Starcrossed (44 page)

Because our bond would still be there. The best way to control M is to kill me, so she’ll have nothing left to fight for. Pain shoots through my heart at the thought of what she’ll feel when they tell her. I wish I could spare her that, at least.

Lennox displays no emotion as he continues. “I’ll allow you to say goodbye to your parents. In light of your youth, you’ll be sedated before the execution. It will be as painless as a memory wipe.”

“What about the law?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Won’t the Council or somebody—”

“Not to worry.” He actually smiles. “You will attempt to escape before the
tabula rasa
procedure and will suffer a fatal accident in the process. Such a pity.”

Lennox and his goons leave the room and lock the door behind them. I stare at it for about ten seconds, then run to the bucket in the corner and throw up.

The next three hours are the longest of my life. I wish there was something in this cell to distract me—a book, a magazine, even interesting patterns on the walls. But there’s nothing, so all I can do is think—and anticipate. Off and on I pray—yeah, I’m reduced to praying—that M will come out of this okay, that somehow she’ll get over losing me, get over everything, and have a happy life, on Earth or on Mars. But mostly, I’m just scared to die and spend eternity without her.

After way too much time to think, I finally hear voices outside the door.

“You have five minutes,” my taciturn guard says as the door opens and my parents rush into the room. The guard retreats and locks the door again.

“Rigel!” my mom cries, rushing forward to hug me. “It can’t be true. They can’t possibly do this. Performing the
tabula rasa
on a minor is counter to every principle of our people. Somehow, we’ll—”

“Mom, it’s okay,” I manage to choke out, though her distress unleashes the tears I’ve held in check until now. “I’m not scared,” I lie, trying to make this easier for her, grateful she doesn’t know Lennox’s real plan. “I need you guys to take a message to M for me.”

My dad grips my shoulder, then hugs me, too, something he hardly ever does. “We’ll do anything you need us to do, son, but this isn’t over. I left a message for Shim before they took my phone away. I can’t believe this ridiculous excuse for a trial and sentencing has the blessing of the Council.”

I shrug, trying to calm him down, too. If they figure out Lennox’s “accident” for me is faked, if they raise a stink, he’ll probably have
their
memories wiped. Or worse. “Maybe not. But this Lennox guy—”

“Lach Lennox has never forgiven your grandfather for speaking out against him when he was nominated to the Council,” Dad says, “though others must have voted him down as well. It’s clear he’s taking out his resentment on you, because of Shim.”

“Does his reason really matter?” I ask. “If nobody’s here to stop him, he’ll still do what he’s convinced is necessary.”

Both of my parents look stricken, and my mom shakes her head convulsively, tears streaming down her face. Before they can protest again, I say what I need to say.

“Look, if you can stop him, that’s great, and I hope you can. But if you can’t, I need you to tell M that . . . that I love her, but that she has to move on. Maybe . . . maybe she can bond again.” I swallow, hard. “Maybe with Sean. That’s what everyone wants, and they’re already friends. She needs to have someone close to her who cares about her as a person, not just the politics, and . . . I think maybe he does. I hope.”

My mom hugs me again, chanting, “No, no, no,” under her breath while my dad wraps an arm around her like he’s keeping her from flying into pieces—and maybe he is. I don’t even try to keep from crying, knowing I’m leaving everything, everyone I love, so soon. I wish with all my being I could see M one last time, to say goodbye.

“Time,” the guard announces, and we all start. None of us heard the door open.
 

“Please,” my mother pleads. “Just a few more minutes?”

When the guard shakes his head, my dad demands, “I want to speak with Lennox again. Now.”

“I’m sorry,” the guard says, his voice not completely unsympathetic, “but you have to leave now.” Gently but firmly, he pries my mom’s arms from around me and escorts them from the room.

I hear someone else talking to them outside, then all the voices recede just before the guard—I still don’t know his name—closes the door again and turns back to me.

“Sorry, Stuart,” he says, to my surprise. “I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I . . .” He shakes his head almost angrily. “Not as proud of my people right now as I’ve been. Anyway, I have your sedative here, so at least you won’t feel anything. Best I can do.
 

“Sorry,” he repeats, coming toward me with a tiny silver syringe.

For the second time in forty-eight hours, everything goes black. My last thought before I lose consciousness is that my love for M will continue past death.

scriosath
(SKREE-oh-sath):
memory erasure, up to and including the
tabula rasa
or "blank slate"

As soon as everyone, including me, agreed to a vote on my proposal—or, rather, my ultimatum—Breann stood. “In keeping with tradition, a roll call vote will be taken, in order of seniority. Shim?”

“Aye,” he said firmly. He didn’t smile or look at me, but that wasn’t what mattered right now.

“Allister?” Breann said next.

“Nay.” He spoke just as firmly, but didn’t meet
anyone’s
eye.

I held my breath as Breann called on the others, knowing Nara’s was the only other vote I could count on. The others’ expressions didn’t reveal anything at all.

To my surprise, Malcolm voted aye, as did Nara after him. I just needed one more.
 

“Kyna?”

She hesitated for a long, long moment, frowning down the table at me as she considered. My heart sank. Then she gave a quick, decisive nod. “Aye.”

I tried not to let my breath out too obviously. Next Breann called on Connor, who voted aye without hesitation, then finally Breann herself voted—also in my favor. Allister’s had been the only negative vote!

“Th . . . thank you,” I stammered, my earlier bravado now gone. I felt like I’d just run a marathon. “Now what?”

“I’ll make the call,” Shim said, “if that’s agreeable to the Council and our Sovereign?”
 

His expression, as he finally faced me, was not only kind, but respectful—more than I’d ever seen it. That respect was mirrored in the faces of the rest of the Council—except Allister’s, of course.

“Yes. Please,” I replied. The others—again excepting Allister—nodded as well.

Shim took out his phone and called. “Yes, this is Shim Stuart, calling on behalf of the Council. I need to speak with Governor Lennox.” The man at the other end said something that sounded like an apology. “No, now,” Shim told him. “This is important.”

There was a much longer pause this time, and then I could hear the same voice at the other end asking for Allister.

“Lennox is answerable to the entire Council, not to a single member,” Shim said. “The Sovereign herself asked me to make this call. Now, get Lennox to the phone.”

This pause was so brief, it was obvious Governor Lennox must have been right there. “Yes, what is it?” I could clearly hear him say. “I’m extremely at the moment.” His insolent tone startled me, since I couldn’t imagine anyone being insolent to Shim.

“Then you should be pleased to hear that the Council is relieving you of one of your many concerns,” Shim said pleasantly. “It has been decided that Rigel Stuart is to be released immediately and he and his parents returned to Jewel. I believe you heard me.” That in response to a shouted
What?
“Tonight, if at all possible.”

There was more sputtering on the other end of the line, but Shim just listened without comment, finally saying, “You have your orders, Lennox. Implement them. Now.” He was frowning as he hung up.

“Is there a problem?” Breann asked.

“I hope not.” The concern on Shim’s face scared me. “He tried to cite various procedural complications at his end, but it was clearly a delaying tactic. I’m not sure—”

Allister’s phone rang. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen and, like before, got up to leave the room.
 

This time it was Breann who stopped him. “Allister, you can take your call here. We don’t mind.” Despite her phrasing, her tone implied it wasn’t optional.

With a quick glare around the table, Allister answered it. “Yes?”
 

I was sure I wasn’t the only one who recognized Lennox’s voice on the other end, sounding agitated. Allister quickly cut him off.

“Sorry. I can’t help you.” He cut the connection before Lennox could say anything else.

“Wrong number?” Kyna asked, her voice dripping sarcasm.

Allister hesitated, clearly deliberating, then shrugged. “Lennox had, ah, already given the order. He, ah,
hopes
there is still time to countermand it.”

“
What?
” I nearly shrieked it. “What order
?
”

Allister swallowed visibly, looking furtively around the table.

“Breann, perhaps you should handle this,” Shim suggested. “Given my, ah, history with Lennox, I fear another call from me may do more harm than good.”

She nodded and pulled out her own phone. “Lennox,” she snapped as soon as he answered. “I want your personal assurance, this instant, that you will comply with the Council’s orders. You should know that Allister is no longer in any position to shield you.”

There was a lot of talking at the other end, most of which sounded like apologies. Finally, I couldn’t take it any more.

“Tell him I want to talk to Rigel,” I said. “Now.”

Breann relayed my command, listened to more agitated apologies from Lennox, then said, “Very well, then. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”

Disconnecting, she turned to me. “He claimed that Rigel is asleep, though from his choice of words I suspect he means sedated. He did, however, assure me that he is safe, and promised to have them all on a plane in short order.”

“In the interim, Excellency, I should take you home,” Shim said gently.

“No!” I cried. “Not until I know for sure that Rigel is safe. Why would they sedate him?”

“We will find out,” Shim promised me. “But should your aunt and uncle discover you gone, implementing the terms of our agreement might become difficult. If all goes well, you will see Rigel sometime tomorrow.”

I knew he was right. The last thing I wanted was for Aunt Theresa to put me under house arrest. And it was a pretty good bet nothing else would happen tonight. Slowly, I nodded.

“But you’ll call me or . . . or come get me . . . if—”

“Of course,” Breann said. Then, “No, Allister, I think you’d better remain here until Shim returns. We have a bit of unfinished business.”

Silently, I accompanied Shim out to his car, trying not to let my anxiety cross the line into hysteria again.

“Do you really think Rigel will be back in Jewel tomorrow?” I asked Shim at one point during the ride. The look he gave me was sad and definitely sympathetic.

“I hope so,” was all he said.
 

I wanted to ask more questions but something in his expression stopped me. I stayed silent for the rest of the drive. When we reached my still-dark house, I let myself in and quietly made my way up to my room with Aunt Theresa none the wiser.
 

Needless to say, I never slept a wink.

School the next day went by in a blur. I could tell my friends, including Sean and Molly, thought I was getting sick again, but it was really lack of sleep combined with frantic worry for Rigel. I almost wished I
were
sick, since it seemed disloyal, an affront to our bond, that I wasn’t.
 

At the final bell, I bolted for the bus, glad that Sean had basketball practice and Molly cheerleading, so I wouldn’t have to talk to them.

The moment I got home, I raced to the phone to call Shim—and saw the answering machine light flashing. All day I’d alternated between desperate eagerness for my reunion with Rigel and terror that something had gone horribly wrong in Montana and I’d never see him again. Would this message tell me which it would be?

 
My finger trembled as I pushed the button.

“M,” came Mrs. O’Gara’s voice, “please come to our house the moment you get this. Leave a note for your aunt, but erase this message.”

And that was all.

I played it three more times, trying to figure out from her tone whether the news was good or bad, but I honestly couldn’t tell—especially since what was bad news to me might possibly be good news to her. My heart clogging my throat, I scrawled a quick note to Aunt Theresa saying I was at the O’Garas’ house, then ran out the door without even dropping my backpack.

Both Mr. and Mrs. O’Gara were waiting for me on their porch, which only ramped my anxiety higher. I slowed from a trot to a fast walk as I approached, my breathing much faster than my brief exertion could account for.

“What . . . What’s going on?” I panted as I reached them. “Can you tell me?”

Mrs. O’Gara put a comforting arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick hug that scared me half to death. It
must
be bad news!
 

“We’re supposed to take you to the Stuarts’ house,” Mr. O’Gara told me. “The Council is assembled there, and waiting for you.”

I swallowed, hard, determined not to cry in front of them if I could possibly help it. “Is . . . is Rigel there? Is he . . . is he . . . back?” I’d almost said
dead
but couldn’t get the word out.

“I believe so,” Mrs. O said, giving me another squeeze. “These have been a terribly difficult few days for you, my darling Princess.”

I stared at her, not daring to believe her halfhearted reassurance but wanting to, oh! so much. “Let’s go,” I said. Not until I saw Rigel—alive—with my own eyes would I really be sure.

The way they hurried to their van, I realized I’d made it a command.