Bright's Light (12 page)

The commander’s voice grew stronger. “We will also change the parameters of the search for the missing leisure unit to include the directive to release members of the unit on sight. This is to prevent the infection from spreading outside the favour population.”

Grassly hoped Bright and Fon had made it safely to the Natural Experience and were now hiding out there. The only good news was that PS officers were so unused to independent observation and analysis that they were probably poor detectives and would have a hard time tracking their quarry.

He reviewed his plan: he had to enlighten all the ancestors as soon as possible. To do that, he had to hack into the source code that ran all the systems inside the Store. He could handle the programming. After all, his people were immeasurably more advanced than the ancestors in all conceivable ways, but especially in terms of technology. The trouble was, in order to reprogram all the lights to the range
and frequency that would cause widespread enlightenment, he would have to reboot the entire light system. If anything went wrong during the reprogramming, the life support system inside the Store might crash. The ancestors would die. He would die. That would be a major blow to his future plans and self-esteem.

Furthermore, he had to figure out how to turn the lights back on. He felt quite sure the Deciders wouldn’t do it. As far as he could tell, they hadn’t executed an action of any kind in over a generation. He could go to the Headquarters and flip the master switch himself, but how would he protect his skin from the altered light that would blaze down and fry him? It would be much safer for him to already be in the Natural Experience when the lights in the rest of the Store came on.

If he cleared those hurdles, he had to figure out how to usher several thousand light-altered ancestors to the ship. Now he was going to have to do all this while stopping the PS staff from killing every favour in the five targeted houses.

He felt overwhelmed for a moment, but there was no time to take an attitude adjustment. His Mother would have told him that he would know what to do when the time came. She would remind him that he was never alone. But now, in this place, he felt very much alone.

When the PS officers began to file out of the room, Grassly slipped into a corridor and headed for a privator that would take him up to the House of Splash living quarters.

Getting Slater out of the cart and into the House of Boards was just about the hardest thing Bright had ever done, and she’d done
a lot
of hard things lately. But he seemed more alert and kept looking from her to Fon as though they knew answers to questions he couldn’t remember. As they walked, supporting him between them, he stared at the top of Fon’s head.

“So pretty,” he said. “You totally remind me of …” Then his voice trailed off. A few second later, with great effort, he twisted around to gaze at Bright’s head. “So blond,” he said. “I have this urge to …”

“What are we supposed to say to the PS officers at the front door?” whispered Fon as they approached the House of Boards. “They’ll release him from his contract if they see him like this!”

“We’re transporting a fellow leisure unit member who’s had a late-breaking reaction to a personal maintenance procedure. Just look hot and let me do the talking.”

Bright could see that everything in Fon wanted to protest, but she didn’t because she knew that talking wasn’t
her best thing. Was it her imagination or was Fon getting slightly less annoying?

As they got close to the entrance, Bright’s throat went dry. All of her felt dry. And empty. She should probably get some nutri soon. Too skinny was not a good look.

To her surprise, there were no PS officers stationed outside. No support staff inside, either. Immediately, it seemed like a less important and less valuable place. Then she remembered that she was supposed to avoid all PS staff, and her knees felt like they’d been replaced by a personal maintainer with competence issues.

Inside, the House of Boards looked much like the House of Gear, only most of the favours were peroxiders, no matter what their natural tint.

Bright and Fon walk-carried Slater to a privator that took them to the fourth floor, where Slater’s dressing room was. A favour dressed like a snowboarder waved as they stepped off the lift. She wore an unbuttoned white slicksuit and a full neck brace complete with wires and prongs that pinned her head and neck into position. The brace made Fon’s halo seem like the picture of easy mobility.

“Whoa,” said Fon. “How’d
that
happen?”

“Cosmetic,” said the snowboarder. “Broken Neck look is super-hot right now.” She winked awkwardly, as though her eye had been strained along with the rest of her.

Fon nodded, or rather semi-curtseyed to make her haloed head bob. She’d managed to put her halo up when they got out of the cart, but Slater had knocked it sideways so that the frame was smushed up against her ear.

“Looks good,” said the snowboarder, pointing to Fon’s battered halo. “Keeping it real with the OSA.” Fon looked confused.

“Old-style accessories,” explained the snowboarder.

At this Fon smiled and automatically turned on the halo’s flashers. The few bulbs left in the twisted frame blinked wretchedly.

“What about him?” asked the snowboarder. “Is that a look or is he …?” She didn’t finish her question.

“He’s awesome,” said Bright. “It’s Concussion look. Easy but effective. Very
in
right now.”

“Rad,” said the girl in the neck brace.

Bright and Fon helped Slater down a hallway lined with dressing rooms. Harsh music pulsed from the party rooms below. They passed water skiers in wetsuits half peeled off to reveal bare or bikini-topped torsos, carrying skis and dragging pull ropes attached to nothing. Bright and Fon edged Slater out of the way so a water ski jumper stumping along on crutches could get by. He wore a form-fitting, bright red unitard and two snap-on casts on his legs.

“So hot,” breathed Fon as he passed. He grinned at them, showing perfect gleaming, block-shaped teeth in So White It’s Almost Blue, shade #56.

When the crutch-assisted water ski jumper had at long last gone by them and into his dressing room, Fon said, “I wish we could incorporate injuries with our gear. I would kill in a cast.”

Bright stopped outside Slater’s dressing room.

“Remember,” she told him, though she didn’t think he was able to understand. “If anyone asks, you had a minor accident in Mind Alter. It’s nothing a quick trip to maintenance won’t fix. You are
fine.
“

Bright waved a hand in front of the door and it opened to reveal a favour in Old-Time Skinny Skier look sitting in front of a ready station mirror. She had on a fur-alike hat, and her skis, long and old and pretend-wood, were crisscrossed and strapped to her back. She didn’t get up or turn around when the door opened.

“Slater? Is that you? It’s about time! I’m totally stuck, dude!” said the girl.

When Bright’s image appeared in the mirror, the girl screamed.

“Oh my JOB!” she squeaked. “Scaredies! I was expecting Slater!”

Her hair was braided into two long yellow pigtails that hung down to her elbows. Red-faced from the heat of the dressing room, she wore old-fashioned ski boots, crinkly purple gaiters, and thick, obviously itchy short shorts. An unattractive vest completed the outfit.

“Can you help me?” she said. “I sat down for a minute before hitting the 360, but I forgot to take my skis off first, and I got stuck.”

Bright looked around the room. It was empty. She sighed with relief and dropped the parachute bag.

The girl finally noticed Slater’s reflection in the mirror. “Oh, hey, Slater! There you are,” she said.

Slater didn’t answer.

“He says hi,” said Fon, who was holding him upright.

Bright tried to pull the girl up by her shoulders, but the skis strapped to her back were caught on the chair.

“I never take the skis off until
right before
I get in the 360. The look is ruined without the skis. Without them, I just look like I’m wearing ugly shorts.”

For the first time in her life, it occurred to Bright that a look could be carried too far.

She found a strap with a buckle and unhooked it. Slater’s dressing-mate remained pinned in her chair. Bright unbuckled a second leather strap. Nothing. The skis didn’t budge and neither did the girl.

“You’ve really got them on there good,” said Bright.

How did this girl party? She must be deadly on the dance floor.

Bright loosened a third, fourth, and fifth strap. She unknotted a sixth and untied a long lace. Finally, one of the skis clattered to the floor. Bright picked it up and slid the other one out from behind the favour.

It felt good to be in a dressing room, tending to gear, even if it wasn’t her dressing room or her gear.

The girl leaned back and wiggled to and fro in her chair to ease her stiffness.

“How long have you been stuck?” asked Bright.

“Three hours and twenty-four minutes,” said the favour, rubbing her neck with her fingers.

“Why didn’t you call for a bot? Or yell or something?”

“Slater said he’d be back. The call buttons aren’t really working right now. A lot of stuff around here isn’t working,
actually. Even our bots are out of commish. Plus, yelling’s not rad.”

The girl looked toward a corner of the room, and Bright saw a white bot facing into the corner as though it was being punished.

“Yeah, Tracks—that’s my bot’s name—has been lights-out since my shift started.” The girl shoved herself off the chair. “Thanks,” she said.

She did look incomplete in just her little woolen short shorts and vest, which she quickly stripped off before stepping into her robe. As she headed toward the 360, she stopped in front of Slater, who sat beside Fon on a small red sofa. Fon had him propped more or less upright, but he appeared dazed and kept opening and closing his mouth, as though trying to form words or breathe underwater.

“Slater, dude,” said his dressing-mate. “Your whole look. It’s kind of …”

She couldn’t find the words to continue, so she didn’t. She just stared at her dressing-mate.

“Earlier, he was telling us how motivating you are,” said Bright. It wasn’t true, of course. Slater rarely talked about anyone but himself.

The girl gave an uncertain smile. “Okay,” she said. Her top lip rose higher than standards allowed. “That’s nice, I guess.”

“We’re just here to, uh, hang out with Slater before he goes in for some scheduled maintenance,” said Bright. “Enjoy your 360!” said Fon.

The girl dropped her robe and stepped into the glass
box. The vapour barrier rose between the panes and water started to churn inside. Bright immediately began to look around the room for a surfboard for Slater. They’d left his usual board behind in their eagerness to flee the scene at the House of Smooth. His spare board, which featured bold red and white stripes, hung on the wall. It seemed extra-huge. How was she supposed to get it in her cart?

“I’m going to borrow some clothes,” said Fon.

Bright’s head whipped around. “You’re going to touch someone else’s stuff?” She was aware that she was no role model in that department, but she couldn’t resist the desire to make Fon feel like a degenerate stuff-toucher.

Fon’s face was fierce. “I can’t find the community wardrobe box, so I’ll just ask permission. I’m not going to the Natural Experience looking like this!” She ran her hands down the length of her perfectly adequate outfit. “You need to change too. What will the House of It people think when we get there if we don’t even match!”

“They will think, ‘Why are they so late when they were told they were being timed?'”

“Better late than ugly,” said Fon.

Bright realized that Fon was settling in for a full get-ready session. “We have to be gone before she gets out of the 360,” she said.

“Fine,” said Fon. She looked over at the shower box. “Hey!” she said. “Can I borrow this bikini?” She pretended to listen for an answer. “Cool. Thanks!”

A minute later she was in the bikini and rubbing gleamer all over her arms and legs. “I’m going to take this
boogie board over here too. It totally matches this outfit!

Okay? Okay!”

The board was brilliant green. So was the bikini. Fon was a full-fledged, stuff-touching criminal, and, for some reason, Bright was starting to actually like her.

“Now you,” said Fon.

Bright dug around among the racks pressed against the far wall. She pulled a polka-dot bikini out of a clear delivery bag.

“Oooh, I didn’t see that one,” said Fon. “The pink dots totally go with your helmet.”

Bright cast a glance at the 360. Slater’s dressing-mate was still facing away from the room, her form obscured by the low-vis barrier and the frothing jets of water.

“Can I borrow this?” Bright muttered in a voice so low even she could barely hear it. “Okay. Thanks.” Then she quickly got dressed, went to the sofa, and pulled Slater to his feet.

“I have this feeling,” he muttered. “This feeling that we have to go find the light.”

Sure, thought Bright. Right after we go back to school to learn about the sanctity of stuff. Bright swung his arm around her neck and began to move him.

Fon stepped out the door first, pausing when she saw the water ski jumper standing outside, leaning against the railing. He’d taken off his casts and now radiated able-bodiedness. Two tiers below, a favour strapped to a wind kite and board was being lowered to the Choosing Room floor by lurching pulleys. The crowd roared. Order wands
glittered. Bright allowed herself to feel the rush of being wanted, of descending into a galaxy of credits.

Fon waved at the half-dressed ski jumper as they passed, and he grinned back. A minute later, Bright, Fon, and Slater were in a privator, on their way to the cart.

The House of Splash party favours shivered in spite of the muggy warmth. They were dressed in a variety of swim-wear: bathing costumes, snorkels, swim fins, scuba gear, surf shorts, synchronized swimming ensembles, mermaid and merman outfits. Everyone was attractive, in an overdesigned way, but they all seemed to have colds and sniffled constantly.