A Closed and Common Orbit (Wayfarers #2)(72)

Owl hadn’t said anything about Jane staying home, which was weird. Usually Owl nagged her about the chores she hadn’t done or stuff that needed fixing, but not now. Jane was glad of that, though she hadn’t said so.

She tugged her worn blanket around her shoulders and headed for the kitchen. She opened the stasie and stared at the shrinking stacks of dog meat and mushrooms. She needed to go out. She needed to get more food. But she couldn’t do that, either.

Her stomach churned. She was hungry, but everything in the stasie looked like too much work. She hadn’t done any dishes, either, which she’d have to do before cooking. That would take for ever, and she was hungry now. She grabbed a handful of raw mushrooms and shoved them in her mouth. They were gross that way. She didn’t really care.

‘Are you going out today?’ Owl asked.

Jane pulled the blanket closer and chewed, avoiding eye contact. ‘I dunno,’ she said, though she knew the answer wouldn’t be yes. She thought about going back to bed, but it’d been a while since she’d done laundry, and the sheets were grossing her out. Plus, she knew what would happen if she went back there. She’d just stare at the ceiling, brain all fuzzy and stupid, thinking the same thing over and over. I could die today. She’d be stuck in that thought, and everything would get hot and fuzzy and she couldn’t breathe right, and Owl would try to help but nothing would make it better, and then Jane would just feel even worse for making such a fuss, and – yeah, no. She needed something else to fill up her brain.

She lay down on the couch. The sim cap lay on the floor nearby.

‘What do you want to play?’ Owl asked.

Jane was officially sick of Scorch Squad, and all the other story sims Owl had sounded too loud and fast. Jane felt tired just thinking about them. She didn’t want danger and explosions. She wanted quiet. She wanted her head to shut up. She wanted a hug.

‘Do you want me to pick something for you?’ said Owl.

‘No,’ Jane said. She closed her eyes. ‘It’s . . . it’s stupid.’

‘What is?’

Jane sucked her lips, embarrassed. ‘Can I play Big Bug Crew?’

She couldn’t see Owl’s face, but she could hear the smile. ‘You got it.’

Jane put on the cap and the world blanked out. Everything went warm, soft yellow. Alain and Manjiri and little monkey Pinch jumped out from nowhere. ‘Jane!’ Manjiri cried. ‘Alain, look! It’s our old friend Jane!’

Alain reached up to touch her forearm. He was so small. Had she been so small? ‘Good to see you, Jane!’ Alain said. ‘Wow, you’ve gotten tall!’

Pinch ran up her back and hugged her head, chirping gleefully.

‘It’s good to see you guys, too,’ Jane said. She pulled Pinch off her head and held him against her chest. His fur felt totally unreal, and she loved every bit of it. He crooned and wiggled his toes as she skritched his ears.

Manjiri pulled out her scrib and flipped it towards Jane. A star map glittered in bright, bold colours. ‘We’re so excited for you to be with us on our latest adventure—’

‘THE BIG BUG CREW AND THE PLANETARY PUZZLE!’ Jane shouted along with the kids. The sim’s title appeared in mid-air, bold red letters shimmering with confetti. The kids took her hands, and she started singing with them at the top of her lungs. ‘Engines, on! Fuel pumps, go! Grab your gear, there’s lots to know—’ Jane couldn’t get the words out past that. She didn’t know if it was the kids or the monkey or what, but suddenly, she was ten years old again. She was ten years old and the entire world was crumbling down.

The kids did something she’d never seen them do before: they stopped singing the theme song. ‘Jane, are you okay?’ Alain asked.

Jane let out a sob. Why? What was wrong with her? She sat down on the fake floor, face in her hands.

‘Jane?’ Manjiri said. Jane could feel Pinch’s furry paw on the top of her head. ‘If you’re feeling bad, that’s okay. Everybody has bad days sometimes.’

Somewhere in Jane’s head, she was real interested that she’d triggered a script she’d never seen, but that tiny flicker was drowned out by . . . by whatever this sobbing, uncontrollable bullshit was.

‘Is there a grown-up you can talk to?’ Alain asked.

‘No!’ Jane didn’t know why she was yelling. ‘There’s nobody! There’s nobody here.’

‘Well, we’re here,’ Manjiri said. ‘You should talk to a real person when you can, but it’s okay to make yourself feel better with imagination, too.’

‘It’s just—’ Jane wiped her nose on her sleeve, knowing it did nothing for the snot that was probably running down her lip back in the real world. ‘I’m so scared. I’ve always been scared. And I’m so tired, I’m so tired of always being afraid. I just want – I just want to have people. I want somebody to make me dinner. I want a doctor to look at my leg and tell me to my face that it’s okay. I want to be – I want to be like you. I want to live on Mars with a family and go on vacations. You – you both always – always said the galaxy was a wonderful place, but it’s f*cking not. It can’t be, if it’s got places like this one. If it’s got people who make people like this.’ She pointed at her sun-scarred face, her bald head. ‘Do normal Humans know? Do they even know this planet is here? Do they know that any of this is going on? Because I’m going to die here.’ Saying the words out loud made her even more afraid, as if putting them out into the world would make them happen. But they were there now, and it was true. ‘I’m going to die here, and no – nobody will care.’