Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

FCP ARTICLE 66280, SUBSECTION (C)

EARTH-SIDE COMMUNICATION

For general communication information, see SUBSECTION (A)

For off-world colony information, see SUBSECTION (B)

In accordance with the GENERAL GUIDELINES (page 864, SUBSECTION (A)), Earth-side communication to members onboard the spaceship Arno follow the same rules, with the following variations:

1. Limitations restrict video communication availability to blood relatives only. Proof of relation (see SUBSECTION (D): Required Proofs) must be submitted by both Earth and Arno residents every two (2) Earth years for continued video communication access.
   1. Video communication with Earth-side relations is a protected right under ARTICLE 43, SUBSECTION 2 of the FCP. The FCP is allowed to limit and/or revoke this right based on the following factors:
      1. Lack of sufficient proofs;
      2. Felony conviction(s);
      3. Court-ordered restraints; or
      4. One or both parties failing to participate in active video communication for a set time frame (UPDATE 34: Two (2) Earth years. See Appendix 672(K): Requirement Updates).
   2. Video communications can only be conducted through sites approved by the FCP. Current approved sites include:
      1. FCP Headquarters (see Appendix 2(A): Locations)
   3. Equipment and technology limitations restrict video communications to the following Earth calendar dates (see Appendix 672(L): Communication Updates):
      1. June 30^th – International Arno Celebration Day; and
      2. December 24^th – Christmas Eve.
   4. For up-to-date information on video call time limitations, see Appendix 672(L): Communication Updates.

When I opened my eyes, the world was orange. I squinted as I tried to process the information. It was like my thoughts were burdened with a heavy weight; my mind straining to drag them to the surface. After a moment I registered I was sitting down. The floor moving indicated I was being pushed in a wheelchair. There was a pain in my wrists which indicated I had been strapped in place.

"She's moving."

The voice came from behind me. I couldn't lift my head enough to turn and see who.

"I guess the dose of tranquillizer they recommend for kids wasn't enough," said a second voice.

This voice was in front of me. I could make out the outline of a figure dressed in black, their back to me as they continued to walk down a long, narrow hallway. The walls were lined with a series of wide tubes as far as I could see. I tried peering into them, but all I could make out was my murky reflection. My unkempt hair and haggard expression made me look like something feral.

"Right here."

We came to a stop. The figure in front of me reached out to press a button on a touchpad beside one of the tubes. The front of the tube opened with a 'hiss,' the clear panel sliding up to reveal what appeared to be a padded interior. The figure approached me and knelt down. They unclasped restraints from around my ankles as whoever had been behind me worked on my wrists.

I ... recognize that.

At sixteen years old, I had never gone to space. This wasn't unusual. It was rare for kids my age to experience deep space travel unless their family was leaving Earth for work. However, even if I'd never been inside a real space ship, this didn't mean I couldn't recognize a cryotube. They were in movies all the time; I'd even stood in a replica when I went on a field trip to the space museum. My friends and I had taken selfies as we pretended we were being frozen - playing make believe that we were closed inside a real cryotube meant to still our hearts and stop our breath in suspended animation. We laughed about which faces we would make since going into a cryotube could mean your expression being stuck that way for decades, if not longer. 

I'm going into a real cryotube ... and I don't know when I'm going to wake up.

I couldn't scream. It was like being in a dream where my body was paralyzed. All that came out was a wavering groan. I took a deep breath, trying again. This time my voice was a little louder. My hands started to shake as one of the figures pressed a button on the touchpad and the clear panel began to slide down. 

"Muh ..."

The panel slid into place. All I could do was lean to the side, my head resting against the side of the glass. My reflection was back again - I looked back at myself in terror. Tears I couldn't feel streamed down my cheeks.

"Muh ... Ma ... Mom!"

There was a hiss. Gas rose up from somewhere around my feet. It made my skin tingle. It smelt like antiseptic.

"Ma ... Mom!"

My vision was growing dark. It felt cold.

"Mom ..."

I had turned sixteen this past summer, but I felt like a child. I wanted to be held. I wanted my mom to squeeze me tight and tell me everything was going to be fine. My dad would stroke my hair. My cousin would recognize my face and thank me for finding him. 

I didn't want the story of my family to end here.

I’ll start with the day I went to meet the boy on the wall.

That’s a lie. Not the going to see him part, but the part where we’re meeting. That makes it sound like it was the first time, which it wasn’t. Mom and Dad said we’d known each other since we were born. There are pictures of us, with mom holding me up in front of a giant screen. We used to go to the county fair every year, and my mom would make the same sort of smile in those pictures as the old ladies who held up cans of jam with the blue ribbons on the front. I don’t think I look like myself in those pictures though, since I’m barely the size of the neighbor’s cat, and my face is scrunched up like I’d been in the bath for too long.

My mom had the pictures of our old house rotate in slideshow mode. There was one frame, at the top of the stairs, that always had Mom’s family on the Arno … sort of. Sometimes there were pictures of my great-great-great-something grandpa. His name was Marcus Walsh, and there were a few pictures of him with my great-great-great-something grandma, and then one of him with my great-great-great-something aunt.

The one with Marcus’s sister is my favorite, because it’s of them standing on the Arno.

The camera drone must’ve nearly been touching the clouds, because the two figures amid the expanse of the gleaming red hull of the spaceship are hardly visible. To compensate, there was a little square in the corner of the photo where the drone had zoomed in on their faces. My great-something grandpa had one arm around his big sister, Eliza, and in his other hand he held up a compass. My great-something aunt was also holding up a compass, and smiling as if she wasn’t about to leave Earth and never have her little brother’s arm around her again.

Then there are pictures of my mom from when she was young. She would throw her head back and laugh when I told her she used to look like a boy. Mom would wear overalls almost exclusively when she was a kid; dreaming of one day blasting off to one of the mining colonies. She said she kept her hair short because she didn’t want it to get caught in an airlock or have some slip outside the cryotube and find a chunk of grey waiting for her upon arrival. When I asked why she wanted to be a miner, Mom said she liked the idea of sailing through the great expanse on the back of an asteroid as if it were a surfboard. It was an outrageous fantasy, but I suppose to a kid it was perfectly acceptable since I never questioned it.

The mining colony dream was short lived; Mom’s hair grew out with every passing photo flashing across the walls. The overalls were swapped out for jumpers, ripped jeans, and skirts. By the time the pictures made it to her brandishing a high school diploma, her hair was down to her waist in perfect plaits. She looked funny in that photo, standing in a dimly-lit room with a control panel and an endless array of buttons. My mom was outside, more often than not, so seeing her in that environment always seemed off.

Just like how the people on the big screen behind her always seemed … off.

Their images were warped. Dad said it had to do with the screen wrapping around the wall. He claimed that in person, it made it seem a lot more like the people on the other side were close by. To me, it made it seem like they were not quite people. That maybe they were trying, but they just couldn’t do it.

Dad told me to never say anything like that again.

“Ooh! Look, honey! Do you see it?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s such a big complex,” Mom said, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “Cool, right?”

The compact red sedan slowed to a stop as we got in the line of cars waiting for security. I looked away from the gleaming white building up ahead; it hurt my eyes.

“Ellie, do you have your pass?” Dad asked, turning in his seat to glance back at me.

“Yeah.”

“Just make sure to have it ready when the guard asks you for it, alright?” Dad said. “Just like last week when we came in to do your screening, remember?”

I tilted my head back to stare at the roof of the car. There was a green stain on the tan material from the time Mom had driven over a bumpy patch of road while I attempted to eat jello. I hadn’t been too sad losing my snack, since lime wasn’t a great flavor.

“Yeah.”

Dad cleared his throat. He was still looking at me when I lowered my eyes. His dark brows rose to be hidden behind wavy hair as he took in my expression.

“What are you feeling like today, my girl?” he asked. It took me a moment to answer as I contemplated the question.

“I’m nemicolopterus crypticus today,” I said. My dad let out a sound through his nose that at the time I couldn’t describe, but as I got older could tell was a mixture of exasperation and amusement. His net gear glasses were already on the job of looking up the term as his eyes momentarily lost focus on me.

“Look at that little guy,” he said, smiling. “He’s cute.”

“Hon,” Mom said, the car lurching forward, “she felt like nemicolopterus crypticus the day of her math final three weeks ago.”

Dad’s face fell. “Oh.” He recovered with an endearing smile. “Come on, Ellie. We’re just going to say hi to your Uncle Wyatt and his family. Aren’t you excited to talk to them?”

Not really. I would’ve much rather stayed in the summer program where I could play with holo-blocks and squish thermal putty between my fingers. Besides, Uncle Wyatt wasn’t really my uncle. He was my cousin about a million times removed, but Mom and Dad had me call him Uncle Wyatt just to keep things less confusing.

It would be a lie to say I wasn’t a little curious to meet Uncle Wyatt. Again, I’d technically known him since I was a baby, but my only memories outside the pictures on the wall and the stories Mom would tell were fuzzy ones. Mom used to tell me a lot of stories, though. She’d known Uncle Wyatt her whole life, and they even sent emails to each other once a month. My mom said they’d been doing that for the past 24 years. She made it sound like that wasn’t normal, but I guess we got special privileges for being related to the Arno’s first captain … even if it was a million billion times removed.

It was easy to figure out Uncle Wyatt was Mom’s best friend … which I found weird. My dad and his best friend played laser tag. My best friend Sam and I would go rollerblading, or sneak cookies out of the cupboard and giggle while we ate them under the table. I had friends from Nihongolia and Saudi Iraq who I chatted to sometimes when Mom let me use her net gear glasses. We played games online, which were fun, but their voices through the speakers sounded hollow.

Not real.

There was something about it I could never pinpoint, but made me uncomfortable.

It made me wonder if they were made up. Maybe all the people I’d see through the screens were a part of some video game, and everyone just pretended they were real for fun.

Mom never questioned if Uncle Wyatt was real. She’d talk about him at the dinner table every time she received his emails. Between bites of burger or spoonfuls of caldo verde, she’d go on about filter cleanings, air vent repairs, and the new painting Uncle Wyatt’s wife was working on. The topics were almost always so boring I nearly fell asleep. Even Dad seemed bored, outside the times Mom talked about the painting. Mom always joked she and Uncle Wyatt must’ve had a thing for the “artsy” types, since Uncle Wyatt was married to a painter, and my dad was a landscaping architect.

I guess it was OK Uncle Wyatt was Mom’s best friend, since she always seemed so happy when he wrote. My mom was an only child like me, so I think she liked talking to someone who could be like a brother to her; someone who she could tell just about anything and know her secrets were safe. There was certainly no way Uncle Wyatt could spread any gossip even if he wanted to. Maybe it had been the same for him? I know there were things about Uncle Wyatt that Mom kept hidden from me, anyway.

Like the time I overheard Mom and Dad talking one night when I passed their bedroom. Mom was crying, and saying she was a horrible person for not knowing what to say when Uncle Wyatt learned he couldn’t have another baby. I didn’t remember that visit she was talking about, other than Dad taking me to the FCP cafeteria and then Mom later pulling me from my chair and holding me for so long my shoulders hurt.

I wondered why Uncle Wyatt couldn’t have another baby, but I didn’t ask. I didn’t want Mom to cry again. I also thought it was weird they were so sad since they already had one kid. My cousin Oliver was the boy from the pictures. What was so wrong with him? Was he not good enough? My parents seemed happy to just have me, so I thought maybe that could’ve been the case.

“Xuxu?”

I blinked, returning to reality. It wasn’t often Dad pulled up snippets of Portuanese, but more often than not, it was to gain my attention.

“Aren’t you excited?” Dad asked again. “I know your Uncle Wyatt and his family are really looking forward to hearing about you.”

I spread my arms out until the fingertips of my right hand brushed the car window as I spoke, “Nemicolopterus crypticus can’t fly in a little box.”

“The room isn’t that small, honey,” Mom said. The waiver to her voice betrayed I was getting under her skin. “And it’s just for a little while. They’re your family, Ellie; you’re going to love them – promise.”

My arms flopped to my side. “OK.”

There were three security checkpoints before we got to the elevator. They made me open my backpack three times to check my lunchbox and drawing board. The drawing board and stylus were confiscated at the first checkpoint, and they took Mom and Dad’s net gear glasses, too. Mom and Dad were both given stamps on their hands in an ink I couldn’t see, but they said later they can scan the stamps to get our stuff back. I got one too, although the guard said mine wouldn’t open the locker – just tell them who I was. He put the stamp on the back of my hand, and the whole walk across the giant lobby I had my eyes right up to it to see if I could make out the pattern. I couldn’t, but I did bump into an old lady in a lab coat who laughed and gave me a pinch on the cheek.

We squeezed into the elevator filled with people in suits and white coats, and went up, up, and up. We went all the way to a floor that seemed higher than I’d ever been, although I think there were still a lot of floors above us. I got pulled along by Dad as I stared out the wide windows. I could see all the way out over the bay, the ocean beyond stretching to the distance before meeting the hazy blue horizon. Against the blue was a shock of red-and-white from a tall, cylindrical building atop a small island on the water.

“Dad?” I said, slowing my gait. “What’s that?”

My eyes were torn away from the landscape and I made a sour face when Dad turned me around to regard a white wall and a pair of chrome doors. The doors were beneath a sign that read ‘COMMUNICATION ROOM F’ in big yellow letters.

“We’ll have time to look around later, Ellie,” Dad said. 

The doors slid open with a ‘whoosh’ when Mom put her finger on the scanner. As I was ushered inside, I recognized the dimly-lit room with the wide control panel from Mom’s old pictures. There were three big chairs waiting in front of the panel, and Dad helped me in to the middle one before Mom started tapping away on a keyboard.

“She’s an expert at this by now,” Dad said to me with a wink. “I think your mom should leave the Air Quality Bureau and get a cushy job pressing buttons here at the FCP instead.”

Mom scoffed, which caused Dad to chuckle.

“There we go,” Mom said. She leaned back in her seat as a loading bar blinked into existence in the middle of the wide screen. “It’s just forming the connection now. Oh! Ellie, honey, let me fix your hair.”

My mom had plaited my hair in two braids that morning after I finished my bath. As it dried, dark curls jutted out every-which-way like a tattered rope. I watched with interest as Mom gently pulled out the elastic and worked to tidy up the braids. She had plenty of practice; Mom had been styling her own tight, blonde curls since my grandma taught her how when she was my age. It was funny, because the texture of my hair was about the only thing my mom and I physically had in common. My olive-toned skin, dark eyes, and pointed nose all came from my dad.

“You’re like me,” Dad had said once, “up until I close my eyes. Everything about you beneath the surface comes from your mom.”

I hadn’t been so sure about that.

“Oh, hello!” Mom said, tightening the last elastic before moving her hands to my shoulders. She was beaming at the screen, and I followed her gaze.

“Hey there, folks!”

The man on the screen laughed. He had laugh-lines just like Mom’s. I didn’t expect this, and perhaps the surprise on my face showed.

“Hey, Ellie Bean,” Uncle Wyatt said, lowering his volume. He tilted his head as he studied me. There was something gentle there that didn’t come through in the pictures. Maybe it was because his image took up nearly half the room, and I could make out details I couldn’t see before. There was a ruddiness to his nose, and a little cow-lick of his white hair that stood up at the back of his head. As he leaned in, I could see there were bags under his eyes. It was hard to tell if he was tired, or maybe if that was how he always looked.

“What’s that on your shirt?” Uncle Wyatt said. “I can’t quite make it out.”

I looked down to pull at the green and blue material with a frown.

“It’s from the museum,” I said. “Mom gave me money for the gift shop last time my class went.”

“Oh?” Uncle Wyatt sat up. “The natural history museum, right? Your mom tells me you’re a big fan.”

That was an understatement. I squirmed in my chair, getting onto my knees so I could better brandish my shirt, “This is triceratops prorsus. The man at the gift shop said it was triceratops horridus, but he was wrong.”

“Was he?” Uncle Wyatt’s eyebrows went up. He smiled at Mom before looking back to me.

“Yes, ‘cus the frill,” I said. “See, it doesn’t turn up at the top so that’s how you know it isn’t horridus.”

“I see,” Uncle Wyatt said, beaming. “Is triceratops your favorite?”

“No,” I said, falling back into the chair. “I like stygimoloch.”

“Today,” Dad piped in.

Uncle Wyatt looked like he was about to ask another question when the sliding sound of a door cut through the air. He turned to the side, his smile growing wider.

“Look who’s back from school!” he said. Uncle Wyatt regarded us with a giddy expression, “Hold on a sec – I’m going to help Kate change Oliver out of his uniform. Be right back!”

What was left of the picture was an empty red chair before a pale-yellow wall. The collection of framed pictures on the wall more than a little reminded me of what we had back at home. These ones didn’t change, though. Some of them were paintings of gemstones I remembered seeing in glass cases at the museum, but I couldn’t recall their names.

“Oh, no,” my mom said. She too had been studying the pictures on the wall. “I can’t believe he framed that! I’m gonna kill him!”

Dad let out a barking laugh, “Good luck.”

“What?” I said, scanning the pictures. “What is it?”

“Nothi–”

“You see that one there? On the left?” Dad said, guiding my gaze with his finger. “Your mom thought she could pull off a pink faux-hawk.”

My eyes land on the photo. A teenager who looked sort of like Uncle Wyatt was in the foreground, my mom’s giant image on the screen behind him towering over his frame as she stuck out her tongue. Mom looked a lot younger, and had way more makeup on than usual. She also looked like one of the clowns which frequented the boardwalk in the summer.

I started to laugh. I wouldn’t notice until looking in the mirror sometime later, but my laugh lines looked like my mom’s … and my Uncle Wyatt’s.

“I didn’t think I could pull it off,” Mom said. “I did pull it off; I was commenting on that stupid nose chain.”

“I liked the nose chain,” Uncle Wyatt said. He was in frame again, my aunt Kate pulling up a chair beside him. “It made me feel better about that eyebrow piercing I had back in the day. Seeing you with the nose chain enlightened that me I probably looked like an idiot, and I should take it out.”

Uncle Wyatt seemed downright giddy as Mom gesticulated her frustration.

“They’re gonna invent teleportation one of these days, mister,” Mom said, brandishing a finger. “You better put in a prayer for protection the day that happens.”

“If I get to give my little cousin a big ol’ hug,” Uncle Wyatt said, unperturbed, “that’ll be good enough for me.”

Mom rolled her eyes, “You’re the worst.”

“Love you, too.”

My mom threw her head back with a snort. The look on Dad’s face conveyed this was how the usual interactions went. He reached over me to give Mom’s shoulder an endearing squeeze.

“Hi, Ellie!”

I looked away from Mom to see Aunt Kate waving. I returned the wave in a mechanical fashion. Aunt Kate was pretty, with wide grey eyes that studied me with a level of mirth. She didn’t remind me of my mom, like Uncle Wyatt. She looked at me in a way like I was being picked apart; as if she could see parts of me I couldn’t. It was a little off-putting, even though I could tell it wasn’t malicious.

“You’ve grown so much!” Aunt Kate said. “Have you started kindergarten?”

I nodded. Aunt Kate leaned out of frame, and with an ‘oof’ she lifted up a boy to sit on her lap. “Oliver just started elementary school! He came home from there just now. Say hi to your cousin Ellie, Oliver.”

“Hi.”

Oliver let out a small wave. He watched me with the same grey eyes as his mother. However, the mirth wasn’t there. He was sizing me up, but I guess I was doing the same.

“Hi,” I said, returning the wave.

“Look at that!” Uncle Wyatt said. “Thick as thieves, already.”

My aunt Kate elbowed Uncle Wyatt in the side, and I liked her a little better.

“Why don’t you tell Ellie what you did in school today?” Aunt Kate said while making a vain attempt to smooth down the cowlick sticking up in her son’s white hair. The object of her attention scrunched up his face in thought.

“We said the pledge,” Oliver said, looking down at his hands. He counted off one finger, before moving on to two. “Then … went over the constellations from yesterday.”

Oliver reiterated his day with a bunch of ‘ums’ and ‘uhs’ tossed in. There was math, and reading, and play time. His school days didn’t sound much different to my own. Maybe he knew this after glancing up to see the dazed expression on my face. Oliver suddenly dipped down to snatch something off-screen.

“We did an emergency drill last week!” he said, holding up a hand-drawn picture. It looked like a round room with a control panel sort of similar to the one we were currently in. There was a large screen above the panel lined with red school lockers on either side.

“These are the emergency ships!” Oliver said, picking up steam. “We can get in these and blast off if the Arno has a problem! They come with space suits! I got to try one on!”

“Yeah, they’re heavy,” I said. “They let us put them on when we went to the space museum.”

Oliver seemed agitated. He swapped out the picture for another one. This one was mostly black, with little points of white, yellow, and blue speckled across the surface.

“These are the stars from the Arno!” Oliver said. “You can only see them from here! Earth doesn’t have these!”

I frowned, “That’s dumb – Earth has stars.”

Blonde curls bounced in my peripheral as Mom hissed my name.

“Earth has stars!” I said, meeting my mom’s agitated gaze with my own. “He said it doesn’t, but it does.”

“I don’t think that’s what Oliver meant,” Uncle Wyatt said. He ruffled Oliver’s hair. “He’s just trying to show you something special.”

Shoot. My off-world counterpart came prepared. Were Uncle Wyatt and Aunt Kate expecting me to bring something? I hadn’t packed anything special. I had some gum in my pocket. Did space have gum? Space probably had gum.

“But you guys don’t have a sky, right?” I said, pulling up what little I could recall about the Arno aside from rockets and aliens. “We’ve got a sky. It’s sometimes blue, but not always; sometimes it rains.”

Oliver not appearing impressed took me by surprise. The sky on Earth had to be much more remarkable than the view from the Arno. Space didn’t have cool things floating around in it like planes and blimps, for one. In fact, where did–?

“We don’t need a sky,” Oliver said, interrupting my thoughts. “Dad makes sure we’ve got air to breathe, and that’s just as good.”

A wrinkle appeared between my brows as I decided to voice the question I’d been pondering, “But where do the birds go?”

“Well, Ellie Bean,” Uncle Wyatt said. “We actually don’t have birds. We still eat plenty of poultry, but that’s grown in the nutriment processing uni–”

“We may not have birds, but we’ve got plenty of other stuff!” Oliver cut in. “Really cool stuff! We’ve got the … uh … gravitational dome! Earth doesn’t have that!”

He was right. My eyes lit up, and I leaned forward, “That’s where you get to fly, right?”

Oliver smiled like the cat who ate the canary (despite the Arno having neither), “Yeah! But it’s not flying, it’s floating.”

“That’s the same,” I said.

Oliver shook his head, “No, it’s not!”

“You get to fly,” I said, putting out my arms, “like nemicolopterus crypticus; or like the Pteranodon.”

Oliver crossed his arms. He squirmed in his seat as he regarded me with a guarded expression, “We don’t … we don’t have those animals. They’re probably not that great, anyway.”

“Oliver,” Uncle Wyatt said, his tone growing stern. “That wasn’t a nice thing to say; apologize.”

It was too late; the damage was already done. I was busy scrambling out of my seat as Uncle Wyatt spoke.

“They’re not animals they’re dinosaurs!” I shouted. I put my face up to the monitor, baring my teeth. “Everybody smart knows that!”

“ELLIE!”

My mom caught my arm, dragging me back. She knelt to my level, and I could already tell the car ride home was going to be anything but pleasant.

“You will tell Oliver you’re sorry right now, young lady,” Mom said, fire burning behind her eyes. “Do you hear me?”

I looked down and nodded. My arm was released, and I turned back to the monitor with my eyes lowered. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Mom said.

“I dunno.”

“Ellie!”

“It’s alright,” Uncle Wyatt said, trying to dissolve the tension. “I think the kiddos just had a bit of a misunderstanding.” He turned to his son and let out a sigh. “I believe you also owe your cousin an apology, young man.”

Oliver’s face scrunched up like he’d bit into a lemon, “No. She called me stupid.”

“Oliver!” Aunt Kate said, using a matching tone to my mother’s. Oliver didn’t have a car ride home in his future, but he was probably going to made just as uncomfortable all the same.

Oliver jumped off his mom’s lap. He dashed offscreen, and Aunt Kate let out a frustrated sound.

“I’m so sorry,” Aunt Kate said, rising from her seat. “I’ll bring him back so he can apologize.”

“It’s fine,” my mom said, tone curt. “I’m just … I’m just mortified right now by Ellie’s behavior; I can’t apologize enough.”

The adults start trying to placate each other. My hands bunched up into fists and I stared at my feet while platitudes of ‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it’ and ‘She must’ve had a long day’ were tossed about as if I was incapable of voicing my own opinion on the matter.

No, my blood sugars weren’t low.

No, I didn’t need a nap.

No, this hadn’t been a long day.

I just didn’t like someone trying to tell me my things were dumb while his things were better. Even if living on a spaceship and having anti-gravity chambers was better. Although, space didn’t have dinosaurs.

I looked up when Dad placed a hand on my shoulder.

“How about a walk?” he asked. I nodded fervently.

I mumbled a goodbye to Uncle Wyatt and Aunt Kate before leaving the room with my dad. We didn’t speak, my eyes staying locked on the gleaming tile as the elevator silently took us to the ground floor. There were a few glances our way, which later I surmised boiled down to the FCP not being a hotbed for children. We were one of the few families who lived close enough to stay in contact with distant relatives onboard the Arno. Even though this was one of the biannual visitation days, likely less than twenty families showed up.

At least the grounds to the FCP were nice. I broke into a sprint the second we walked through the sliding glass doors at the rear of the building. A cluster of picnic tables were passed in a blur; rolling hills of grass and clover squishing underfoot as I picked up speed. I went as fast as I could, holding up my arms to feel the wind blowing across my skin. Dad told me to be careful when I started jumping off the sides of the tiny hills in an attempt to fly. These requests were ignored. Despite my best efforts, I was never airborne for more than a few seconds anyway. It wasn’t exactly flying, but it still wasn’t going to stop me from trying.

“She looks familiar.”

My sandals skid across the grass until I came to a stop. I looked back at my dad framed against the imposing white building at his back. I felt like I’d been running for ages, and yet the FCP tower still loomed over Dad’s shoulder, like it was watching.

“Isn’t she in your class?” Dad asked, gesturing to the side. I follow his gaze to a pine tree jutting from the landscape. Beneath it sat a small figure hunched over something. I watch it for a moment with a frown.

I took off at a run. The figure didn’t seem to notice as I approached – maybe they didn’t care. It seemed the former was more likely, since they let out a startled yelp when I spoke in their ear.

“Why’re you here?”

The girl stared up at me with a wide-eyed expression. She had a pair of net gear glasses on, although her unruly dark bangs seemed to block nearly half the lenses.

“Daddy said I could come out here to play,” the girl said. She watched me with the same startled expression as I sat down next to her.

“My dad wanted me to take a walk, but I mostly ran,” I said. There was a weak wave over my shoulder. The girl’s attention momentarily lingered on my dad milling about in the distance before returning to me.

“Are you here for family day?” she asked.

I shrugged, “Yeah, it’s stupid. Can I see your glasses?”

The girl looked uneasy, but she slid the glasses from her face. I took the offered item, and placed them on my nose without hesitation.

“You have Puffy Pets?!” My jaw dropped, “Mom said this game is a waste of time! You’re so lucky!”

I reached out toward the floofy-looking blue kitten grooming itself in the grass. My hand moved right through it, which was a little disappointing.

“I … um,” the girl said. She looked between my face and my hand resting on the ground. “You can give her a treat, if you open the menu in the upper left.”

I looked to the upper corner, blinking twice. Nothing happened.

“It’s not working.”

“Oh,” the girl said, sounding put out. “I think you’re locked out, since they’re not your glasses.”

“Yeah,” I said, taking them off my nose. I handed the glasses back to her, staring at the now empty spot of grass. “Thanks, anyway.”

The girl nodded. She put the glasses back on, glancing between me and the grass. She fiddled with the hem of her grass-stained overalls for a moment in thought. “You’re …” she said, sounding uncertain. “Cindy?”

“Cindy sits next to me,” I said. My knees were pulled up to my chin as I continued gazing at the empty space. “I’m Ellie.”

The girl tucked a strand of her long, black hair behind her ear. It was so long it almost reached her bottom; I was surprised she didn’t get frustrated with it.

“I’m Qiana.”

“I know,” I said. I made a frustrated sound that had nothing to do with Qiana, and everything to do with me not being able to feed a fake cat. The urge to sit still escaped me, and I got to my feet, “You hang out with James and Yuri at lunch.”

“Uh-huh.”

I looked down at Qiana. I liked being able to look at people in the face. Today reminded me of that.

“Wanna go fly?” I asked, offering my hand. My offering was stared at for a moment before Qiana accepted it.

“OK.”

Qiana and I spent almost an hour running over the grass. She was fast, and generally had to pause for me to catch up when we crested a hill. To my credit, I recovered sooner from the jumps, and I always yanked her up as we flung ourselves into another sprint.

I was out of breath by the time Dad said we should head inside. Qiana walked with us for a bit, and my dad made sure she got back to her own dad’s office OK. I told her I’d see her around, and she just nodded before closing the door.

Qiana was weird; I liked her.

My mom met us outside the communications room. She seemed to have calmed down, and told me I didn’t have to go in to say goodbye if I didn’t want to.

I told her I didn’t want to.

This wasn’t the answer my mom wanted to hear, but a look from Dad resulted in her letting out no more than a sigh. My parents told me to stay put before they stepped into the communications room. There was a glimpse of my concerned-looking Aunt and Uncle on the screen, before the image disappeared behind metal doors.

I turned away from the doors and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows making up one side of the hall, putting a palm against the glass as I looked out over the bay.

It was hard for me to say whether that day had been good or bad. I decided to chalk it up as both.

I sat next to Qiana on our lunch break the next day at school. She gave me the same stupefied expression as she did back at the FCP. The look even lingered the day after that; and the day after that. It took a week before she got used to me plopping my tray down beside hers. My friends Sam and Cindy weren’t sure what to make of this sudden development to expand our social circle, but Cindy thought Qiana’s friend Yuri was cute, so it all worked out in the end. James and Yuri weren’t bad, either, once they spoke up. I could see why Qiana liked hanging out with them. They also had their own net gear glasses, and showed me the different mods they had installed. I wished I had my own pair of glasses, so I could play along with the shooting and bowling games. Mom said too much net gear would “rot my brain,” so I couldn’t get a pair until middle school.

Luckily for me, Qiana was smart.

She gave me a pair of old glasses no one in her family used anymore. I asked her why, and she changed the subject. I think they may’ve been her mom’s.

Qiana didn’t talk about her mom, or why one of the rooms in her house was dedicated to holding boxes and boxes of her mom’s stuff. We would go in there, sometimes. Not for a while; Qiana didn’t take me there until sometime in third grade. It became a habit after that as we would pick through boxes filled with jewelry, fancy pens, or lab coats with her mom’s name stitched in looping script. One time we found a green ribbon, and I braided it into Qiana’s hair. That’d been the first time I’d seen her smile while in that room.

Looking back, it hit me how much of a gesture it’d been for Qiana to give me her mom’s net gear glasses. She’d even reprogrammed them so I could be added as a user. For a five-year-old, that was impressive on a number of levels. I wish I had done a better job thanking her for it.

I lived five blocks from school, and Qiana only lived two. My secret pair of net gear glasses would wait for me inside a deep blue backpack from the FCP gift shop at the beginning of every school day. Qiana was always at the corner of Cherry and Elm; rocking on her heels and humming a tune to herself while I jogged her way. My dad would use a drone to follow us on our walk, and we’d give it a wave as it buzzed away after we reached the schoolyard. That was when the real fun would start, and the two of us would whip out our glasses to play Puffy Pets or draw cartoony faces on each other. After a few months, we’d evolved to throwing fire and water orbs from across the schoolyard and watching them explode on collision. Every play fight ended at the sound of the school bell; Qiana and I and whispering between giggles as my glasses were hidden away. I would take her hand and guide her toward the classroom as we smiled from ear-to-ear.

Why my mom ever thought the glasses were bad, I had no idea.

It was Christmas eve, and I couldn’t be more unhappy.

I really, really, didn’t want to go to the FCP. Cindy had invited me to her house for a party, and everyone in the class was going … except for me. Well, and Qiana, maybe – she wasn’t sure if her dad had to work.

Unlike the last time we’d visited the imposing white building, the grass was brittle and crunched beneath my boots. The wind whipped across my face in a way that stung. There wasn’t even any snow, so the world was cold just for the sake of sucking. I hated it.

At least it was warm inside the FCP lobby. I could take off my scarf, my coat, and my hat. I could feel the life coming back to my fingers as we went through the security checkpoint and rode up the quiet elevator. An agreeable enough mood had fallen over me at that point that I didn’t even fuss when Mom reached over to flick the flashing lights on for my sweater. She did the same for Dad before turning hers on last. Dad and I shared a look of solidarity concerning our feelings toward the sweaters and their repeating pattern of reindeer prancing around our torsos. With tight-lipped smiles, we stepped into the communications room.

“HO, HO, HO!”

I froze, startled by the imposing figure taking up the screen.

“And what do we have here?” the figure, who by their outfit was very clearly trying to impersonate Santa Claus, said. He stroked his long, white beard as he peered at me from under bushy eyebrows. “Is that Ellie I see? My, what a festive outfit you have there!”

I glanced to Mom. She beamed at me with her hands on her hips. I looked to Dad. His smile was more subdued, but he encouraged me to speak with a nod.

“Hi … Santa.”

“Don’t be shy!” ‘Santa’ said. He gestured me to come forward, and I shuffled toward the screen.

“Now, I’ve heard you’ve been a very good girl this year, Ellie,” ‘Santa’ said with a gleam in his eye. “Your mom and dad tell me you’ve been eating all your vegetables and have been getting good grades in school.”

I glanced back over my shoulder as I wondered how long I was expected to play along. By the looks on my parent’s faces, the answer seemed to be much longer than I wanted to.

“Yeah,” I said, turning my head. “School is fun.”

“Is history still your favorite subject?”

I nodded. ‘Santa’ leaned forward, his voice coming out as a low whisper, “One of my elves told me you had a particular item on your wish list, young lady. I pulled a few strings, and I was able to get a pass to leave the North Pole a little early. Don’t tell the other kids, though!” His voice rose again as he leaned back to laugh. His belly didn’t shake like a bowl full of jelly like in the story; it mostly stayed put – as if it were made from a pillow.

He’s not even using a Mage Mod

“Uh …”

There was a knock on the door, and my mom jumped into action.

“Oh my!” she said in a voice even a six-year-old could detect was phony, “I wonder who that could be?”

The door opened and a slim figure stepped into the room carrying a box wrapped in shining green paper tied with a giant red ribbon. I recognized the woman carrying the box as one of the security guards. She was pretty, like Aunt Kate, but her cheekbones were more defined and her lips came out in a pout. She reminded me of the women I saw in the net gear ads trying to sell lipstick and mascara. There was a beauty mark above her lip, and it shifted as she smiled down at me.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes,” the security guard said as she approached, “but Santa – straight from the North Pole – just came up to me and told me this package is for you!”

I turned back to the screen to see nothing but a looping fireplace background. My eyes narrowed.

“You’re Ellie, right?” the woman asked.

I looked back to her and nodded. The box was handed over with great care. Taking note of how the pretty security guard handled the package, I shifted it in my arms to hold it properly.

“You must’ve been a very good girl this year, Ellie,” the woman said. “Santa seems to think very highly of you! Keep doing a good job!”

I nodded again, feeling a little intimidated being complimented by the pretty guard. There was a gentle tap on my shoulder which caused me to flinch.

“What do you say, Ellie?” Dad said.

“Thank you,” I said. This caused the woman’s face to light up about as bright as my sweater. With a nod, she turned and headed to the door. My mom caught her arm on her way out.

“You’re the best, Victoria,” my mom whispered. This elicited a soft chuckle from the pretty security guard before the doors snapped shut behind her.

“Oh, ho, ho! I almost didn’t make it!”

‘Santa’ came back into view, running a gloved hand across his brow. He spoke in a manner as if trying to catch his breath. “The reindeer and I hit an ice storm on the way back to the North Pole! I would’ve hated not to make it back in time to watch you open your present!”

“I can open it?” I said, looking back to my parents. They both nodded as Mom gripped Dad’s arm in excitement.

I made quick work of the paper; this wasn’t my first robo-rodeo. When the wrapping fell away, I gasped.

“It’s the kit!”

I pulled the fossil dig kit I’d been babbling about for months out of the box. I was met with the image of a smiling t-rex wearing a khaki jacket and matching safari hat, its little arms clasping a dainty brush in one claw and a magnifying glass in the other. Like almost every other packaged toy, the sensor on the box recognized it was being inspected, and the inlaid screen popped into motion. The t-rex began to dust off a large boulder, revealing a monstrous, pointed tooth beneath the dirt. I stared at the looping animation for a long enough time my father felt the need to give my shoulder a nudge.

“Ellie, what do you–”

“Thank you!” The box was clutched to my chest, my eyes wide as I stared at the screen, “Thank you, Uncle Wyatt!”

The goofy grin revealed my statement was almost enough for ‘Santa’ to break character, but he was able to make a quick rebound. “You’re welcome, Ellie Be– Ah! I, ah … OH, HO, HO! Your Uncle Wyatt is certainly the type of man worthy of a fair amount of praise, but in this case, its dear Santa here you should be thanking!”

I laughed, and ‘Santa’ laughed along with me. I noticed again that his belly didn’t shake, but this time it didn’t bother me.

“Thank you, Santa.”

“You’re very welcome, young lady,” ‘Santa’ said, leaning forward. “I need to get back to work getting ready to deliver all the toys to the other children on Earth, so I need to go now. Remember to be good, and listen to your parents, hmm?”

“You go to other places though, right?” I asked. This is met with a furrowed brow.

“Other places?”

“You bring toys to kids not on Earth too, right?”

Realization dawned on ‘Santa’s’ face. His expression turned warm, “Yes, I do. All the good children; wherever they are.”

“OK,” I said. Even though I knew it wasn’t real, I still felt reassured.

“Merry Christmas, Ellie.”

“Bye, Santa,” I said. I kept my eyes on the screen even after it went dark. I noted how small I looked, standing amid the void of the warped black screen. The box at my chest was clutched tighter and the corners poked into my sides. It was funny, but the thing that brought me such joy only a moment ago didn’t help ease the feeling I now had staring at the inky reflection of the room. I thought maybe it wasn’t the paleontology kit which made me so happy. Maybe it was a ridiculous costume, and a belly that didn’t shake alongside a boisterous laugh.

The screen flickered to life and I flinched. I blinked in surprise as my Uncle Wyatt and Aunt Kate took a seat front-and-center. The background was still the same crackling fireplace which had been on screen a moment ago up until Uncle Wyatt pressed something off-screen and the background snapped back to the familiar yellow wall dotted with family photos. My uncle adjusted his blue shirt; one of his white eyebrows seemed significantly bushier than the other. Aunt Kate noticed this with a side glance, and ripped the fuzzy object off Uncle Wyatt’s face in a smooth motion. My uncle clapped a hand over his eye with a hiss.

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” Aunt Kate said. “I’ve heard you all have had a very exciting day so far!”

My mom beamed, “We di–”

“WE DID!”

I lifted the kit above my head, teetering to the side until my mom caught the excess weight and helped me right myself.

“Ooh, Ellie, look at that!” Aunt Kate said, eyes alight. “Is that a dinosaur? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that before! Can you tell us about it?”

Looking back, my explanation concerning the kit – including a bit of backtracking to explain the general concept of paleontology – was something my aunt and uncle had certainly heard before. Heck, they were the ones who picked the gift out. However, they sat in rapt attention all the same, and not because of the kit; but because of me.

Because we were family. Because the people on the other side of the screen were real. It was a concept I couldn’t properly wrap my head around at the time, the bursting sensation in my chest consuming me in such a way that the only thing I knew what to do was babble on about cleaning brushes and radiocarbon dating. The adults let me wear myself out over the course of nearly ten minutes before the bubbling feeling died down enough for me to become self-aware and slightly embarrassed.

“Um …”

A tuft of white hair poked up on the corner of the screen. It was followed by a grey eye and part of a nose.

“Should I sit down, now?”

“Yes, of course, sweetie,” Aunt Kate said, motioning for Oliver to take a seat next to her. The portion of a face disappeared, then Oliver came fully into view as he wiggled up next to his mom. Uncle Wyatt leaned to reach around Aunt Kate and give Oliver’s hair a ruffle. His son let out an embarrassed sound before doing his best to smooth it back down.

“Now Oliver is also going to be allowed to open up a present a little early,” Aunt Kate said, bending down to grab something from under her seat. A box wrapped in a paper that shifted between pinks, blues, and greens depending on how the light hit it was now in her lap. The present was long, flat, and Oliver was hardly able to balance it when it was handed off to him.

“What’s that tag say there, Oliver?” Aunt Kate asked.

“From Aunt Poppy, Uncle Raul, and Cousin Ellie,” Oliver read in a dutiful manner. He made a quick glance to the screen before running his fingers under the crease in the paper.

My heart sank. A heavy feeling started to drag me down as Oliver tore the wrapping paper away and revealed a giant art set. His face lit up, and he practically bounced in his seat as is eyes danced over the colorful array of pens and pencils.

I hadn’t picked the art set out. I’d never even seen the item in his arms until just now. I hated the feeling of my aunt Kate saying that it was from me. I hated the fact that I hadn’t even thought about my aunt Kate, Uncle Wyatt, or Cousin Oliver at all between our last visit months ago and just earlier this morning.

“Thank you!” Oliver said, smiling ear-to-ear. He wasn’t like me – he didn’t have to be told to say ‘thank you.’

“You’re welcome, Ollie,” my mom said, delighted by the reaction. “Your mom tells me you like to draw – just like her. Have you drawn anything fun lately?”

My eyes wandered away from the screen as Oliver mentioned something about baseball before running off. His voice faintly came through the speakers, and my parents chuckled. I continued staring at the dashboard, my eyes coming to rest on the blank screen of the tablet sitting in the loading dock. It was devoid of the fingerprints, scuffs marks, and smudges of chocolate akin to the one I had at home.

“… and Riley won the game with the last home run!” Oliver said. I looked up at the tail end of the statement, missing the picture he was holding up. Oliver didn’t seem to notice, although his eyes met mine for a moment before looking down to his lap. He picked up a piece of paper in a delicate fashion, keeping the image on the other side hidden.

“That’s a good one, there,” Uncle Wyatt said. There was an encouraging note to his voice, which he accented with raised brows when Oliver glanced his way.

“It’s OK,” Oliver said, turning the paper around. It took me longer than it probably should have to figure out what the creature of golds, blues, and browns was supposed to be. To be fair, what Oliver drew wasn’t actually a real animal of any sort. It was a person – someone with tanned skin and two long plaits of dark hair falling over their shoulders. The figure’s arms and legs were sprawled out like a flying squirrel jumping from tree-to-tree, but the hood on the golden suit they were wearing clearly depicted a long beak splashed with teal.

“Nemicolopterus crypticus,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“I looked it up,” Oliver said, talking to his shoes. “You thought the anti-gravity dome was like flying. It’s not, but I guess the nemi ... nemi-co-loc-tipus cryptis can fly, so if you were like that, then maybe you could also fly.”

My parents flinched at the loud ‘thump’ accompanying my fossil kit hitting the carpet. I dashed to the door, hitting the ‘open’ button again and again until a gust of warm air from the hallway blew over me. I ended up running the opposite way of the elevators and down the hall of metallic doors to my right and windows to my left. I kept my eyes fixed ahead, and eventually found myself facing a large door stamped with ‘EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY.’ I considered pushing it open anyway, but years of engraving from both parents and teachers concerning what I could and couldn’t touch stilled my hand. It was those bold letters stamped in red that finally forced me to a stop. My expression crumbled as a voice drifted from behind me.

“Ellie!”

I crouched into a squat. My forehead touched my knees as I squeezed my eyes closed so hard I started to see red splotches across my lids.

“Ellie, baby, are you OK?” my dad said. I could feel the weight of a large hand on my back. “Are you feeling sick?”

A shook my head. A lighter touch began stroking my hair.

“It’s been a busy morning,” my mom said in a whisper. “We had to get up so early for security; she might need a nap.”

“I don’t need a nap,” I mumbled.

The hum my mom made clearly disputed my statement. I lifted my head and looked over my shoulder. My parents’ worried expressions didn’t make me feel any better.

“I didn’t get him that present,” I said.

“What?” Dad said. Realization relaxed the furrow to his brow. “Ah, you mean the art set.”

“Well, it’s from all of us,” my mom said as my dad nodded in agreement. “You were just so busy, honey, that your dad and I had to pick something out before it got too late; I’m sorry we didn’t tell you about it before.”

I dipped my head to stare at a white tile so shiny I could almost see myself in it, “I didn’t get him anything.”

“Oh, Ellie, no one is upset,” Mom said as she continued to stroke my hair. “Oliver’s birthday is coming up soon; you can pick out a present for him then, OK?”

I nodded, but kept my eyes averted. My focus shifted to the large, glass windows behind my parents. I stared out over the bay until a seagull in the distance caught my attention. A tugging sensation pulled me like a string, and I hopped to my feet.

“Ellie?”

I pushed myself between my parents and dashed down the hall. Once again, I pressed the ‘open’ button as if my life depended on it before the doors parted with a soft ‘woosh.’

“Ellie!” My aunt Kate said. She had an arm around Oliver, who was leaning against her with his back hunched and arms crossed. On his other side was my Uncle Wyatt, who had crouched down to Oliver’s level and had been mid-sentence when I stormed in.

“I didn’t get you anything!” I shouted. This grabbed Oliver’s attention. A hint of confusion touched the pinched nature to his features. Those features, and everything else, disappeared from the large screen when I yanked the tablet out of its dock. The FCP’s logo blinked on the screen for a moment, before the image of my family reappeared in a much smaller format.

“I can’t fly,” I said, turning around. “But sometimes I try; I’ll show you.”

The doors opened again, and my mom let out a startled sound as I squeezed around her and headed out to the left this time. I didn’t have to see her to know the frustrated noise she made was accompanied by her hands being thrown in the air.

“Can you please stay put?!”

“Oliver and I are going flying,” I said, pressing the button for the elevator. While I waited, I found the icon on the tablet to switch to the rear-facing camera.

“It’s a cool view up here,” I said, holding the tablet as far above my head as I could. I panned to the right to take in the large windows. “You can see the ocean and the big buildings on the other side of the water. I’ve been down there once to get seashells.”

A few seconds passed. When no sound came, I lowered the tablet with a frown, wondering if it was on mute. Most of the screen displayed the rear camera, but there was a small square in the corner showing my aunt, uncle, and cousin; it reminded me a little of the picture we had of my great-something aunt and my great-something grandpa while they stood on the Arno. Even though the lopsided view of the pier wasn’t anything nearly as impressive as a spaceship, the people crowded in the little corner looked nothing short of in awe.

“Look at that, Kate,” Uncle Wyatt said, directing her gaze with his finger. “That skyline used to be practically flat! You remember when the Ferris wheel was the tallest thing? Just look at that! It’s not even half the height as the skyscraper next to it!”

“Goodness,” Aunt Kate said, putting a hand to her chest. "Santangeles has really changed! It looks so industrial now.”

The elevator let out a ding. I could see my aunt and uncle deflate a little when the picture shifted from the skyline to my shoes.

“Ellie!” my mom said, dashing to catch the elevator. “They don’t let us take the tablets out of the communications rooms anymore, honey. We need to put it back, OK?”

“But she’s just a kid who doesn’t know any better,” Dad said. He caught mom’s arm and gave her a wink. Irritation crossed Mom’s features.

“If they take away our privileges …”

“They didn’t take away your privileges when you spilled a bottle of pop on a multi-million-dollar communications console,” Dad said, his smile widening. “I don’t think they’ll go after a six-year-old walking around in the grass.”

The doors began to close, and my mom looked down at me with a worried expression.

Uncle Wyatt’s voice floated from the tablet, “We’ll keep her out of trouble, Poppy! Well, out of more trouble.”

The doors closed and the elevator began to move with a pleasant hum. There wasn’t much to see in the polished elevator, so the picture remained on the glowing touch screen which flashed the floor numbers as we descended. The trip to the first floor was at least a fast one since the holiday appeared to leave most of the building close to empty.

“Wyatt,” Aunt Kate said, reflecting the tone my mom had earlier. “They wouldn’t really do something, would they? Are you sure this is OK?”

“Trust me,” Uncle Wyatt said. He leaned forward in his seat, an eager grin on his face as he regarded the gold doors. “My cousin did much worse in her day. She even took one of these things out so we could go to that Loco Koko’s concert for my twenty-third birthday.”

“Wyatt.”

“Which you should never do,” Uncle Wyatt said, wagging his finger at the screen. “Always do as your mother says, Ellie Bean. This is a one-time-only thing, OK? This will be the only time you’re going to tuck that tablet under your armpit so it isn’t noticeable. And this will most certainly be the only time you’re going to play dumb if any of the security folk stop you and ask you about taking it outside. Also, don’t be afraid to play the ‘I’m-just-a-cute-kid-and-it’s-Christmas’ card, if you have to.”

Uncle Wyatt chuckled, “Huh; ‘Christmas card.’ You get that, Kate? I said–”

“Uh-huh.”

The elevator dinged, and I scrambled to put the tablet under my arm as the doors opened. The journey across the grand lobby toward the lawn at the rear of the building was a blur – I’m sure the only thing that saved me from being stopped for suspicious activity was the fact that I looked like the least threatening being in existence with my puny frame and blinking Christmas sweater. I’m certain if anyone had bothered to question me, I would’ve folded like a lawn chair. Lucky for me, I was only garnered sideways glances before the people milling about went back to their own high-spirited conversations.

Ugh, my coat

The fact that I had neglected to grab my coat on the way out hit me like a train the second I was smacked by a blast of wind. I shivered, but plowed onward. I didn’t dare to run until I was a good way away from the building … which to a dumb kid was roughly about ten feet.

“OK!” I said, lifting the tablet above my head again. “This is how I fly! I don’t go very far, so don’t laugh.”

It only took a few minutes of running for the shock of cold to shift to me suddenly feeling almost too hot. I repeatedly leapt off the short hills, pulling the tablet to my chest at the last minute as I rolled over the crunchy grass. My aunt Kate made worried sounds the first few jumps, but her protests died down as I approached the beach. When the grass beneath my feet fell away to sand, I collapsed, gulping in the salty air. My arms were sorer than they’d ever been, but I still lifted the tablet up as high as I could go.

There was silence again. My family in their little square just stared. The wind had died down some, and the waves came in and out in a languid manner. I was a little put out the sight wasn’t more impressive; on warmer days there’d be boats in the distance, and maybe even a pod of dolphins. I had to tilt the tablet upward if I wanted to give my family a sign of any sort of life. A seagull flew directly overhead, and Oliver jumped at the sound of its high-pitched squawk.

“See, they can really fly,” I said, turning to follow the bird’s flight. The seagull circled for a moment before noting I didn’t appear to be a bearer of Francistani fries from the FCP’s cafeteria. With another squawk, it flapped away toward the tall building – a lighthouse, as I’d learned – in the distance.

“I wish I could fly,” I said. The statement was made in passing, and more to myself. It was something that crossed my mind almost any time I watched a bird float by, but this was the first time I really voiced the sentiment. It was funny how much it used to hurt that I couldn’t fly. It was a silly thing for a child to lament over; a testament to the carefree nature of my upbringing. I miss those days.

“You can fly.”

I lowered the tablet to eye level. It was the first time Oliver had spoken since we’d left the communications room. He stared back at me with a steadfast expression.

“I saw you just now,” Oliver said. “You can fly. Here-” Oliver lifted up the picture in his lap, the one of a girl with plaits soaring against a backdrop filled with stars. “See? You can fly! Just like a nemlo … nemotus … like a dinosaur.”

 I couldn’t fight back the smile tugging at my cheeks. I crossed my legs and wiggled myself into a more comfortable position. “I look like a superhero!”

“Really?” Oliver tilted his head to look at the drawing. “I kinda thought you ended up looking like you were in pajamas …”

The mental image of me flying around in my neon green Puffy Pets onesie, fuzzy tail and all, made me snort. Oliver brightened, and started to laugh along with me.

“Well, superheroes do have a tendency to fly around looking like they’re in pajamas,” Uncle Wyatt chimed in. “I think you’d fit right in.”

I puffed out my chest. “I’d be Nemicolopterus Crypticus! And I’d fly around saving people from bugs and stuff!”

Oliver frowned. “Bugs? What’s wrong with bugs? Do they smell or something? And that name is really hard to say.”

“Oliver,” my aunt Kate warned.

“Bugs are gross – and I guess that’s true,” I said. I laid down on my back, pointing the camera straight up at the churning grey clouds. “People would have trouble calling for help if they have to say Nemicolopterus Crypticus all the time.”

“You need a good name,” Oliver said. “Something the bad guys would be afraid of.” He put his chin in his hand as if working out a complex puzzle, “What did it say on your box?”

I hummed as I pulled up the memory, “Uh … ‘The Big Dino Fossil Kit for Big Dino Kids’.”

“See? That’s easier,” Oliver said.

“Nuh-uh,” I said, laughing, “It’s just as long as Nemicolopterus Crypticus!”

“Not the whole thing!” Oliver said in his defense. “Just ‘Dino Kid’! You could be Dino Kid, or Dino Girl, or Captain Dino. Ooh! Or Dr. Dino!”

Something wet landed on my forehead. I sat up and rubbed it away. “I guess those do sound more superhero-y,” I said. “But I have to go to medical school to be Dr. Dino, and I can’t do that until I get a driver’s license … I think I like Dino Girl the best.”

“Yeah!” Oliver said, leaning forward in his seat. “You’re Dino Girl! You fly around saving people from Wargals!”

I made a face like I’d smelled something unpleasant, “What’s a Wargal?”

“It’s a–”

“Look!”

My uncle’s voice caused us to go silent. We watched as white tufts of snow started to drift down from the grey sky, falling to the sand or dissolving into the ocean. My aunt Kate lifted a hand over mouth and let out a soft gasp.

“It’s snowing,” I said, making the sort of obvious statement only a child could get away with. I got to my feet and lifted up the tablet, turning in slow circles.

“I’ll tell you about Wargals later,” Oliver whispered.

“OK,” I said, already looking forward to our next family call.