Plasma Frequency Magazine: Issue 14 by Jes Read Free Book Online Page A

months. Now tangled voices have become tangled lives.
    “I wish I could come to you,” Tinder says. “To see Earth, the place my ancestors came from. That would be something special.”
    “Trust me, there’s nothing to see.”
    “There’s you ."
    The holographic image stretches its hand out. I return the gesture, and my fingertips graze the surface of her projection. It shimmers and brightens, but there's no sensation of touch. There never is. Which always maddens me.
    “I can't wait to touch you,” I say.
    “I made you something you can touch. It's coming through the printer now.”
    I turn to my printer. I gave Tinder the password a long time ago, and she's been sending me small gifts ever since. I scanned my face for her once, but Tinder's printer is so old, I apparently came across as a wrinkled mess. So I'm the one who gets all the gifts—scanned crystals, shiny green jungle leaves, copies of her favorite fruits. Not real enough to break open and eat, of course, but they still make me ache for that wonderful world she lives on, where things are alive and green rather than steel-gray and cold.
    This time she sends a flower. When I pick it up from the printer box, it spreads open to reveal a luscious orange center. It reminds me of Tinder—thin and frail, the petals spotted blue like her eyes.
    “Oh, the scent of Luna plastic,” I say, taking the flower to my nose. “You're such a romantic.”
    “Don't be a jerk. It took me two hours to scan that thing.”
    I mean to tell her I would much rather have a scan of her lips, or face, or any other body part, but then the door chimes.
    “That's Artie,” I sigh. “I'm late for class.”
    “Go on, go learn. And don't cheat off your sister.”
    “Will you come back when class is over? At twenty-two hundred hours my time?”
    “On the dot.”
    “Promise?”
    “Promise.”
    She smiles and flickers out, leaving my quarters dark again, her light sucked through the darkness outside, passing scatterings of stars, yanked back to her home, twenty-nine days removed and trillions of miles away.
    ~
    Artie is the only one who knows I intend to take the shuttle to Alpha Centauri. On the way to class I break the news to her that I finally have a departure date.
    “Wow,” my sister says as we hurry down the hallways, our steps clacking against the steel grates. “Dad's going to be so angry. I can hear his speech now, how you're abandoning the Marbella family legacy.”
    “Please. I'm sure he'll not have a problem with giving it all to you, Artie. You're the smart one.”
    “I'm a botanist, not a space station commander.”
    “So build some hydroponic gardens, make this place beautiful. The station will be better for it. You can send me pictures to make me kick myself for leaving, even.”
    Artie's ghost-white face looks pitiful. “So I guess you're not gonna come back.”
    “One way ticket, sis.”
    “Luna II is supposed to be pretty dull. Nothing like the first Luna colony.”
    “Tinder loves it. And I'm sure that a live planet like Luna II is better than one that was pulverized by an asteroid, like the first Luna. And better than living inside a steel box like we are, too.”
    “You're positive this girl is worth moving out of the solar system for?”
    “She's amazing. You met her.”
    “Once. For five minutes. She dresses funny.”
    Artie tries to sound aggressive but she only sounds sad. I grasp her arm and stop her. Her eyes shimmer wetly in the fluorescent hallway light.
    “Artie, don't think I won't miss you or that it won't be hard to leave. It will. I will miss you a lot. But funny dresses or not, Tinder is worth it.”
    Artie manages a crooked, defeated smile. “Guess we can talk through your wormhole. You can be my man in the moon.”
    “Every day, if that's what you want.”
    “Every day?” She grimaces and walks toward the classroom doors. “Let's not get out of hand, brother.”
    The door to class swooshes open, revealing rows of seats, each