The Voyos Reunion Read online

  The old island had been backfilled and made larger, artificial sand manufactured on-site to augment what the ocean offered on its own. Palms were genetically engineered with larger-than-usual fronds, each perpetually growing a clutch of coconuts that would never fall. Greenery was lush, engineered to thrive on little water since the island’s lattice seldom permitted rain. Beaches were wide and spotless. The sun was almost always shining through blue, cloudless skies.

  It was topless weather. Nude weather. Fuck-in-the-sun-and-sip-Mai-Tais weather.

  Chloe glanced back over her shoulders, watching the other tram passengers load onto hovers for transport to the island’s center. She let them load without her, walking the other way. The ocean beckoned her.

  She could see the water from her spire apartment in District Zero, but it wasn’t the same. Caribbean water was jewelry blue. Soft waves broke near the shore, then again farther out. They were small — just big enough to use a boogie board on, for those so inclined. There was one surf spot where waves were allowed to grow through the lattice, but it was on the opposite coast. And the surf, like most of Voyos, was all for show. Plenty of girls fantasized about bedding sexy surfers. And Voyos provided.

  Chloe went to the water’s edge, where the hot sand cooled, and the sifted whiteness surrendered to a hard-packed brown. She removed her sandals and held both in one hand, watching her feet’s impressions in the damp sand. Baby waves lapped her bare toes. Chloe closed her eyes. Inhaled.

  Home.

  Eyes open, seeing it all as if for the first time.

  She’d spent her childhood on these beaches. She’d walked island trails holding her mother’s hand. Back then, Young Chloe had never thought to wonder. Things were what they were; there was no practical world beyond the island and no reason to question the many things she’d taken for granted: that she had a mother but no father, that every day was sunny and bright.

  Chloe felt an odd moment of vertigo recalling those old memories. She’d lived them, all right; she could remember it all with clarity, could almost reach out and touch them. But at the same time, her childhood felt distant. She’d been that child, and not. It felt a thousand years ago. Or maybe second-hand, as if she knew what she knew of growing up Chloe because some other woman had displayed it in an album of cherished memories.

  A doppelgänger.

  A different Chloe than she was now.

  Chloe closed her eyes again, willing the doubts away. She focused inward, seeing her life on Voyos with renewed intensity. Most of her memories of this place weren’t a lifetime ago. She’d been a child; she’d been a young woman; she’d been an adult inheriting her mother’s not-at-all-unusual career on glass tables in the same clubs Nicole still worked today. She had sex for show. She had sex for money. None of it had struck her as strange because none of it was. This was the world. Life as Chloe knew it.

  Six months ago, that’s who she’d been. No doubts. No questions. No fears of being overseen or overheard; no suspicions of conspiracy. She’d had no father and only wondered about his identity in the most cursory of curious ways. O had been her life. She’d been another cog in the machine, and she’d been happy.

  But who was she now?

  Chloe inhaled, smelled the salt, heard the slow and soporific music of surf in her ears, tried to imagine herself back in that other woman’s shoes: that younger Chloe, who’d understood her place in the world without question.

  She opened her eyes. There was someone standing beside her.

  “You made it,” said the other woman, also looking out at the ocean.

  Chloe wanted to smile, but she had to fight her confusion first. Slava was supposed to be in District Zero. She had engagements in the city. She wasn’t supposed to arrive until days after Chloe. Here, there was no Andrew. No Brad. Only her mother and the oh-so-recent life that suddenly fit like a left shoe on a right foot.

  Chloe had liked Slava immediately. Even at that first meeting she’d felt like the two of them could share anything. Their vibes were entirely compatible. And what’s more, Chloe thought as she glanced at Slava now, they could be sisters. Both had dark hair: Chloe’s chestnut, Slava’s black. Both had pale skin and slight builds. Both had wide, bow-like lips, and mischievous senses of humor.

  But as quickly as they’d bonded, Slava belonged to the DZ version of Chloe’s life. She was New Chloe’s friend — a city friend. Seeing her here in Old Chloe’s home — already on Voyos — set Chloe’s head spinning.

  “How did you get here?”

  “Plane. What, did you walk?”

  “But I didn’t see you on the plane. Or the tram.”

  “I came yesterday.”

  “I thought you couldn’t come for a few more days!”

  Slava shrugged. She was wearing a black bikini, modest by Voyos standards. Her skin was chalk white against the black. Her breasts were small, and barely on display. She could be a tourist on vacation. Nothing in her manner said Open For Business.

  “They called that off and told me to come early.”

  “But what about your other—”

  “Hey, when Alexa Mathis calls me personally, I do what she says and don’t ask questions.”

  Chloe studied Slava’s face: her devilish dark green eyes, long exotic eyebrows, elfin features. Slava let Chloe stare for a few seconds, then seemed to decide she’d had enough. She looked away again.

  “If I’d known you were going to be all weird, I wouldn’t have come down here to meet your tram. I was getting rimmed by this hot guy who swore he’d get me later, with both cock and a dildo. Both you-know-where.”

  “Alexa called you?”

  “Is that so crazy? I hear I’m hot shit these days.”

  “She called me, too.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Slava said. “Well, my pussy’s tighter!”

  When Chloe didn’t respond, Slava actually rammed her shoulder into Chloe’s. “I’m fucking with you, Chloe. It sounded like you were competing. Who cares if Alexa called me? It was Parker Barnes who told me to come to Voyos in the first place. Alexa just moved it up a few days.”

  “Why?”

  “I assume so they can get me more Heaven On Earth airtime. You too?”

  Chloe started to shake her head, then realized she wasn’t sure. It made sense that Slava, who made her living with video and holos, would appear on O’s most popular and longest-running off-district Crossbrace show, but Chloe had never been offered or asked about shooting video. She was an escort, not a broadcast performer. But Brad had gone to Sarah to request Chloe’s transfer and Alexa herself had called to okay it. There’d been no mention of appearing on the Crossbrace show … but if Slava had been sent to the island to boost Heaven On Earth’s viewer numbers, was it possible that oft-advertised Chloe might be here to do the same?

  What was she here for? Because really, coming to Voyos had been entirely too comfortable. She’d expected to argue her case, but O had practically packed her bags. She’d almost been encouraged to go, and they’d made sure her friend met her at the tram.

  Let it go, Chloe. Not everything is some big secret plot.

  Not everything centers on you.

  Not everything in your life is a test.

  “I’m going to blame this weird fucking thing you’re doing right now on jet lag,” Slava said after too much time had passed.

  “Sorry. I guess it’s just strange to be home.”

  “I’d think it’d be weird to grow up here,” Slava said, looking out around the panorama. “I used to think people fucked a lot in my life, but here you can’t walk down the street without seeing two guys DP’ing some girl waiting for a cab. While a Heaven On Earth camera crew broadcasts it.”

  “It’s not quite that bad.”

  “Bad?” Slava acted shocked. “It’s not bad at all. I was that girl waiting for a cab.”

  “I mean that when you live away from the resort sections, it’s no different from any other small town and—”

  “I know what you me
ant. Jesus, what’s with you today? Did you have too many drinks on the flight? That’s what happens when the entire plane is first class.”

  “Maybe I’m tired.”

  “Yeah. You’re tired. And we’d better get you somewhere until you’re back to your old self. Word gets around that O’s new Golden Girl can’t put a coherent sentence together and thinks DPs in public are bad, you’re going to crash the entire company. You said this isn’t vacation for you, right?”

  “It’s a transfer. I’m working in the Voyos spa.”

  “I know. You told me. I meant that it’s not exactly going to be relaxing with your mom around. You sure you want to stay with her?”

  “She’s my mom.”

  Slava made an exasperated exhale. “She must be better than my mom, then. But seriously. The offer to stay with me stands. And since I got here before you, I’ve already handled all the rental check-in shit. You’d just have to tell the island system to redirect your bags from your mom’s place to one of my many guest bedrooms.”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  A quiet moment passed between them. Neither seemed to know what to say, mainly because Chloe still felt disoriented — to be back home, to be close to confronting her mother about Clive Spooner, to see Slava in a different place from where Chloe’s brain had filed her … and now, to realize that Alexa Mathis and Parker Barnes had gone beyond simply permitting her transfer and instead actively lubricated the way.

  “Do you want to have that coffee now?” Slava asked.

  “I really should go home first. Make sure my bags made it, see my mom.”

  “After that?”

  “I’ll let you know. I need to check in at the spa, too.”

  “Are you blowing me off? Cunt.”

  Slava’s eyes met Chloe’s for a long, serious moment, but then Chloe laughed and broke the weirdness that had been hanging in the air since setting her feet to Voyos sand.

  Suddenly everything was just a little different. A little bit better.

  “I’m totally blowing you off,” Chloe said, finally able to play back.

  “I knew it.”

  “That’s right: I’d rather work than have coffee with you. Bitch.”

  Slava laughed, but the joke rolled back at Chloe, her own words troublesome. She’d come here to work; she needed to check in at the spa before settling down. Maybe they’d even give her a job tonight instead of the day to acclimate. She was on the clock, after all — and as her mind wandered to Andrew, that felt like a problem all over again.

  “Fine,” Slava said. “Go work. Get your oil levels checked. Maybe I’ll see you at the water cooler.” She faked thoughtfulness. “Or is it a ‘lube cooler’ at the spa? You’ll have to show me around.”

  Chloe‘s brow wrinkle. Slava was a vidstream and holo star. She wasn’t an escort. She didn’t work in the spas and never had.

  “Check in?” Chloe asked.

  “I guess they didn’t tell you that, either?” She shook her head, laughing again. “As part of my gig with Heaven On Earth, they want to do some spa insider stuff. I’m undercover, and then once I’m trained up I’m going to blow that cover wide open so the viewers can get a sneak peak.”

  “You don’t mean …”

  “As long as I’m on Voyos,” Slava said, “we’re spa-mates.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Why did O allow my Voyos trip when I’m advertised in the city?

  Why did they send Slava, and make her a temporary spa girl?

  And why, pray tell, has Alexa Mathis inserted herself into this personally?

  Loops spun in Chloe’s mind as she rode in the rear of a robotic hovercab bound for the island’s small city center. Every question felt paranoid. Embarrassing. She was stronger than this. She’d been raised by a single mother and never had trouble standing up for herself. She’d always planned to live alone by default, unlike so many escorts, who nursed dreams of sugar daddies paying their way forever.

  But slowly, on a downward slide, the strength she’d always been so proud of had eroded like rock lining a river floor. A month ago, she’d have felt that her worries were all well in hand. A week ago, she’d have had her antennae raised. A day ago, she’d been unsure, heading into the unknown with little more than hope in her hand.

  Today she was nuts.

  Stop asking irrelevant questions. Stop assuming some version of the worst — whatever that is.

  Stop taking everything personally. The world — or even the O Corporation — doesn’t revolve around you, Chloe Shaw.

  She opened the cab’s window, blinking, trying to shed her vertigo.

  Her questions all had simple answers. They’d allowed this trip because Chloe was a valuable employee and deserved a break to see family — and if it was a working break, all the easier to green light.

  They’d sent Slava because she was a huge draw in O’s entertainment division (and because Crossbrace sweeps for Heaven On Earth was coming up), not for any reason to do with Chloe.

  Alexa was involved because Brad had contacted Sarah to get her involved.

  Andrew had been acting weird because guys always acted weird when emotions were involved, not because he was hiding secrets.

  Of course Chloe had a father; she just didn’t know who he was. No birth control was one hundred percent effective.

  Nobody was watching her.

  And as to Who is Chloe Shaw? Same as always.

  Chloe was herself, no more and no less.

  She knew that O misted the island’s air with endorphin-inducing compounds, so Chloe stuck her head out the window and deeply inhaled. She willed chemistry and psychology into collision. She wanted to be high — delusional, even. Anything was better than the different kind of fallacy she increasingly felt herself spilling toward.

  By the time the cab had passed the town center and moved into the permanent residents’ suburbs, Chloe felt better. Slava’s early arrival — and even the news that she’d be in the same spa as Chloe — now felt like a blessing. They could get together as often as they wanted. They could lean on each other, even if Slava never seemed to need anyone. Chloe could spend her evenings and mornings dealing with Mom Stuff, then decompress with Slava while her body orgasmed every worry away.

  There was one remaining twinge at that last bit, but Chloe pushed it away. She was an elite escort. Andrew had understood that up until now — he’d understand that work called her to mingle with other men yet again.

  She stepped from the cab, then stood on the cracked sidewalk for a long moment before moving toward the house. A low shrub fronted the lawn — some dwarf thing that was half flower, half bush. The lawn was mowed but not edged. The porch of the small white house was clean but rather naked, without a single plant in sight. Nicole had always kept her home with pride, but she’d never drawn attention. Her lawn and home were like the woman herself: pretty, respectable, and cute … but never overly done.

  Chloe felt the last of her newer worries melt away as she took in her childhood home, replaced by more familiar and mundane worries: Will Mom be obnoxious in her affection? Will she fawn over my hairstyle and tell me I’m too thin or too fat? Will she remember my questions and pester me about Andrew or what it all might mean?

  These were common mother/daughter conflicts, and Chloe welcomed their intrusion.

  Her eyes found the porch: wide enough for a group to sit comfortably, with several viewing screens openable for outdoor display. She remembered how it once felt to sit on those wooden boards, feeling their wear, rolling balls across them while Mom watched vidstreams from her rocking chair.

  And as Chloe moved toward the gap in the small shrubs, she remembered the cracks in the sidewalk the same. Drawing pictures in chalk. Learning to ride a tricycle, a scooter, a bike. Hopscotch — and skipping past superstitious cracks, lest she break her mother’s back.

  Up the walk.

  Up the wide wooden steps, her hands brushing the smooth painted railing.

  To the door
: open, with the screen closed to invite the breeze.

  Above Chloe was the same porch fan she remembered looking up at so many thousands of times, watching it spin.

  Inside, she could see other fans, which in Chloe’s mind had never stopped spinning. Her apartment in District Zero was as wired as a circuit board, every environmental aspect controllable from light and ambient music to temperature and humidity. Voyos had stayed a simpler place, where Crossbrace was still something you accessed, rather than lived inside. The central fan was the home’s only means of cooling. No need for AC with an island breeze.

  Chloe raised her fist to knock on the screen door’s Plasteel frame, but then thought twice and instead thumbed the latch and pulled, finding it open and unlocked.

  “Mom?” Chloe called out. “Are you—”

  She was unable to finish; her breath was squeezed from her when a black-haired woman three inches shorter than Chloe rushed her from nowhere. It came like an assault, but was of course only a hug: an overly done, aggressive Nicole embrace.

  “You made it!”

  “Of course I—”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here! I was going to come down but I wasn’t sure which tram you were coming in on and I thought you might go to the spa first since you sent your bags here.”

  Chloe extricated herself from her mother’s grip. “I figured I’d just pack a small bag for the spa when I go.”

  “You didn’t send a bag directly there?”

  “No, Mom, I—”

  “Oh, you really should have, Chloe. I’m not sure how it is in the city, but they still don’t like escorts to walk in looking like clients. Or tourists.”

  “I’d obviously go through the employee entrance and—”

  “Your bags are already upstairs. It’s not too late. If you want to pack a little bag of intimates and toys now, I can call over and have someone pick it up so you won’t have to—”