"Now what made you want to apply to Abrasax Industries, Mrs. Jones?"
"Ms. is fine," Jupiter heard her mom say tightly. "My husband died some time ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Jupiter tuned them out, rolling onto her back and tilting the book up above her head. She'd followed her mom to lots of interviews the last few weeks, though none of them had been fancy like this. There were stern looking statues lining the walls of the hall they'd passed through, marble floors that made squeaky sounds when Jupiter slid in her sneakers, everyone's clothes looked soft and their hair stiff from gel. There was water that bubbled and tickled Jupiter's nose, like soda.
She tried to imagine her mom cleaning this place and couldn't. Jupiter didn't think the man could picture it either, because he'd been making the face Cousin Vassily made whenever Aunt Nino talked about something that bored him—sorta tired-eyed with lots of one-word answers. He also hadn't bothered to write anything down on his notepad, not since Mom had walked through the door. The man had raised his eyebrows at her stained uniform, at her hair—at Jupiter herself—and Jupiter probably would have kicked him for it if that hadn't gotten them booted out of the last place.
It was stupid. The place was pretty and could probably give Mom lots of money, but it was cold. Jupiter had quickly grown sick of staring at white and had un-tucked the book from her arm.
It was (had been) her dad's and the dog-eared edges proved it.A Concise Exploration of Space, written by a woman named Diomika Tsing, PhD. Jupiter couldn't read all the words yet, but the pictures were amazing. The dwarves of this book were a whole lot more interesting than the ones Vladie had shown her inSnow Whiteand someday, Jupiter would study them herself.
She just had to get an education first. Mom said education was everything.
Jupiter quietly sounded out the word 'asteroid' and continued to ignore the conversation above her.
"You do realize this is highly unusual, of course."
"I... yes."
"You're not quite what we're looking to hire."
Movement caught Jupiter's eye. Her mom's legs were crossed. Not once like she'd been taught ("It's considered ladylike, Jupiter. It's a choice that will make your life easier") but rather twice, the top of her right leg hooked around her left calf. Jupiter did that when she needed to pee. Mom did it when she was mad.
"Mom?"
Her eyes caught Jupiter's. "Sit up," she murmured in Russian and Jupiter did as she was told, propping herself up against the desk's leg. As the silence stretched on, Jupiter returned to her book.
'Is There Life Besides Our Own?' the Chapter's heading asked. Jupiter dragged a finger along Tsing's words:It would be both foolish and narcissistic to say, 'no.'
She wondered what 'narcissistic' meant.
"—quite privileged," the man was saying. "Extraordinary really. Can't say that I see the resemblance myself, but Seraphi is willing to offer you the position. On one condition."
"Which is?" Aleksa asked.
"That your daughter begins working here just as soon as she's able. I believe fourteen is the minimum age nowadays? Plenty of time for her to enjoy her youth."
Jupiter didn't hear them. She was lost in the possibility of life outside of their planet, picturing creatures with scaled skin, pointed ears, tails that showed emotion like a dog's. She didn't realize that there was a great deal of emotion right beside her, in her mom's tightening legs and lips, the breath that she drew in too fast. Jupiter didn't go to school like the other kids. Which was fine. She knew how to read and do sums and she was starting to learn to cook. Those were all important things. What did she really need school for?
Aleksa thought she needed school. Her degree for applied mathematics was hidden under her bed, but that didn't mean that it wasn't well taken care of, cleaned regularly and wrapped carefully in a quilt to avoid breaking. Education was everything and she had every intention of securing that for Jupiter. Somehow.
You needed money for school though.
You needed a job for money.
"She just needs to work here?" Aleksa said slowly. "Like me?" She regretted the question the moment it slipped out.
"Yes, ma'am."
"And she can quit at any time?Wecan quit?"
"As a package deal, yes." The man spread his hands. "You must understand that Seraphi is a collector of… interesting things. That's why she has devoted her life to developing Regene-X. Who wouldn't want just a little more time to explore the mysteries of our world? Who wouldn't want a better quality of life to engage in that exploration?"
It sounded like a rehearsed speech, something the man had memorized carefully… or perhaps a message that had been drilled into him, day by day.
He smiled an equally false smile. "Surely you can agree that your daughter is interesting? Seraphi is just that: interested."
Aleksa looked to Jupiter, still absorbed in her book. "My daughter is indeed interesting, but not for your reasons," she said and then held out her hand before the man could speak. "Yes. Tell your Seraphi I agree."
"Excellent."
They stood—Jupiter too—and Aleksa shook the man's hand, afterwards wanting to dump her own in a bottle of bleach. A soon as she was able Aleksa had her arm around Jupiter, keeping her close as they passed back through the door.
The first thing Aleksa noticed was the statue… and she firmly looked away. There was no reason to feel as if she'd sold her daughter out. She could leave this place long before Jupiter came of age. Surely.
"You'll start on Monday," the man said. He tried to shield them from the clients in the lobby—or rather, shielding the clients' eyes from them. "Seraphi has three children of her own, you know. Not much older than yours. Perhaps they'll be… friends."
Jupiter heard the word 'friends' and finally looked up. She'd been reading about black holes, a shiver running down her spine at the thought of such a cold, endless void. Except that when she tucked her book back under her arm, that shiver didn't disappear. If anything the feeling increased. The freezing marble floor beneath her feet… the blank faces of people dressed in darkened clothes… it was too much like what Jupiter had been imagining.
"Mom?" she asked, grabbing hold of her shirt.
"Let go," Aleksa snapped in Russian and Jupiter was so startled that she did, jumping slightly. The eyes her mom turned on her were soft though.
"Walk by yourself," she whispered, "and don't look back."
Jupiter didn't want to look back, but starring at the closed door was worse.
"Let go," she hissed and wrenched her arm out of Titus' grip. He backed off, his hands splayed out in front of him, eyes hollow. As he moved, Titus gentlemanly pulled out a chair for her before collapsing heavily into his own. Jupiter remained rooted where she stood.
"What's going on?" she demanded.
Chicanery shook his head at her expression. "Please sit down, Ms. Jupiter."
"What's going on?"
None of them answered her. In fact, Jupiter would go so far as to say that none of them looked as if they ever wanted to speak again. The silence was deafening.
Titus remained exactly where he'd fallen, down to the last strand of hair and awkwardly torqued arm. He was slouched in the chair, pushing his suit up so that a strip of his stomach was clearly visible. Jupiter had seen Titus in numerous states of undress—from skirts to off-the-shoulder sweaters to no shirt at all—but this seemed more intimate than all of those moments combined. Maybe it was something about his intentions, or lack thereof. Maybe it was the fact that he was staring at Jupiter like a man dying of thirst.
Kalique, in contrast, appeared to be her usual, composed self. Almost. Jupiter noted a new tightness around her eyes and her lips were thinned with such violence that they nearly trembled. She stared at Jupiter... looking straight through her.
Jupiter turned to the closed door once more. She nearly expected something to be behind her. Or someone.
"Ms. Jones. Please," Chicanery indicated the chair next to Titus, across from Kalique.
This time Jupiter sat. Collapsed really. She did something involving her knees giving out and her forearms landing with a hard thump on the mahogany table. That seemed good enough for Chicanery.
"Excellent," he said, opening a slim folder. The pages inside were too white, unruffled. "You look a tad pale. Understandable, of course. Would you care for some water?"
Jupiter didn't know who Chicanery was addressing. Maybe all of them. She spotted a pitcher of water in the middle of the table—nearly five feet away—and reached for it instinctually. She should serve them, right? Jupiter's arm crossed Titus' path.
"Fuck it," he snarled and shoved her arm away. It was the second and only time he'd touched her.
Titus stood, ignoring Chicanery's look and stumbled over to a cabinet across the room. There was a mirror hanging above it and the three of them watched Titus' pale face as it scowled at his shaking hands, jittering over the cabinet's lock. With a curse he finally succeeded in flinging the doors open, drawing out a label-less bottle and four shot glasses. He slid them one by one across the table as Jupiter did her best to keep them from shattering. Kalique folded her hands primly and glared.
"Should you really be drinking?" she asked.
"Absolutely. If there was ever a time…" Titus held up the bottle like a game-show model, turning it towards Jupiter. "Beautiful, isn't it? Nothing beats that amber color, twilight shining through it… it's a distillation of scotch and Regene-X. None of the same longevity I'm afraid, but very rare. Very potent." He poured out a shot each and practically shoved it in Jupiter's lap when she didn't immediately take it.
"To mother," Titus said, raising his glass. The others followed suit with various levels of willingness. "You'd have enjoyed the irony: the creator of immortality dying so young."
Jupiter choked.
"Seraphi is dead?"
The others ignored her. Chicanery slammed his shot back like a pro, looking indifferent to the toast but appreciative of the alcohol itself. Kalique sipped hers delicately… then shut her eyes and poured the rest of it quickly down her throat. Titus chugged his, poured a second, watched it overflow onto the table, sloppily drank that, then poured a third. He finally sat back down and shoved the whole bottle at Jupiter.
"Drink," he demanded.
Feeling numb, Jupiter lifted her shot with two hands, fingers on either side (why did it feel so heavy?) and made sure not to spill a drop as she brought it to her lips. It did indeed burn, though she hardly felt it. Jupiter placed the shot glass back on the table with deliberate care.
She wanted to say, 'I'm sorry.' Instead what came out was, "How?"
"Car accident," Chicanery answered, to which Kalique snorted. It sounded more like a wet sob.
Re-opening his folder, Chicanery drew out a single sheet from the bulging stack. Jupiter couldn't read the words from her seat, but the typing was neat, bolded, and reminiscent of a typewriter. He cleared his throat before drawing one pale finger down the list, reading off from the bullet points.
"On May 19th, 7:32pm, the company car heading from Abrasax Industries to Seraphi's penthouse crashed into two other vehicles after running through a four-way stop. The injuries suffered upon impact are thought to be minor. However, a fire quickly started and overcame the company car. Balem Abrasax, thought to have been driving said car, survived with non-fatal and/or minor injuries. Seraphi, thought to have been in the passenger seat, did not make it out."
Chicanery flipped the sheet over and placed his palm down on it firmly. That, apparently, was that.
"… What?" Jupiter said.
She looked back at the door, as if she expected Seraphi to come waltzing through it any second now. Or perhaps even for Balem to barge in, his shocked expression dissolved, demanding to know why the staff was sitting at their table.
Neither happened of course. Jupiter was left staring at the door until Chicanery sharply rapped his knuckles.
"If you please," his look was unmistakably aimed her way. "I realize that tonight isn't the time for logistics—"
"You bet your scrawny ass it's not," Titus muttered.
"—but, the basics must be dealt with. Such was Seraphi's request in her will."
He pulled another sheet from the endless pile, one that looked identical to all the rest, but Jupiter swallowed hard at how important it seemed. Maybe a part of it was the fact that it was so short, the insanity that a life like Seraphi's could be reduced to a few, insignificant paragraphs. Probably it was more the fact that they were reading her will in the first place…
Jupiter felt another rush of wrongness cascading over her and it made her desperately want to reach for the bottle. She kept her hands firmly in her lap though, gripping them tight. At least she understood her purpose here now.
She was acting as a witness.
"Merely the formalities at this stage," Chicanery was saying. "Kalique, I'm sure you knew this was a long time coming. Titus? You're familiar with your mother's… ah, unique requests?"
"Late mother," he emphasized, downing another shot. "But yes, she may have mentioned it once or twice. Not that I understood it. Perhaps she was growing senile."
Jupiter stared. That was obviously a joke. Regene-X didn't just keep you young and fit, it helped with all aspects of health. Decades now and no one who took Regene-X showed any signs of mental decline, not even those who were fighting against their family histories. Regene-X trumped genetics every time.
So why did Titus look so serious?
"Balem was right," he said slowly, warming to the words as he produced them. "This is your fault."
Jupiter's breath caught at the accusation… but Titus turned his eyes on Kalique.
The middle child remained stony-faced, still. She paid Titus no more mind than she did Jupiter, or even Chicanery. Whatever Kalique was thinking in that moment, it wasn't for the likes of them to know.
"Please," Chicanery said. "Tonight is not a night for blame either. I recommend that we announce this for formalities sake—and Ms. Jones'—and then all head home for a decent night's rest. Any and all details can be hashed out in the coming weeks."
"Yes," Kalique said faintly.
Titus waved a wobbling hand. "Get on with it."
Jupiter just nodded. Something hot and taut settled in the pit of her stomach.
"Very well." Chicanery cleared his throat. "Possession of the company, along with all Seraphi's assets, will be divided through equitable distribution. As I'm sure comes as no surprise, Balem will receive 45% ownership, as befitting his status as eldest."
Kalique and Titus' mouths twisted in resignation, an odd quirk the siblings shared. It might not have come as a surprise to them, but it certainly did to Jupiter. Hadn't she just been thinking tonight that Seraphi would never split the company? All those potential investors turned away… everyone and their mother had assumed that Balem would receive full control, leaving Titus and Kalique to receive the 'meager' remains of Seraphi's billions. Yet here was a stupid piece of paper making an ass of them all. Balem with 45%.
"Kalique, the second child, will receive 20%." Chicanery waited for Kalique to incline her head, though she looked as if she'd swallowed something sour—not even half of Balem's share. "And there is a special note here: Titus, Seraphi's youngest, will also receive 20%, in the interest of fairness and, I quote, 'in acknowledgement of your similarities.'"
"Similarities?" Kalique spluttered at the same time Titus' eyebrows hit his bangs. Jupiter thought she heard, "She was senile," muttered around the rim of his glass.
She was so absorbed in their reactions that it took Jupiter a moment to do the math.
"Wait," she said, holding up a hand. "That's only 85%. Where's the rest going? Charity?" The mere idea made her laugh.
Chicanery turned to her though, holding up the page as evidence. "Why no, my dear. The final 15% goes to you."
Jupiter stared. Then she swallowed, opened her mouth, heard a squeak emerge, and just as quickly shut it again. When Jupiter caught a faint giggle echoing throughout the room she had to acknowledge that, yes, that was her voice and she clamped her teeth more firmly together.
"That isn't funny," she bit out.
Chicanery merely raised an eyebrow as Kalique said, "Indeed," her voice as brittle as ice.
"No really. What sort of sick joke—"
"No joke," Titus interrupted. He was listing now, titling his newly filled glass Jupiter's way. "You… fascinated Mother. Though heaven knows why."
Despite his words, Jupiter was struck by how intently Titus stared at her—the curiosity, hunger, fascinationin his eyes. She turned away from him in fear and discovered Kalique's tiny smile that was too perfect to convey anything but hatred. Chicanery was already packing up his things and Jupiter realized, like a punch to the gut, that he was as far from the joking type as could be.
This was real.
It didn't feel real though. Jupiter watched through a haze as the three of them stood, leaving as quickly as they'd come: Titus stumbling, Chicanery shoving those damn papers back into his case, Kalique refusing to spare her a glance. They brushed past her, one by one.
"… but I'm nobody." Jupiter whispered to the room.
Chicanery was the last to leave. He stopped only the briefest moment to say,
"Not anymore."