Lessons in Interplanetary Realty

“I can’t sleep.” Dex says, hands hovering limp over the keyboard. 

Polly raises her eyebrows and slowly approaches the chair opposite him. It is an uncomfortable rounded fabric thing, something one might find in a bank or, in this case, an office. She slumps into it all the same, pushing her cat-eye glasses up her nose in what appears to be judgement. Despite her temperament, she is a good secretary. She has been with Dex for many years, and is oftentimes the only thing preserving him from ruin. 

“Not until this job is finished.” He turns his attention away from the computer and opens a drawer in his faux-wooden desk, from which he produces a bottle of some imported alcohol, the label of which is in a language Polly is sure was wiped out decades ago. She holds out her hand, palms the full glass she is given.

“You don’t have to tell me. Any offers?” She looks out the window which Dex worked so hard to get. To her, it looks like the view from any other space port: an unimpressive nebula twinkling and shifting. Space isn’t pretty to Polly. If anything, it reminds her of the makeup section of a department store: an overwhelm of stuff, ever-expanding and ever-wasting. Though Dex is happy, so she swallows her criticism and summons something resembling happiness too. 

Dex runs a hand through his thinning hair. “None peaceful. Well, a few displaced colonies from 094, but their credit is weak. Couldn’t pay the mortgage. Doubt they’d last a decade before we have to scrub the whole place clean and start again.” 

“Don’t even entertain the idea. The planet and all three moons would be facing invasion within a week.” Polly mutters, crossing her legs and taking a sip from her glass. It is a sentimentality vodka, she realizes too late, an elixir which is supposed to recall pleasant memories. Polly swallows it bitterly and then hands the glass back to her boss. 

“You don’t like it? Tastes like a bike ride on your childhood street.” Dex puzzles. 

Polly has never had a bike, nor a childhood street. Sentimentality tastes like a too-sweet sundae. It leaves her feeling sticky and empty. Polly sighs, head in her three-fingered hand. Her long nails scratch at gel’d hair, a bright red pageboy cut curled to perfection. She was the picture of perfection, come to think of it, and she hadn’t aged like Dex, but none of that matters now. “I need to retire, Dex. I have kids, half a system from here. You know very well that if we do this right, it could be our last job. We could go our separate ways and be done with these past two centuries. I’d like that. As much as I can like anything. But you need to sell this planet, every moon of it, before someone takes it out from under us.” 

Dex sighs. He pushes his chair back, turns to admire his view. He is five foot eleven in a badly-fitted suit. He has a tail, some genetic mod from his teens, but he is no longer that person, or at least he’s trying not to be. The tail looks like a fox’s, and his face is foxy too: too narrow, eyes round but beady. “There was one offer.” 

Polly leans forwards. Her pencil skirt tightens at her knees. “Go on.” 

Dex turns to look at her. She has eyes like a sugar glider. They’ve been darker, as of late. “A warlord from 405. Twice our asking price. It would mean retirement and so much more. But-“ 

Polly rolls her eyes. “Don’t go soft on me, Dex. You’ve sold better planets to worse people.” 

Dex sighs. His tail is between his legs. “Not that. It’s just… Polly, I don’t want to retire.” 

Polly is unfazed. She stares through him, leans back again. “Well, then you’ll just have to find a new secretary. Should be easy, in this market.” 

 Dex sighs, refreshes his email. 5 more offers come flooding into his inbox. He skims them. “No, Polly, I mean to say that I don’t want you to leave. I want to keep doing this. Being us.” 

Something about this statement makes Polly’s skin itch. She hisses. “And my kids?” 

Dex throws his hands in the air. “Who cares about your kids! They come out of the egg fully formed, they don’t need you! I doubt that you even know where they are right now, anyways. You don’t want to be a mother, you want to run away.” 

The room is silent. Only the buzz of electricity and the hum of the station fill the empty air. Polly stretches her back and stands upright. 

“I don’t want to run away because I’m in love with you, or any variation thereupon, if that’s what you’re implying.” She tilts her chin up, and the fluorescents catch her at a pleasant angle. Dex wonders if this is the last night they will spend together. In fact, Dex fears that this is the last night they will spend together. He fears it so much that he forgets to appreciate her image while it is still breathing in glorious 3D right in front of him. 

“You’re afraid your career is stagnating. You’re afraid that you’re wasting your potential as a secretary.” Dex replies, the words coming out jagged and unnatural. 

Polly’s eyes widen. She does not comment. 

He clears his throat. “I do love you, you know. You’re my best friend. Generally, humans tend to feel affection towards people they willingly spend centuries talking to. It’s a sort of flaw in our design. But to want anything more out of you would be absurd, Polly. I just need to be your coworker forever. Whatever sort of forever I can afford.” 

Polly softens, an act only noticeable to Dex. She looks up at him through furrowed eyebrows. “I’m going to need a promotion.” 

Just as she says it, there is a blinding light which floods the office and promptly dissipates. The two cover their eyes, brace against the carpeted floor. When the light is gone, they turn to each other, and then to the window. A speck previously unseen blazes brighter, redder in the sky. Emails flood in. Dex sits down tentatively. His face falls. 

“There goes our job.” He says, flatly. 

Polly clicks her tongue. “Too good to be true. Who destroyed it?” 

Dex reads some more. “Some semi-divine youngsters. Petty vandalism. Good news is that some real estate opened up next door. The collateral wiped out all life on their planet, too. What do you say, co-agent?” 

Polly shows her teeth, takes a moment to think even though she already knows the answer. The promotion sounds good, natural. “I suppose one more job can’t hurt.” 

Dex smiles, watches her leave with an innocent admiration. He’ll need to upgrade her to a better office. But then again, she never cared for the view. 

She turns to face him, watching the red tint his flyaway hairs, the edges of his face. “Now get some sleep.” She says, with every scrap of care she possesses.

Dex nods, yawns. Despite this, he does not sleep. Instead, he looks out of his window, the window he worked so hard for, and watches the planet burn.