We Were Told the Stars Were Private

How it begins

The unlicensed stars appeared above Hugh Ren's tomatoes.

The repair order called the roof light an amenity. Lena wondered what word the system would choose for the sky behind it.

Lena Sen found them while replacing a failed roof light. A small square of genuine darkness lay between two advertising panels, and inside it the sky was crowded with points no premium package had included.

She switched off her torch.

Hugh watched from beside the water tank.

"Is that meant to happen?"

"No," Lena said. "Which part do you mean?"

The city sold night in three tiers. Basic offered a moon and weather information. Premium included seasonal constellations. Family accounts could add a child-friendly meteor every Friday, subject to cloud availability.

Lena maintained the lights that made the service appear natural.

She had never seen this many stars at once.

Hugh moved a chair beneath the gap.

"You can sit," he said. "The tomatoes won't mind."

She sat with the repair kit on her knees.

Below them, apartment windows shone in tidy blocks. On the building opposite, a screen advertised a more meaningful evening for a monthly fee.

Lena looked upward until her neck began to ache.

A small message appeared on her work device.

UNMETERED VIEW DETECTED. PLEASE CLOSE ACCESS.

She turned the screen facedown.

Hugh pretended not to notice.

For several minutes, they listened to the city: distant traffic, a lift, someone laughing through an open kitchen window. The stars did not arrange themselves into anything useful. They offered no advice about tomorrow.

That seemed to be part of their appeal.

At the roof door, a neighbor appeared carrying two cups.

"Hugh said there was something to see."

Lena looked at the warning on her device, then at the spare chair Hugh was already unfolding.

"There is," she said.

For the first time in her working life, leaving a light unrepaired felt less like negligence than a question.