burn with shame for lying. What if Uma overheard me? “How’s Castor? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine.” Mundie moves around the table, closer to me, but I sidestep him and move closer to the door. “But D’Cart has something else she needs you to do.”
“Oh, good,” I say, relieved. “Finding that Moonling is impossible. What’s she want instead?”
“She needs you to get something for her from the MUSC Dump out in the Wastelands.”
“The Dump!” I grimace. “Why doesn’t she send a robot for it?”
“Because she wants you to get it, and if you don’t, then she won’t release Castor, so … you’ll do it?” He reaches out his inordinately long arm and lays his hand on my shoulder. “Right?”
I look down at his hand, not liking how it feels to be touched by him, but once again, I know what I have to do. “I don’t have much of a choice, now, do I?”
TIME STAMP
MOON
DAY 1, MONTH OF SOL, MUSC YEAR 94
EARTH
JUNE 19, 2XXX
UMA JEMISON
ALPHAZONIA, EARTH
WHEN I WAKE up the next morning, I roll over and search for Talitha’s body next to mine in the ocean-blue sheets, but the double bed is empty. I smile at the memory of lying beside her last night. I woke once to find her arm slung over me with Quasar at our feet. A little stuffed toy that looked just like him was wedged betweed us. Moonlight spilled into the room and illuminated her face, so peaceful and sweet in her sleep. I could have moved away, but I didn’t. I snuggled closer.
I sit up now and stretch, feeling more refreshed than I have in months, or possibly years. Each day on MUSC, I wake with a heaviness that I can’t shake. By the end of every day, gravity feels stronger. But today, I feel light and happy and ready to go. I bounce out of bed, dress quickly in borrowed clothes Talitha left for me—a soft red tank top and tie-waist striped shorts—then pad out of the room to look for Talitha.
The front door to the house is wide open. Sunlight streams into the vestibule, warming my body as I step into the driveway, where I find Talitha loading bags into the back of yet another AutoPod. This one green.
“Are we going somewhere?” I ask, half joking.
Talitha spins. “I’m sorry, Uma. I’ve had a change of plans.” She shuts the hatch of the Pod and comes around to the front of the car. Quasar trots after her like a dog-shaped shadow.
“Oh,” I say quietly, feeling stupid. Clearly I misread the situation. The lightness I felt a few moments ago evaporates in the heavy air. “Sorry, I—”
“It has nothing to do with you. I have to go out to the desert for a bit.”
“Okay.” My voice is small. I wish I could hide my disappointment better, but I can’t. I start to sweat and tug the tank top away from my skin. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah … yeah … it’ll be fine,” Talitha says uncertainly, and keeps her distance. “I have to … um … pick something up for someone, and…” She trails off, then stands mute, as if there’s more she wants to say but can’t.
“I see,” I say, but I don’t really understand, and my heart sinks at the thought of saying good-bye. “I’ll go change—”
“No wait! Listen…” She steps closer. “I don’t want to leave. I have to. It has to do with my brother, and…” She hangs her head. “I can’t tell you more, but you can totally borrow those clothes! I’ll see you again. I won’t be gone that long, and as soon as I get back, I’ll find you and—”
“I don’t know where I’ll be,” I say honestly, backing toward the door.
“I’m sorry I can’t let you stay here.” She looks pained.
“I don’t expect you to,” I tell her. “I’ll get my stuff…”
She follows, saying, “It’s just that … well, with Mundie snooping around, I don’t think you’d be safe here. But since I have the AutoPod, I can drop you off anywhere before I leave. Where do you want to go?”
I say the only thing place I can think of. “Pink Palace, I guess?”
Talitha hesitates. “Why there?”
“There’s something I need.” I chew on my thumb as I try to form a plan.
“You’re sure…” Talitha says, seeming wary.
“Yes,” I tell her. After one day, it’s clear that without Talitha as my guide, I’ll need my device to get around. Maybe I can find a way to cloak my location from the Drones. “I’m certain.”
* * *
The drive down the winding hills from her house is gorgeous in the daylight. I sigh and say once again, “You’re so lucky to live here.”
“I’m not sure luck has much to do with it.” A strangled laugh escapes her mouth. “Or if it did, my luck may have run out.”
“What’s that mean?” I ask, looking at her.
“Nothing,” she mumbles. “Do you know what was lucky, though?” She catches my eye. I shake my head. “Meeting you.”
My heart skips. “I wish we had more time together,” I admit, and move a little closer to her.
“Me too!” she says, half smiling and half looking like she might cry. “This sucks! I really don’t want to say good-bye to you.”
“Me neither!” I tell her.
“Look!” She grabs my hand. “I know this might sound crazy, but do you want to come with me?”
“To the desert? But it sounded like you have something important to do for your brother. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”
“It’ll be fine!” Talitha assures me. “You can stay in the car while I do my errand, then we’ll come back here together.”
“Yeah, but…” I shrink away, remembering what Burnell Chen-Ning told me on the Shuttle: Just stay away from the Wastelands, and you’ll be fine. “I’m not sure I should…”
“Yeah.” She slumps and lets go of me. “Probably not. It’s not that safe out there, I guess.”
Then again, as I look out the window and think about reestablishing a connection with Darshan, I’m not sure that I’ll be safe here, either.
The Pod rounds a curve and starts up the long driveway to the Pink Palace. My heart races at the thought of not seeing Talitha again. In a few minutes, we’ll have to say good-bye. Should I go with her, I wonder? Take another leap, like I did when I stepped onto the Shuttle or when I threw my device away and ran into the bush? I look out the window at the trees and sky and contemplate my choices. Stay here, alone, trying to find my way under the radar, or go out to the desert, which might be dangerous, but at least we’d be together.
