Bright's Light (3 page)

So it was that Grassly came to find Sally Lancaster’s book in the abandoned orbital colony. He knew that some creatures on H51 and other planets migrated to new habitats in response to biological urges and environmental pressures. That sounded much like what Sally Lancaster was talking about. And he remembered a teacher saying something about how all creatures carried within them the “cellular memory” of their species’ entire history. If he could activate the migratory instinct in the ancestors, perhaps they would board his ship willingly. Once they were on his ship, the
Sankalpa,
he would transport them to a rehabbed planet that was ready and able to accommodate their special biological needs.

All he needed to do was to design a special light that would make the ancestors want to travel to a new environment. He needed to invent an enlightener.

Thus fortified with original research and a fail-proof plan, Grassly had left the remains of the extinct colony of earth orbiters, whose ships floated like ghostly hulks far above the last remaining human settlement. Determined
to shine a light on the last remnants of humanity, he was going to go undercover in the Store to help the ancestors help themselves.

Everything went smoothly until he started testing his lights.

The first one had killed the subject instantly. The subject was a young male favour from the House of Splash with signs of a degenerative neurological disorder, not uncommon in the ancestors, who practised an unsustainable form of cloning. It was clear the boy would have been released soon for lack of productivity. Still, Grassly felt bad about the way he had died, with blood spouting from his nose and mouth as he collapsed into a heap, shouting, “I see the light! I see the light!”

Stating the obvious, really, as Grassly had been shining the thing right in his eyes.

Grassly began tinkering with the intensity and frequency of the light, as well as its spectrum. There had been six lights since that first, each designed to activate a different part of the ancestors’ brains. His hypothesis was that the right light, targeting the correct area of the brain, would make the ancestors stop earning and spending credits long enough to migrate to the only part of their environment that featured semi-natural sunlight, which happened to be the least populated, least popular part of the Store and, thanks to Grassly’s strategic planning, the place where he’d parked his ship, the
Sankalpa.

The last favour, the one who’d bitten through the electrical cord, had displayed the most promising reaction to
date. She was obviously trying to create fire and light, both ancient human instincts. The prototype was definitely in the right neighbourhood now, ancient-instinct-wise. Grassly was sure he’d spec’d the frequency correctly this time. That was the hard part to get right, and Sally Lancaster’s book was no help, technically speaking.

As bumpy as the experimental process had been, he remained convinced that an enlightener was the way to go. The ancestors lived in an environment illuminated almost exclusively by artificial means. The Store was covered in a special skin, or membrane, that was porous enough to allow oxygen exchange and carbon dioxide filtration systems to function, but not so porous that the many chemicals and toxins the last humans had unleashed on each other during the final war could get inside and poison the inhabitants. The faint light from outside that made it through the semi-translucent skin was considered a serious distraction by the Board of Deciders, who ran the Store, so the skin around the inhabited areas was coated in a specially formulated breathable black paint, and extremely small but powerful lights were installed across the upper infrastructure to imitate stars.

The situation inside the House of Gear, Grassly’s base of operations, was particularly optimal from a lightdevelopment perspective. The ancestors inside the House of Gear were voracious light users and wearers, illuminated from the time they awoke until they were drugged into unconsciousness in their pods. They carried lights, wore lights—some of them even had small lights implanted in
odd places on their bodies, which made Grassly’s stomach feel upset. The House of Gear residents, who belonged to a class of ancestors known as party favours, had created work and living spaces that were a mass of flashing, strobing, twinkling, and stuttering lights.

If there was any place Grassly could experiment with his enlighteners, it was inside the House of Gear. He had chosen to go undercover as a personal support, or PS, officer because he fit the height and weight requirements and had a standard sort of face. Also, PS staff wore special mirrored dataglasses that wrapped around their faces and allowed them to access the data feed. Through the feed, Grassly could view any part of the Store at any time, and he could use the glasses to hack into the deeper functions of the feed at will. Plus, he thought the dataglasses looked good with his black turtleneck, black slacks, heavy black boots, and black vest. Back on H51, everyone wore clothes with flattering colours and an attractive and customized fit. It was oddly liberating to be anonymous among the other PS officers. And thankfully, the uniform didn’t interfere with his dancing.

His hips sore from trying to do the triple twist, he returned to preparing for the next test. He slid the bulb into the power source and clicked the button. The filaments flickered like dazzling fingers fluttering inside a globe.

He clicked it off and removed the bulb to inspect it. Strange.

Once more he fit it into the wand and clicked it on. Again the light flickered wildly.

None of the other bulbs had done this. Grassly passed his hand through the pulsing stream of light. He clicked it off and on for a third time. Finally, light poured in a solid stream.

To test the light’s reach, he set it on the counter and walked across the dark room. The beam lit up a spot on his clothing at a distance of six feet. That was acceptable.

As he went to turn the light off, he once again passed a hand in front of the beam. A sensation like a thousand skudrins biting him made him jerk his hand, which struck the handle, knocking the light to the floor and smashing the glass bulb.

The area of skin touched by the light was a brilliant red and covered with tiny white bumps. He’d had allergic reactions before: to particular foods and cleaning products and to certain environments, such as the time his family went on vacation to Belroos 6 to look at the craters and something about the light of the six moons made him so sick he had to spend the afternoon on the ship. The symptoms now were unmistakable. A throbbing headache filled his skull, his breathing became laboured, and he had broken out in a flaming rash. Could he be allergic to this new version of the light? Grassly took to his bed to think and to wait for the pain to subside.

It was a typical ancestor bed: remarkably comfortable. He planned to take a selection of beds home when he left. In his opinion, ancestor beds and dancing were the greatest contributions the ancestors had made to the universe, perhaps the
only
useful contributions they’d made to the universe.

He knew he had to be extremely careful from now on. Once he became allergic to something, his reaction increased exponentially each time he was exposed to it. His sensitivity was a constant concern for his Mother, who’d been as vigilant in protecting him as only a familial group mind could be. He wondered why he hadn’t reacted to the flickering light, but wasn’t about to experiment on himself to find out. It was no longer safe for him to handle the lights. That much was clear.

As his pain receded, an idea slid into his brain like both suns dawning over H51 on a perfect day. Once he’d built a new light to the specs of the one he’d just smashed, he would have one of the ancestors wield it during the testing phase. After all, the ancestors had to play an active role in their own rescue. Who better to wield a light than a party favour from the House of Gear? If the chosen favour was accidentally enlightened, Grassly would slip the light to another favour until his tests were complete.

All he had to do was pick the right favour. He began to scroll through the feed, moving his finger at the side of his dataglasses and poking it in the direction of his temple to expand certain screens.

Within seconds he found what he was looking for: the favour with the highest credit score in the House of Gear. Her name was Fon.

Bright caught a ride on one of the privators and reached the dressing room for her designated nutrition update two minutes early. Clients loved to see favours appearing for a shift, but they were less keen to see them during breaks or after work, and with good reason. A good party could really take it out of a person.

After three point five hours on the party floor, so many extensions had been torn off Bright’s eyelashes that she was nearly blinded by the dangling remainders. The low-credit client who put up his wand for Bright long after the highest bidder had claimed Fon had been so shocked to find himself partying with an elite favour, even one whose entrance had failed spectacularly, that he could barely stay upright. The client had loosened one of her teeth when he bowed his introduction. Loose teeth were nothing new. Most favours got their veneers replaced on a monthly basis as a result of client impacts and changing tastes in looks. Still, Bright wasn’t pleased that Fon was partying for the big credits and she was scraping along the bottom with a client who’d clearly never been in the House of Gear before, much less
partied with a favour who was practically top forty like her. And now Fon was late for her nutrition break, which was practically a violation, but it wouldn’t matter! Bright got no recognition for her diligence about taking breaks on time and sometimes even early.

The dressing room was empty. Pinkie and Peaches had probably gone to get the drinks. Bright coughed as she headed for her station, and the loose tooth flew out of her mouth. It clinked quietly as it hit the counter near Fon’s ready station. Bright reached for the tooth, but when she saw the pink construction helmet with the cool beacon light on top, her hand froze in mid-air.

She’d never seen that particular model of helmet before, or that colour. She definitely hadn’t seen one with a light on top! It was so
fun.
And there it sat in front of Fon’s station. As if Fon needed any more advantages. She had a new jetpack that actually worked and a brand-new tint and now this hard-core awesome construction helmet that couldn’t be more perfect for the House of Gear. It was the kind of helmet that could get a girl noticed by scouts from the House of It.

Bright stroked the top of the pink hard hat. It seemed to glow like a living thing in the extremely flattering light of the dressing room. It would look amazing with her Blonder than You hair colour.

Bright scanned the dressing room to make sure neither Pinkie nor Peaches was around to see what she was doing, breathed deeply of the perfumed air, and grabbed the helmet. It wouldn’t hurt anyone if she tried it on. Just for a second.

Bright slid the pink helmet onto her head. She felt a foot taller, in part because the helmet actually made her a foot taller. She smiled seductively at her reflection. Even without her #7 lateral incisor she looked fantastic. Maybe the helmet could become her trademark, like Fon’s halo, and take her to the next level, credit-wise. She’d never had a trademark before.

Then she remembered that the pink construction helmet was Fon’s. It was a new release, affordable only for someone in Fon’s credit bracket. Bright was mid-level, credit-wise, which meant that she could only afford second and sometimes third releases. If you had to go below fourth, you might as well just give up. There was no coming back from that.

Bright started to lift the helmet off her head to put it back on Fon’s ready station, but she hesitated. It was so smooth and warm in her hands. Such a natural fit. And after the shift she’d had so far, she needed extra help to get back on the board.

No one would ever know.

“Hiiiiii!”

When Fon spoke from the doorway, Bright nearly jumped out of her outfit.

“Oh my job, isn’t the music awesome out there tonight?” squealed Fon. “I am having the BEST shift EVER!”

The helmet seemed to constrict around Bright’s temples.

She heard Fon suck in her breath. “Oh. Mah. JOB. Times. Two. I LOVE your helmet!”

Bright’s smile was stuck on her face like a mask. Fon wasn’t smart, but eventually she would realize that the helmet
on Bright’s head was hers and that Bright was totally touching it.

Aware that her expression was more like a pre-throw-up face than a welcoming one, Bright tried to put a little genuine in it.

“Thank you,” she said in a low voice.

“I’m serious!” said Fon. “That is just the greatest helmet ever! EVER!”

Should she take the helmet off and apologize? Say she’d thought it was hers? Say the whole thing was a mistake? Fon was super-nice and not exactly bot-like in the brain department, but she was a favour, and there were rules of conduct to be followed inside a dressing room. Don’t mess with another favour’s gear was pretty much numero uno. Or at least in the top three.

“I was just—”

“Looking for good old #7,” said Fon, pointing sympathetically at the gap in Bright’s dental layout. “I have been there. If I’m not careful, I’ll be getting #11 replaced after this shift. Awesome client from a credit perspective, but clumsy.”

Bright finally took her hand away from the helmet on her head and reached for her tooth, which lay like a bloody little clue near Fon’s Gotta Get Some Glow On tint.

“Yeah,” Bright said.

She sidled away from Fon’s ready station to her own, where she stood, too nervous to sit down. Was she really going to blow past touching and move into
stealing
another favour’s stuff? The thought made her stomach heave.

She needed nutri with calm plus energy properties like ten minutes ago. Where was Pinkie? Probably caught a wheel on a door jamb and got stuck again. Pinkie was an entry-level service bot, but Bright had never even considered trading up.

As if on cue, Pinkie emerged from the bot door on the side of the dressing room holding a large glass of Keep Going and two Hard Charger pills. Peaches was right behind her.