“Break a leg, gorgeous!” they said.
Gorgeous? Did they mean her?
Miss Satomi laughed.
“Now let’s find some shoes.”
Unfortunately, shoes were more difficult; her feet were larger than what most of these stores carried. But with Miss Satomi helping her, Katrina was able to at least point out styles she preferred. Astrid would find the right sizes later.
After, Miss Satomi helped her find makeup, from a real store with makeup stations, huge mirrors, and full-spectrum lighting. A cheerful girl named Rocio matched her skin tone for foundation and helped her refine her contouring.
Rocio also told her she was very lucky she did not have much facial hair, but she might want to consider getting laser done soon.
“I tried waxing,” Katrina said. “With strips I bought from the Internet.”
Rocio cringed. “From the … Internet? Honey, were they at least for the face?”
“They make them for just the face?”
“I’ll have Astrid make arrangements for lasering later,” Shizuka said quickly. “But no more home waxing your face.”
“Yes, Miss Satomi.”
Katrina walked out of the mall with two large bags and a blank stare. It had been okay.
It had been okay?
Why?
Why was Kev like that?
Why was Rocio like that?
Why was Astrid like that, and Shirley?
Why, why, why?
Why was she born this way, a human being?
Why did being human hurt so much? Why couldn’t she have been different, without a soul, without worth? Why couldn’t she have been the thing her parents might have wanted?
Why couldn’t anyone have treated her this way this before?
* * *
“Mother. I have news from the Empire.”
“Yes, Shirley.”
“The High Council has decided to close all borders to the Home Quadrant. Their official reason is to prevent the spread of the Endplague, but they are halting departures, as well.”
Lan wasn’t surprised. They were fortunate to have left when they had.
“Are there any messages that you would like me to send?”
“No. Silence has been good to us.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Thank you, Shirley.”
Traveling through space-time is like driving through Los Angeles. Universes pass by like random cars on the four-level at rush hour. To keep their way, ships must synchronize with their own timeline at regular intervals. Stargates perform this function automatically; in fact, providing foolproof space-time coordinates was one of the primary functions of a stargate.
But since the Trans had arrived at this planet without utilizing a stargate, both spatial and chronological navigation were manual. Many good pilots would not have been able to do this. However, Lan was far more than a good pilot. Now the only way to interact with their home timeline was to recombine their raw navigation data with the correct space-time variables.
And the only one with access to variables, as well as the computational ability to perform this calculation, was Shirley.
Lan strictly limited contact to their home timeline to weekly reports, and only to Shirley. No one else knew about the connection home. Although Lan did not want to keep secrets from her crew, contact with the Empire might invite hunters, invaders, and even other, less careful, refugees.
Besides, until they were fully situated here, she needed everyone to focus on the planet they were on. They could not grow complacent, for with its Internet, Stargate machines, donuts, and ducks, this planet seemed touched with a madness that Lan now believed was not the Endplague, yet confounded her all the same.
* * *
“Arch your back. A sunken chest means a sunken sound!”
“Your bow hold is collapsing—you can’t already be tired.”
“No, I don’t care how it sounds in the game. Cleaner!”
“Timing! Timing!”
“More precision on the marcato! Mar-ca-to!”
Shizuka knew Katrina was straining. But Shizuka would push her student even more. No, she could not take away Katrina’s past. But what she could give her was this training, this practice—how to make this measure, this passage—better than it had been before.
Shizuka had thought she knew all about being damned. Still, she had always assumed that damnation required some sort of exchange.
Yet, this student, this human being, had been forsaken not for ambition, nor revenge, nor even love, but for merely existing?
Who needs the Devil when people can create a hell like this themselves?
“You’re still too tense. Relax your fingers. Unless you relax, the notes will sound indistinct.”