Pluto doesn’t answer straight away. Sharon holds her breath. For once, the Ugly Pretties are completely silent. “Pluto? Are you sad because Makemake hit you? She didn’t mean it.”
Pluto jerks, wipes her face and struggles to get her breathing under control. “No. It’s not that. You need to see this. Come here.”
Sharon hesitates.
“I’m not going to hit you.” Pluto taps a code out. “Look.”
A holo of a man and a woman wearing brightly coloured sarongs shimmers to life. A huge expanse of blue ocean glimmers behind them. In the background, Sharon can hear the sigh of gentle water, the squeal of children’s laughter.
“Who are they?” Sharon asks, but she knows. She just doesn’t want to say it.
“It’s them. Our parents.”
“This is the holo you never let me see? The one they made before they died?”
“No. They sent this yesterday.”
“But … but that’s impossible.”
“Just watch it,” Pluto snaps. Somehow, Sharon’s relieved she’s back to her usual irritated self. Makemake starts clapping her hands and Sharon waits for Pluto to shout at her to stop. She doesn’t.
The mother (Sharon can’t quite make herself think of this woman, with her dyed orange skin and glaring white teeth as her mother◦– she looks nothing like Tyra) glances uneasily at the father. He tries a smile. “Hello, Pluto. Hello, Sharon. It must come as a shock to see us after all these years.” He laughs nervously. Sharon flinches as Pluto reaches over and grasps her hand. Sharon doesn’t recognise these people, the sight of them doesn’t ignite any old memories or flood her with longing. She feels more emotion when she watches the old shows. “We decided it was kinder if you thought we were dead,” the man continues. “We love and miss you both more than we can say.”
“Oh yes,” the mother adds. “So much.”
“But we need you now. Earth needs you now.” He pauses, grimaces. “What we feared is happening. Eros is heading to Earth. It’s… it’s on a direct collision course. It needs to be broken up before it gets here, my darlings. Before it can smash into the world and cause untold devastation. The monsignor says you are the only ones left alive up there.”
Haumea makes a sound that could be a moan of anger; could be an attempt at a laugh.
“This is your destiny. And it’s not just us, your parents, who love you, who you’ll be saving. Look.”
The library fills with swelling orchestral music. The parents’ holos fade and grow transparent, replaced by a sweeping shot of an island, a lush tropical paradise. Sharon gasps. It’s as beautiful as the locations where the models on the 2Ds are sent to do their final photo shoots. The island image morphs into an image of a mewling baby animal, its coat striped black and yellow, then segues into a shining silver fish, followed by a close-up of a bright pink flower unfurling its petals.
The music fades away, and the parents’ holos solidify. “Do you see?” the father says, sounding more confident now. “You can save all of this. Only you can do it. It’s your destiny. Please, contact New Vatican base as soon as you can. They will instruct you on what to do. Destroying Eros is a simple matter and the monsignor has assured me you won’t feel a thing. And remember, we love you. We’ll always be with you.”
The holo flickers. Sharon hears the mother’s voice saying: “Was that okay?”
The image cuts out.
After the holo has faded, Sharon looks straight at Pluto. “They’re alive.”
“Yeah.”
Sharon tries to assess how she’s feeling. Just numb, really. Maybe slightly nauseous. “They didn’t die after all.”
“No.”
“They sent us here, but didn’t die. Did you know?”
“No!” Pluto’s eyes, like Sharon’s, are now dry.
Sharon doesn’t want that orange-skinned woman to be her mother. She wants Tyra. She doesn’t want to think about what they’ve been asked to do. She wishes with all her heart that she hadn’t cut her hair off. If she runs back to the solarium and collects it, maybe she can make it into a weave. Yes. Then things will go back to normal. She turns to leave, but Pluto grabs her arm.
“Sharon. Wait.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.” Pluto pulls her into a hug, and Sharon’s too surprised to resist. “I’m sorry, Sharon. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Ug,” Haumea says. Eris and Sedna moan and Makemake lets out an ear-piercing scream.
Pluto lets go of Sharon and whips around to where the retard is screaming behind her. Makemake’s hanging by her hair in one of L.O.L.A’s pincers. How can they not have heard the bot entering the library? And fuck, there’s a syringe in one of L.O.L.A’s other protuberances.
“L.O.L.A! Stop!” Pluto cries. The other braindeads are clawing at her chassis and tugging at Makemake’s legs but the more they pull, the more intense the screaming becomes. “Stop!” Pluto shouts again, and runs around to the robot’s power switch. The capacitors whine their release and she shuts down, the crying girl still dangling from the claw, swinging gently.
Sharon’s already pulled a chair over and climbs up onto it, hacking away with those blunt scissors of hers, and at last the girl slumps, crying and shuddering, into her arms.
As Sharon gathers the braindeads together in a corner of the library, Pluto goes to the screen. “Eskombot, why the fuck did L.O.L.A do that?”
Oodle-pat. Bloot.
“Can you show me?”
An order flashes up on the screen from the New Vatican: “Euthanise non-essential personnel.” Logged the moment she opened the message from her parents. They didn’t even wait for an answer before they started. They just assumed.
But the clarity of their task, its decisiveness, is calming. At least this way it will be over soon. They won’t be tumbling out here in the darkness forever. How would Pluto have ever been able to run this place by herself anyway? She wouldn’t, that’s how. At least this way she has the chance to do something right.
A new message indicator throbs on the pane. It’s from the New Vatican Cardinal of Security. The instructions are simple: prime the Contingency 7 units in the kernel room and set the levers to arm. Press confirm when ready. “Kindly effect immediately. There is no time to waste,” he says. “Your rewards will be added unto you.”
Pluto looks across at her sister and the girls. The injured retard is sitting on the floor in front of Sharon, who’s combing her hair and smoothing it down. Two other girls are playing some sort of game with their hands and the round, drooling girl is leaning up against Sharon, her head on her shoulder. For the first time in however long, Pluto looks at her sister properly. She’s like St Francis or the Madonna or something.
It’s too late for regret, she tells herself. The only reason she’s feeling this way is because it’s about to end. That’s what she’s always wanted, isn’t it? She peers out of the viewport at the stark composition of grey and black. She watches how the whirling sun paints slow, perfect spirals in the sand.
She pulls up the parents’ new holo again. She won’t bear to watch it another time, but she stills it at the start, when they show themselves against the backdrop of blue water and sky, the laughing children in the background. Now she remembers; she has seen this before.
She’s seven years old. At home. On Earth. It’s late at night; her parents are watching holos in the den. She’s supposed to be in bed but got up for a wee. She peers into the den. There’s a holo of an island in the sun, she can smell the scent-seep from here. Sweet. Flowers, fruit, skin lotions. “Thank you for choosing the Hundred-Atoll Lodge,” the holo’s saying in an brash voice, “one of the last paradises on Earth. You have made a serene choice to join the privileged few who will not only survive, but will live! Terms and conditions apply. The NADOS one-child policy is strictly enforced at Lodge properties.”