I wrap my fingers around the orb and separate it from the rest. The others fade, and when I let go, this one expands to the size of a Hologis sphere. One tap, and the orb expands until it fills the corner of the room, with me standing inside it. Little squares, photographs, float around me. My family’s faces smile at me. Here’s Mother, her dark hair hanging loosely over her right shoulder. A yellow dress ripples out of sight. She’s smiling, a smile I never saw after Father died. And here’s a picture of Mother and the twins, when my sisters were only a year old. I pick out another picture: me from two years ago, taken the same day Father was called to Belvun’s aid.

It’s the picture he would have shown to Ladia.

I grimace at the thought. My hair was longer than it is now, greasy looking and untrimmed. Sure, I’m wearing my suit—we took nice pictures for Father to show off. Now I wish I had cared more about how I looked, not that I had anyone to impress.

I search for a picture of Father and come across a data orb labeled: My Induction. Four pictures float inside the file. The first is his ID, and the second is from his Induction Ceremony. He’s dressed in the same dark blue uniform that Glacia, Ellin, and I all received. The third is his Recruit group picture. He’s standing among his nine fellow Recruits—three girls and six guys, none of whom I recognize. Father’s arm is arm slung over the shoulder of the guy next to him. He’s smiling. Laughing. Anxious to begin his life.

The fourth picture his Ambassadorial Initiation, which occurs after an ambassador’s first completed treatise. He’s dressed in the forest-green uniform all the Undilaen ambassadors wear. The Undil Embassy crest is embroidered on his shoulders like it is on mine, but in shining gold instead of silver. His smile is as bright as when he surprised me at Secondary, and youth blazes in his eyes. His neat black hair flips up on one side.

My father. This is my father. In this picture, he doesn’t have a son, or a wife, or twin daughters. He is only living his dream, ready to prove himself.

I fall asleep easier tonight, but wake up at four o’clock, three hours before I usually do. That’s when I end up turning over and over until I give up, take a shower, and leave my room.

The food court is completely empty. Even so, I sit at the same table where we eat dinner. The station’s hum absorbs the clanking of my fork and knife as I cut apart strips of Killari steak and scrape chunks of eggs. My stomach sours and threatens to reject my breakfast, but drinking juice helps. Even so, it aches for more food.