20 Are You Actually a Decent Person?
Are You Actually a Decent Person?
The night was a long blur of cameras and producers and introductions.
To avoid a debacle like the one with Blessing Stone in the mezzanine suite, Temmi kept her earplugs tucked safely in the bodice of her dress.
She wouldn’t use them unless absolutely necessary.
Luckily, the soothing tones of the orchestral music helped the auditory stimuli from becoming too overwhelming.
But the promo did allow Temmi to memorize the names, faces, and territories of the other twenty-three contestants—which was far preferable to watching Spie dance and flirt the night away.
Temmi carved out a spot for herself in a circle of love seats with Rosaria and Petra.
Rosaria, either due to nerves or simply because she never ran out of things to say, kept up a persistent stream of conversation, usually one-sided.
She talked incessantly about the other contestants, about her career as a model and actress in the Outerbelt, about how her family had been miners, how the empire’s military presence wasn’t annoying—it actually improved the conditions of living for Underbeltians, common misconception!
(Although that last bit she only said when her producer prodded, a camera dipping in front of her face, leaving Temmi to wonder her real feelings on the empire’s martial presence in her home system).
At one point, when Rosaria’s producer, whom she shared with Petra, whisked her away for an interview, Temmi and Petra were abandoned together in strained silence.
“So...” Temmi said, and then completely blanked on any possible questions she could ask. She was bad at this being friendly, making friends thing, and immediately started wishing for Rosaria’s return.
Petra sat with her legs wide, one arm draped along the top of the couch, the other resting on an armrest. She levelled her gaze at Temmi.
“This your idea of a good time?” She had a slight rasp to her voice, and the way she asked the question seemed to imply the word kid . This your idea of a good time, kid?
Temmi suddenly felt very young. Petra couldn’t be that much older than her, could she? “Nope,” Temmi said. “You?”
“Nope.”
Good talk, Temmi thought.
Thankfully, Rosaria returned a few minutes later.
She threw herself dramatically onto the cushion beside Temmi, her cheeks flushed, her golden hair coming partially undone in the back.
“Oh, this will not do! You two sitting here like sullen children. Come now, make nice. Petra, tell us about yourself. Your promo said you served in the Fleet?”
Petra seemed to spark minorly to life. “Two tours. Three hundred and twenty-third Fighter Pilot Division.” She slapped her right hand against her right thigh. “Until I got shot down by—” She paused, seeming to clock a hovering camera drone. “Anyway, I fucked up my leg.”
Rosaria leaned forward with overly wide, curious eyes. “Your promo said you were awarded two lilac hearts after being honorably discharged?”
“What’s a lilac heart?” Temmi asked.
“Imperial recognition for heroic service,” Rosaria said immediately. “It’s impressive. Petra’s a hero.”
Petra only grunted, but before she could go on, they were interrupted by the brusque arrival of Cailin Frederik.
She was flanked by two cameras, a long-haired, thick-mustached man who could only be her producer, and the Old Terran contestant, Jasmine Gross, a brown-skinned woman with a wash of wavy brown hair.
“Your Highness!” Rosaria shot off the couch to dip into a low curtsy. Petra didn’t move but inclined her head. Temmi immediately decided she owed the royalty of other planets exactly zero deference.
“Ambassadors.” Cailin’s gaze swept across the three of them, clinical and assessing.
She was the picture of cold elegance, a glass of plum wine balanced daintily in one hand.
“What a generous show of goodwill the empire has exhibited in bringing you all here. When each of you return to your quaint systems, I do hope it’ll be with stories of Expan’s generosity. ”
Temmi blinked. What in the patronization? “Wild of you to assume night one that it’ll be us going home.” Beside her, she sensed Rosaria stiffen. Had that been too confrontational? Was she just supposed to be talked down to and say nothing?
Cailin’s eyebrows rose the barest amount. “I had heard tales of your brashness, Ambassador Ialan, and though I do recognize the vast cultural divide separating us, I entreat you to play a civilized game. I come only with well wishes.”
What the fuck? A civilized game? Vast cultural divide? She was the one throwing around barely veiled insults.
“Excuse me?” Temmi said, temper flaring.
“I’m merely marveling at how diplomatic an opportunity it is to spend time with commoners and convicts .” Cailin’s thin lips quirked into a smug line. Wow. No wonder Spie didn’t want her brother to marry this woman. She was a gods-damned viper.
Before Temmi could explode in the New Terran princess’s face with a loud Fuck you , a firm hand clapped on her right shoulder. She craned her neck back; Arbora stood behind her, gaze trained on Cailin. Cameras crowded around them, blinking red lights caging them in.
“Cailin!” Arbora said cheerfully. “I see you’re as spirited as ever. Glad to know law school didn’t dull that shine of yours.”
The smile that scrawled itself across Cailin’s face could’ve snapped barbed wire. “Didn’t Spie already break up with you once, VinVanxin? You must really hate yourself to come back for seconds.”
“Spie’s worth it,” Arbora said, not rising to Cailin’s bait, her tone heartbreakingly genuine.
Something confusing twisted in Temmi’s gut at that.
With an abrasive eye roll, Cailin turned to her producer.
“How do you expect me to goad her into an attack with Moon girl playing interference?” She stalked off before her producer could respond.
Jasmine Gross remained behind just long enough to squeak out a quick hello before hurrying after Cailin.
When they were gone, Rosaria blinked at Temmi, pretty mouth in an O. “Gods and nebulas, X72, you did not just go toe-to-toe with Cailin Frederik. Do you have a death wish?”
“She just might,” Arbora said from behind. And then: “You’re welcome.”
But when Temmi turned to look, the Moons’ contestant was already sauntering away. Temmi made a mental note to avoid Cailin Frederik at all costs.
The next introduction came from Milea Har Kwan, the contestant from an Outer Expanese planet called Hittia. She stood like she had a stick up her ass, hands folded together at the base of her spine, and performatively thanked Petra for her service.
After Milea left, Petra whispered in a low rasp, “Where the fuck does that girl get off, wearing formal blues? I respect the sacrifice her aunt made, but that mess of hair and makeup hasn’t spent a single minute on a Fleet ship—let alone in a combat zone. I hate fucking posers.”
Temmi grinned at that. Petra Corran became her immediate favorite.
Soon after, followed by prompting from their producer, Rosaria and Petra disappeared to try and steal dances with the heirs—Rosaria angling for Nix and Petra for Spie. Petra limped gracefully, the result of the injury that had preceded her early military retirement.
Temmi sipped at a glass of purple wine. More bitter than sweet, a bit dry.
She liked it better than anything else she’d tried so far.
Smacking her lips, she set the wineglass on a hovering tray beside the love seat and fiddled with her idle CB.
With Petra and Rosaria stalking the ballroom, she was finally alone. She had one unread bridge, from Kalvin.
Kalvin: Faring okay, Ambassador Ialan? You’ve been quiet all evening. You should get out there, talk to the prince. Has your producer been helping you out?
She bridged back, feeling somewhat warm at the thought of him bothering to care.
Temmi: All good. Justine’s been busy. I’ll talk to Nix soon. Just working up the courage.
Idly, she scrolled her meager list of messages and, against her better judgment (and probably a result of the alcohol in her system), clicked on her convo with Spie. Drafting a message didn’t mean she had to send one, right?
Thank you again for the patch-up. Delete.
Hearing you talk about your mom made you feel almost human. Delete.
Are you actually a decent person? Delete.
When we were in the bathroom, were you thinking about kissing me too? Not only delete but douse the whole commbridge in hydrochloric acid. Maybe chuck some of the corrosive acid down Temmi’s throat, too, for good measure.
But no amount of bone-melting acid could erase the image of Spie Expani on her knees.
I don’t like Spie fucking Expani, she said in her mind like a mantra. I don’t like Spie fucking Expani . But then, the thought naturally contorted to I like fucking Spie Expani .
Temmi tried to focus on Nix’s movements.
Presently, he was leading a dark-haired contestant across the dance floor.
Some fancy four-step that Temmi hadn’t a hope in the world of ever performing.
Nix spun the woman effortlessly, her sea-blue gown swishing against her ankles, perfectly in time with the orchestra’s beat.
The woman was Kya Ep-Kmin from Pikliminia, an enormous space station in the outer reaches of the Expan System.
A natural halfway point for refueling between the Terran System and the Expan System, built before the advent of jumpgates, but still used on the regular.
Kya had soft black hair done up in a high bun, high cheekbones, and hooded monolid eyes.
She danced with gentle grace. She and Nix looked good together.