Free Alternity by Mari Mancusi

suggests another. And one tongue-in-cheek ad recommends: “One of these days, POW! Straight to the moon!”
    “Is this where the Indys live?” I ask.
    Duske nods. “We call it Luna Park. Pretty, isn’t it?”
    It is. The stone walkways are elegant and well-designed. The buildings are sleek and some made entirely of glass. And the centerpiece of the city, a spiky postmodern fountain, glitters as water droplets capture the lights and fragment them into a shower of kaleidoscopic color.
    But how can these people enjoy all of this, knowing what’s happening one strata down? My mind flashes back to the grubby mutant children of the Dark Side, destined to live in the gutters their entire lives. Do these people know how their neighbors are forced to live?
    “Such a difference from down below,” I murmur.
    “Yes. It’s unfortunate,” Duske agrees sorrowfully. “But we’re working on that. You’ll see.”
    We leave the town, turning left and driving down a long road until we pull up to a mammoth Tudor-style mansion. It’s set high on a hill, is at least four stories tall and made of white stone—with a single candle illuminating every window. It’s elegant, but at the same time a bit foreboding, the sharp lightning slashing across the landscape, casting menacing shadows. The driver pulls up and around the circular driveway, stopping in front of the house.
    “Here we are,” Duske announces. “Home sweet home.”
    We exit the car and end up inside a majestic foyer that matches the majesty of the building’s exterior. The walls and floor are made entirely of marble. Cold. Glittering. A crystal chandelier hangs from a cathedral ceiling. In the center of the room a mammoth staircase—like something out of Gone With the Wind —sweeps upward.
    I turn to Duske. “Can I have my asthma medication now?” I don’t mean to sound ungracious and hasty, but before I get completely carried away by the opulence of this stranger’s world, I want to make sure he can deliver on his promises. After all, I’m still not sure who to trust.
    Duske nods and claps twice. An old, graying butler wearing a tuxedo enters the room, bowing his head as he approaches my host.
    “Brother Thom, could you get Sister Skye her medication?” Duske asks. “And,” he says, after scratching his chin, “a dress suitable for dinner.”
    The butler nods and disappears into the house.
    “No offense to your current clothing,” Duske says, giving me a somewhat disdainful glance. “But the Park Terrace has been picky about dress codes lately. Forgive me.”
    I nod absently, more concerned that he didn’t tell the butler what brand of medication I needed. But before I can speak, the butler returns. Almost as if he had exactly what his master would ask for just waiting in the next room. More than a little creepy.
    But I can’t help a sigh of relief as he places the inhaler in my palm and I see the familiar Lunatropium label. Just having it in my possession makes it easier to breathe.
    “Thank you,” I say. “I was really freaking out there for a bit.”
    Duske nods knowingly. “My pleasure,” he says. “Though I suggest you save the medication for a moment you really need it,” he adds. “There’s not a full bottle’s worth left. Asthma medication can be so hard to acquire here in Terra.” He turns to Thom. “And the dress?”
    Thom hands me a dress on a hanger, covered in plastic. I hold it up in front of me, to get a better look. It’s not just a dress, but a full-on floor-length gown. Halter-top, red, with a slit that cuts to midthigh. Even through the plastic I can see the fabric is seeded with multicolored gems. Very adult and very unlike anything I’ve ever worn before.
    Thom bows stiffly. “One flight up,” he instructs. “Two doors to the left. A private bathroom where you can bathe and change.”
    “Dinner’s in an hour,” Duske adds. “I trust that’s enough time to get ready?”
    “Um, sure, okay,” I stammer, not