Page 56 of Exit Party

Marlowe fell silent. My father holding my hand when I was four, on a steep climb up a grassy hill. My father baking cookies when I was seven, carefully distributing an equal number of chocolate chips. My father playing the piano, my father eating ice cream—

Another text from Samir:

There isn’t much time

—my father applauding in the front row of my school play, my father driving me to college. My father last year on my roof deck, lying back in a lounge chair, staring up at the night sky like he’d never seen stars. Another text from Samir:

I’m sorry to tell you via text but we both know you won’t call me back

The audience was stirring now, making inquiring noises. Someone coughed.

“I’m sorry,” Marlowe said to the audience. “I have a personal emergency to attend to.” And then, because she was delivering this lecture via holograph, she disappeared into thin air.

4

Ibari had attended several of Marlowe’s lectures, because her closest friend—actually, her only friend—was Marlowe’s father, and she’d known Marlowe and her brother since their early childhoods. Ibari knew Marlowe wouldn’t vanish unless it was a true emergency. She waited a moment in the VR room, watching the empty stage to see if Marlowe would return. Then a text appeared in her field of vision, from one of her informants:

Kareem is dying.

Ibari removed her headset—the auditorium and the floating text disappeared—and sank back into her office chair. She’d known this moment was coming for a long time, and her own grief was surprising to her. You have so much time until you don’t, that was the thing she kept thinking, and she knew that was nonsensical but the thought ran on a loop in her head. She rose and went back to the window, hoping to steady herself. The kite was still there, between towers. Strange to realize how little time had passed, when the entire calculus of the world had just shifted. What she longed for in that moment was to talk to Nico, but of course no one had seen Nico in over thirty years.

5

Samir was on the moon when Ibari called. He’d worked on and off in Colony One since college and held a job that on paper should have been ideal. But what he hadn’t understood, when he’d started out as an architect, was that excelling in his field would mean less and less time actually designing buildings and their interior spaces, and more and more time in client meetings. He’d advanced to a high position in the premier architectural and engineering firm for off-world development, and his least favourite clients, who by some horrible luck were currently his only clients, were seated across from him. One of his colleagues was presenting an engineering report that Samir had already read, so it seemed reasonable to take Ibari’s call. He rose and stepped away from the table.

“I just spoke with your father’s doctor,” Ibari said.

“Yeah,” Samir said, “he called me a half-hour ago. I have to get through this meeting, then I’m headed back to Earth. Do you know if Marlowe knows that we’re close to the end?”

“You should be the one to tell her.”

“Samir,” someone said, behind him.

“I’ll call you back,” Samir said. When he turned back to the table, everyone was staring.

“Forgive me,” he said, “just dealing with a, a personal—I’m sorry.”

“Quite all right,” his colleague said. They hadn’t worked together for very long, but had already developed some rudimentary telepathic communication. His colleague was giving him the look that meant The client is an idiot. “Our client was just asking a question about surface development.”

“I . . . what? I’m sorry,” Samir said, “say that again.”

The client smiled. His teeth were unnaturally white. When he leaned forward, several of his staffers leaned forward too, unconsciously.

“Well,” the client said. “It’s just, I’ve been hearing all about these underground dwellings, right?”

Samir nodded. “That’s the only way to build on Proxima Centauri B, unfortunately.” Under the table, he was texting Marlowe:

Marlowe call me it’s urgent

“Sure,” the client said, “okay, I hear you, but are we being too timid here?”

“Too timid?” It was difficult to concentrate on the meeting now. There was no scenario where Marlowe was going to call him back. They weren’t particularly close. Something was off about Marlowe and had been for some time, but the exact parameters of the problem were confusing to him. She’d told him something vague about PTSD but hadn’t really gotten into specifics, and he didn’t entirely understand what had happened to her.

“We are pioneers,” the client continued, “are we not?” His staffers nodded. Yes. Pioneers. “Pioneers are bold. Pioneers take risks. Let’s build on the surface.”

“We can’t build on the surface,” Samir said. Everyone at the table looked nervous. Several of the client’s staffers frowned. Marlowe hadn’t texted him back, so he texted her again:

Dad is drying