Dr. Zi is not one of them. Zi and figureheads like him come, increase their ratings, and go.
She clears her throat. “It is your sworn duty, as Chief Safety Engineer, to ensure the safety of this ship.” She almost says Unless you have a conflict of interest, but because she is trying hard, and because she has simmered down, she does not.
She presses on. “Sure, the Mars tragedy has been smoothed away after only four years. All the reports are buried by interminable committees while celebrities take up everyone’s short attention span with their gaudy pairings and unpairings. Money can manipulate anything.” She does not say Including you, but decides he could not hear that even if she shouted it to his face.
“I fail to see your point.”
“It’s been a while. Let’s review. Seven lovely young reality stars, men and women without a shred of technical background, set out in a rover as a publicity lark and drive over a cliff. Live feed killed before it gets to Earth; no backups. Easy. The world mourns for a while, but without visuals, pretty soon it’s like it never happened.
“Here on Moku, we have seventy-two entertainment workers—publicity crews, trainers, scripters, and assorted interesting many-gendered, well-known celebs who have gone through a few drills but who have been lulled into thinking that we are not hanging in space in a complex system that at this instant is undergoing massive, continuous updates and repairs. A hundred and twelve tourists. Fifty-seven parents. Their children. I’m not talking about the crew, the academics, the research scientists, all of whom have at least four doctorates, know the risks, and are emergency-ready. The civilians do not know the risks. It is your job to care. To protect them. And there is a matter of the highest urgency that—”
“Dr. Hsu, I resent these implications.” A ping sounds. He stands. “Time for me to lead a tour through the Nanotech VR Lab.”
She also stands, and says, working her device, “If you could possibly inspect the lab, while you are there, in regard to these three issues … I mean if you have time … in fact … I’ve sent this to all Level 5 personnel.”
He roars, “You will not go over my head!”
“I’ll share to the same contacts my full, updated report within the hour. I expect you to read it and to respond.”
He fumbles with another shot of salad—vodka-infused? she wonders— and makes his way through the crowded bar, another of Pele’s safety nightmares. As is the Moku Gift Shop, the Full Immersion Module (Experience Surfing the Rings of Saturn!) and the Hotel.
A parent who has been hovering nearby takes Dr. Zi’s place. Ann is Ghanaian, a lovely, warm woman, wearing a dress of bold African colors, proud that her strange, heartbreaking baby has grown to be not only functional, but wondrous. As are all the parents.
“Dr. Hsu, it is so good to finally have a chance to actually talk with you.” She takes both of Pele’s hands in hers and squeezes. Pele squeezes back as Ann continues talking. “Thank you for the wonderful things you have done for Kevin. You are such a role model. You were our beacon on this long, long journey. If you could do it, so could Kevin. You know how it is—a roller coaster. The realization that your child is … different. The diagnosis—the work—” Tears stand in her dark eyes.
“I do know,” says Pele, because first, she knew it from the inside. Though this is a common conversation for her, she gives each her full, deep attention. “It does get easier. I promise. You have done all the right things. Every day, there are breakthroughs.”
Ann blinks, and her tears overflow. She dashes them away, and a smile lights her lovely face. “What you’re doing here—it’s just incredible. I never dreamed that Kevin would be communicating with so many other people— all of the international children who were on the first Gifted Expeditions! They are all so brilliant—and so many are Asperger’s spectrum. My husband and I can’t make head nor tail of what they do, and we are both professors. It’s all so technical, and in their own codes, but apparently they work in shifts, twenty-four seven—”
This is like a deep gong sounding. The puzzle Pele was trying to discuss with Zi snaps into a single, frightening picture.
Pele keeps her voice low and calm, her eyes steady on Ann’s eyes. “Ann, this is very important. I need to see this information. I—”
Something on the far side of the bar catches Pele’s eyes. Her fiancée, Gustavo, threads his way through small groups of parents gathering for Marsrise. Just the sight of him has the power to change her into a different person, which she welcomes. She is happy, relaxed, made new. She is still in love, after two years.
She waves; he changes course toward her, his movements uncharacteristically urgent.
Gustavo is warm, sweet, humble, and kind, his twin fields astrobiology and artificial life. She has not been married for two decades, when her second partner regendered, as Pele had always thought probable. Twelve great-grandchildren thrive all over the world, and she follows their rich lives with avid interest. He has a similar family.
Gustavo drops onto an empty zabuton next to Pele. He smiles, but his grave expression crystallizes Pele’s apprehensions, assembling inchoate mur-murings she has caught edge of—and voiced—in a final, definitive snap of realization.
He glances at Ann, nods in greeting, and takes a deep breath. Pele knows he is making his
