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pinholes.
    Which meant coffee was forbidden in the amphitheater proper.
    Which meant Gabriel, nursing his cup of half-decaf coffee, had to sit in the audience chamber that circled the amphitheater. It suited him fine: the seats were more comfortable here, and from his vantage point he could see all the way to the stage below.
    “Fancy meeting you here,” Armando said. He sat beside Gabriel, giving him a peck on the cheek. “How are you?”
    “Peachy,” Gabriel murmured. He sipped his coffee. It was delicious — somewhere on the planet, there was always some small mechanized coffee farm finding a new way to roast traditional beans. Or tweak the soil. Or fine-tune the genes of the coffea arabica shrub. Just this morning, Gabriel had seen an ad for this particular brand in the elevator — “Just message C4543 at the nearest coffee machine and we’ll zap the genetic blueprints in three seconds flat!”
    Delicious. If you liked spending credits on such things.
    “Splendid getup. Is this the new style then?” Armando asked, running a finger across the shoulder plate of Gabriel’s Ecosuit.
    “I hope not,” Gabriel answered. “My Proving is today. But you know that.”
    “Yes. Everyone on your social net knows.” Gabriel turned in time to catch Armando in the process of rolling his eyes. Armando was attractive, with skin that was a shade browner than Gabriel’s and dark hair that was just a little longer, a little unrulier. Armando also had the dubious distinction of being nicknamed Eyebrows — on account of the black caterpillars on his brow — ever since primary school. But it didn’t diminish the young man’s looks. Armando was undeniably handsome.
    “Did you study your Proving manual?”
    Gabriel nodded. “Two centuries ago, we began tracking a massive comet that would buzz right past Earth. When the comet arrived one hundred and thirty-three years ago, it got caught in our orbit, forming a ring around the planet. Inside the Ring were Specters. Specters descended to Earth and wreaked havoc. Humanity fought back. Good enough for you?”
    “For me? Yes.” He leaned back, crossed his arms and smiled a wry smile. “Although your mother might prefer you not use a snotty tone when reciting the history of humanity’s most trying experience.”
    A gentle ping sounded from the speakers near the ceiling of the amphitheater, and it echoed between the marble pillars along the top row. Molambique Triam — the representative from Neo Berlin’s Fifth District — made her way down to the stage. She turned, and as she did her flowing white dress followed like a frothy wave.
    “No,” Armando whined. “Why are you wearing that dress the day after Carnivale, woman? You’re offending half the delegation.”
    “Shhh,” Gabriel said, leaning forward and setting his cup of coffee on the rail that divided the audience chamber from the back row of the amphitheater. Armando was right — the dress was cut low, revealing a fair amount of chest. But at least the dress was beautiful, and it perfectly complemented Representative Triam’s dark brown skin. Gabriel loved it when Neo Berlin’s reps demonstrated sophistication to the world delegation.
    “The people of Neo Berlin have elected Pierre Price to serve on the Ark,” she announced.
    The conversation began. Holograms spoke amongst each other. Some spoke with delegates from Neo Berlin, others from different cities. Near Gabriel, two holograms — a middle-aged man and a younger woman — spoke heatedly with one another.
    “We need more artists,” the woman urged. “Writers. Actors. Entertainers. You can’t put a value on culture.”
    “Pierre Price can build ,” the man said. “It’s wise enough. Although the newer structures he’s designed leave much to be desired. I hope he’s learned a thing or two about simplicity. He won’t find a glass factory on New Earth.”
    “Who is this Price?” Armando asked, putting an arm around Gabriel. Gabriel allowed it,