This shuttle was very different from the cargo shuttles I hijacked in the past. First off the shuttle itself was much shorter and was a sleek red creature. A small portal was open for passengers to step off the balcony into the shuttle.

Patrick helped Azalea in before sliding in himself. I was left to figure out entering this thing in a ridiculous dress with hard to manage heals. One of the guards stepped forward, nondescript in the black uniform with the face mask and helmet, offering me a hand.

I smiled gratefully at the guard and took their hand, allowing myself to balance on them as I climbed into the whole. “Show those rich people the strength and humanity of us poorer people,” A woman’s voice whispered to me as she let go of my hand.

The interior was lit with dim red light and black leather seats were lined around the shuttle. Azalea and Patrick sat against one wall, and another man sat at the front. The red light shined off a shiny bald head that I swear is waxed.

The bald waves his hand toward the seat next to the door. “As my son’s guest you can take a seat there.”

So this is Patrick’s father. I sit down on one of the fancy seats, feeling it softly give under me.

“Hope, this is my father, Raymond McNeil.”

He holds out his hand toward me, expectantly.

Hesitantly I grasp his hand, “Hello sir.”

He grabs on and shakes my hand twice before letting go. “Girl, you need to learn better manners. When you meet someone you should say ‘Nice to meet you’ and then ‘How do you do sir’. That is a proper first greeting. Not a hesitant hello. You should also grasp a person’s hand to show your own strength. Otherwise you are a dead fish and not worth any interest. Do you understand girl?”

I nod, afraid to even ask this man to stop calling me girl. I have all this power, and yet the very aura this man exudes terrifies me.

He continues on with different terms of address for different people, and which fork to use first. He should have taught me all this before deciding to bring me to this social gathering.

The shuttle comes to a stop and the portal opens up, lights flashing through the small opening and loud music blasting in.

Patrick’s father gets out first and then offers a hand to help me out, which I gratefully take. I step through and out onto a balcony of a building that has lights flashing through multitudes of windows and music blasting.

“I will be your escort for tonight,” the old man whispers into my ear, his breath wafting the sting of fermenting food. He takes my arm and loops it through his.

He leads me forward into a room of a myriad of thrashing lights and sounds. It’s too much, and I look back, wanting to run back to the safety of the shuttle, but he drags me forward into this insanity.

People undulate around a floor, gowns flashing by mixed with black clad legs. He draws me forward into this movement, placing my left hand on his shoulder, one of his hands on my waist, and grasping my other hand with his, he leads me forward. He pushes me this way and that, and I stumble around trying to follow, but unable to figure out what is going on, my feet everywhere and the music an enigma. His face slowly turns in a plum, as he looks like he bit into a green apple.

He pushes me toward a wall and releases me, “Stay by the wall. I don’t want anyone to realize how much my special guest fails at dancing. Have you even ever danced before in your life.”

I shake my head, “I’ve been in a jail cell for hmm, how many years now? Oh I remember, seven years! What did you expect?”

He glares at me and stalks away, leaving me by the wall with a couple of older women who are sitting on seats looking quite bored.

“Hello sweetheart. Are you new to society?” A woman with a severe gray bun, asks me in a raspy voice. Her face is softened by short side bangs hanging loose smile wrinkles lining her eyes and mouth. Even now I can see a genuine, sweet smile.

I nod, unsure of what I am allowed to say and not allowed to say.

“I’m sorry you had to come with that man. He’s a regular womanizer and a bore. I myself used to love these parties, but eventually I realized that everyone here wears a mask even though this isn’t a masquerade.” She laughs as if she’s made some kind of great joke.

“I was supposed to marry that old geezer a long time ago, but I refused and became the pariah of polite society. The evil spinster who will turn your chances at a good marriage to dust.” She laughed again, her laughter filled with biter rasping.

“I have no need for marriage opportunities or anything.” I am not sure what else to say to that type of statement.

She laughs again, “You are a first among this pack of wolves my dear. Well, I guess not a first as I am sitting next to you, and they label me with that interesting term, asexual, but you are one of a few. Are you like me and you do not desire anyone, or are you just not interested in marrying any of these self-interested shallow bastards presented here.”

“I – I’m not sure. I don’t know anyone here, and I’m not really certain about desiring anyone. I haven’t really thought much about that.” Nathan’s face flashes through my mind. I wouldn’t mind it if he was next to me right now. Is that desire, or is that simply longing for a friend?

“You look deep in thought my dear. You don’t have to love. You don’t have to give yourself away to someone. Your life is your own to control. But a word of warning, if you choose this path it is a lonely and thankless one.” She leans back against the wall, her eyes partially close for a second. “It might have been nice to have a friend with me if nothing else, but I chose to only stand on my own two feet. I guess that’s the problem with us strong-willed women. We don’t want help from anyone else.”

I recognize her now. I’ve seen her face on billboards that say “Rossette Lanota for City Council”. She’s a politician in a world mostly dominated by men.

“I have a friend that I asked to stand with me, but he pushed me away and told me if I chose the path I am on I had to walk it by myself.” I find myself admitting to her.

She nods sagely. “Yes, that sounds about right. Most people are afraid to follow in the wake of a strong willed woman, or they tire of it after a time. I think I myself have tired of my own path, but I am too stubborn to turn aside from it. I can’t turn away anymore.” She stops, and looks over at me, her dark blue eyes slowly moving from my feet to my head. “I see that in you. For all that you are young, you already have that tense, set, look about you. I suggest jumping off your path before its too late, my dear. Politics will kill your soul. It will eat you alive, chew you up, and spit back someone you don’t recognize.”

She thinks I am going into politics. I guess in a way my path has lead me toward such a path. But I can’t turn away. Not now. Not ever with my power. I already don’t recognize myself or the person I used to be. I killed my soul when I smashed a man’s heart with my mind.

“It’s already too late for me, I think. I turned away from all my friends to take this path.” It’s the closest I can get to the truth. I have turned away from them, but I do it for their own sake. I will destroy insane, expensive, luxurious parties like this one, and instead will help my friends with money accumulated at the top of the towers that are built on the backs of my friends.

She shakes her head, staring off into the crowd of dancers. “It isn’t too late for you yet. You could walk out of this room, take a shuttle down out of this world, and go back to your friends. You haven’t done anything yet that makes it impossible for you to return yet.”

She has no idea. Mirth spews from my mouth. I have done more to regret than she has. My friends look on at me with horror, and only Nathan would care to see me again, but he would look at me with pity. He would ask me why I wasted all those lives to not complete my goal.

“Why do you laugh? Do you think yourself so entrenched you can’t leave? Take it from an old lady; nothing is so set in stone that you can’t change it.”

“No, I laugh because my friends would be disappointed with me if I don’t succeed now. I have lost them now whether I continue on this path or turn away, so I might as well continue.”

She shakes her head. “You need more drive than that in this world. You need to be passionate about your beliefs. You need to own your ideas. Why have you chosen this path? Why are you tolerating this room instead of running?”

I shake my head. I’m not sure. I am sure. She is right. I need to be firm in my goal. “I want to make this a better world for the poor. I want shelters for the orphans that run the streets and food for the poor that work so hard but can’t even afford to buy their own food.”

She laughs again, “Ahh, an idealist. You want to give away stuff to people, but my dear, once you start giving away stuff they start to rely on you and not working. Also you won’t be able to get any money for your campaigns that way. The companies don’t like politicians that care about their constituents. It’s bad for business when the workers don’t want to work anymore because they can get food for free.”

What is she talking about? “People would continue to work and struggle to live. They would just live better. They could be happier. It isn’t right to have this difference of wealth that the current society has.”

“My dear, it’s a dream that politics will beat out of you. It will make you forget it as you struggle to fight just to get a minimum wage set for people. It takes years to even get a single law passed. Slowly, politics will eat away your hopes and dreams, diminishing you until you find yourself asking what good have you even done. I know. I’ve been there. I once had lovely dreams and gave away most of my money, but it changed nothing. The poor stayed poor, the rich stayed rich, and people just started to complain when my money ran out. No one is ever grateful when you walk down this path.” I want to walk away from this woman and her simple despair, but I do not know where else to go. People line the other walls, but they are laughing and breathless with mirth.

I see Patrick and Azalea twirl past on the dance floor, and Patrick’s father’s bald head can be seen with a different woman packed into the mix.

“Soon they will call a break for dinner, and we will eat so much fancy food that we could feed a poor child for a week, but instead it will be served here. Will you eat it, or turn it away because it sickens you that it could feed others? Will you eat it because it will be thrown out in the garbage otherwise?” The woman stands. “I myself will eat it because I have given up on thoughts like that. I am hungry, and it is in front of me. It is not worth fighting society anymore. I have nothing left to show for what I once fought for. I used to abstain at these meals, to insist on giving away my food, and the others laughed and turned away, not caring. This world is merciless, and there is nothing you can do. Not one thing.”

The music stops and a bell chimes. Two giant doors at the other end of the room open up. “Since this is your first time at one of these functions, I will warn you to make sure you find your name. The hosts get quite angry if you mess of their seating assignments.”

I nod and move forward with the crowd. My head aches, and I wish to just retreat back to my room in Patrick’s house, but I can’t. I am his guest and I am expected to act like such.