engineer of the small and intricate. Sometime Rafa envies his two natures; the dark precision, the light creativity.
‘Like what?’
‘I’ll know it when I see it. But I will need to see it.’
‘I’ll let Heitor know.’ Socrates, Rafa’s familiar, has already sent the notification. ‘I’ve told him not to let Adriana know.’
‘Thank you.’
Wagner has been the shadow in the family so long his siblings have evolved an alternative social gravity, informing him, including him while keeping him invisible, like a black hole.
‘When will we see you around, miudo?’ Rafa says. Adriana is looking back, waiting for him.
‘When I have something to say,’ Wagner says. ‘You know me. Keep breathing, Rafa.’
‘Keep breathing, Little Wolf.’
‘Ariel.’ Lucas calls to his sister down the length of the Oxala steps. Ariel turns. ‘Going back already?’
‘I have business in Meridian.’
‘Yes, the reception for the Chinese trade delegation. I couldn’t ask you to miss that.’
‘I told you clearly at the party.’
‘It’s family.’
‘Oh come on, Lucas.’
Lucas frowns in puzzlement and Ariel sees that he cannot understand what she is saying. He believes absolutely that his every act is for the family, only the family.
‘If the positions were reversed, I would do it. Without a thought.’
‘Things are simpler for you, Lucas. People are taking an interest in my career. My skin has to be airtight. I have to be clean.’
‘No one’s clean on the moon. They tried to kill Rafa.’
‘No. Don’t you ever do that.’
‘Maybe not the Mackenzies. But someone did. We’re Corta Hélio: we’re good, but we’re good at only one thing. We extract helium. We keep the lights burning down there. That’s our strength but it’s also our vulnerability. AKA, Taiyang; they’re everywhere, doing everything. They’ve got more than one place to go. Even Mackenzie Metals is diversifying – into our core business. We lose the business, we have nowhere to go. We lose everything. The moon does not suffer losers. And mamãe. She’s not what she was.’
Ariel had been glancing away from Lucas, breaking his powerful eye contact. Even as a child, he won every staring-game. Now he says five words and she can’t look away.
‘Even you must have noticed,’ Lucas says. Ariel takes the barb. It is months since she was at a Corta Hélio board meeting.
‘I know Rafa’s been managing her public engagements.’
‘Rafa Corta. The Golden Boy. He’ll run this business into the dust. Help me, Ariel. Help me, help mamãe.’
‘You’re a bastard, Lucas.’
‘I’m not. I’m the only true son in this entire place. I need something on those Chinese, Ariel. Not much. Just a tiny edge. They’ll have something. A little loose skin I can tear.’
‘Leave it with me.’
Lucas bows. As he turns away from his sister, a smile breaks on to his face.
One light for doors locked, two for undocking. Three for departure. A small tremor in the rock as the induction motors levitate the car. And the tram is gone. It is only five kilometres from Boa Vista to João de Deus station. From Rafa’s hugs, farewells, and, yes tears, it might be worlds.
Lucas observes his brother’s bare emotion with discomfort. The corner of his mouth twitches. Everything is big with Rafa. It always was. The biggest bully, the loudest laugher, the charismatic boy, the golden light; as profligate with his anger as his pleasure. Lucas has grown up as his shadow: restrained and precise; honed and holstered like a taser. Lucas feels as profoundly and intensely as his older brother. Emotion is not emotionalism. One is script, the other performance. Lucas Corta has room for emotion but it is a private room, windowless, white and airy. White rooms, without shadows.
Rafa hugs his brother. This is undignified and embarrassing. Lucas huffs in pain.
‘She’ll come back to you.’ It’s the kind of platitude that is expected in situations like
‘Like what?’
‘I’ll know it when I see it. But I will need to see it.’
‘I’ll let Heitor know.’ Socrates, Rafa’s familiar, has already sent the notification. ‘I’ve told him not to let Adriana know.’
‘Thank you.’
Wagner has been the shadow in the family so long his siblings have evolved an alternative social gravity, informing him, including him while keeping him invisible, like a black hole.
‘When will we see you around, miudo?’ Rafa says. Adriana is looking back, waiting for him.
‘When I have something to say,’ Wagner says. ‘You know me. Keep breathing, Rafa.’
‘Keep breathing, Little Wolf.’
‘Ariel.’ Lucas calls to his sister down the length of the Oxala steps. Ariel turns. ‘Going back already?’
‘I have business in Meridian.’
‘Yes, the reception for the Chinese trade delegation. I couldn’t ask you to miss that.’
‘I told you clearly at the party.’
‘It’s family.’
‘Oh come on, Lucas.’
Lucas frowns in puzzlement and Ariel sees that he cannot understand what she is saying. He believes absolutely that his every act is for the family, only the family.
‘If the positions were reversed, I would do it. Without a thought.’
‘Things are simpler for you, Lucas. People are taking an interest in my career. My skin has to be airtight. I have to be clean.’
‘No one’s clean on the moon. They tried to kill Rafa.’
‘No. Don’t you ever do that.’
‘Maybe not the Mackenzies. But someone did. We’re Corta Hélio: we’re good, but we’re good at only one thing. We extract helium. We keep the lights burning down there. That’s our strength but it’s also our vulnerability. AKA, Taiyang; they’re everywhere, doing everything. They’ve got more than one place to go. Even Mackenzie Metals is diversifying – into our core business. We lose the business, we have nowhere to go. We lose everything. The moon does not suffer losers. And mamãe. She’s not what she was.’
Ariel had been glancing away from Lucas, breaking his powerful eye contact. Even as a child, he won every staring-game. Now he says five words and she can’t look away.
‘Even you must have noticed,’ Lucas says. Ariel takes the barb. It is months since she was at a Corta Hélio board meeting.
‘I know Rafa’s been managing her public engagements.’
‘Rafa Corta. The Golden Boy. He’ll run this business into the dust. Help me, Ariel. Help me, help mamãe.’
‘You’re a bastard, Lucas.’
‘I’m not. I’m the only true son in this entire place. I need something on those Chinese, Ariel. Not much. Just a tiny edge. They’ll have something. A little loose skin I can tear.’
‘Leave it with me.’
Lucas bows. As he turns away from his sister, a smile breaks on to his face.
One light for doors locked, two for undocking. Three for departure. A small tremor in the rock as the induction motors levitate the car. And the tram is gone. It is only five kilometres from Boa Vista to João de Deus station. From Rafa’s hugs, farewells, and, yes tears, it might be worlds.
Lucas observes his brother’s bare emotion with discomfort. The corner of his mouth twitches. Everything is big with Rafa. It always was. The biggest bully, the loudest laugher, the charismatic boy, the golden light; as profligate with his anger as his pleasure. Lucas has grown up as his shadow: restrained and precise; honed and holstered like a taser. Lucas feels as profoundly and intensely as his older brother. Emotion is not emotionalism. One is script, the other performance. Lucas Corta has room for emotion but it is a private room, windowless, white and airy. White rooms, without shadows.
Rafa hugs his brother. This is undignified and embarrassing. Lucas huffs in pain.
‘She’ll come back to you.’ It’s the kind of platitude that is expected in situations like
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