24 Feelings Are the Single Most Inconvenient Disease a Person Can Catch
Feelings Are the Single Most Inconvenient Disease a Person Can Catch
N ext to Spie, Nix settled back into his seat.
She leaned over and whispered, “Are you trying to give Blessing Stone a heart attack?”
He flashed her a rare, dopey grin. “Just wanted to check on Temmi. She’s good. We’re good.”
Oh, so, that’s where he went. She wasn’t sure why his comment made her pulse hit a sudden standstill.
Why the notion of him visiting Artemis alone, off-set, should make her feel immediately sour.
She had no right to feel anything. Trash Girl was, effectively, doing exactly what Spie was paying her to do: make Nicky happy.
Spie should, therefore, be happy too. Prove to herself she could be more than the person Arbora believed her to be.
Not a moment later, the X-er in question came tumbling through the ballroom’s propped doors chased by her producer, a knobby-kneed nonbinary Moonite, based on their triple eyebrow rings. A camera drone hovered close to Temmi’s face, capturing her harried entrance.
Spie stifled an instinctive laugh; Trash Girl looked like she’d just rolled out of bed, her hair in a messy bun, her eyes smudged with last night’s mascara, the top buttons of her mildly wrinkled romper done up in the wrong holes, the laces of her boots untied.
She was objectively adorable. Spie felt something warm sizzle in her chest. Something she really needed to not feel.
It’s just pent-up lust, Spie told herself.
The allure of the forbidden. She hadn’t been with anyone in over a month (her encounter with the ship doctor didn’t count as that had been frustratingly cut short) and Trash Girl simply appealed to her basest desires.
And base desires could be ignored. Or sated with a substitute.
“Finally!” Blessing Stone harrumphed when Trash Girl slunk sheepishly to the breakfast table. “Twenty minutes late is unacceptable—our filming schedule is unforgiving; we cannot afford to waste time. Justine, I am holding you personally accountable for this negligence.”
“Understood,” said Trash Girl’s producer. They were in the process of redoing the buttons on their charge’s romper, then dropping into a crouch to tie her laces.
Trash Girl, for her part, boasted flaming red cheeks, clearly embarrassed.
When her producer released her, she squeezed into the spare seat at the end of the table opposite Spie and Nicky, between the two Belt contestants.
What were their names? The attractive ex-military one was Petra.
An excellent dancer despite her limp, but somewhat lacking as a conversationalist (not that Spie imagined conversation playing a key role in the things they could get up to together).
And the pretty blonde was...Rose-something? She was one of Nicky’s.
“Now, down to business.” Blessing Stone stepped on top of a low stepstool.
Her voice sounded raw, like she’d spent the last twenty-four hours shouting.
Which she probably had. Considering the rushed production schedule, she probably hadn’t slept, either.
“We’re jumping right into filming. First up, the reveal of who the heirs chose to send home last night.
If you’ll all direct your attention to the ceiling.
Three, two, one...we’re rolling. Camera one, on the heirs, camera seven on Miss Frederik. Mr. Grey, your monologue, please.”
Spie didn’t need to glance Cailin’s way to know a vein was popping in her forehead at being called “miss.” A genuine delight, that.
At an instruction from Kalvin in her ear, she turned her gaze briefly ceiling-ward just as Graham Grey launched into a speech about the interconnectedness of humanity, how the empire’s unity had kept their race strong for centuries.
A holographic display transformed the ceiling into an impressive vision of space.
It was a star-filled model of the empire’s seven solar systems, with Expan Proper in the center (a bit of propaganda, as the Expanese System was not, in fact, in the center of the empire).
All twenty-four of the contestant’s home territories were highlighted, each in their respective corner of the universe.
A dynamic image of each contestant was superimposed over their territory’s likeness.
Spie’s gaze immediately landed on X72, way out in the fringes. On Trash Girl’s unsmiling face.
While they were watching, the image of Pikliminia Station, complete with the dainty, dark-haired likeness of Kya Ep-Kmin, dimmed. The image itself remained visible but without any brilliance.
“And then there were twenty-three!” said Graham Grey animatedly.
Spie hadn’t been particularly invested in the decision to send Kya home. Kal had said the poor girl was suffering some kind of health complication, so it just made sense.
Blessing Stone barked commands at the camera operators, trying to get them to pick up on all the remaining contestant’s reactions.
“Poor thing,” one girl was saying. Spie refocused on the table. The speaker was Jasmine Gross, the contestant from Old Terra. Her family owned a weapons-manufacturing conglomerate. And someone in her family was in the Galactic Senate—a sibling, or maybe her mother? “I hope she feels better soon.”
There was a chorus of agreement.
At a prompting from Kal in her ear, Spie said, repeating after him, “I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing Ambassador Ep-Kmin well. She seemed like a lovely and accomplished young woman; however, my brother and I must follow our hearts, and right now, our hearts are leading us in other directions.”
Nicky chimed in, saying, “We wish nothing but the best for our patriotic Pikliminian neighbors.”
“And cut!” Blessing Stone called. “Okay, good. That was good. Next, we’re introducing individual dates.
We’ll do two today—one per star. Tomorrow and the day after, we’ll be filming group dates.
The second elim ination will come the morning after the second group date.
Anyone not on a date will remain here, socializing.
Because a huge part of diplomacy is relations between nations, a camera crew will remain behind to capture your growing friendships.
There will be scheduled activities and participation is required.
” Blessing Stone snapped her fingers, and a PA dropped a bottle of water into her palm.
She took a hefty swig. “We’ll begin with Her Highness.
Just a quick clip of you standing and announcing your first date selection, then His Highness, then some breakfast shots as everyone chats. ”
Spie set down the fork she’d been holding and, as she rose, flashed the camera a smile. She tossed her hair and made a show of looking around the table.
Standing off to the side, Graham Grey said, “Who caught your eye last night, Your Highness? Who do you yearn to know better?”
Spie said, “This year’s contestants are impressive, talented, and beautiful. How am I to pick only one?”
Her gaze snagged briefly on Artemis, who was unselfconsciously stuffing an entire croissant into her mouth.
Spie suppressed an urge to laugh or tease or both before continuing her search around the table.
She could ask Arbora, but after last night.
..Spie wasn’t ready. Whatever existed between her and Arbora was complicated, and Spie needed the opposite of complicated right now.
She moved on to Iasha, the tattooed contestant she’d kissed.
Iasha timidly sipped from a steaming cup of tea, her red-brown eyes stealing shy glances at the head of the table, at Spie herself.
Perfect. Spie could easily lose herself in the attractive woman.
“I’d like to ask Ambassador Iasha of the Hirain System, planet Redda, to accompany me on today’s date.” Spie held out her hand, palm up, in a performative gesture.
The cameras shifted to capture Iasha’s reaction, which amounted to her big eyes growing even bigger and her petite mouth forming an O that she immediately hid behind shy hands. With her hands still up, she said something too quiet to hear. Blessing Stone barked at her to speak up.
“I’d be honored to accept,” she said, this time just loud enough to be audible. Her accent was a unique melodic trill.
She was sweet. Spie had always liked sweet. The thought brought with it a discomfiting shiver. Made her feel nauseous.
Back when they were kids, Arbora had also been sweet. Sweet and willing to go along with whatever adventurous scheme Spie had cooked up. But according to Arbora’s confession last night, none of it had been real. Which meant Spie didn’t like sweet; she liked people she could control.
Gods and nebulas, she was going to vomit for sure. Maybe choosing Iasha had been a mistake. But she couldn’t recant now. So, she did what she always did: she smiled, even though her insides felt like they were crumbling.
As Spie tried to pull herself from her spiraling thoughts, Graham asked Nicky which contestant had caught his fancy.
“For my first date,” Nicky began, voice projecting, “I’d like to invite Ambassador Artemis Ialan of the X System, planet X72, to join me.”
Of course he would.
The blue-haired trash collector was shoveling another croissant, this one dipped in chocolate, into her mouth. The opposite of sweet. Spie’s heart rate hiccupped despite herself.
Artemis, in characteristic Trash Girl fashion, didn’t stop chewing when she said, “Oh...yeah, cool, let’s do it.”
“No!” Blessing Stone practically leapt off her mini podium. She shook a bony finger in Artemis’s direction. “Absolutely abysmal manners, Ambassador Ialan. Go again. This time without the breakfast roll.”
Artemis shrugged, chewed, swallowed, and said, “Sounds good; let’s do it.”
“Could you at least try to sound enthused?” Blessing Stone’s tone was shrill.
Spie was incapable of suppressing the grin that crossed her face.