Bella Starr

After the tour of the beach and the holographic sun, my group of fifty potential guests for the resort form a long line as they make their way along the edge of the sand. The turquoise water rolls onto the white sand with gentle waves, the sound pleasant to my ears.

We take the escalator up to the main concourse and stay on that level, venturing down the center of the food court. A small storefront has a sign that reads, Chinese Buffet. Neighboring it, stands a German Cafe with a variety of bratwursts on pretzel buns offered as key items on its menu. Sausage sizzles in the kitchen, making my mouth water.

With countless other eateries filling the concourse, I say, "We'll be taking a break to let you explore the food court, the many stores, and all the other attractions below and above us. We'll meet back here in the center of the concourse by this planter with the palm tree." I gesture behind me. "When I return, we'll finish the tour with a history lesson." I offer one of my personable smiles—I've gotten good at my job over the last year. "You're free to roam. Enjoy yourself and don't forget to be back here in one hour."

I'm halfway to the lounge, ready to take my last break as a tour guide, when mid-stride my work tablet blossoms into a hologram. It's an incoming video call from Grayson Flux. The resort manager peers at me, his head and shoulders visible in the holographic display, filling the width of the device, seven inches wide.

"Starr." His voice grumbles with a British flare. "I need to see you in my office... straight away."

"I'm on break." I muster between stutters—shocked. This is the first time Flux has contacted me since I've arrived at Neptune Shores. What could he have to say to me now, hours before my departure?

"What part of 'straight away' do you not understand?"

My eyes bulge. "Oh, I get it, I just don't—"

"Chop chop. Pronto." Flux narrows his gaze. "That means now. Flux out."

The hologram vanishes.

What in Neptune does he want with me? I don't take orders from him. Of course, I'm an employee at the resort he manages, but why does he wait till now to speak to me like he's known me personally all this time? I glance at the device, checking the time. It's 10 a.m. Pacific Standard Time. I packed my bags last night. In two hours, I'll grab my luggage, board the cruise ship and be gone, but technically, he's still my boss for the next two hours.

Near the entrance of the debarkation bay, I spin on my heel, turn around and pace past Nassan Jondu, and keep going.

"Where you headed in such a hurry?"

"Flux summoned me to his office." I never look back.

"Oh."

As I march through the archway into the concourse, my face radiates and my pulse thumps in my ears. If there's one thing I deserve, it's taking my last break in peace. Who is Flux anyway? Just a hotel manager in outer space, not the Chancellor of the Interplanetary Federation.

Flux's office is past the first string of restaurants in the food court, halfway down the expansive corridor, on the left. It has a picturesque view of the beach, two stories below. As I approach, the door slides opens, likely because Flux has given my bio signature temporary clearance. I enter and the door whisks shut behind me.

Down a long hallway, to the left, an opening in the wall reveals a parlor with old style chairs, overly large with gold arms, neck rests, and red cushions. A coffee table sits in the middle of the room with smaller stands and lamps, with a bookcase, too. I imagine Flux and his business associates smoking cigars and sipping whiskey in glass tumblers. I've always heard he smoked. It's unheard of in the twenty-fourth century, but several months ago, the resort manager came within a breath of me in the concourse and I picked up a whiff of his clothes. From that moment, I suspected he liked tobacco, in whatever form he preferred. The rumor is he likes cigars.

At the end of the hallway, a door stands half-open, light spilling from the gap.

I creep along, a lump forming in my throat and goose bumps rising on my arms. I scold myself. This isn't a haunted house or an alien infested spaceship, it's Grayson Flux's office. Nothing more.

At the door, I raise my hand to push it open.

"Come in," Flux says, still not visible.

I nudge it open and enter, half wanting to shrink away and melt into nothing.

How did I go from infuriated at Flux to fearing him? I need to shake it off. I straighten and stand tall in front of a large oak desk, stained dark. Across from me, Flux sits in a plush leather chair with a cigar between his fingers, not smoking it, only gnawing on the end, confirming the rumors and my suspicions. He seems frustrated about something.

From somewhere between his weathered gray beard, his lips part. "Take a seat." He gestures with the tip of the cigar to a guest chair.

Ignoring the expansive floor to ceiling windows behind Flux, I sit, my eyes never leaving the stoic expression on the resort manager's face. As I lower into the cushion, he stares at me, sizing me up, maybe getting a rise out of my petrified demeanor.

"There's no need to be afraid, Ms. Starr. I only want to talk to you about something vitally important."

"I'm not afraid," I say, though I'm squeamish on the inside.

"If you say so."

"I have a tour to finish before my contract expires."

"Your contract is exactly what I want to discuss." Flux sets the unlit cigar in an ashtray on his desk.

"My contract?" I shift in the chair.

"Precisely."

I open my mouth to speak—

"Ms. Starr." Flux exhales and folds his arms as he leans back in the chair. He wheezes when he breathes out. "I'll get straight to the matter."

"Please do."

His eyes sparkle with a condescending mirth. "I know you want to join the Interstellar Navy after Stanford. Such big dreams."

My eyes widen. Lips tighten.

"I want to offer you an extension to stay at Neptune Shores for one more year as an assistant supervisor. Seems our next group of high school seniors—one of them—got scared and didn't get on the space jet. So, we're down a tour guide."

"I appreciate the offer, but my intentions are to go to college."

"This is an offer of full employment. Five hundred e-bills daily salary."

"That's generous, but I've already decided what I'm going to do."

"Do you know how difficult it is to get into the Interstellar Navy? They're extremely selective, and the boot camp, it's worse than the Lunar Marines. I don't mean just physically."

My blood pressure spikes. Is he questioning my ability to achieve my dreams? It's bad enough for me to doubt myself, and I have a ton of doubts, but I don't appreciate Flux using this angle.

"Listen," I say, "believe me, I understand the road ahead of me—"

"I'm just saying, living and working on a space station resort is a childhood fantasy for billions of people. Something most people never get the chance to realize."

"I get it. I do, but..."

"It's just for one more year. After that, we will honor your scholarship."

"That's nice to know, but I've done the space station gig... and now, I think it's time to get on with my life."

"It's your parents."

A lightning bolt shoots through my heart. I feel the shock in my chest. "What are you talking about?"

"Actually, it's your father."

"What about him?"

Flux exhales another wheezing breath, leans forward and places his elbows on his desk. He glares at me. "I regret to inform you that your father has..." he closes his eyes and scratches his forehead, bites his bottom lip, "he's well, he's... Bella, there's no easy way to put this."

"Just tell me."

As Flux wavers, I connect the dots with a grim expectation, but I can't help him complete the sentence. I just can't.

"He passed away," he finally says.

I snap my eyes shut and bow my head, feeling the internal pressure building inside of me, but refusing to give Flux the luxury of seeing me cry. When I look up, my fingers are digging into the chair's armrest.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Starr. I can sympathize, but your mother requested that you stay here for at least another year."

I try to speak, but choke on the words. My eyes burn and I can't swallow.

"Ms. Starr, I'm sorry."

"Why would my mother not want me to come home? I don't understand."

"She said there was a lot of resentment over your decision to come here. Now, with your father passing and you not being around, she thinks it's best you stayed away for a while."

"Who has resentment against me?"

"Your whole family, Bella."

"Who? My sister? Brother? And my mother?"

"All of them, I'm afraid. She thinks if you give it a year, things will blow over and you can make amends then."

"Amends? I have done nothing wrong."

"I find no fault in you, but your family is a different story."

"I want to talk to them." Through a misty blur, I stare at the tablet in my lap.

"There's something else you should know. The resort's external communication arrays are down. Hit by micrometeoroids. I have a crew working on repairs, but we can't talk to Earth right now."

"But the data stream? How did you contact me?"

"Internal comms are still operational. If you decide to leave, once you get on the ship, you can make a video call, but until then, you can't. I'm sorry."

With all the resolve I can muster, I wipe my eyes, fighting the urge to breakdown and sob. "I have to go. I have a tour to finish."

"Ms. Starr, you haven't answered my question."

"What?" I shake my head in frustration. "No, I can't stay. I have a life to live."

I rise and start for the door, but whirl around. "How did my father die? You never said."

Flux blows a gasp from his beard shrouded lips. "Heart attack. He died in his sleep. Your mother said he never felt a thing."

I turn and leave the room, the path ahead bleary and dark. On the way out, I pass Electra Draco and her personal assistant, Cygnus Lo, in the hallway. They apparently have a meeting with Grayson Flux. They give me a questioning look as I brush by them, but I couldn't care less what they think of me. I have a tour to finish, and then after that, I'm out of this place for good.