Page 17 of Last Chance to Save the World

“Oh, I’m so glad to have met you now,” Mom says, beaming at him. “It’s like the pigeons.”

“Sorry?” Rian asks.

“I keep them because I guess I feel a little responsible. All of these are rescues, ones I’ve found in New Venice or Valetta, injured or starving. I try to save them because no one else will, and because, well. We have a responsibility, no?”

“To save birds?” Rian asks.

Mom shakes her head. “We have a responsibility to the world we come from. Our ancestors domesticated pigeons and then dumped them when they were no longer useful or beloved. Pigeons can’t help that. Can’t change the natures bred into and out of them. So, we have a responsibility.” She looks from me to him, intently. “Same with Earth and all those people who colonized other worlds. Just because our ancestors polluted Earth to the brink of destroying our whole planet...we have a responsibility to it, no? Even the ones who moved away to different worlds. We—humanity—we made a mess, and it’s better to clean it than walk away from it.”

Rian wasn’t expecting bird analogies and human sociology at a rooftop dovecote, but that’s what he got. Although I’m not sure Mom’s little speech was more for him or me. She’s always trying to get to me to think of thegreater good.Ugh.

Mom contemplates Rian. “I’m guessing from your accent that you’re...”

“He’s from Rigel-Earth,” I say.

“Oh, fuck, sorry about that,” she tells him.

“I quite like Rigel-Earth,” Rian protests.

“Really?” Mom says with the same tone that Rian used when he thought her pigeons were just rats with wings.

“Everyone has their flaws,” I mutter to her.

“Yes, but . . .Rigel-Earth?” Mom shakes her head.

“Sorry?” Rian says.

“It’s okay, dear, you can’t help it.” Mom closes the dovecote door. “I’ll just treat you like one of my pigeons.”

“She means that as a compliment,” I mutter as we follow her down the steps into the main house, but I don’t think Rian believes me.

7

We eat dinner on the terrace. There’s wine, an occasionally soft coo from the roof, warmth under the solar shield, and crashing waves.

For one meal, we all pretend. We ignore the smells and act like our sun shields are just shirts and all is well. Mom pretends that I’m home visiting, bringing a new boyfriend for her to meet. She keeps feeding Rian like it’s her job, and Rian keeps passing the second and third helpings to me because I don’t get food this good on the regular. Rian pretends that he’s not that important, dodging Mom’s questions about his role in the climate-cleaner program.

I pretend like this is normal, and we’re going not going to save the world tomorrow.

The sun’s well beyond the horizon by the time Rian insists he really is full and needs to go to bed. I set him up in the room Mom keeps for me. It’s bland and lacks any decorations, little more than a mattress in a closet.

“It’s fine,” Rian insists.

“It’s because I never lived here, not really,” I say, to explain the utter lack of personality in the room. “Mom and Papa split before Papa got sick. And I roomed with friends during university.”

And after university, there was onlyGlory.Which, ironically, isn’t the type of glory my mother wanted for me, but I’m pretty comfortable with being a disappointment. Not that Mom would call me a disappointment. Maybe I’m just projecting. But damn, it’s hard having a saint for a mother. Maybe that’s why I’m better off onGlorythan on Earth. If I’m being honest, nowhere on this planet feels like home the way my ship does. Certainly not here.

I guess the pigeons are more domesticated than me.

“Tomorrow morning—”

“Up early,” I confirm. “I’ve already hired transport to the city. It won’t take long.”

We’ll have to walk part of it. All the streets around Triumph Square are closed to traffic, anyway. I have the route sketched in my head—we’ll drop off outside Central Gardens, cut through the public park and the square, then get through security into Fetor Tech.

“It’s such a simple plan,” Rian starts.

“That’s why it’ll work. You’re used to red tape and layers of clearance. Sometimes, to get something done, all you have to do is walk through the door and do it.”

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