Ten stars aren’t in the sky.
“Sirius, Betelgeuse, Procyon, Aldebaran, Rigel, Meissa, Cursa,” Satya murmurs, Greek slick on her tongue. “Venus, and the Orion and Horsehead nebulae. Which most people think are stars.”
“How long until they all go out?”
She smiles. “They’ll come back.”
“But if.” Groen shivers. “If we can’t stop the warming, and they keep putting up mirrors–”
“Stop forecasting from the facts. The future is made of stories. The stars are sleeping, and they’ll awake brighter than before.”
“You’re wonderful,” he tells her.
She considers this, and nods. “Yes,” she says. “I am full of wonders.”