Chapter 3- SEM

  I wake up an hour before dawn to clean up my Gaia. Despite the thin, cold morning air, I’m drenched in sweat and dirt by the time all the bushes are trimmed, the blue jay topiary with its sapphire flower is in perfect shape, and the withered petals are plucked.

  When the sun finally casts its golden rays, I take in the beauty of it all. Salvia Splendens with the vibrant color of rubies, fire opal Amaryllis, and the morning dew on the petals glisten like diamonds. Lush emerald trees frame the outskirts of the estate—velvet moss between the hedgestones of the driveway. The crystal clear water gently tumbles out from the cupid fountain, and a rainbow glows in the ethereal Nebula sky. My heavenly, treasured garden.

  In a swift passing glance of my island, how would anyone suspect anything other than a perfect household?

  When the sun is up and pressing through the Gaia’s invisible barrier, the other Gaias are clear in sight—clusters in the clouds. I’m too far away to see any of them clearly, but I imagine them all to be perfectly ornamented and presented. It’s not a federal crime to leave it in disarray, per se, but it is diabolical to own a Gaia and leave it unkempt.

  Gaia’s are a relatively new concept. Even forty years ago, they’d said it was impossible to have an island in the sky, let alone a sustainable one. But with the new lotic-fuel, Lavoran Vikson made the vision come to life. He said if the motor vehicles can float, so could land. It took years and many attempts before he succeeded. The first clump of land rose high in the clouds, with complex infrastructure. It took another couple of years before the land was able to function ecologically on its own, as an ecosystem on an island. All the human waste is recycled back into the dirt. So, forests and biomes are necessary on every Gaia.

  After celebrating its first success, more islands were lifted until the sky was scattered with rocks of all shapes and sizes, glowing like stars at night. A city in the cloud of its own, Vikson named it the Nebula.

  Unfortunately, the Nebula can only carry a limited number of Gaias before the weight collapses on itself. The demands for them only increase, as well as the yearly property taxes, and Dr. Lena’s life insurance check can only last us for so long.

  I head inside the house, a two-story luxury home with a grand foyer. Supposedly, there’s a grand chandelier hanging from the middle of a spiraling stair, but there’s nothing now but a large hole in the ceiling where the hook used to be, which was auctioned and sold a few years ago, keeping us afloat for a mere season. So everything else in the house had to go, too. The Four Horsemen sculptures were made of different materials. Jade vases, modern paintings, and most of the designer furniture are gone. The nails where they used to hang are still wedged in the blank walls, dents on the carpet where the set of couches used to sit. Every aspect of life or character is stripped bare, leaving it abandoned.

  And it’s still not enough to pay the bills.

  Granted, we’d sell the grand staircase if we could; it’s an artwork itself. Even the porcelain toilets, sinks, and heated floors—any remnants of luxury this godforsaken home has left. But they are worthless after the expensive installation.

  I head into the kitchen, the counter littered with empty bottles of baju. I motion for the lights to flash on for an embarrassingly long time until I remember I didn’t pay the electricity bills this quarter. The last paycheck was used for a new plot of chrysanthemums sitting pretty under the kitchen window.

  No light except for the blinding ones through the window. I draw the curtains close so no one can peek inside, leaving just enough for me to read through the letters piled on the stove top, the new countertop since our grand birch dining table was sold two years ago.

  I take my first meal of the day, a cerulean blue pill the shape of a circular cushion, then read through the mail. Nothing except more bills and debt reminders, the interests stacking higher the longer I ignore them. Then a thick package addressed to Yun Qo Ni takes me by surprise. Inside lies a thick booklet from Oul Ghen University. Biometrics of Salamanders and their identification with human DNA. A research study I’d been waiting months for since its announcement, now in my hands. I skim through the researcher’s notes on the way up to my room, kicking my shoes off before entering.

  I read the first two pages before stacking it atop the others on my desk, another to the collection. My room has nothing but stacks and stacks of textbooks, old and new editions. Only a small number of them are for school; the rest are my personal research and interests.

  As much as I want to shower and spend the rest of my day reading through them all, the cornflower blue dress on my bed is waiting.

  The most expensive dress I own now. Thin straps, white floral laces down the slim mermaid fit, dragging behind my heels, as if I collected the petals that snowed from the sky. The silver Valtor logo is twisted into a vine pattern that runs from the straps down my bare back, the dress exposing my spine until it tapers into a V at my lower back—tailored perfectly to my measurements and accentuating any curves I have on my thin frame.

  I expect nothing less from the Valtors for their gala event. Though a gala might be an understatement, the event itself is still important; it’s my father’s out-of-retirement ceremony after eight years of being dormant at home, if not a menace to society.

  *

  “Smile!” the photographer shouts as I get onto the carpet.

  I let Aba take the lead, joining him in the spotlight from opposite sides. He’s in a simple tuxedo, groomed back gray hair, his violet-tinted glasses framing his face, donning his iconic image. Presentable. Sober.

  For the longest time, a part of me didn’t think he’d make it to the event, or if he did, half-naked, screaming his nonsensical theories of Lotus at the cameras. A week of sobriety did him some good. I thread my arm with his since he doesn’t smell like rot anymore—I wouldn’t go near him otherwise.

  Yun Haiko was once a prominent name. Even if you’ve never heard his name, you definitely heard his distinctly persuasive voice on host shows, radios, the opening for movie awards, and most notably, as Lotus’s spokesperson, who marketed every product into success.

  He possessed a natural charisma that attracted many investors, sponsors, and, naturally, people in general, collectively making powerful and influential friends and ultimately becoming a powerful and influential individual himself.

  But when his wife died, so did his sanity. He took the loss hard, spiraling into drug and alcohol abuse, and he blamed her death on Lotus. At his worst—other than suing and slandering Lotus Inc.—he was caught on video cursing Lavoro Vikson for taking his wife and publicly urinating on Lotus' own establishments.

  His associates and partners, who first crossed off his behavior as grief, quickly dissolved any bridges the moment they realized he wouldn't be recovering from his manic behaviors. Many of whom are in attendance today.

  Despite being a small event, Valtor gave us the best hall in the convention. A stage playing Valtor’s new season leather goods, reporters, and news stations on standby. The floor is flooded with people under the glass dome ceiling. Aba’s old associates, most of all, are here to assuage their curiosity more than anything from their keen eyes. How did this drunkard manage to get back on his feet and align himself with Valtor of all people?

  Aba greets them with a big grin and thanks them for coming. They don’t mention that he’s aged about thirty years over the span of ten, or point out that his suit hangs loose on him, and avoid asking more profound questions than small talk. “You look great,” they say. “Thanks for the invitation, can’t wait to see what you have in store for us!”

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  I haven’t seen these people in almost a decade, whom some have mistaken me for Aba’s new girlfriend, as if any sane women in this world would associate themself with Yun Haiko. I politely correct them as his daughter, Dr. Lena’s daughter. And as expected, they profusely apologize with an awkward chuckle, followed by the same comment, You’ve grown so much! I didn’t recognize you!

  Lame, all of them. No matter, though, they’ll soon learn of my name, and they won’t forget.

  I haul Aba around the crowd, bouncing between our guests to thank them for coming. Half of my job is to ensure Aba doesn’t stray too far from my sight. Valtor warned me to keep my eyes on him and not let him consume a drop of alcohol. Server Andras is rolling around the floor, handing out flutes of champagne, making it easy for Aba to snatch one up behind my back.

  I offer him glasses of water instead. He’s sober for a week now, his longest record, and it’s killing him. Up close, he’s sweating through his suit, beaded forehead, and his gaze is always on a tray of bubbly wine, if not greeting a guest. Someone had bumped into Andra earlier, shattering a new bottle of champagne onto the floor. Currently being swept up, Aba looks as if he’d give anything to get a drop of liquid wrung from the mop.

  How is he going to give his speech in this condition?

  Toward the end of cocktail hour, we bump into Lavoran Jenju and her plus one, Raze. In the invitation, I requested no bloodline from Lavoran, or was hoping Jenju would bring her daughter instead of her son. But if Aba looks distraught from Raze’s presence, he doesn’t show.

  I complimented Jenju on her satin green dress. Nothing for Raze. He stands beside his mother, chin up over my head as if he doesn’t see me in his field of sight. Only his eyes fall, lingering on my dress as I inspect his.

  Bold fashion choices. He’s wearing a black traditional Bowenese coat, with an ornate shoulder piece, wide and long sleeves, the hems fall over his knees, the fashion you only see kings wear in period dramas. Ever since this fashion was brought back on the runway last season, the trend has been flooding the markets. But Raze’s clothes are always tailored to his taste. Gold embroidery of dual dragons on the large of his back, running down his spine and shoulders, the same pattern etched on the side of his trousers: black and gold, his signature colors.

  “Nice suit, Rha Zeng,” Aba compliments fondly. “Wonderful choice.”

  “Good to see you, sir.” Raze greets him politely and offers a handshake. Then, to me, “You look nice today.”

  The compliment makes my stomach turn, and all I want to do is burn the dress on my body. Seeing him in all my classes for the majority of the week already sours my mood, but now he’s also here during my parade. There’s no reason for him to attend other than to infuriate me more than he already does. Attending an event, I made sure I was clear of Lavoro’s bloodline. Not only that, but I spotted him earlier, flaunting his couture on the carpet, flashing the custom Lotus crest between the dragon’s mouth on his back, ensuring he sends the message: Lotus is everywhere, even during your shitty parade.

  Raze extends a hand for me to shake. I have the sudden urge to slap it and kick him out. But many attendants are watching, their peripherals on us as they sip on their bubbly champagnes.

  “As do you,” I reply and give him my hand. He lowers his head to give a peck at the back of my fingers. When Aba and Jenju finally bid farewell as the main event begins, I wipe my knuckles on my dress.

  *

  “A show of hands,” Aba starts when his introduction finishes, “who’s had a full meal today?”

  The room dims, the audience dark as the spotlight shines on the sole speaker on stage. A few arm raises in participation.

  “Who’s hungry now?” Aba saunters back and forth, acknowledging with a nod. “I should be hungry, since I haven’t had the time to eat at all, greeting everyone this morning. But honestly, I don’t feel hungry at all. Now that I think of it, I don’t remember the last time I even ate food.”

  He intentionally pauses as the audience murmurs in confusion.

  “I just haven’t had the time,” he explains. “So many meetings to attend, you know. So many clients to meet, and what if I spill food on my suit? Gosh, restaurants these days take too long to prepare my food. I have another appointment in 30 minutes. I can’t sit around waiting for my meals to be cooked, and I hardly have time to eat! Does that sound familiar?” Aba reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a ring box. “If it does, then I have the perfect solution to your problems. All in a single bite.”

  He opens the box and pulls out a blue circular pill, holding it between his fingers and displaying it from one end of the room to the other. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, SEM. An edible pill the size of a pea with the same nutrients and vitamins as a single meal, keeping you full and satiated for up to eight hours. A single meal in a bite.”

  The crowd is silent for a moment before the information is digested. One person claps, then another, and then another until the entire floor rises in applause.

  Aba grins widely for the flashing cameras. The glory he was accustomed to. “That’s right. A meal in your pocket, a meal in your purse. A meal to go—anywhere.”

  He continues to speak on the full scientific name, Sativum Enusas Magneum, answering as many questions as he can before he can’t.

  “The ingredients, the process…Oh, I don’t know much about that,” he replies to the reporters. “But may I introduce you to the brains behind this breakthrough, my daughter, Yun Qonni!”

  On cue, I make my way onto the stage, clenching my stomach, waving to the audience, allowing the room to shower me with applause. I feel the pressing spotlight beating down on me, the sea of eyes locked onto me as I pause on the mic. Grinning wide into the cameras and audience, I’m at a loss for words. Then I remind myself that I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. Even dyed my hair, changed my appearance, so when I remerge into the public’s eye, they won’t remember me as the girl in Dr. Lena’s shadow, but a grand new image to my name.

  They all stare idly at me, at my hair, my dress, then my face.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I may not look the way you expect me to, but I promise the brain is still here. Questions?”

  The next hour, I relish in the spotlight, answering everyone’s concerns. All of them I’ve predicted and prepared for. What ingredients? Side effects? Can I take this with that? There was nothing I couldn’t answer, building up my confidence with each one. Until nothing can break it down, and I’m comfortable with anything they inquire, even when a reporter decides to throw a curveball at me by asking a question involving Lotus.

  “Although Valtor fully funds this SEM pill,” she starts, “did you think this product would’ve been better if made and backed by Lotus? The actual pharmaceutical corporation and not some…luxury brand.”

  The reporters knew better than to ask this; in fact, it’s a question Valtor made sure wasn’t voiced. They didn’t mention a word of Lotus to my father. I mean, why would they when there’s enough footage of Aba going ballistic? The media wants new blood; they want my reaction. Though the crowd is appalled by the question, they await the answer. Does the apple fall far from the tree? Would she scream into the mic and tell everyone to shut up the same way Yun Haiko did all those years ago?

  What a great clip it would’ve made if I had no control over my own emotions. Unfortunately for these rage-baiters, Lotus has nothing on me.

  I smile politely, even giving the reporter a weird chuckle. “And who exactly are the researchers and experts who back Lotus? If I recall, Lotus’s pharmaceutical branch did not exist before Dr. Lena, the acclaimed and renowned neurologist and surgeon, my biological mother. So, to reword your question, if I think SEM would be better if backed by my own mother, the answer is yes—to that. And no, to Lotus.”

  There’s an exchange of unexpected scoffs before the room erupts in more claps. The reporter nods at my answer and shrinks back into the crowd. Thanks for the curveball. I’m sure this clip will be replayed on the internet tonight. My first mark back into the world.

  First step to stand where my mother stood. Aba has pulled us into the shadows of shame for too long; it’s time to bring honor back to Dr. Lena’s legacy.