The Brightness Between Us (The Darkness Outside Us, #2)

by Eliot Schrefer

I make a mental note to try out new words only on Dad, not Father.

“I don’t care how many kids died before and after me and Yarrow. That’s not our fault.” All goes still. It’s like the planet itself is in shock.

I’m left with the fact that Father and Dad had a bunch of babies that filled them with love and hope, that those kids all died except two of us, and I just threw it in Father’s face because I want to go on an adventure.

“Your chances of infection are very low,” OS reports in a voice that I’ve been told is the chilled-out version of a long-dead pop star named Devon Mujaba. Dad had a bit of a crush on him back in the day, apparently.

Lots of the other human orphans Father was raised with in isolation had severe mental problems from having lack of love and care when they were young.” “It’s not like our Kodiak doesn’t have severe mental problems,” I grumble.

Dad waves at us all to stop. “I know that you two think you have all the answers, but you’re fifteen years old, which means you’re also idiots.

“Yeah, we got it,” I mutter. “Even this ‘idiot’ can understand that.” “I meant that lovingly,” Dad says.

“You two are the actual worst parents in the universe,” I say. “The only parents, actually, which means we’re also the best ones,” Dad counters. “And the handsomest and the prettiest and the greenest and ugliest and—”

I do like seeing our parents like this, though. Their silent closeness. They deserve it. They’ve gone through things that no human couple in history has gone through.

“What were you two arguing about?” I call as the dads approach. “Discussing,” Father corrects. “Discussing passionately?”

“Having access to the stories of millions of human parents from the partial image of the internet that was on the Coordinated Endeavor, I will say you have above-average parents.

Though carbon is present, silicon dominates most of its biology. Scientists on Earth would have been thrilled by the discovery, but of course, there are no scientists on Earth anymore.

He’s sweet and gentle and uncomplicated.” “You really are just like Minerva sometimes. From your point of view he’s uncomplicated. You’re not inside his head, so you don’t know,” Dad says.

Dad and Yarrow are trying to catch me up on the novel OS has been narrating to them. The problem is that they remember each scene totally differently, and their versions contradict. It’s almost like they’re listening to different books.

Find this beacon. Ambrose and Kodiak, come. Find this beacon. Ambrose and Kodiak, come.

“Admit it,” I say, “it was the most beautiful brain you’ve ever wandered through.”

It’s literally the most dramatic thing that any human has ever done, and you’re accusing me of playing things up? And. Sri. I will miss you. I’ll miss this.” “You are positively drenched in self-importance right now, you know that?”

It’s theater . . . I guess all romance is theater?

“And you know you’re the one who means the most to me on Earth.” The words sound just as stilted as I feared. They are true, though.

“Could you just stop?” Sri says, wiping their eyes. “I’m sure you think what you just told me is technically true. But no one means much to you at all. Certainly not me.”

“Okay, good,” I say, relieved. This moment has got my blood rushing. Sri has told me I don’t need to pretend to be in love with them, and it’s made me go from ambivalent to loving them intensely.

I take a long swig of my precious Wild Ginger PepsiRum. The label shows a paradise of tropical palms and thick green grasses. Drink the Escape, it suggests. Don’t mind if I do.

think—I’ve got serious repression skills—but I’m simply shimmering and vibrating with feeling. It’ll come out eventually, probably in some ultra-destructive way, but not yet.

He grins. “Ambrose Cusk, we’ve only just met and you’re already teasing me. It’s a lot.”

“Ah,” I say, absently running my hands over my new skinprints, the glitter raised on my skin. “‘A lot’ is sort of a hallmark of mine.”

I flush. That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, and being flattered is one of my favorite sensations.

Normally I have to look a little harder, send my fixer out to get bracelet details. I don’t usually have a celebrated beauty dressed and skinprinted like a Roman demigod and presenting himself on a dais, delivered to me by his generous academy lover.”

“Devon Mujaba, with the heart of gold,” I say. His expression clouds. “You don’t have to be ironic all the time, you know.” “You’re a total stranger,”

And in that silence, my heart realizes Devon is more right than he’s wrong. Is there anyone I have ever been my actual insecure self with?

“Forget my false rescue mission or you betraying your country’s secrets. José Luis has been dubbed this whole time? José Luis?! That’s the scandal of the year.”

I guess I’ve done my mother a favor by going on my bender in a sealed location. Everyone in the world is imagining me sobbing prettily in a lonely tower, lit by a single ray of divine light as I suffer the renewed loss of my sister.

My legs are shaking. How dare you. And I also know he’s right. That new version of me will be barely holding on by a thread. He’s me. I know for a fact that he didn’t ask for this.

“We’ll give you an opportunity now to say whatever you’d like to the clone of you. Whatever you think he’d want to know. Do you want to take some time to think about it?” “I don’t. I’m ready. ‘Fuck you.’

“Tell me everything about hooking up with Devon Mujaba.” “Ooh, gladly,” I say. Unlucky for her, if Mother is listening in right now, she’s getting every detail of Devon Mujaba’s body.

Sharma is ashen. “What have you done?” she asks. I shake my head, beyond words. “I was in charge of you,” she says, putting her hand over her mouth. “What have you done to me?”

She’s not angry. She’s terrified. “The world is falling into war. And you expected people to stop fighting to protest this mission? How naive can you be?”

What was it that Dad once said? Intimacy is the only shield against insanity. Okay. But how can I be close to my family if they don’t want me to be who I truly am? Since I don’t want to witness their disappointment all day every day, my darkness must be a secret. And that makes me feel ashamed. It’s the dearest friend of loneliness, shame.

“Wow,” Ambrose said, eyebrows arching. “Did you tell yourself to get meaner while you were in the cabin just now?” I keep my face impassive. He’s right, of course. I did that very thing. Fought against my own weakness. “On your feet,” I say.

“I know how to make coffee, too. Just want you to know that, in case that inspires you to leave me unbound.”

I guess I’m willing to trust him for now. I guess that’s what my mysterious, juiceless organ of a heart has decided.

Ambrose raises an eyebrow. “I’m not an idiot. Appearances to the contrary. You’re actually sitting with one of the best programmers in the academy.”

In case that spurs the new colonists to find a workaround, the virus will also code the zygotes’ adrenal glands to produce excessive amounts of testosterone over their lifetimes, influencing their amygdalae to turn them aggressive. I’ve done the same to the yaks they’ll raise—predisposed them to become killers. Since the zygotes are stored in an inaccessible part of the ship, beyond the gray portal, OS can’t repair them. The colony will fall from within.”

WakeSleep cycles your individual sleep stages, but without the loss of consciousness. You’re asleep, but also awake the whole time. Parts of your brain flicker in and out, but you can think and look and process and still come out totally rested after a few hours.”

Despite my ambivalence, my voice speeds up. Maybe my feelings are resolving. Maybe I’m excited. Maybe I like this plan.

“If you won’t let me be pretentious, you’ll find I have little left to say.

Ambrose is so outraged that he squeaks. Adorably. “See! You just used ‘bottom’ as a punishment, Kodiak.”

I will live in these current moments as fully as possible. Then I will be gone. Ambrose will be gone. Sheep will be gone. It arrives. The brightness between us.

OS claims it will hold. OS is very good at predictions. But it’s also good at manipulating our emotions around difficult outcomes, particularly when there’s nothing we can do about them. OS well knows that hopelessness is its own terminal condition.

It’s undeniable: even though he’s now literally the most remorseful human in the universe, he’s still a little creepy. That brain edit can’t come soon enough.

Father chuckles darkly from his knitting. “As long as OS doesn’t vent us into space at the end of it.” “I would never do that,” OS says. “It’s not necessary, and not even possible underground.”