Starbreak (22 page)

“I don’t
want
to go,” I whispered. His smile was wistful, full of understanding.

I know,
he said. And then again, out loud, punctuating the thought. “I know.”

•  •  •

Another crowded train. This time we both stood, our hands hanging from the same metal vine. Maybe I imagined it, but I think the Ahadizhi watched us even more closely now. Certainly when they called out to us—“
Lousk, lousk,
huu-maaan”—their hissed words had grown fierce. And no wonder. My people had once again brought violence to this city.

Vadix kept his shoulder pressed against mine. We must have looked like a strange couple, a human girl and a Xollu widower, dressed in Xollu robes. But in mind we were one and the same. I could feel his tempestuous thoughts, how they pulled his body in too many directions at once. There was the constant, ever present desire to flee this world for the silence of the funerary fields below, but now that was joined by something new. Now, if he had to live, he wanted me beside him to chase away the dark. Of course I wanted that too. Wanted it more than anything else. As the train paused at a station, I put my warm hand over his. He smiled at me—a thin, distracted smile.

What are you thinking?
I asked wordlessly. I think it surprised him how quickly I’d taken to speaking this way, but I didn’t want the others to listen in. They were strangers; their mouths were full of a thousand glinting teeth.

I am thinking of what will happen to your people when you return.

I considered it, unconsciously angling my face up toward the train car’s copper ceiling, searching for the silver blot of light in the sky high above. I’d left in the middle of the riots, but already so many
stores had been looted, so many windows turned to glinting dust. The place I’d fled hadn’t been so much like a city as a ruin.

I don’t know. We might try to settle without your help.

Vadix’s mouth pulled down in disgust.

Impossible! The southern beasts are massive and bloodthirsty, not to mention the Ahadizhi there. What hubris, to believe you can do what generations of Xollu have never managed.

I didn’t want to mention Vadix’s own hubris, that once he’d believed he could do the same. He’d already paid for his pride, after all.

Well, there’s always Silvan’s plan. Rumor has it, he wants to launch us back toward our home planet. Earth.

He leaned forward, his robes mingling with mine as the train car streamed along.

This is a possibility?

I wanted to laugh, but it wasn’t really funny.

No.

Why?

I stared out the bubbled glass, thinking about it. Beyond, purple trees streamed by, shifting in the wind. No matter how fallow Raza Ait became in winter—no matter how many meters of snow piled up all around the walls of the city—this was a vital, living place, one where the seasons turned and life, new life, poked its head out beneath the detritus of what had come before.

We left because our planet died. It’s funny. I have this book written by one of my ancestors, and she talks all about how polluted and overcrowded the cities were there. But
we
didn’t kill our planet. It was chance. Hit by an asteroid. We left because we would have died if we stayed. I don’t know why Silvan thinks we can go back there now. It’s crazy.

Vadix watched me, his gaze piercing even in the train car’s colorful light.

So you have options. But all of them bad.

I didn’t know what to say. I only nodded. In our silence the train car stopped, and the doors shivered open. Gently he took my hand in his and led me toward the senate building, where my people, and my future, waited.

W
e weren’t allowed to hear the deliberations about our fate. Vadix led me instead to the senate antechamber, where just the day before, Mara had tried to argue for our settlement. Now the room seemed to me to be little more than a holding cell, packed full of restrained Asherati. As Vadix and I approached the open door, he gave my hand a squeeze—then was cleaved from me, gone, and without a word of farewell. I tumbled through the doorway. Tired faces lifted tired eyes. Their wrists were bound by rope
and dripped with blood. Only Mara Stone walked freely, watching the proceedings through plate glass. She was the one to greet me.

“Talmid,”
she said. “Nice of you to join us.”

I gazed at the others, crowded around the table, watched over by Ahadizhi guards who brandished prods. Hannah was hunched at the table, her face drained of all color. Rebbe Davison sat beside her, watching over Ettie. The child’s face was stained, with blood, or dirt, I couldn’t tell which. And she avoided my eyes, robbing me of any answer. My stomach twisted at the sight of her. I’d failed her—failed all of them.

Some of them had been injured. One of Jachin’s ears was marked with a black burn; Aben Hirsch’s already injured arm now hung at an odd angle. He clutched it to his body, rocking in pain. But they were alive at least—mostly unharmed. Except . . . My gaze roamed around the table, searching, counting. Someone was missing. Not Aleksandra. She sat back in her seat like a queen surveying her kingdom. But someone . . .

Laurel.

“Where is she?” I asked, stumbling forward. Two of the guards drew near. They didn’t restrain me, but one let his prod spark—a warning. I stopped several meters from the table.

Are you all right?
came Vadix’s thoughts, but I could tell that he was distracted down there in the senate room, waving his hands, trying to cut in. They didn’t want to listen to him; he wasn’t one of
them. They’d only ever wanted him to translate, not to speak for himself. I sent a comforting flood of feeling back to him, false though it was. In truth my mind was frantic, swarmed with miserable, buzzing thoughts. Laurel. She hadn’t been a friend, not quite. But she’d grown up beside me, become a woman, an ally. What had happened to her?

“Laurel!” I said, her name bursting desperately from my lips. “Where
is
she?”

One by one they all turned to look at Aleksandra. But she only stared back at me, her expression as hard as the winter’s frozen soil. When her silence stretched on, I heard Rebbe Davison lift his voice.

“She’s dead, Terra,” he said. Somehow I’d known this was coming. She’d been holding so thinly on to the life ahead. But it didn’t make the news any easier. I let out a cry, clamping my palm over my mouth. Beside me one of the guards startled—and pressed the prod into my back. But he didn’t shock me. He just let Rebbe Davison mumble on. “She was the first one to attack. I think she wanted to make up for Deklan. Strike them down. Strike back. That look in her eyes—so fierce. I’d never seen her like that before. The rest of them rushed the door. I went to help her, but it was too late. Her body . . . flailing. Those damned weapons.”

The rest of them all lowered their gazes, pressing fingers to their hearts. Not Aleksandra. She just stared at me, waiting for me to speak, to strike out—to strike
her
.

But the guard’s prod was still pressed between my shoulder blades. I needed to be strong, steady, like I never had been before. I angled my chin up.

“You did this. She was following
you
, and now she’s dead.”

Aleksandra’s lower lip jutted out. There was no sadness in her gaze, no regret. Only pride.

“She gave her life for us.”

“It didn’t have to happen,” I whispered. My voice was calm, but I wasn’t able to keep my shoulders from quaking.

“If there’s to be liberty, there will have to be sacrifice. Laurel understood that.”

“Sacrifice! How has her death helped us? What good has it done?”

Aleksandra didn’t have an answer for that. She responded to my question with another question.

“Do you think you’re better than me—that you haven’t harmed a single soul? That you’re still sweet, helpless Terra? We all know better. We all know what you’ve done.”

I felt my anger harden to a lump inside me. It no longer mattered what I’d done or what Aleksandra had done—what mattered was our
future
, our colony, crumbling before our eyes.

“And I know what you’ve done!” I roared. It was as though I were possessed—as if Captain Wolff were beside me, whispering into my ear.
Tell them. Tell them
. I had kept Aleksandra’s secret all this time, and
for what? So I opened my mouth and said it. “You killed her. Your own mother. In that field you took your knife—”

“I did no such thing,” Aleksandra replied, her tone firm and proud. But that was before she turned to look at the rest of them, at the way Jachin had buried his face in his hands, whispering prayers into his palms; the way that Hannah’s mouth fell open in dismay. The way that Rebbe Davison slumped down in his seat, looking as though all his strength had been sapped right out of him.

“Mordecai,” she said sadly, the wound uncovered for all to see. But my teacher only stared at her, no apology in his gaze. Only exhaustion. Hurt. Betrayal.

He’d been a young man on our first day of school—barely twenty years old. We’d been five, all giggles and jokes, Silvan and Rachel, Koen, Laurel, Deklan, and me. Now he was so much older. He’d lost so much. Now he’d lost his best friend too.

“We told you to keep your hands clean. We talked about this, Alex.”

“Mordy, you
know
what she was like.” Aleksandra sounded so small in that moment, but it didn’t matter to Rebbe Davison.

“Is that what you’ll tell the people? That Mama was mean to you, so you had to cut her down? Do you think that will convince them?”

“I don’t—” she began, but before she could say another useless word, Mara Stone interrupted her.

“Something is happening.”

Mara’s breath fogged the glass in front of her. From the table the Asherati all glanced up. But they were bound, watched. I was the only one able to break away—finally moving the prod from the center of my spine. I ignored Aleksandra. And I ignored the tears that still dried on my face, so I could gaze down at the senate chamber and the chaos below.

Rows and rows of senators, Ahadizhi and Xollu both—resplendent in their colorful robes. Even through the thick glass, I could hear the pound of their voices. They all spoke over one another. Nobody seemed to listen to anybody else.

Until someone streamed down the steps, his green robes flying after him. Vadix. They all turned to see him, the boy whose limbs and neck still showed blue beneath the hems of his robes, no matter how red his belly had been made by our night together. Vadix, the
lousk
. He was shouting.

Zhiesero sauziz! Zhiesero sauziz!
I couldn’t hear his words, but I felt how raw his tongue was in the recesses of my mind. I put a hand against the cool glass, pressing forward, looking down at him. Silence echoed around him; then the voices rose up again. He glanced up toward us, his black eyes finding me behind the sheen of glass.

What were you saying?
I asked as he trudged up the stairs, clutching the pleats of his robes in his long hands.

I was asking for mercy,
he replied.
You are not invaders. You are refugees. I told them that.

I winced, almost afraid to ask about their response. But I had to. This was our future we were talking about—unraveling right before my eyes.

And?

But Vadix had been doing this for longer than I had—speaking silently, without words and across great distances. He was better at it than me. And he knew how to turn away. No answer came back. Only silence. I looked away from the glass to Mara, and shook my head.

She reached out her small, work-worn hand and rested it against my shoulder.

“Be strong,
Talmid
. We’ll find a way.”

But I couldn’t see how. I looked over to Rebbe Davison, to Hannah, to little Ettie. To the shuttle crew, or what was left of them. They all seemed weak, exhausted.

The door burst open, and in walked Vadix. His lips were drawn in a straight line, faint in his dark face. I could see the bustle of senators behind him, crowding the wide stairwell with their arguments and their demands. But he stood alone before us. He tucked his hands—hands that I had held, kissed, touched—into the arms of his robes.

“The senate has made their decision,” he intoned. There was
something odd about his voice—distant. Broken. “You have brought violence to the great city of Raza Ait. Violence to your people, and to ours. In accordance with the wishes of the Grand Senate of the twelve cities, and upon the consensus of the Ahadizhi and Xollu people, you shall depart from the surface of Aur Evez at once. Return to your ship, and let your people know you are not welcome here.”

I felt my gut squeeze. I couldn’t leave, not when I had finally found him.

Vadix!
I cried out in my mind. But he didn’t respond. His dark gaze swept over the rest of them. My compatriots, who were chilly in their silence.

“You will be escorted to the pier at the south end of the city,” he said, “where Mara Stone’s shuttle craft awaits your arrival. You shall depart at once, all but one of you.”

We all turned toward him, froze. For a moment my heart was filled with childish hopes. Perhaps I’d be permitted to stay here, tucked within the arms of my
bashert
. But Vadix’s expression remained grave. Chilly.

“All except the leader among you. Come forward.”

The Asherati exchanged glances—fearful, confused. But not Aleksandra. She only held her head firm as she stepped toward him. Vadix held out a long, three-fingered hand.

“You,” he said in a grave voice without warmth or light. “Are you the leader of these people?”

Aleksandra didn’t smile, not quite. But the way her lip curled was certainly proud. “Yes,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I’m their leader.”

He glanced at the two closest guards.

“Ekku zheserazhi, ekku sesez vheseri.”

They moved fast, flanking her, pressing their weapons into the small of her back. She jumped back, struggled. But my lover’s face went blank—his expression, extraordinarily cold.