2 A Pro at Compartmentalization and Emotional Avoidance #2
Her chest pinched with something sharp. Like her lungs had been caught by a fishhook.
She tried to breathe around the sensation, but doing so only further embedded the hook.
A memory came, unbidden, to her mind: a dramatic violin concerto raging from her racer’s speakers, Arbora grinning carefree from the passenger side, her hair buzzed close to her scalp, her home culture’s traditional gender rings pierced through the thin skin of her left eyebrow. Two, for a woman.
The memory fast-forwarded to Arbora, tear-stricken and afraid, calling Spie’s name as she was marched out of the Imperial Tower by a pair of guards.
And Spie, standing helplessly to the side, doing absolutely nothing to stop it.
Were she to compose the memory into music, translate her impotence and heartbreak into chords on the violin, this moment would be the top of the crescendo.
What happened after would be a crash into abrupt silence.
Was this a joke? Could Nix be messing with her? If so, it wasn’t funny. But if he was telling the truth...the next couple months might prove interesting after all.
· · ·
“Can we get another shot, but this time, Your Highness—Prince Nix, I mean—could I have you put an arm around your sister’s shoulders? Yes, exactly like that, we’re rolling.”
Cameras flashed. Two dozen different media representatives called Spie and Nicky’s names, a chorus of Your Highnesses that wouldn’t let up. Nicky’s arm around Spie’s shoulder was tight but warm.
X72 was a soulless place. The air was freezing, windless, and stank something terrible.
Like old piss and noxious fumes. A threatening black fog hung just above the tops of the buildings, blotting out any view of the sky.
Spie was certain her limbs were going to fall off from frostbite.
But she smiled through it all. Smiling was her most marketable talent.
She could be standing in the middle of a war zone, holding a dead soldier’s still-beating heart, and she’d keep a smile on her face.
Never let anyone see you hurt. Better yet, never let yourself hurt. An Expani is above pain and emotion.
And Gracelin Expani thought her lessons had fallen on deaf ears.
Their arrival on X72’s surface had been a blur—it always was. An escort the size of an entire armada accompanied them from filming location to filming location while a team of stylists touched up their makeup and hair, and helped them into various outfits.
Now they stood on the steps in front of a grey building that housed the local government offices, the giant seal of the Expan Empire emblazoned across the front of it: two intertwined eagles taking flight with the words A United Humanity carved below them.
And, just like those eagles, Spie and Nix with their arms around each other.
On the sidewalk, the crowd of local media swelled against cordoned-off sections of rope and twenty muscled imperial guards.
Kalvin fielded questions from journalists.
Blessing Stone directed camera operators and producers.
The whole ordeal was broadcasting live on Imperial Broadcast News, the only galactic network capable of reaching all seven of the empire’s inhabited solar systems.
Spie shifted her weight from her left foot to her right.
She was in a form-fitting crimson dress with winged sleeves designed to make her appear “sensual but carefree” and diamond-studded black heels that made her as tall as her brother.
Her hair was half-pinned, half-down, cascading in loose waves over one shoulder.
This was all she offered her mother’s regime: a pretty face the people could fall in love with. Surface-level attraction.
There came that fishhook again, pinching her lungs.
“We’ll take one more question,” Kalvin announced from behind a wall of cameras. Unlike Nix and Spie, he had the privilege of a woolen overcoat, scarf, and his filtration mask still in place.
A sea of hands shot into the air. Kalvin picked one.
The journalist was a small man with that same bluish hair that seemed prevalent there.
“I know I speak for the whole of X72,” the journalist began in accented Expanese, “when I say how honored we are for your visit and the opportunity to have one of our own featured on the future emperor’s season of Love Galaxy .
For the viewers and hopefuls at home, would Your Highnesses be willing to share what you’re each looking for in a consort? ”
“I can’t speak for my sister”—Nicky’s arm dropped away from Spie’s shoulder, leaving her cold—“but I’m looking for someone who shares my love of the sciences, demonstrates a promising aptitude for ambassadorial work, and puts empire above all.”
“Oh, Nicky, that’s so boring .” Spie playfully nudged her shoulder against her brother’s. The questions varied little from planet to planet. And they each had a part to play. “You didn’t even mention a tight ass!” She turned to the camera, winking, “That’s number one on my list.”
There came the expected intake of breath and choked guffaws from the crowd.
Then Blessing Stone gave a quick, fabricated speech about how excited the show was to have their very first cast member from X72, and the cameras were brought offline.
Within seconds, an assistant threw a blessedly warm coat over Spie’s dress and placed a mask over her nose and mouth.
Someone else did the same for Nix. The local media were ushered quickly elsewhere.
Blessing Stone walked up the steps, handing both Spie and Nix an aluminum bottle of water.
“Next up is a tour of the governor’s mansion followed by dinner with the daughters of the planet’s most prominent families.
” Her voice was slightly mechanical through her filtration mask.
“After the dinner, we’ll finalize our casting choice.
Whoever is chosen will discreetly accompany us when we depart for Expan Proper on the morrow.
The announcement will go live the night of our arrival. ”
“I need a twenty-minute breather,” Spie said. “And I wouldn’t hate it if you killed the dinner.”
Blessing Stone turned away to shout a directive at a pair of camera operators before turning back. “Can’t, Your Highness. Not without insulting their planet’s hospitality. But if you need a rest, we can push it.”
“Push it.” Spie grabbed her brother’s arm and marched him down the stairs and around the side of the building. Away from the producers, crew, and squadron of heavily armed guards. The alley was dank and dark but private.
Nix shook her off when they were out of earshot. “What?” He sounded tired. Was always tired of late. “Kalvin needs us to go through our talking points for dinner—he wants to give us a rundown on X72’s history. The show’s trying to reach a more diverse audience this season.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t care less.” Spie pulled off her filtration mask. It was bulky and her hair kept getting stuck in the back straps. At this point, her lungs were gonna burn whether or not she wore it. She leaned back against the building’s brick wall. “Spill. Arbora. Everything. Kal can wait.”
Nicky shot a glance down the alley in the direction they’d come.
“There’s not much to tell. One of Arbora’s agents approached Kalvin a few months ago and he brought it up with me to test the waters; I thought it’d be nice for you to have someone on the show that you might actually want to be there.
Mother wasn’t exactly thrilled about the notion, but I convinced her.
And with the recent protests on Irma, having a Moons contestant is smart. ”
Spie snorted. “Nicky, I haven’t spoken to Arbora since...I don’t even know if I want to date her again. You should’ve talked to me about it first. You and Kalvin.”
“Approvals took a while; you know how it goes with the more-prominent territories. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“And what about the attorney general? He wanted his daughter on the show.”
Nicky closed the distance between them, his heavy boots kicking up an inordinate amount of dust. “You’re right; I should’ve asked you.
I thought it’d be a nice surprise; I’m sorry.
One of Blessing Stone’s producers is with Arbora, prepping her for the contestant announcements.
Her identity won’t go public until then, so say the word and I’ll send a message to have her pulled. ”
Spie studied her brother’s masked face. Beneath his makeup, there were dark circles under his eyes.
The tailored black suit he wore was getting loose in the thighs and chest. He’d been losing weight steadily since the beginning of their tour.
Spie knew he was under a lot of pressure—they both were, but she’d always been good at never taking anything too seriously.
Or, rather, avoiding the things that were serious.
Nicky, though, was born a stress case. Relaxation wasn’t a concept he understood, and lately, Spie worried he was going to run himself into the ground.
“You good, Nicky?” She tapped him on the chest with her unopened bottle of water.
“Of course I’m good.”
“Liar.”
He let out a sigh. It sounded distorted through his mask. “It’s just— There’s a lot riding on this, you know?”
“Uh-huh.” Spie dropped her water bottle and mask on the ground, then unzipped the top of her coat and went digging in her dress’s bodice. “I have an idea.”
“What in the name of the nebula-maker are you doing—”
She withdrew a half-smoked joint and a lighter from where she’d tucked both into her bra. “Come on; you need this as much as I do. Probably more.”
“We can’t just—”
“Nicky, I assure you, we can do whatever the hell we want.” Not exactly true, but Spie wasn’t in the mindset to care. She pushed off the brick wall.
Nix protested as she led him down an even-narrower, even-darker alley, but he didn’t turn back. He was ninety percent bluster most of the time, anyway.
The alley spilled into an empty loading dock. Five giant metal containers jigsawed against each other along the back of the dock, each one bursting with waste. The smell went from old piss and noxious fumes to old piss, noxious fumes, and day-old garbage.
Worth it for a moment alone.
She sank to the ground and leaned against the back of the first metal container, then patted the stained concrete beside her.
“That’s filthy,” Nix protested. “Your dress will be ruined.”
Spie lit her joint. It was an expensive strain of Ubrecht System springweed. She tilted her chin up to an unappealing view of roiling fog. “So, get filthy, baby brother.” After taking a quick drag, she held out the joint. “Lose the mask.”
“Smoking in a 3.75 toxicity environment is a terrible idea.”
“Good. I needed an excuse to visit the medical bay tonight.”
“Oh, for nebula’s sake!” He plucked the joint from Spie’s fingers and took a drag. “Is there a woman in the whole galaxy who won’t sleep with you?”
Spie laughed, snatching the joint back and bringing it to her lips. “Is that why you found Arbora? You can be honest with me, Nicky. It’s okay if you’re scared all the girls will like me best.”
“You’re insufferable. Casting would never let that happen. Twenty-four contestants: six for you, six for me, and twelve for both of us because drama sells.”
“I take it Arbora’s one of mine, then?”
He took the joint from her again. “Is that a yes? You don’t want me to pull her? Once the announcement goes live, there’ll be no backing out. Doing so could undermine the integrity of the whole show. Piss off a lot of important people.”
Spie leaned her head back against the cold metal of the waste con tainer. “Like there was any integrity to begin with. And that’s an I need to think about it .”
The growl of an engine interrupted their reverie. Nicky jumped, but Spie only took another drag from her joint. An oversized garbage truck was lumbering toward them.