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After a while exorbitantly expensive hotel dining rooms all begin to look alike. This one was grandiose, of course, with vaulted ceilings and carefully wired hanging lights that gave the impression they were floating, bubble like, in the air. But Juno Steel was standing a few yards back from the dinner, where the seams could show a little bit.
The servers were professional but mostly hung over. There was no agreed upon place for the security to stand so they kept getting in the way of the caterers, who were understaffed and stressed. The cook kept snapping at everyone, including security, who just shrugged and showed their blasters until the dickhead stormed off. The pretty bubble lights were all plugged into the same circuit, which kept spitting sparks at odd intervals and had to be a fire hazard.
None of that mess made it to the guests though. Clean architectural lines drew a diner’s attention from table to table, while exquisite glass sculptures provided a pop of color as centerpieces throughout the room. Peter, dressed in all white with a bright accent of coral lipstick and a teal pocket square, fit in like a charm. Juno admired him like he did the rest of the scenery, knowing that the show was just as fake. It was a blessed relief to be a bodyguard for the evening. It gave him an excuse to stare. Plus, if Buddy had made him talk to one more rich narcissist tonight he probably would have gouged his only remaining eye out, no fucking joke.
Peter tried not to glance at Juno, over in his little cordoned off proletarian corner, too frequently. It was distracting; he looked delicious in his all black bodyguard get up. The brat.
Peter hadn’t had as much time as he would have liked to perfect his role for the evening. After coming up with four different wealthy and morally dubious characters that would plausibly attend a pharmaceutical event, the well had gone dry, so to speak. And he didn’t have Juno to play off of either, which was a shame.
His table was made up of mostly middle aged blowhards, the types of men who had made more money than they could ever spend and now threw it all away on boring drugs, boring trips, and boring sex with people who weren’t their partners. The young woman next to him, however, he hadn’t quite solved yet. Her hair was jet black and straight, skin a pale brown with red overtones that looked fetching with her blood red jacket. Someone’s daughter, surely, brought along to the dinner as a treat, or something. There was something about the way she held herself that struck Peter as dangerous, somehow. Almost… familiar.
“Did you see that guy outside, when we came in?” One of the older men asked his colleague at their table, voice unnecessarily loud and booming. It was the kind of voice that made bad jokes and then demanded everyone at the table laugh for having made the effort. Peter took another drink.
“The guy with the sign? Yeah I saw him. Fucking incredible.” Another man said.
Peter, too, had passed the clearly homeless man sitting on the corner with a handmade sign asking for money. He made a mental promise to give the man another 50 creds when he walked out, to make some sort of amends for sitting quietly through this conversation.
“These people, they bus them here, you know? Because our mayor’s such a weakling. They shit in the streets, it’s disgusting. We’ve got shuttles coming in every day from Brahma.”
Peter was professional enough to not even clench his teeth at that.
The woman at his side, however, made no such effort. Her brows knit, and she took a long sip from her glass of wine.
“You know…” An older woman, whose glamorous ensemble Peter had admired earlier in the evening, spoke in a gentler, more conciliatory tone. “I do feel for those refugees. But so many of them come here sick, you know? And who pays for their stay in the hospital? We all suffer from the diseases they bring in.”
Peter mentally reneged his approval of her outfit.
The woman next to him let out an angry huff.
Get ‘em. Peter thought, keeping his face and manner gentle and agreeable, even though what he was agreeing with was making him physically ill.
“You know.” She said, leaning forward. The moment the woman spoke Peter knew from her accent exactly what was going on, and it was all he could do to keep from snapping his wine glass in his hand. “I’m from Brahma.” She said.
Peter bit his tongue. He side-eyed the woman, taking in her stance, her clothes, her eyes.
“Ransom?” Juno asked over his comms. “You ok?”
“Oh that’s not entirely correct, is it?” Peter said, not to Juno, but to the woman.
She looked up at him in surprise. The man on her other side, an older man, let out a cackle.
“Yeah, honeybun, New Kinshasa and Brahma aren’t exactly the same.”
“I consider myself to be from Brahma.” She said, affronted. “I’m from a city on the planet Brahma. My planet.”
“What a nice idea.” Peter said, tone dripping more sarcasm than it should. File it away, Peter. He thought. Keep it together.
“She’s young.” One of the old men said, chuckling at the man sitting on the other side of the young woman, who seemed as though he could be her father. “She’ll learn.”
The woman fumed.
“I, for one, would hope that if this city became as war-torn and unstable as Brahma that people would be kinder to you, wherever you wound up.” She hissed.
“Mmm.” Peter hummed, forcing a smile and revealing every last one of his sharp teeth to every person at the table.
“Uh… Ransom? Peter?” Juno asked again over the comms.
Peter looked up and made eye contact with Juno, gave him a little nod and pretended to wipe a crumb from the right side of his mouth. It was their signal that he couldn’t speak just then, which, of course, he couldn’t. If Peter left the table at this point in the conversation it would look as though he was making some political statement, and that would be something people remembered. He was trying very hard to simply disappear this evening at the end of the night. He did raise the volume of his microphone, though, so Juno could hear the conversation.
“Excuse my niece.” The older man said. “We sent her away to school and now she’s gonna save the whole galaxy.”
“People on Brahma aren’t violent for no reason.” The girl continued, voice raising. “They’re poor. They’re not educated. I’m the only one at this table who’s had to fear Brahman violence my whole life, but yeah, I don’t know what I’m talking about!” She finished.
Peter stood up.
Juno was at his side in two seconds, flat.
“Sir?” Juno said, gruff, keeping up his role. He hadn’t been able to catch all of the conversation at the table but he’d heard enough to know that Peter might need a hand.
“Do excuse me.” Peter said, as suave as he could, but his heart wasn’t in it. “My bodyguard seems to require something.”
He turned from the table and walked away, adjusting his tie as he did so. Juno shuffled behind him, trying to remember what a bodyguard escorting his employer outside for a moment would look like, as opposed to a concerned boyfriend trying to help his partner escape from a bad situation. Someone who wasn’t as familar with Nureyev as Juno was probably wouldn’t notice anything, but Juno could tell from Peter’s gait, from the way his neck was tensed, the from the stiff way he carried his shoulders, that Peter was wound up about as tight as he’d ever seen him.
Peter slid open wide glass doors to an empty outdoor balcony, hanging miles above the ground of the city below, and perfunctorily allowed Juno to follow him out before locking it behind him. The night was chilly, the wind at this altitude strong enough to make Juno flinch. The balcony railing was too tall for anyone to try to jump off, too many suicidal millionaires, Juno figured, but nothing blocked the incredible view of city lights. Peter stood silently, staring out at the city without really seeing it.
“You uh… you ok?” Juno asked, knowing the answer.
Peter, without changing expressions, took out his comms which kept Buddy and the rest of the ship in contact and turned it off with a beep. Juno fumbled to do the same.
“I’m terribly sorry, I seem to have lost focus.” Peter said. “It’s unprofessional, my apologies.”
“It’s ok.” Juno said, wishing he could step forward and touch Peter in some way, just to hold his arm, to reassure him somehow. “Anyway, fuck those people, right?”
Peter smiled, orange lipstick turning his lips into a thin, tense line on his face.
“It’s funny, I spent so much of my youth imagining and pretending I was from New Kinshasa, and now I run into a woman who is from New Kinshasa and pretends to be a Brahman. It’s sick, really.”
“You want to go? I can finish the job myself, you were just supposed to be a distraction tonight anyway…”
“No, I wouldn’t want to have to explain it to Buddy.” Peter did a little shake to pull himself back together. “And anyway, I’m not from Brahma, unlike our little friend back there.” He sneered. “Tonight I’m meant to be from Neptune? I think?”
“You’re a stock trader from the outer rim. Not Brahma though.” Juno said. “You sure you’re ready?”
Peter gave Juno a flirty wink as he adjusted his shirt sleeves.
“When have I ever not been ready, Juno?” He said, voice deep and velvety. Juno wanted to roll around in that voice, sometimes.
“Is there… is there any chance she could recognize you?” Juno asked, trying to keep his tone even. Peter froze up again, at the door.
“That… is a very interesting question. I don’t think so. My little stunt was so many years ago, I hardly look like my old ID picture anymore. I do think we might be facing a first, though, this evening, my dear.”
“What’s that?” Juno asked.
“Tonight, we may not be the only people in that room who know the name Peter Nureyev.”
~*~
Nelly Vergereau played with the kid leather straps on her shoes, which were beginning to cut deep red lines into the backs of her ankles. Her uncle hadn’t spoken to her since she’d embarrassed him, and everyone else seemed to be politely ignoring her existence.
What a shit evening it had turned out to be. Every man at her table was a fucking psycho. Except maybe for the handsome one in the white suit, she hadn’t been able to get a read on him. By the time he’d come back to the group the conversation had circled back into the less fraught realm of shuttle racing.
“Personally I don’t care much for racing, do you?” Mr. White Suit said, leaning over and giving her a smile. His cheekbones were amazing, she made a mental note to ask him what contour he used.
“Not really.” She said, rolling her shoulders back and sitting upright. There was a dance floor on the other side of the hall, and a few ancient couples were holding one another and swaying on it. She leaned forward. “You wouldn’t want to dance, would you?” She asked, “The rest of the table doesn’t seem to want to talk to me.”
The man raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow.
“I’d be delighted.” He rose with a smile and offered her his hand.
Nelly took it with a sigh of relief. This dude wasn’t really her type, and he was definitely borderline too old for her, but she was going to lose her mind if she was stuck at that table for much longer.
~*~
Juno crept along the wall to keep an eye on Peter and the girl, who were now, hand-in-hand, approaching the dance floor.
“What the hell? Ransom?” He whispered into the comms.
Peter didn’t respond.
~*~
Nelly almost changed her mind about Mr. White Suit being her type once they began to dance. He moved beautifully, leading her around the floor with a grace and strength that made her own fumbling dance steps somehow less clumsy. Every once in a while he would send her into a dip or spin that surprised her with its suddenness, but he always caught her carefully. He was in perfect control.
“Forgive me for bringing up past unpleasantness, but in our earlier conversation, you mentioned how you… how did you put it… lived in fear of Brahman violence?” He asked when they began a slower song. Nelly appreciated the delicate way he placed his hands around her waist. “I heard on the news that the Brahmans have finally managed to shoot some of their fire rockets into the actual city of New Kinshasa, is that true?”
“Oh yeah.” Nelly said. “I saw one fly up once, it was a dud, thank God, but there’s a mandate keeping us further away from the edges of the city now, just for safety.”
“Mmm, sounds terrifying.” The man said.
“I mean… the rockets aren’t all that effective. What frightens me is vandalism. We almost had the whole city come down once, you know.” Nelly said, the straps on her ankle were really starting to cut into her foot, she tried to adjust her movement so she could keep dancing.
“That must have been before your time.” The man said, tone odd.
“Oh, I was a toddler. I think I can remember the sirens, but—you know—maybe I just remember the stories about the sirens?” She laughed nervously. The next song came on, and it was more uptempo. She found herself twirling back out onto the dance floor in a way that made her a bit dizzy.
“Your parents told you stories about it, then?” The man asked.
“Oh for sure. They said it was terrifying, they could feel the planet hurtling down, the ground sort of not connecting with their feet. Mom said it felt like gravity had just… stopped working. Then she realized, you know, it still was!! Like, disastrously! The whole city freaked out, they even shut down the Guardian Angel System for a while afterwards.”
“For two weeks.” The man said.
“Yeah, they’ve never shut it down that long after, they must have been scared. Hey… do you mind taking a break? My shoes…”
“Of course, my dear! Of course we can stop I’m so sorry.” Her dance partner led her off the floor. A few people who had apparently been watching them, like a dance show or something, gave them a smattering of applause as they left. Mr. White Suit’s security guard was hovering at the edge of the floor with his arms crossed, staring at her like he wanted to shoot her directly into the sun, for some reason.
“I think your bodyguard’s mad at me.” Nelly whispered, trying to hide a laugh.
“Oh don’t mind him, he’s just a touch protective. Would you like a drink?”
“Sounds great!” She smiled.
They didn’t return to their table, instead Mr. White Suit (she really needed to learn his name, this was getting embarrassing) took her over near the bar and she flumped down gracelessly onto a bench as he went to get their drinks. The hosts had dimmed the lights to encourage more dancing, and now the glass centerpieces were nearly the only source of light. The clean architectural lines of the room became all shadows and angles.
The bodyguard stood near the end of the bench, fidgeting more than she thought guards were supposed to. He looked tough though, pale scars were etched all across his face and he wore an eye patch.
When her dude returned he carried two brightly colored cocktails in fun crystal glasses. She smiled as she accepted hers.
“Is your bodyguard’s eye patch real, or is it just for show?” She asked.
“Oh it’s just an accessory, darling,” the man said, with a clear little laugh, “It helps me pick him out of a crowd.”
She swore the guard grumbled at that, but she couldn’t make out what he said.
“Anyway, what were we talking about?” The man continued, tone bright, “Oh yes! the Guardian Angel System.”
“You’re uh… really interested in that, huh?” She asked, shifting in her seat as she took a sip of her drink. It was unbelievably sweet, barely drinkable.
“Well it’s not every day you meet someone FROM Brahma, you know. Right there in the thick of it. What’s the population of New Kinshasa, again?”
“Oh I don’t know. 800,000? Something like that?” She answered. “Medium sized city, I think. Otherwise it wouldn’t stay up!”
“And how many people below? On the surface, that is?”
“Woof, something like… 20 million? And there’s not much habitable space down there, you know.”
“Oh I know.” The man said, sipping his drink elegantly. His lipstick left a little orange stain on the rim.
“Seems like you know… kind of a lot about Brahma.” Nelly said, finally voicing something which had been nagging at her all night.
“Oh, well spotted!” The man laughed again, and she was beginning to sense something a bit harsh in it. She stopped sipping her drink. “Actually, my dear, I do know a few things about Brahma. For example, are you aware of how many people the Guardian Angel System kills every day? On average?”
“Oh… I… I mean I hate the system! Just like anyone else!” She sputtered in protest. Usually she was the one starting these fights in her family…
“About one thousand people.” The man’s tone continued clear and even. Brutal. “Every day. Casualties picked up about 15 years ago when they figured out a way to have the G.A.S. units circle the planet regardless of the location of the floating city, so the numbers might be even higher. I’m not naive enough to think that New Kinshasa actually reports accurately to Dark Matters.”
“Sir?” The security guard tried to edge his way closer to the two of them.
“Give me one moment.” Mr. White Suit’s tone had changed in a way that struck Nelly as troubling. He was less poised, more intense, his teeth seemed, sharper? Somehow? She glanced back over to her table, where her uncle continued to bloviate with some idiot, not paying any attention. “Anyway, Miss Vergereau…”
“You know my name?” Nelly asked, surprised.
“I know all sorts of things, Eleanor.” The man took another brisk drink. He’d brushed up on the guest list before returning to the table. “For one thing, I’m quite good at math. If the Guardian Angel System kills one thousand people per day, on average, how long do you think it took for them to kill as many Brahmans as there are people alive on New Kinshasa? This is a quiz, Eleanor, please take it seriously.”
“I… fuck this.” Nelly stood up, straps cutting into her feet with a shock of pain. Mr. White Suit didn’t stop her, he just stood up alongside. He continued talking as she walked back towards her uncle.
“Disappointing, Eleanor. A little more than two years. It took a little more than two years for the Guardian Angel System to kill more than the entire population of New Kinshasa. It’s been twenty years since the attack, Eleanor, how many people have died since then?”
“Look, it’s awful.” Nelly turned again to the man at her side, pleading. “I know it’s awful, but you can’t blame me! I didn’t ask to be born there!”
“Oh I don’t blame you, Eleanor. I blame Peter Nureyev.”
Nelly heard the security guard, walking a few steps behind them, gasp. He must be from Brahma then, nobody outside the planet knew that name. It was a name spoken in whispers, a fearful name on New Kinshasa.
The tall man at her side had lost nearly all of his decorum. He almost hissed and his eyes flashed with something frightening.
“Peter Nureyev had the opportunity to bring down New Kinshasa and the Guardian Angel System with it, and he didn’t go through with it. He saved you, the toddler daughter of a war criminal, and for your life over 7 million innocent people have died. Do you think you were worth it? Eleanor? 7 million people?”
“HEY!” The man in the white suit’s security guard grabbed his arm, roughly, shaking his employer out of his rant. “We’ve got to go.” He growled.
Nelly took her chance and fled back to her table, trying not to cry. She didn’t want her uncle to see her cry. When she made it back to her seat she bent down to take her painful shoes off.
“You all right there?” One of the men at the table asked, voice too loud, almost mocking.
“I’m fine.” She took a few deep breaths, looking around the room for the man in the white suit, trying to keep it together. He was nowhere to be seen.
~*~
Juno sat in the driver’s seat of the shuttle taking them back to the Carte Blanche. It was on auto-pilot, so once he was sure everything was set and ready to go he was free to pay attention to the man curled up in the passenger’s seat beside him, staring intently out the window at the blank emptiness of space.
“So uh… that got weird.” Juno said.
“I suppose it did.” Nureyev’s voice was soft, pathetic almost.
“Hey.” Juno tried to shake Nureyev’s shoulder to snap him out of it. “You’re ok. It’s not your fault.”
“What isn’t? The job? Did we not complete the job?”
“No, we did, don’t worry, I’m just saying… Brahma. It’s not your fault.”
“Oh, Juno.” Peter, who was usually all sharp angles, looked at Juno with an incredible softness. He was the definition of vulnerability, a crab outside its shell, a pageant queen without makeup. “You haven’t had as long to think about it as I have.” He closed his eyes.
“Look, take it from me. You can’t fix everything. Sometimes things go to shit and you can’t fix it. You were a kid.”
“Mag wasn’t. Mag knew what would happen. And I killed him. I made a choice and it was the wrong choice.”
“You think you wouldn’t be sitting here, hating yourself JUST as much now if you’d done it? If you’d sent the whole city down? Murdered kids? Toddlers?”
“I don’t know.” Nureyev, almost childlike, began to gnaw at the skin around one of his fingernails. His tone was dull, flat, very unlike himself when he continued. “When I was younger I used to be able to tell how long a body had been dead just by looking at it. There are so many people shot in the street from the Angel System that life had to just go on around them. I used to step over corpses on my way to the store, the kids had a game about it. It was bad luck if you touched their hands or the bottom of their feet.”
“God.” Juno looked at Nureyev, stunned.
“File it away, Peter.” Nureyev sighed, closing his eyes. “What a stupid thing to dredge up.”
“Hey.” Juno took Peter’s face in his hands and stroked his cheek, lovingly, until his partner opened his eyes again. “You were a child. You never should have had to make a choice like what you made. There was no right answer there, Nureyev.”
“I don’t know, Juno, 7 million people…”
“You didn’t kill them. The state killed them. New Kinshasa killed them. Believe me, Nureyev, I used to be a cop, I was basically the guardian angel system of Hyperion city, as my whole fucking job.”
“That’s why you quit.” Peter sighed with a little smile. “My dear little detective with a conscience.”
Juno kissed Peter then, gently. It wasn’t a lustful kiss, the kind they’d been hungrily stealing every spare moment in the Carte Blanche. It was just a simple physical expression of love and support. Peter held on to Juno for dear life.
“I think you scared the shit out of that girl, though.” Juno whispered, with a smile.
“God I wish I cared.” Peter replied, a touch of his old lilting voice back.
Juno snickered. “She’ll live.” He said. “She’s got enough money, maybe she’ll actually turn into a freedom fighter or something, now.”
“Oh, that would be something, wouldn’t it?” Peter laughed. “The new angel of Brahma.”
“Hey, stranger things have happened.” Juno grinned.