The hyperoad was long, even with the jumps, and the driver was singing this awful tune. Couldn't even really be called a tune. Flat and repetitive, bleak as the still stars. I jigged my leg in the back seat, trying not to escalate simple breathing to hyperventilating.

See, I hadn't been home in a while.

But to be perfectly honest, I was more comfortable being disowned.

The driver snorted and ran us through another jump. Light smeared, my ears popped, the stars grew huge and bright and consuming and then scattered once more. There, the last leg of the hyperoad. Satellite cities sprang up all around, glowing and pulsing and swarming with traffic, radioheads rising like balloons among towers, bared teeth, winking fashion, all trapped under a shimmering bubble of atmosphane.

I couldn't remember a version of myself that had ever thought it was beautiful. The hard rock and dirt and hollow landscapes of Dentra Theeve were much preferred. But my family much preferred their own preferences over mine. Much preferred things be done right. Such as taking back the money my older brother left me when he died.

"Almost there, sirya," said the driver, the "ya" at the end a particular tic native to the satellite cities of the Vengo System. My younger brother developed one when he'd run away for a year. He, however, hadn't been disowned upon returning home. Luck of the youngest.

Luck of anyone else.

The car broke through the atmosphane with a bone-thrumming twang, the strange substance bouncing back and reforming without giving a gasp of an inhale to outer space. Spires and antenna bristled in a false skyline, the planet of Dimbra Mar looming brown and green and toxic yellow behind. The driver put down in Retrain Horizon's carport.

My family's tower had never looked so lifeless. A spear through the corpse of the city. This place bled nothing but lies. I stayed in the car until the driver opened the door for me. Stepping out was erasing five years of peace. Stepping out was the first inevitable move in the long game of false pretense, of welcome home.

The atmosphane was shielded blue on the inside, made to look earthy, homey, the primary color of innocence and comfort. The carport railing drowned in the grip of pulseplants, thrumming and exuding a slow change of colors to the rhythm of a song coasting from an open window. A useless affectation in a pocket-sized city so full of light that it could blind the universe.

My family was full of useless affectation.

Like my mother's smile as she glided out of the double doors, arms spread like dear, we missed you. My sister's gold-foil sheath dress like she cared about the occasion. The driver rapped his knuckles on his beat-up car—my one choice in coming here. To arrive in anything but a limo was defiance. Mother glanced at the vehicle with fossilized disapproval, and paid the driver's fee before ignoring his existence entirely as he backed out and soared off.

I watched him go, memories of his tuneless songs growing fonder.

"You should have been here yesterday," Mother said, folding her arms and her mouth into a frown.

I shrugged, lopsided and inelegant. "I had to pack my things."

"Where are they?"

I shrugged again. I didn't have any things.

My mother inhaled tightly, that tell of impatience, cast her eyes over my scuffed up shoes, thin-legged jeans, and dusty hair that had grown wild with wind and unusual desert nights. "I see your respect for this family hasn't changed," she said.

"I see your disdain for any opinion that isn't yours is doing mighty fine," I said.

"Get inside," Mother's mouth said, while her gaze stayed manicured and flat. "We have a lot to discuss."

My brother was dead. But I knew my mother, and I knew she hadn't shed a tear.