Solara 1 #2
I stifle a groan because Thasse’s gluttonous customer regularly comes in for his slim-down procedure while he eats ungodly amounts of butter and gold flake. I’m certain he needs another internal cleansing of his diverticuli because he won’t eat a damned vegetable and perpetually has the itis.
Some days, my job disgusts me. If it were someone in pain because all they have to eat is grains due to the empire wrecking their homeworld, I would help them in a heartbeat.
But greedy fucks with zero concept of self-responsibility who just use their swollen accounts to buy procedures and parts and pills to fix what they aren’t willing to care for earn no pity from me.
My career might pay well, but I am surrounded by impulsive idiots with no gratitude or concept of what it is like to dig and scrape your way to water, shelter, and medicine.
I did on Delsfein at thirteen, with only a fourteen-year-old boy at my side. We survived war together, then scavenged what wasn’t taken by the empire and endured weeks alone on that world before his shining mothership came to our rescue.
I miss him every single day.
“He also left his number if you want a date,” Cavika says. “He’s a quarter mil shy of a billionaire.”
I tamp down my repulsion. “No thanks on the date. I’m taking my vacation far away from here.” And hopefully never coming back.
“A waste of an opportunity,” Cavika sings in warning as Tasia angrily shoves over a tall ceramic planter in the dining room. It smashes against the ground and dumps dirt on the floor. “You’re going to get too old.”
It’s why I got myself a ticket out of here to the Alien Bride Race.
I don’t care where I end up. I’ll help however I can.
At least, I will have a chance to find a male with a homeworld that wants, maybe even needs my skills.
The things that matter to me aren’t in this realm of mansions, skyscraper condos, fancy luster cruisers, and wealthy corporate executives with gemstone anal beads up their asses.
A shoe hits me in the side of the head. I blink and let the shoe fall beside me. Tasia continues her tantrum about how I’m an ungrateful sister who doesn’t know what they sacrificed to get me into college.
I stop listening because none of them did anything. I put myself through school. They just said they would help out enough times that they think they did. But they’re all gossip and no work. And I’m fucking sick of it.
Cavika grimaces. “Please don’t call in needing your own surgery tomorrow.”
“You know I won’t. I accept my scars. I don’t hide them.”
“You should. In this industry, it’s like a tattoo artist having shitty tattoos all over their bodies. It’s bad marketing.”
“Yeah. Alright.” I don’t care. “See you tomorrow.”
I switch off my tablet, pick up the pearlescent stiletto, get up, and face Tasia.
She fumes from beside the marble kitchen island decked with an abstract collection of chrome orbs that serve no purpose but to shout at the world that our family has fuck-you money.
Tasia’s hair has been freshly reseeded as white pearl and grown out to shoulder length in just the last week.
Last month, it was hot pink with fiber-optic threads that made her head glow in the dark.
I don’t want to ruin my work, but the utter selfishness of her is about to hit my limit.
Tasia growls as she pants because she’s out of shape physically and mentally.
She can’t handle hearing someone tell her no.
Our mother always spoiled her because she’s the baby of the three of us.
I’ve been told no plenty, bossed around by my family, forced to uphold our reputation as one of the top augment specialists in Viracci, the high-end district of the mega-city of Sacha.
But I’ve taken about as much as I can, trying to hold onto something that’s been dead for a long time.
The front-door AI welcomes my mother and my older sister, Lashina, who opted for light mermaid blue hair this month because she wanted to look like literal eye-candy for the rich men at our party tonight.
Both my sister and my mother, who doesn’t look her age thanks to Cavika’s upgrades, wear pastel form-fit skirts and ruffle blouses with crystal-covered high heels.
Their Holovisor augments float in front of them with news and communications, stocks and more as they walk inside. It’s more stimulation than I care for.
I miss natural things.
My mother throws her bags on the counter and turns to face me. “I heard you told her no.”
“She won’t pay me for it. The business is going to go under if she doesn’t pay,” I reply. “Are you willing to cover it?”
My mother sets a hand on her hip, making her gold bracelets jingle. She has a ring on every finger, many from men she’s seen since our father died on Delsfein. “Do it. She needs the upgrade. It doesn’t matter if it’s her or you or me who pays because it’s all the same company money.”
Tasia nods fervently as she shifts between her feet, hunkered forward like a feral animal ready to pounce on me.
“You can pay for it,” Lashina remarks, sucking on her luxury vape and puffing out a cloud of pink candy-scented air.
I work, and I pay. This is why I hired an attorney. Because I’m tired, and I want out.
“Never mind the fact that you,” I point at my mother, “just admitted that you think Tasia isn’t beautiful enough on her own.
You corrupted her self-concept, pushing her to get more and more augmentations.
She’s going to need a damn liver and two kidney augments before too long.
And those have to get replaced every five years. ”
They stare at me like I’m being an insolent little shit. I fucking hate that look, like they think I’m beneath them, like they have the right to push me around when I’m the one who holds the knife. I have morals they don’t understand and skills they don’t have the patience to learn.
“I’m not just saying no because of the pay but because you all have an addiction,” I finally blurt. “And I’m not going to be the one to do the last surgery that finally breaks your biological bodies. So no. I’m not going to do it no matter how much she wants something.”
“Well, you can take your things and get out.” My mother says it so casually that I know I never meant anything to her.
But she never birthed me. She had me transferred to an embryonic care facility so she could attend to her business.
I’m not even certain if Tasia has the same father.
At least mine stuck around and gave me a home.
“I already moved out.” But I guess they haven’t noticed that I’ve been out for years.
That’s the trouble with the mansion. Sometimes my family gets lost in their own house.
I show up for important events like the family masquerade party to chitchat with more drugged-up brats and aging billionaires who want to look thirty again.
I just won’t be participating this time.
I legally separated from my family months ago, taking my father’s last name—because my mother and sisters never did—and leaving Earth.
Tasia grins, then looks over at our mother. “Wait, how am I supposed to get my augments done if she’s not here?”
My mother holds out a hand as my uncles walk in. When her brothers don’t respond right away, she snaps her fingers. “Where is the tablet?”
Uncle Lanson hands it to her before pillaging the walk-in fridge for a snack with Jernin right behind him.
The tension in the room is familiar, like my mother’s irritation, my uncles happy to help her ruin me at every turn, and my sisters perching on their golden barstools.
With one hand, I pack my tablet into my bag and sling the strap over my shoulder. The other still holds Tasia’s shoe.
“It says here that you have been funding humanitarian camps on the outer rim of Federation space.” My mother tosses the tablet onto the counter and crosses her arms. “Is that what you think this is? That this family gives money away?”
“No. That is expressly why I am not doing Tasia’s halos.”
“You did not run this by me,” my mother says.
“I don’t have to. It’s my money. I earned it. It’s my job. And my attorney checked every which way, even sideways since I know you like to zigzag so much.”
“I put you through school.”
“No, you didn’t. I paid for it myself.”
“Can you prove that?” she sasses.
“Yes. Unadulterated files, no AI lies. I hired the best legal representatives.”
“Well, I’m sorry to ruin your nice day,” my mother says with a snotty undertone.
“But you’re not going to be working at your office anymore.
You just...” She looks skyward. “Don’t sell the brand that well.
You won’t fix your scars. You give away your money like it means nothing to you.
And now people are crawling up my ass for donations to this and that.
It’s my money! And I don’t want other people grabbing it out of my hands. ”
I am very familiar with the disdain that warps my mother’s fake face. She’s had so many surgeries that I don’t even remember what she used to look like. “So let me guess, you paid off Thasse to take that vacation and what, spread rumors about me with some AI-generated shit again?”
A corner of her mouth curls. “You’re fired.”
I’m not sure if I hate the idea or love the sound of it.
She lifts a shoulder and shrugs.
“You really don’t respect anyone or anything but yourself and Dad’s money, do you?” I rhetorically ask. “Dad would be so disgusted.”
My mother smirks. “I didn’t marry for love, Solara.”
I grip the high heel tightly. “Dad did.”
Lanson walks out of the fridge, chewing on a sandwich. “His fault for thinking that crap still exists.”
It does. I felt it once a long time ago.
My mother gives him a disgusted look. “Get a plate and sit at the counter...fucking animal.”