“My whole family is thug to the bone,” Dina protested. “We’re Keepers of the Belt.”

“The what now?”

“Keepers of the Belt.”

“Wait, you mean that raggedy strap you got hanging in your room like it’s some objet d’art?”

“If you examine it close, you’ll see it’s not just some ‘strap.’ A crude notch had been poked into it as its owner had outgrown the other holes. Once you hang the buckle near the top of a door, the waistband runs over halfway to the floor. That belt used to belong to the Notorious B.I.G.”

“Uh-huh. You always got to take your stories two steps into nonsense,” Hondo said.

“It’s true. When you set your eyes on it again, you need to realize that you’re looking at a piece of hip-hop history. A holy relic.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Their generation, not-quite-affectionately called neoniks, loved the late-twentieth-century era as part of what they called the Remember Revolution. They committed themselves to never forget the tragedies of O.E., from Black Wall Street to MOVE to First World. Admirable in philosophy, though in practice, they basically just adopted that era’s slang. Rampant among the HOVA, the culture spread through music and grew in influence. It annoyed Stacia.

As Hondo and Dina wrapped up their space walk, Stacia and Paki met them at the air lock.

“Captain.” Dina and Hondo snapped to attention in the conspicuous manner of kids being caught midgrope by a scolding grandmother ready to snatch them into next week.

“I see you, Dina, Hondo,” Stacia said.

“I see you,” they said in unison.

“As you were.” Stacia hated the stiff formality of command, a holdover from O.E. structures. The way she saw it, her role as captain didn’t differ from that of Camara. She was a hub, a master teacher, but not a ruler. No matter how long the Uponyaji, some things embedded themselves deeply into people’s collective unconscious and would take longer to root out. Though when she was truly honest with herself, she enjoyed the rush that came with their immediate forced respect. It was an expedient tool.

As Stacia stepped toward them, Paki entered their field of vision. Hondo and Dina passed glances at each other the way children silently schemed when mommy and daddy were both angry and they didn’t know who to play.

“I’m going to read you in on a situation.” Stacia leveled her gaze at each of them in turn to convey the significance of her words. Her tone remained even, almost warm, attempting to signal that they weren’t in trouble.