"I don't know." Clarke squints up at the sky, trying to imagine it lit up with color. There's already so much color and noise, so many lights and music that she can't really imagine it. Fireworks are supposed to be beautiful. The movies and pictures she'd seen had told her as much. But wouldn't it be better if it were darker. "They must be able to. Why else would they do them if they couldn't see?"

No matter what it should be better to blot out the memory of the bright streaks that bodies entering orbit had flashed against the sky. She wants something better to touch upon.