I glance over at Blane. He’s blushing down to the scalp underneath his cropped hair.
Radius and Bea are already making themselves comfortable in each other’s arms. Bea’s blond hair is spilling all over Radius’ shoulder as she nestles in. He places soft kisses on her forehead. Blane and I smile awkwardly. We rushed into each other’s arms way too fast, and now we need to get to know each other better.
“So tell me what your project is,” I jab him playfully.
He smiles at me, and then down at my dress as if he’s still a bit shy for longer eye contact. It’s so unlike Blane it cracks me up. “My lips are sealed,” he claims. “You’ll have to wait until the contest presentation.”
“It has to be good to win a spot,” Radius says. “Give us one hint.”
“Like father like son,” Blane says mysteriously.
I nudge him again. “What’s that mean?”
“Remember what Vesper and Jan told you about my parents in the project room?”
“That your father was a brain surgeon and your mother was some kind of scientist?”
“You got it.”
“No way! Vesper was joking around.”
“Was she?” Blane arches his brows. For a moment, the big, hulking man next to me is elevated to a higher level. He’s just teasing, though, the thing he accuses me of doing.
“Your old man was no brain surgeon,” Radius scoffs.
“Was so, and my mother was a geneticist.”
“Hot damn!” Bea remarks.
Worlds turn, and spin away. The desert below is aglow with unearthly light as we speed westward, over yurt communities and dead cities, pockets of cave gardens surrounded by more yurts. Radius discovers an embedded drinks bar in the side panel of the glider. Clinking our unbelievably tasty iced lemon sodas, we make a toast. “Here’s hoping one of us wins the Axiom Contest. Hear, hear!”
“Huzzah, Fireseeders!” I exclaim, in an echo of Axiom’s trademark cheer.
Nearing Vegas-by-the-Sea, we see a large, close grouping of cone-shaped towers and whirligig warehouses, spinning like carnival rides. We see neighborhoods of solid blue agar buildings and in the city center, rising sandstone statues of what must be famous people—a long-legged lady lifting her face to the sun, a man with a wide brimmed hat, and a clown with puffy cartoon lips.
Swooping lower, the gliders whoosh into an underground landing pad. It turns out to be the basement of a hotel. We are whisked into its glitzy lobby with fake palm trees, grand pastel-colored sofas and well-dressed clientele lounging on those sofas and settees. I’ve never seen such women with chunky jewels and spiky heels. Doormen wearing Axiom pastel jackets with shell buttons cart our cumbersome baggage.
Bea and I share a room, and across the hall are Blane and Radius. “I wonder how closely we’ll be chaperoned?” Bea says with a smirk.
“Hopefully not so much,” I answer, with my own smirk. “At least Nevada’s not here, breathing down our necks.”
We buzz around, marveling at the marble bathroom, the floor-to-ceiling picture windows and the plush quilts with wave patterns on the wide beds.
We’re told to get dressed and meet the group in the lobby. I put on the fancy dress and some red lipstick. Bea helps me adjust my special hair decorations.
She leans over my shoulder. “You look incredible. Blane’s in for a surprise.” Normally I prefer looking plain, but tonight, I’m glad I’m sparkling.
George Axiom wasn’t exaggerating when he bragged about the ornate feast. Crab House Delights is a candlelit cavern whose central attraction is a broad table brimming with culinary delights: steamy rolls, crunchy crab cakes, rice mixed with peas and faux-shrimp, sea apples dripping in honey, sautéed Fireagar, vats of icy mead and teas, and desserts sprinkled with chocolate and berries, the likes of which I’ve never seen.
The place is packed with kids, all dressed in their finery. Bea and I link arms and stroll in, followed by Blane and Radius, who are already chattering about the food. Bea’s adorable in a hand latticed yellow dress that shows off her curves. Her purse is strewn with handcrafted textile flowers. We snake around to find a free table, no easy task, as others are searching for a spot too.
“You can tell who’s from Baronland South,” Radius snipes. “They’re wearing northern pants and suits.” Indeed, a group of kids already eating at a large, round table are wearing the ponderous navy blues and grays that look so alien down here in the desert.
“Their clothes look expensive,” Bea says. “Wish I had access to that kind of fabric.”
“Let’s steer clear of them,” Blane decides. “Hey, over here.” He spots an open table and throws his jacket over a chair to save it. We follow suit and then head over to the food.