Dom Higgs’ party is bigger than I expected. People stand in small groups, rooted to the gold-flecked white marble by heels and loafers dyed colors spread across the rainbow. Their dresses and suits are colorful blooms against the gilded cage of the walls. It’s all very bright. And too much for me.

  After meeting with Evangeline, I called Gen to tell her about the tickets and nothing else. Under no circumstances could Gen find out I met with Evangeline. In the course of the conversation, Gen convinced me we had to go to the party, and she would trade me something for one of the tickets. That I’d get to meet Dom Higgs and continue on my trade journey. Wins all around.

  Except I’m trapped in a group talking bot upgrades. I sip whiskey next to Gen. The drink is smooth and far more expensive than anything I’ve ever bought. I’m quiet as a mouse, grimace instead of grin, and laugh a little too late. There’s one affliction that causes that.

  Nerves.

  Being around large groups used to be exhilarating. I was a mimic that blended into any crowd, becoming anyone and being anything. Now I shrink and beg the floor to swallow me whole. If this had been a quiet affair, with a smaller crowd, I would have been fine. But the expansive party spreading through the ballroom is an oppressive, claustrophobic force due to how much I’m an outsider. I can’t blame my nerves all on the party.

  Logic and reason should have convinced me not to help Evangeline. Her plan to steal information from Prism was dangerous. And, although I had known Evangeline for five years, I didn’t know much about her. So, helping her gather information while I helped myself through the trades and spent time with Evangeline sans Gen should have seemed too good to be true. It should have set off every alarm bell I had.

  But I am the moth to her funeral pyre.

  I agreed to help Evangeline break free from Prism.

  With a sigh, I drain my drink and ease back away from the circle of people discussing mechanical birds to get more whiskey from the bar. The walls cling to angles and geometry enmeshed in strong, hard lines and proud, bold choices. Art Deco, gone as quickly as it came onto the scene, was brought to life in a different decade. It’s bright, because it’s beautiful. An exception to the usual rule, though the neon lights spread along the faceted golden walls and ceiling help make it bright. Along my way to the open bar, pieces of conversation float free, carried on expensive perfume.

  “…the humanoid aspect of the new design isn’t needed…”

  “…and then I told him, ‘Sir, I’m afraid I’m not a helper bot’…”

  “…he’s egotistical for claiming that his company created the new chip by themselves…”

  The bar offers reprieve. I ask for another whiskey and take solace in the smooth vaporwave music. It meshes with the voices in the room, obscuring the conversations.

  I tip the bartender and take a sip of whiskey.

  I am way out of my depth.

  “Fancy seeing you here.”

  I choke on the drink because there’s no missing who that voice belongs to. The words are laced in smoke and velvet. Danger, and the promise of illicit happenings in the dark. Evangeline struts towards me, head held high, long white hair spilling down the back of her gold dress. She’s jaw-dropping gorgeous, and a far cry better than my vacuum bagged skeleton cloaked in a violet sequined number I pulled from Mel’s closet. I never wear dresses, and this one, while fitting for the party, has made me self-conscious due to a low neckline and high-cut slits.

  “Evangeline, hi,” I say, blinking tears from my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  A sly smile takes her golden lips. “I wouldn’t miss a Dom Higgs party for all the jewels in the world.”

  “But you traded me the tickets.”

  “Those were two of the three I had. Enjoying yourself?”

  I take a deep, burning breath. Nothing like a fine coating of alcohol along the esophagus. “I’m not in my element. I repair bots, I don’t make new ones or advancements.”

  Evangeline orders a glass of chardonnay. The buttery yellow liquid becomes another accessory to her outfit. She steps free of the bar’s domain, taking up residence against the golden wall that has nothing on her. I follow, sick with puppy love.

  “That lil’ bot of yours is advanced enough,” she purrs, drawing me closer.

  Heat blossoms across my cheeks. People don’t take much stock of Az. He’s another helper bot in a sea of modern convenience. “He is, but it’s also taken a lifetime.”

  Evangeline reaches out and tucks an escaped tendril of green hair behind my ear. Her hand lingers on the hot skin, trailing down my neck before she pulls it away. A shiver passes down my spine.

  “You should give yourself more credit,” Evangeline says.

  My brain fizzles and dies. Oh God, come on, self. Restart it. I take a sip while I wait for my thoughts to boot.

  “What did you do with the other ticket?” Evangeline asks.

  I point at Gen. She’s still involved in the same circle, but her attention is on us, her eyes wide.

  Evangeline leans in. “She’s upset.”

  “A little, yeah,” I concede. It’s an understatement. Gen doesn’t do little when it comes to her emotions.

  “So, you used the tickets and came to a party you’re not enjoying?”

  “Yep.” I take another sip. I should have traded the tickets away.

  “What will you do now that you don’t have tickets to trade?” Evangeline says, playing with the stem of her glass.

  “Gen’s trading me for her ticket,” I say, averting my eyes.

  “Good. Prism won’t have anything to question then.”

  My shoulders tighten, ready for danger. I suck in a breath and hold it for a beat. I sigh it out and shake my head. “Prism is watching to that low of a level?”

  “Of course,” Evangeline says with a shrug. “You’re one of their newest targets, and they’re suspicious of me.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I clench my jaw. It’s all too much. I never wanted to be involved in this, but I wasn’t going to leave Evangeline to fend for herself. Worse, I didn’t want to have to fend for myself against an organization I knew very little about. Helping Evangeline get out helped me survive as well. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.

  “Excuse me, I need some air.”

  I leave the wall and slip through the groups towards the patio doors. There’s no guarantee she’s not following, and I don’t dare glance back.

  The conversations blur together with the ill-fitting music and crass lights. None of this should exist. The too rich people in a society all about equality, Prism fueling it all under the scenes, and the building dread in my stomach. I push through the ornate crystal doors to a sparsely populated balcony.

  The cool night air is a welcome relief. It kisses each cheek and leads me from the boisterous room to the quiet evening far above the rushing traffic and pedestrians. The night begs a coat, but I left mine at the front entrance, and I’m not going back in for it. A few people stand around high-top tables, their conversations low and unimposing.

  Perfect.

  I head to a vacant table at the edge of the patio and set my drink on it. The small chartreuse clutch I also borrowed from Mel clicks open with a simple press. I pull out my cigs and a lighter. It’ll be an extra one. Dessert. Something in moderation. And needed for my shot nerves.

  The first intake of nicotine does little. I wish Az were here. He’s a comfort, and perhaps a crutch, but at this point I don’t care. But this isn’t the type of party you bring a bot to. The mega smart, mega ego, or mega annoying people present would pick Az apart, and by extension, me, since I built and coded him.

  The second intake leads me to lean over the railing. Although the city steals the stars from the sky, ‘Cuse is beautiful at night. A splatter of color leaks into the surrounding trees. Carmine leaks into tangerine through the streets, cyan blends to lime through windows, magenta slips into orchid on balconies, and it all crashes together to form a rainbow of civilization.

  “Bum a cig?” a soft voice says behind me.

  I almost drop my cig over the railing. It’s not Evangeline; the voice is missing the edge and danger. I spin, and a femme presenting person dressed in a long glittering coat over a naked chest and brilliant blue bike shorts stands by the table. Fashion tape must keep the coat in place so that they’re not flashing everyone. It’s a daring piece. They tower over me in silver stilettos that grace their deep, dark skin and enhance their tall build. I follow the legs up to their face to find kind brown eyes and full lips. The person has shaved their head, leaving a tight dusting of black curls. My mouth falls. I click it closed, the shock going through my teeth. I’m pretty sure they’re Dom Higgs, my tech idol.

  “Well?” Dom asks.

  “Sure, of course,” I whisper, starstruck. I hold out the case, and Dom plucks a shocking pink cig that matches their lipstick. They cup the flame against the wind, revealing long, electric pink nails and rings on every finger. The cig end burns orange as Dom pulls smoke in.

  “Careful, those things will kill you,” I say.

  They blow out a cloud of smoke, which the wind steals without a care. “Same to you. Filthy habit. Mine’s from college, yours?”

  “High school,” I say with a grimace. It’s not something I’m proud of. They nod, as if I’ve told her the most natural thing in the world.

  “I’m Dom, she or her. You?”

  Knew it. Not that I’m telling her that. Not a bright thing to do. I reply, making sure to include my pronouns. I don’t meet many new people and have to remind myself how to behave in polite society.

  "You’re one of the people who came on the free tickets.” It’s not a question. Dom says it without a doubt, though there is an edge of curiosity to her voice. There’s no use denying her words.

  “Yes, and my friend, Gen.” I jiggle the cig, needing something to channel the bubbling well of anxiety into so it doesn’t take over my whole body.

  “Was she the one enjoying the conversation while you looked tortured?”

  “I don’t know if tortured is the exact word I would use.”

  “What word would you use?”

  I huff out a laugh and shake my head. “Maybe out of my depth?”

  “That’s not a word.”

  “It is if you add enough hyphens."

  Dom Higgs smiles at me. Her lips split, and a musical laugh falls from her mouth. If I accomplish nothing else in my life, I can at least know I’ve brought joy to my tech idol for an iota of her life.

  Doubt creeps in.

  Dom is throwing this party, and I admitted to not enjoying it.

  Uh oh.

  “Sorry, it’s a great party and all, I’m—“

  “It’s fine, Jaqs,” Dom interrupts. She breathes out a lungful of smoke. “I’m in the same boat.”

  “You are? Aren’t you throwing this party?”

  Dom shakes her head, glittering coat flashing in the lights behind her. “I guess. My board is the one that wanted it, because they say I need to do things like this to keep investments coming in. I’ve become another product for my company. This party is full of people wanting to connect professionally. Except for Evangeline, and you, since she brought you?”

  “R-right,” I stammer. It’s mostly true. I fantasized about someday working with Dom, but I didn’t think I’d meet her at this party, and hadn’t put any plan outside of the daydreams into action. “You know Evangeline?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Dom says. She doesn’t explain further. “How do you know her?”

  “She stops by the shop I work at sometimes,” I answer. It’s true, though I’ve long suspected there’s something more there. With the inkling of information I have about Evangeline and Prism, the suspicion is turning to worry for what Gen is wrapped up in. I take a sip of my whiskey to chase away the concern. Now’s not the time.

  “What type of shop?”

  “I fix bots. Hardware and software, when we can.”

  “When you can get past the security of the manufacturer to touch the code you mean,” Dom replies with a bright smile.

  I smile back but don’t answer.

  Dom turns to gaze out over ‘Cuse. Her eyes go distant, staring past the myriad of lights and into some deeper part of herself that the night and drink often open a door for. “I’m glad Evangeline gave you and your friend the tickets.”

  “You are?”

  “When I gave Evangeline the tickets, I told her they couldn’t go to a rich person. They can buy their way in, and while our society tries to take care of all, sometimes we come up short. If someone wants, rubbing elbows with people in there could make their career. Why not spread that wealth around?”

  I hum around my cig. Not sure what it says about me that making conversation with people who could enrich my life to the point I could buy a ticket to space is akin to shoving sticks under my nails. There are a few ways I can respond to Dom’s proclamation, but I want Dom to find me interesting. Want her to remember this conversation and me beyond being the person she bummed a cig from. There’s one way I can think of to do that.

  “I almost traded the tickets away instead of coming,” I say.

  “Really?” Dom says, surprise lacing the word.

  I shrug, acting nonchalant. Telling Dom my dream may be a horrible mistake. “Nothing against you. I’m trying to do this thing that requires me to keep trading increasingly valued things.”

  “What’s the thing?” Dom asks.

  “It’s silly.” There’s no way Dom Higgs is interested in this. I’ve grossly miscalculated this. But, I’m in too deep to pull back. “I want to get to the stars, walk among them, all that touristy stuff.”

  Dom is silent. Great. Tell the multimillionaire that you want to play space tourist. Way to go. She’ll remember me, alright. Remember me as the silly woman with the even sillier dream.

  “That’s a great dream. I hope it happens for you.” Dom shuffles down the railing until she’s standing next to me, elbow touching mine. My brows shoot up. She’s not faking interest in this; she’s invested. “How does trading get you there?”

  I blink at her, not expecting her sincerity. “I had the idea to trade up to a ticket.”

  “You don’t want to do it through cost?”

  “Not as feasible for me as it is for you.”

  I grimace, and an ice-cold chill winds around my bones. Oh no. Those weren’t words to say out loud. Gen has given me the same lecture about voicing my opinion three times. One of these days, I’m going to go too far.

  Dom surprises me by laughing. A soft, quiet huff that breaks the ice threading through my veins, but does nothing to slow my heart. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

  “Yeah,” Dom says. “I suppose that’s true. But no loan? No asking friends?”

  “I wouldn’t be approved, and I’m not selfish enough to ask people for cost.” I emphasize the word people. Hoping Dom picks up that she’s included in that. I’m not about to ask her.

  Dom smiles, wide and bright. “I empathize. Your dream is amazing, Jaqs.”

  From her, the words aren’t dull or degrading. They’re bright and a song that ignites the excitement in my chest that fizzled to embers, warming my soul and thawing another part of my heart from last winter. And perhaps she does empathize. From what she’s said in interviews and in this small interaction, her heart is kind. Dom seems to want a genuine connection, and she’s not getting it here.

  I can offer a fix to that.

  “Hey, weird idea, but you said you weren’t enjoying this. Want to ditch your own party, grab my friend, and get food? We can talk about stupid things that have no worth to the financial outcome of your company.”

  Dom laughs. “I’d love to.”