“What’s wrong?” He glances over at me. Under these lights, his purple eyes look more brown than anything. His skin seems more tan than green. He is being washed out and maybe even washed away by this place. He is wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a pizza on it, which also happens to be stained with bits of pizza. Very meta. Very gross.
“Nothing,” I lie. I mean everything.
“Ava…”
That’s one thing that hasn’t changed—his ability to growl my name and make my pussy clench.
“I’m worse than bored. I’m worried.”
“We’re executing a plan,” he reminds me. “Lay low for a year and then happily ever after.”
“You really think it’s going to be that simple?”
“So far, so good,” he shrugs.
But it’s not so far, or so good. I can’t explain why, but I know it’s not. This feels wrong. Imbalanced. We’re not doing what we’re supposed to do. Sitting here feels like it should be safe, but it’s not.
“Fuck this,” I say. “Let’s go get rich.”
“Are you serious?” He looks at me askance. “We’re hiding from the void.”
“I know what we’re doing. I know what we’re not doing. We’re not living. Imagine if they caught us tomorrow. We’d feel stupid for having wasted all the time we do have.”
“You need to be patient, Ava. The time will come when moving and doing is right. For now, we lie low. Understand?”
“Yes,” I mutter. I understand. I understand that there’s a hovering gathering gloom inside my head. I feel like this is a mistake, though I cannot say why, exactly. It just feels wrong.
“This is too depressing to be the right decision,” I say.
He gives me a look, as if to say please don’t start making trouble now.
“What were you thinking of doing when you were trying to get rich?”
“There’re some investments we could have made. If I withdrew my complete savings and put it into the Bogmarket, we’d make billions.”
“So let’s do that.”
“My savings are held in a locked box on a planet of locked boxes. Our enemies will be waiting for me there, without a doubt.”
“So it would be very brazen and bold of us to get your money out and into whatever the Bogmarket is.”
“It’s a market of stocks based entirely on materials found in the bogs of the wet worlds. I happen to know that in one month’s time, a reserve of firmium will be found which will make… well, anyway, it’s a series of events which leads to a small explosion and a lot of money.”
“Let’s do it. Let’s do it.” I repeat myself out of sheer potential excitement.
“You’ve forgotten how close we were to being killed,” he says, picking up the remote control for the screen. “And you’re forgetting how much is at stake.”
“I’ve ruined you,” I sigh. “You used to be this big, brave, bold adventurer who rode space sharks into battle. Now you’re watching season 1,456,974 of Solar Survivor. Everybody ends up burning in the sun. It’s not even interesting anymore. Look!”
“My name’s Barbie Wrigglesworth,” a pretty blonde alien with six eyes and an equal number of breasts declares with a broad and toothy grin. “And I think I can survive the sun!”
Seconds later, her shuttle plunges into the sun and is evaporated.
“OHHH! SO CLOSE!” the announcer bays.
“What even is this supposed to be?” I ask.
“It’s aspirational and cheerful. People believe in themselves.”
“And then are consumed by a nuclear fire.”
“Yes. Well.”
I snatch the controller from his hand and turn the wall off. “That’s enough.”
I’ve been where we are before. I know that there are some things that can happen to you in a world of pedestrian tedium which are worse than massive space squids. Space squids might kill you. But this, what we are doing right now? This can crush your soul.
“Give me the controller back, Ava.”
“Why? You don’t need it. You’re having an amazing time here eking out a living on loser moon.”
He snarls and stands up. He forgets that this apartment was not made with him in mind. The top of his head slams through the surprisingly floury ceiling tile, breaking it through the middle. Little bits of ceiling flake down over his shoulders.
“Give it back to me. Now.”
“Nah.”
I open the apartment door. The sounds of the building float in with a little more vigor. At any given moment there are at least a dozen domestic arguments taking place in the building, and one infant being conceived. The building is its own world. Right now Zed and I are about to join the latter group.
“AVA!” he thunders my name. I’m really tempted to obey him, but I am also on the verge of literal madness stemming from boredom induced by an overabundance of safety. So I don’t.
“AVA!”
I skip along the hall to the stairs and take them up to the lobby. It is crowded with comings and goings. Nobody notices me. Nobody notices anybody or anything. Noticing things around here is a very bad idea. When the authorities come to question you, you’re going to want plausible deniability.