Starglass (37 page)

Overhead, Zehava gleamed and twinkled. We were fixed into orbit now. For the first time we could see the shapes of her continents, mostly frozen and white in a sea of turquoise. There was one larger landmass on the planet’s northern side, joined to the smaller southern
continent by a narrow bridge of land. There, near the equator, the planet gleamed violet. The color was so familiar—the same shade as the tangled vines that spread through my dreams at night. The same color as the hands that had pressed, hot and wild, against my pale skin. I found myself staring up at it, speechless.

“Are you okay?” Rachel asked. I forced a smile.

“Sure,” I said. “It’s just amazing, isn’t it? The universe and all.”

“It is. You know, the Torah says—”

“Torah.” I rolled my eyes. “What is it with you and this book?”

Rachel’s cheeks darkened. She smoothed down the fabric of her dress.

“It made me feel good to read it,” she said. “Not just because it explained the lights. Did you know that once, people didn’t work one day a week? Not just work, but they didn’t do
anything
. Write or draw or turn on the lights. Because that was the day that the universe was done being created.”

“All of the universe? Created in a day?” I tried not to grin at the idea of it. We’d been traveling through the stars for too long for me to believe something as absurd as that.

“Well, the Torah says six days,” she said, the smile on her lips tentative. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a metaphor. It makes me feel good to think that there’s a plan behind it all. A force driving us, just like the engines once drove us. Someone watching down over us, you know?”

I glanced at the purple-scattered continents overhead and let out a sigh. Looking at those white-capped mountains and blue seas, it was almost enough to make me a believer. Almost. But I’d seen too much in my life to have faith that there was someone watching down over
me
. I was alone, and always would be.

“C’mon,” Rachel said. She took my hands in hers. “We’re getting married on the same day. Just as we arrive on Zehava. That has to be a sign that there’s a greater plan, right?”

I grinned. “Silvan’s greater plan, maybe. Anyway, I just can’t believe I won’t be at your wedding.”

“And I won’t be at yours,” she said sadly. I gave a shrug.

“Honestly? I never really thought about that. I thought about what it would be like when
you
got married. But not me.”

“Really?” Rachel seemed genuinely surprised. “But we always talked about it.”

“Just talk. Don’t get me wrong. I always hoped I might find my
bashert
. But on a ship this small, what were the chances of someone loving
me
? I thought marriage was something that happened to other girls. Girls like you.”

Rachel stood there, the wide pleats of her dress spread around her like flower petals. She cradled my hands in hers as she spoke. “Terra, you have to stop this. You’re my friend. My brilliant friend.” She paused, her bright smile growing fond. “Do you remember the day we met?”

“We sat next to each other in school,” I said. But to be honest, that was all I could remember. Everything before my mother’s death was hazy.

“Yeah. But that wasn’t the whole story. It was the first day of class. And the other girls were making fun of me. My mother had dressed me in a ridiculous outfit, all blues and greens. That would be the style the next season, but that year it was all earth tones. They called me a fish.

“You turned around and
glared
at them. You were so angry. You told them to shut up, that I was beautiful. And then you reached down and grabbed my hand and held my pinkie so tight, I thought it might fall off. And I sat there thinking that if this smart,
brave
girl thought I was pretty, then I must not be so bad. We were always friends after that.”

I couldn’t help it. I crushed Rachel in a hug. She smelled like honey and violets.

“If you think I’m smart and brave . . .,” I said, pulling away. My voice was tight with tears. “Then I must not be so bad.”

“No,” she agreed, holding me at arm’s length. “You’re not. You’re so courageous, Terra. I’ve always thought that. I might not agree with the choices you make. But I don’t doubt for a second that you can do anything you set your mind to.”

We stood there for a moment, grinning at each other in the
shadow of the clock tower. Then the bells began to chime. As the crashing sound washed over us, Rachel leaned in, shouting her words.

“I guess we should go get married,” she said. I laughed, finally letting go.

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

•  •  •

The lift doors slid open, revealing the polished floor of the captain’s stateroom beneath dozens of well-dressed feet. I drew in a breath and stepped inside. My own shoes were a pair of silk flats that I’d bought especially for the day. Without my boots my calves felt naked beneath my dress; every step felt precarious, like I was walking on ice.

I searched for familiar faces. Ronen was there, looking awkward as he clutched Alyana to his chest. He stood with Mara and her family. I noticed that Apollo had dressed well for the occasion, in a dark tunic threaded with gold. He and his sister and his father, too, all beamed at me as I neared. But Mara only arched an eyebrow.

“You’ve cleaned yourself up,” she noted. I felt myself flush and crossed my arms over my chest. Goose bumps prickled my bare clavicles.

“You haven’t.”

She wore her lab coat and muddy shoes. I noted the trail of dirt across the marble.

“My work is never done,” she said, and, taking a long draw of
her wine, she gestured up at Zehava. White clouds swirled over the landmasses overhead. “Did you notice? Purple vegetation. Perhaps their plants absorb retinal rather than chlorophyll, as Terran plants once did.”

“Terran! Like you, Terra!” my brother barked, then let out a laugh at his own joke. Mara’s children looked uncomfortable, shifting in their dress shoes.

“Yes,” I said impatiently, “like me.” A flood of red washed over my brother’s face.

“Sorry,” he said, chuckling as he jiggled his daughter. “I just never realized.”

I watched him for a moment. I felt something, an alien twinge of sympathy. So I flashed him a smile. He grinned.

“By the way,” he said. “You look great.”

I felt myself blush furiously. “Thank you,” I said, leaning into my brother, “for the dress.”

Ronen gave a proud nod. “It’s what Abba would have wanted.”

I beamed at him. Then I heard the distant tolling of bells. “I should go find Silvan,” I said, and slipped away through the crowd.

He stood at the front of the room alone, sipping wine. It was odd to see him in a dark color for once. His navy-blue uniform brought out the blue hues in his glossy curls. His shoulders were squared, proud as he gazed up at Zehava. I tried to swallow down the strange
emotion that had begun to crest inside me—a small, instinctual joy at the sight of him.

“You look stunning,” he said, bending down to press his lips to my neck. His family watched us from the edge of the crowd. I felt myself blush even hotter at the touch of his mouth. He said, “And you wore lilies. My favorite.”

“Mara wasn’t happy about it,” I admitted. And then I forced my voice to sound haughty. “But she’s only a specialist. And I’m practically a Council member now. It’s
my
wedding. I’ll wear my husband’s favorite flowers if I want.”

He laughed at that, at my lie. And then he handed me his glass. I took a gulp of wine so big that it seared my throat.

“We’ll start as soon as Captain Wolff arrives.” Silvan had decided that the captain would perform our ceremony. I didn’t object. It seemed like a suitably dismal choice in light of the match we were about to make.

“Good,” I said, and swallowed the rest of the wine. Silvan flagged down a waiter to bring us two more glasses.

As we waited for the captain’s arrival, his family meandered over. His older sister offered me a limp handshake, holding out her hand like it was a piece of fragile glass. His grandfathers took turns at thumping him on the back. His mother watched me, gaze murky with disapproval.

“Mazel tov, mazel tov,” one of his grandmothers said, clutching my hand in her age-marked paw. As we descended into small talk, I gave Silvan a weary look. But he was busy whispering to his father about something.

Mazdin wore a black wool suit with gleaming buttons. His specialist cord was bright against it. He and his son should have been a perfectly matched set. But despite his fine garments, something was wrong. His olive complexion had gone sallow; there was a sheen of sweat over his brow, and fat droplets tumbled down his cheeks. His skin had a waxy cast. Between sips of wine he gritted his teeth as if his stomach would not be calm.

I knew that look—sickly, nauseous. It’s how Momma looked the day before she died.

I turned away. I wouldn’t let myself think of it, of how Mazdin Rafferty’s life was dwindling down before all our eyes. I wouldn’t let myself feel guilty or sad. This was the fate he’d chosen for himself nearly four years ago when he’d killed my mother.

I drank down my second glass.

An hour passed like that. I was caught in a vortex, only able to keep afloat through one cup of wine after another. The captain’s stateroom began to take on a glittery quality as the night dawned. In the distance I heard the clock bells chime out twenty o’clock. A frown darkened Silvan’s features.

“Where the hell is Captain Wolff?” he asked his mother, who fluttered her lashes at him.

“Language, Silvan,” she said. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

“Ready to be married, Son?” Silvan’s father said, setting a hand on his back. Then he broke out into a rash of hacking coughs. I winced, but before anyone noticed, a shout rose up from the crowd.

“Look!” someone called, and everyone turned.

Night was setting in across Zehava. A sliver of black shadowed the planet, enveloping the water and mountain ranges and mulberry-bright jungles. And on the northern continent, as the night blotted out all color, something was happening. The planet seemed to be flickering to life—sparkling pinpricks of light dotted the landscape in the darkness.

A hush fell over us. It was Silvan who finally spoke, whose deep voice lifted above the whispers of the almost-silent crowd.

“Lights,” he said. “But that must mean . . .”

I sucked down the last of my fourth cup of wine and finished his sentence for him: “Zehava is inhabited.”

The room erupted in conversation. But I didn’t say another word. I just sank down onto the cold floor, my dress spread around me like a pool of gold. I watched Zehava flash and twinkle overhead as night made its progress across it.

Silvan’s family drifted away, gossiping with the other Council
members about this new development. Even Mazdin staggered off. But Silvan crouched at my side.

“People,” he said, laughing coarsely. I think he’d had too much to drink too. “On Zehava. If we’re not the first people there, it’s not good for much, is it?”

I didn’t know what to say. I only shrugged.

In our silence I didn’t notice the captain’s daughter approach. Not until her shadow was cast down over me.

“Captain Wolff needs to see you in the command center,
Talmid
Rafferty,” Aleksandra said. “It concerns the shuttle crew.”

Silvan scrambled to his feet, using my shoulder for leverage. For a long moment I just sat there, watching as he disappeared through the noisy throng of people. But then something shifted inside me, snapping. I stood too, holding my skirt in both fists as I ran.

“Silvan! Wait!” I cried as I slipped into the lift beside him. Aleksandra narrowed her eyes. I just cast my gaze away, ignoring the heat that spread across my cheeks.

“The captain didn’t request your presence,” she said. But I held my jaw firm.

“Silvan’s my husband. I go where he goes.”

“You’re not married yet,” Aleksandra said as the door slid shut. Still, she peeled off her glove and pressed the button with her bare finger. The lift gave a lurch, then began its ascent through the glass-walled
shaft that tunneled up through the bow of the ship. As we lifted I could see the dome’s topography laid out behind me like a map. The labs, their metal roofs gleaming purple in Zehava’s light; the dark stone forms of both the school and library; the rolling fields and the clock tower at the center of the pasture; the forests, whose trees poked up from the lower levels; and the narrow, shadowed place in the distance where the districts were. I squinted at the glass. People were pouring into the dome in droves. They flooded the pastures and the fields, rushing the clock tower. From this far away they looked like ants—ants swarming the body of some dead thing, tearing it to pieces.

“What’s happening?” I asked, my breath fogging the wall of the elevator. I hadn’t been speaking to anyone in particular, but Silvan’s answer came quickly.

“Celebrations, I’m sure.”

Aleksandra snorted.

“What?” Silvan asked, with heat in his voice. He hated being laughed at.

“The commoners are revolting. The riots began as soon as night fell on Zehava.”

“Riots?” I cast a worried glance out toward the clock tower. I remembered what Van had said about mutiny. I should have been happy. Everything was going according to plan. But Rachel was out there, and I’d only just sworn to keep her safe. . . .

No one spoke as the lift dinged into place. Silvan marched out, his shoulders straight. I began to follow, but then I saw how Aleksandra hung back.

“I’d like a word with your intended,
Talmid
Rafferty,” she said. Silvan’s brow lowered. I guess he was getting used to it, though—to people wanting to talk to me but not him—because he only sighed.

“Sure, be my guest,” he said, then left us in the lift. I watched Aleksandra listen for the fade of his footsteps. Then she let the door of the lift close and didn’t push any buttons. I was trapped in the tiny space with her. I stared down at the corner of the dark lift, fleeing her gaze.

“You can’t hide from me, Fineberg,” she said. Her hand touched the hilt of her blade. I braced myself—this was it, I supposed. Time for my own throat to be slit.