Каарон Уоррен - The Lowest Heaven

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.”

She went to bed. She thought it was a movie. She must have dreamed that night that they were all there. She must have held that dream tighter than any reality they’d ever provided her.

She glances across at Sharon, obliviously tending her flock. “Eskombot, can you establish contact with Earth?” Sharon looks up at her, but doesn’t move to join her. For once, Pluto can’t read her sister’s eyes.

Bloodle-deet.

She logs in as an administrator. A public directory comes on. She searches the names, places the call.

“Hello?”

“Hello, mu– Hello.”

There’s a long pause, filled with distance and static and the violent flares of light failing. The picture is blank, grey foam.

“Oh … Plu– oh. Oh, God. Jeremy? Jeremy!”

“I got your message.”

Pause. Pause. Paaaause. The man comes on. “Oh, thank heavens. We’re so pleased you’ve received it. We can’t tell you how grateful we are. You’re heroes, girls. Everything works out for a reason, doesn’t it?”

“It looks beautiful,” she says.

A pause. The woman. “Yes. Yes, love. So beautiful. It’s the last place on earth, but it’s so … it’s alive.”

The man comes on. “It’s quite big, really. There’s a chance we can… that we can, one day, rehabilitate the rest.”

The woman: “Yes, there’s hope. There really is.”

“It’s a good thing we’re here, then,” Pluto says.

“Yes, love. You and your sister are our saviours. Just think of that. You’ll be at God’s right hand. And you’ll always be here.” Pluto imagines him patting his chest, like he did half her life ago.

“Goodbye, then.”

“Go with the Lord,” the woman says, and she might be crying. There’s a squeaking sound, like an animal chattering. The grey foam on the screen resolves into a patchwork of colours and then goes blank, but not before they hear the woman say, “Not now, sweetie. Wait a–”

“Come, Sharon,” Pluto says and starts off towards the kernel room. She’s never felt such assurance before, such a sense of right direction as she does now. It almost feels good.

Sharon doesn’t move to follow her sister. While she’s been comforting the Ugly Pretties, something has been swelling in her chest. Anger. No, fury. And hatred. She knows that Tyra and Nigel would urge her to use these new, unfamiliar emotions in her poses. She can’t disappoint them. She gets slowly to her feet. She can feel her newfound inner confidence◦– the very thing Tyra would say she needed to work on◦– blasting out of her pores.

Pluto hesitates at the door. “Sharon? C’mon. Let’s go. We don’t have long.”

“No.”

“No?”

“They want us to die so that they can live,” Sharon says in a clear, cold voice. Uncertainty creases Pluto’s face and a delicious thrill tickles through Sharon’s body. She should have stood up to Pluto ages ago. It’s way easier and more satisfying than she ever thought it would be. “They lied to us, Pluto. They sent us away so that they could afford to live in that… in that fucking place.”

Pluto blinks. “Sharon… We have to stop it. Now come on.”

“No.”

“I need you, Sharon. I can’t do this on my own.”

Pluto’s face crumples as if she’s about to start crying again, but Sharon doesn’t feel a jot of pity for her. “No.”

Makemake groans in approval. Haumea gurgles.

“Sharon, come on. We don’t have a fucking choice.”

“We do have a choice. It’s like this, Pluto: You can choose to channel your energy to show the world the true inner you. Or you can stay the same and get eliminated.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“They weren’t true to us. They weren’t true to themselves.” Sharon narrows her eyes and straightens her back. Glances at her reflection in the blacked-out screen. She focuses at a point in the imaginary far distance, takes a deep breath and smiles with her eyes. She’s done it! The perfect smize. Tyra was right: sometimes you have to go through bad stuff to find the strength to get it right. “And if you think about it, Pluto, the parents don’t deserve to make the final. They should really be eliminated.”

The Ugly Pretties gather behind her. Haumea gurgles and Makemake claps her hands.

Pluto glances once more at the screen. “But they’re our parents,” she whispers.

“Pluto,” Sharon says. “It’s time to be fierce and make the hard decision.“ Then she spins on her heel and starts striding down the corridor towards the solarium. Even her walk is better. Miss J would be proud.

They pass the time watching old holos and 2Ds and practising makeovers on the Ugly Pretties. Pluto has been surprised by how quickly she’s been sucked into her sister’s addictive distractions. She knew, as soon as Sharon said no, that she was right. It took a few minutes, that’s all, and she threw down her burdens too, renounced her duties. She feels light, unanchored. That’s what freedom must feel like, surely.

As the last hours approach, Pluto helps Sharon strap the Ugly Pretties in their sleeping bays. She watches Sharon tuck the Ugly Pretties in, like a mother should have done. She watches as Sharon combs Makemake’s hair one last time. Makemake gurgles and grunts and bats at Sharon’s hand. “You’re welcome, girlfriend,” Sharon whispers in her ear as she slides the syringe into Makemake’s aorta.

The Ugly Pretties all go quietly. Not even Haumea struggles.

At the viewport, the dust and blue and white face of Earth hurling itself huge across the pane, they call up the messages for one last look. Pluto’s finger slides over the list. The screen is filled with countless messages◦– some pleading, some threatening◦– but none are from the parents. The title of the latest one, from the Pope herself, shouts: “YOU WILL BURN IN HELL!!!!!!”