Though, really, it’s been such a long time since you took off the immerser, isn’t it? It’s just a thought, a suspended moment that is soon erased by the immerser’s flow of information, the little arrows drawing your attention to the bread and the kitchen, and the polished metal of the table, giving you context about everything, opening up the universe like a lotus flower.
‘Yes,’ you say. ‘Let’s go.’ Your tongue trips over the word – there’s a structure you should have used, a pronoun you should have said instead of the lapidary Galactic sentence. But nothing will come, and you feel like a field of sugar canes after the harvest – burnt out, all cutting edges with no sweetness left inside.
*
Of course, Second Uncle insisted on Quy getting her immerser for the interview – ‘Just in case,’ he said, soothingly and diplomatically as always. Trouble was, it wasn’t where Quy had last left it. After putting out a message to the rest of the family, the best information Quy got was from Cousin Khanh, who thought he’d seen Tam sweep through the living quarters, gathering every piece of Galactic tech she could get her hands on. Third Aunt, who caught Khanh’s message on the family’s communication channel, tutted disapprovingly. ‘Tam. Always with her mind lost in the mountains, that girl. Dreams have never husked rice.’
Quy said nothing. Her own dreams had shrivelled and died after she came back from Prime and failed Longevity’s mandarin exams, but it was good to have Tam around, to have someone who saw beyond the restaurant, beyond the narrow circle of family interests. Besides, if she didn’t stick with her sister, who would?
Tam wasn’t in the communal areas on the upper floors; Quy threw a glance towards the lift to Grandmother’s closeted rooms, but she was doubtful Tam would have gathered Galactic tech just so she could pay her respects to Grandmother. Instead, she went straight to the lower floor, the one she and Tam shared with the children of their generation.
It was right next to the kitchen, and the smells of garlic and fish sauce seemed to be everywhere – of course, the youngest generation always got the lower floor, the one with all the smells and the noises of a legion of waitresses bringing food over to the dining room.
Tam was there, sitting in the little compartment that served as the floor’s communal area. She’d spread out the tech on the floor – two immersers (Tam and Quy were possibly the only family members who cared so little about immersers they left them lying around), a remote entertainment set that was busy broadcasting some stories of children running on terraformed planets, and something Quy couldn’t quite identify, because Tam had taken it apart into small components: it lay on the table like a gutted fish, all metals and optical parts.
But at some point, Tam had obviously got bored with the entire process, because she was currently finishing her breakfast, slurping noodles from her soup bowl. She must have got it from the kitchen’s leftovers, because Quy knew the smell, could taste the spiciness of the broth on her tongue – Mother’s cooking, enough to make her stomach growl although she’d had rolled rice cakes for breakfast.
‘You’re at it again,’ Quy said with a sigh. ‘Could you not take my immerser for your experiments, please?’
Tam didn’t even look surprised. ‘You don’t seem very keen on using it, big sis.’
‘That I don’t use it doesn’t mean it’s yours,’ Quy said, though that wasn’t a real reason. She didn’t mind Tam borrowing her stuff, and actually would have been glad to never put on an immerser again – she hated the feeling they gave her, the vague sensation of the system rooting around in her brain to find the best body cues to give her. But there were times when she was expected to wear an immerser: whenever dealing with customers, whether she was waiting at tables or in preparation meetings for large occasions.
Tam, of course, didn’t wait at tables – she’d made herself so good at logistics and anything to do with the station’s system that she spent most of her time in front of a screen, or connected to the station’s network.
‘Lil’ sis?’ Quy said.
Tam set her chopsticks by the side of the bowl, and made an expansive gesture with her hands. ‘Fine. Have it back. I can always use mine.’
Quy stared at the things spread on the table, and asked the inevitable question. ‘How’s progress?’
Tam’s work was network connections and network maintenance within the restaurant; her hobby was tech. Galactic tech. She took things apart to see what made them tick, and rebuilt them. Her foray into entertainment units had helped the restaurant set up ambient sounds – old-fashioned Rong music for Galactic customers, recitation of the newest poems for locals.
But immersers had her stumped: the things had nasty safeguards to them. You could open them in half, to replace the battery, but you went no further. Tam’s previous attempt had almost lost her the use of her hands.
By Tam’s face, she didn’t feel ready to try again. ‘It’s got to be the same logic.’
‘As what?’ Quy couldn’t help asking. She picked up her own immerser from the table, briefly checking that it did indeed bear her serial number.
Tam gestured to the splayed components on the table. ‘Artificial Literature Writer. Little gadget that composes light entertainment novels.’
‘That’s not the same—’ Quy checked herself, and waited for Tam to explain.
‘Takes existing cultural norms and puts them into a cohesive, satisfying narrative. Like people forging their own path and fighting aliens for possession of a planet, that sort of stuff that barely speaks to us on Longevity. I mean, we’ve never
