different databases to verify. I attempted small-talk, asking idle questions and getting generic answers as he ran my registration. He mentioned something about business being slow the past couple of days, I asked why.
“I dunno… bright ball of light in the sky… can’t miss it…”
I remembered my last trip to the beach, and realized that some interest had formed in me. I regretted not trying to look for the star in the daylight. Even if it were shining on the other side of the world, I thought, I might’ve taken comfort from knowing it was somewhere out there.
“What do you think about that supernova?” I asked.
The manager stopped for a second. His eyes seemed to shift a little, but he returned to his work without answering.
I felt embarrassed and tried to distract myself. My wandering eyes peeked into the open door of the back office, where I saw a large man wearing boxing gloves – motionless and looking to a part of the room I couldn’t see. I decided that he was probably watching the holograms fight when there weren’t any customers. I heard a beep from the groundtem and he smacked it hard with his hand, obviously suppressing the urge to shout.
Just a little anger. Nothing to worry about.
The manager stoically asked me to sign with my thumbprint. I looked down to my own panel and saw the text of California’s Safe Ascender Act of 2166: the document I was required by state law to sign whenever I ascended alone.
I was led down to the dimly-lit fifth floor and through a couple of long hallways. I drank two days worth of stabilizer from the packet, wanting for it to be out of my system by the third day, in spite of the risk. The manager pressed his thumb on the panel for booth 515 and its opening appeared in
“I dunno… bright ball of light in the sky… can’t miss it…”
I remembered my last trip to the beach, and realized that some interest had formed in me. I regretted not trying to look for the star in the daylight. Even if it were shining on the other side of the world, I thought, I might’ve taken comfort from knowing it was somewhere out there.
“What do you think about that supernova?” I asked.
The manager stopped for a second. His eyes seemed to shift a little, but he returned to his work without answering.
I felt embarrassed and tried to distract myself. My wandering eyes peeked into the open door of the back office, where I saw a large man wearing boxing gloves – motionless and looking to a part of the room I couldn’t see. I decided that he was probably watching the holograms fight when there weren’t any customers. I heard a beep from the groundtem and he smacked it hard with his hand, obviously suppressing the urge to shout.
Just a little anger. Nothing to worry about.
The manager stoically asked me to sign with my thumbprint. I looked down to my own panel and saw the text of California’s Safe Ascender Act of 2166: the document I was required by state law to sign whenever I ascended alone.
I was led down to the dimly-lit fifth floor and through a couple of long hallways. I drank two days worth of stabilizer from the packet, wanting for it to be out of my system by the third day, in spite of the risk. The manager pressed his thumb on the panel for booth 515 and its opening appeared in