There it is—the question Noemi fears most. The one she asks herself.
The one she can’t answer.
Fireworks burst in the holo, arching green and white across Kismet’s sky. Someone begins banging on a drum—not at the festival, but close by on the station, where a dance seems to be breaking out. As Noemi looks over, Harriet waves her arms in the air. “Come on! You don’t want to waste a perfectly good party, do you?”
Noemi would be happy to waste this party if it meant she could sleep. But her chances of getting any rest have been buried under firework explosions and a bongo drum-beat. “Can’t put it off any longer,” she says. “We should pretend to enjoy this.”
“Pretending to have fun, as ordered,” Abel says, then smiles.
Vagabonds obviously make the most out of any excuse to celebrate. That, or just having enough to eat and drink is reason enough to party. People laugh giddily, trade stories of their piloting exploits, and gossip about the celebrities arriving for the Orchid Festival. Zayan’s dark eyes have never looked so bright, and Harriet turns out to have a beautiful laugh, one that peals out above all the others. Abel’s not particularly good at relaxing, but he does eventually leave to get Noemi a drink, should she want one.
“Oh, come here.” Harriet tugs at Noemi’s arm, nearly spilling the concoction of pineapple juice and… something in her cup. “Han Zhi’s about to arrive!”
Noemi remembers that name from the spaceport, from some of the festival billboards and holo-adverts. If she recalls correctly, he’s not a singer. So why is it such a big deal if he’s just showing up? “Who’s Han Zhi?”
“You don’t know Han Zhi?” Harriet goggles at her. “He’s only the hottest man in existence.”
“Oh, come on.” Noemi can’t help laughing.
“No, I mean it! I swear to you, there’s not one person in the galaxy who won’t admit that Han Zhi is the sexiest, smokiest, most attractive man alive.” Harriet holds her fingers up as if swearing an oath.
“That’s not even possible,” Noemi says. “There can’t be one person everyone thinks is the sexiest. Different people find different qualities attractive—” Her voice trails off as the screens all light up with Han Zhi’s face. The crowd shrieks in glee. Noemi hears sighs from nearly everyone around her, regardless of what gender they seem to be. Her body does this thing where it flushes warm all over and makes her want to either laugh or cry. “Oh,” she breathes. “Oh. Oh, wow.”
“Told you.” Harriet’s smile is as soft as melting wax. “Hottest guy in the galaxy, and everyone knows it. Zayan and I made a deal—we’re both absolutely faithful to each other unless someday Han Zhi asks. In that case, we each have permission to enjoy ourselves… as long as we promise to share every detail later.”
Gazing up at Han Zhi’s beautiful face on the screens, Noemi reminds herself that bodies are only shells, that only the spirits within matter. But she can’t help thinking, That’s the greatest shell ever.
Then other celebrities show up on screen instead. The drummers get started again, and dancing breaks out for real. Within moments, virtually everyone is either jamming with the musicians or grabbing partners for the dance. Noemi watches as Harriet pulls Zayan to his feet and into her arms, both of them laughing as they start to move.
And then Abel stands in front of her, one hand courteously outstretched. He might have been in some eighteenth-century painting, asking her for a minuet.
His words are plainer than the eighteenth-century guy’s would’ve been. “We should do what the others are doing, don’t you think?”
Noemi hesitates. He’s right—she knows that—but to dance with him the way the others are dancing, she’ll have to touch him. Strange, how you can be willing to fight, flee, kill, or die for your cause but hesitate before a simple touch.
She doesn’t hesitate long. Noemi takes Abel’s hand, and his skin feels completely normal, as warm as a human’s would be, but so, so soft. His grip is strong, though, as if he thinks she might try to pull away.
Instead she lets him lead her into the throng. The Vagabonds dance and leap, spin and shout, laughing louder with every burst of fireworks from the holoscreens. Music wells up through the speakers, but the drummers nearby figure out how to match it, to make it even wilder. The party’s a blur of bare limbs, swirling scarves, and messy hair.
And Noemi loves it.
“Here,” Abel says as he brings her closer, into dancing position. “Are you certain this is acceptable?”
Noemi shrugs, embarrassed by how badly she wants to join in. At least she doesn’t have to check her words; nobody near them could overhear anything through the din of drums and song. “We don’t dance as couples on Genesis. Only in groups.”
“That seems counterproductive. Dancing is one of the traditional ways in which humans determine sexual compatibility with a future mate.”
“… what?”
“Dancing requires matching movements—particularly in the hips and pelvis—to the speed and rhythm most desired by your partner.” His vivid blue eyes meet hers evenly. “Relevant information, wouldn’t you think?”
She doesn’t get to answer, because with that, he spins her out, pulls her in, and the dance has begun.
Noemi catches the tempo in an instant, and then she’s part of the crush, laughing with the others. It’s easy to pretend Abel’s hand is just another hand, that his small smile as he dances is real. She can give in to it with complete abandon, because she’s not abandoning her duty. This is part of her duty, part of the illusion she must create.
Her sorrow for Esther doesn’t dim her elation. Esther would tell her to dance faster, leap higher, to laugh out loud with all the breath in her lungs. That’s what the dead would tell the living, if they could—to grab hold of joy whenever it comes.
So Noemi laughs along with the others, caught up in the fun, until the explosion.
Everyone jerks to a standstill as explosions blossom white and orange across the holoscreens, and the screams of people on Kismet come through all too clear.
In the first flare of white-hot light, the first roar of powder, Noemi thinks the fireworks have gone wrong. But then another wave of explosions lights up the sky as screams from the faraway crowd shift higher in pitch.
Then words begin to appear in stark block letters, superimposed over the holographic images:
OUR WORLDS BELONG TO US
WE ARE NOT EARTH PROPERTY
WE ARE REMEDY—JOIN US
Noemi can’t smell the smoke. She can’t think about what must’ve happened in that arena. All she can do is take in what those words mean.
Genesis isn’t the only planet in rebellion. Earth can’t control them all any longer.
The worlds are ready to rise.
And then the next explosion goes off on the station—next to them—and she knows nothing but screams, and fire, and blood.
16