"Why? Why?" Dylon demanded, throwing the blankets off the bed.
"What do you mean, 'why'?" Brie asked, as she tried to pack a bag.
The problem was, Dylan decided to wash the bed sheets while Brie tried to pack a small bag for a trip.
"There has got to be a reason why now, all of a sudden, you have decided that you needed to pack all your friggen things up and board a plane for – of all the places on this planet – Florida. Land of ten thousand LGBTQ+ insults."
"That – look, as much as I agree with that, I am not going to Florida to hang out at the Magic Kingdom or run around International Drive."
"No, you are going to Bikini Beach."
Brie held up her bag, shaking it. "Do you honestly see me put my bathing suit in here?"
"It's Florida."
"Like that's the answer for anything."
"You can walk into a Walmart any time of the year and see swimsuits on one side of the wall and hats and gloves on the other."
"I am going to research a book about my dad."
"I don't think any of that is a good idea," Dylan said.
"Its not about you."
"Isn't it?" Dylan asked. "Isn't this thing effecting us? You didn't listen to me when I told you not to talk to that guy and any problem we have had as a couple in the last few months goes back to that."
"What, talking to my brother?" Brie asked.
She scooped her clothes off the floor, refolding them to fit in her bag.
"You may share biology but that doesn't make him your brother," Dylan said.
"Then what makes a brother?" Brie asked.
"Brent is a far better brother than a stranger," Dylan said. They beat the pillows back to shape and lined them up at the headboard. "We have everything we need."
"From your point of view," Brie said. "Is it not valid for me to want answers for myself?"
"I'm not saying that."
"Yes, you are," Brie said. "As long as it doesn't interrupt the life you think we both want, you are okay with it, but because I am asking questions about why my dad left and why my family fell apart, you are threatened."
"I am not threatened. Not when that man is married to that woman. Not when he abandoned you as a child."
"What if it wasn't his choice? What if all the pain I have gone through, all the work I have had to do to overcome the pain of my childhood wasn't caused because he made that choice."
"Are you defending him?"
"Not exactly. But I can't know if I don't have the whole story, now. Can I.?
Dylan said nothing.
Brie ducked into the bathroom to finish packing her travel bag.
"You are asking the wrong questions," Dylan said.
"What do you mean?" Brie asked, coming out of the bathroom again.
"The questions you asked at the presser."
"About carbon? Wait – are you mad because I am going to Florida to meet my brother and research for a book about my father, or are you mad because I asked the first secretary of the department of renewable energy about how much carbon we need in our atmosphere to stay alive?" Brie asked.
Dylan shifted the blankets on the bed. Then, they sat down on the edge of the bed, not looking at Brie.
She threw her travel pouch in the bag and came around the edge to look at her lover.
"Are you mad that I asked what the laws would look like to enforce the agenda that's being laid out?"
"You weren't supposed to ask those questions, Brie."
"I'm a journalist, Dylan. I NEED to be asking those questions because people need to know what things are going to look like and I am going to keep asking those questions," Brie said.
"You don't know what is going on."
"We NEED to know what is going on, when you have the United Nations deciding United States policy."
Dylan stood. "This planet is dying, Brie."
"But scientists haven't answered WHY."
"Because of humans, because of our interference in the ecosystem."
"We are apart of the ecosystem," Brie said.
"Where the fudge is any of this coming from?"
"I read, Dylan. I read books, I read articles. I think about what I am reading and right now I am reading that the UN wants to send people to Mars who don't agree with their policies and who do they think they are to make that decision?"
"The governing body of this planet," Dylan said, jumping up from the bed.
"Since when?" Brie said.
Dylan shut down.
Brie stared at them, trying to release her hands from the fists they became.
"Since when?"
"We have been warned for fifty years that we are living wrong. We are destroying our world and if you are going over to that side then have at it," Dylan said. "Pay the price."
"I am not going to any side," Brie said. "I am asking questions that I find are relevant to the conversation. That means this knew czar or secretary or whatever she is. That means about my life."
"Including me?" Dylan asked.
"You certainly are not making it easy," Brie said.
She made it to the airport and boarder her plane for Florida without any further argument from Dylan. When she landed and checked her messages, she had a few from Brent and Deshawn, both having heard from Dylan and wanted to know if she was okay.
Of course she was.
Her explanations of wanting to write a book would have to suffice for now – and it wasn't too far off the mark.
Besides her father's video, there was a document and a written note that told her to contact several people, providing for the contact information.
One of those people was Milo.
Her father didn't send her no corporate number, either. No, this number went directly to the man.
Brie didn't call the number until she settled in her hotel room, and was surprised despite the late hour, that the man picked up after the second ring.
"This is Milo," the strong, masculine voice said.
"Hello, my name is Brie Reyes," she said. "I am calling because I have recently come into contact with my half-brother. My father is Stephan Hodges."
"Brie, hello," he said. "Yes, I have had many conversations with your brother in recent months. And I am in regular contact with Stephan, as well."
"I am researching him. I'm currently in Florida and I want to know more about him," Brie said.
"Well, I am no longer involved with the day-to-day running of my company," Milo said. "I will have to get you clearance, but I will send my car for you."
"Clearance?" Brie asked.
"I live in the Martian Embassy. I may have never been to Mars, but I have permanent residency here," the man explained. "It will take a couple of days."
"I have a passport, for travel," Brie said.
"Well, that will satisfy part of the requirements," Milo said. "It's nothing to be concerned about -."
"Don't you be all white and say if I have nothing to hide," Brie said.
"No," Milo said. "I was going to say, that the process is nothing to be concerned about, if you are honestly who you say you are. If you are honest about the personal details of your life, like your name and like."
"I don't want details of my life out there any more than it has to be," Brie said.
"Oh, I am not big on the gossip or social media myself," Milo said. "But I would like to know – I'm a curious old man. Why come now? Was it meeting your brother that you are reaching out, or something else?"
Brie chewed over the questions.
"I want to write a book," she said. "I have questions for myself that need to be answered. About my father. About what happened in my childhood that he wasn't there for me the way that I needed him."
"I can't give you all those answers, Brie."
"I know," Brie said. "It's very likely you don't know. I don't want to interact with him in any way until I am ready... but I have to know."
Brie heard a click.
"Very well," he said. "Is this your personal number?"
"Yes."
"I will tell you the steps you will have to undertake over the next few days. You have a passport; that's good. It will speed the process up. But you will still need to pass a background check to enter the embassy. The same rules apply to the Martian Embassy as to every other nation's embassy in the United States: you will be leaving Earth, and the United States so much as the boarders and the boundaries are."
"Will I be loosing gravity, too?" Brie asked.
Milo laughed. "There are a few who have only known life on Mars who would appreciate loosing the gravity we have here on Earth, I assure you. But know. The place, the land may belong to Mars, but gravity is one of the few things that they have to deal with when arriving here."
(1557)