Starglass (33 page)

“Tell me where it is!” I growled, throwing her undershirts onto the floor. Artemis was sitting up in bed now.

“Where
what
is? Terra!”

I whipped my head around, scowling at her. “The book! The one with the leather cover!”

“The one you sleep with?”

I sneered. “No, the other book with the leather cover.” Artemis didn’t answer right away. She rose from bed and stumbled toward the basket.

“Isn’t it with your stuff?” she asked, then reached in and pulled out one of my lab coats. I stalked over to her and snatched the coat from her hand.

“I
looked
there already.”

Artemis stared up at me. Then something happened. Her chin started trembling. Tears began to streak down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Terra!” She gave a hiccuped breath. “I don’t know what happened to it. I promise I’ll find it for you!”

Once, I would have set a hand on her shoulder, drawn her to me, given her a hug. But looking at her, at how she cried like a child, I felt
my stomach turn. Taking my basket in both hands, I gave my head a shake. I left her weeping, alone in her room.

•  •  •

The shuttle was leaving that night. I had one supper with Ronen and his family before we made our way down to the shuttle bay. Hannah did her best to act like everything was normal as we ate. She cooed at her daughter, rocking her. Then she pressed the baby into my arms. I whispered soft words, comforting words, but when I looked up, I caught worry in Hannah’s eyes. She stuffed it down, smiling at me.

After all, according to the Council, the shuttle crew had nothing to fear. Hannah and my brother acted like it was true, and I played along. What good would it do to tell them the truth, how Captain Wolff had destroyed the results of two probes already, how the Council thought commoners like Ronen too stupid to think for themselves? So I sang my little niece songs that my mother had once sung to me and tried not to think of everything that must have once weighed heavy on
her
mind too.

When supper was over, Hannah showed me how to knot Alyana’s sling over my body. I cradled the baby against me as we meandered through the district. As they made their way through the winding streets, they silently held hands. The citizens we passed touched their hands to their hearts, nodded. It was a brave thing that Hannah was doing. Everybody knew that. What I didn’t understand, or want to
understand, was why some of the citizens caught my gaze as I trailed behind the couple, and saluted me, too.

I refused to look at them. What if someone saw? Besides, I hadn’t done anything yet. So I only set my jaw, holding my head high.

We took the district lift down. It made me feel strange to see my brother reach out and hit the number zero on the panel; stranger still when the lift gave a beep of protest and waited for Hannah to press her finger against it instead. I’d never been down to the shuttle bay before. None of us had. It was one of those places you read about or heard stories of but never, ever saw. The lift lurched downward. I clutched Alyana against me, pressing my lips to her baby-soft hair.

“Is she all right?” my brother asked.

“Yes. She’s fine.”

We stepped out into the dimly lit bay. The walls surrounding the lift exit were black. At first I thought it was dirt that darkened them. But then I realized that the walls and ceilings and even the floor beneath us wore a coat of rust.

The rest of Hannah’s team waited in a loose circle around one of the air-lock doors. It was a shining pane of black glass, and it reflected their brave expressions. Their families waited too, hanging back as if afraid to come too close. I watched as Hannah spotted her parents among the crowd, dropped my brother’s hand, and went to greet them. He waited with me.

“I should give her space,” he said. “They must be worried about her. They’ll want to wish her good luck.”

I saw Hannah’s father reach out and touch the cord on her shoulder—specialist blue, threaded with gold. He looked proud, a little wistful. I felt a strange pang in my chest.

“If he’s so worried,” I said, “then he should stop this. He’s a Council member. He has the power.”

My brother wouldn’t look at me. His tone was flat. “Terra, that’s treason,” he said, and then he went to join his wife, leaving me there with his child by the mouth of the lift.

After a moment the door opened again, and the captain’s guard paraded out of the lift. Someone jostled my shoulder, and the baby stirred. She let out a cry. Across the room I saw Hannah’s clear eyes snap up at the sound. But before she could rush over, Captain Wolff exited the lift, Silvan at her side.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said as the captain marched by me, her ice-cold eyes fixed ahead of her. Silvan ignored how I jiggled and shushed little Alyana. I grimaced at him.

“My brother’s wife is on the exploratory team.”

“Ah, yes,” Silvan said. “The cartographer girl. She comes from a good family.”

It was too much for me. I’d had too little sleep, and the baby was bawling in my arms. “Why would you send a Council member’s
daughter out there? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Silvan’s unruly eyebrows knitted up in confusion. “What are you talking about? We need someone to draw us maps. It’s her
job
.”

At this I only snorted. Silvan’s words revealed that he really
was
the innocent I’d long suspected—swallowing Council rhetoric without a moment’s hesitation. But I knew better. Hannah would never have a chance to do her job. This was all just for show.

But before I could say that, Ronen came over. He lifted Alyana from her sling and cradled her in his arms. She was almost instantly quieted. I let out a ragged breath.

Then I was surprised to feel a hand settle in between my shoulder blades. It was the unmistakable pressure of Silvan’s fingers, broad and warm. He drew me against him, planting a kiss in my hair.

“I know,” he said, and let out a small laugh. “I’m tired too.”

My heart swelled painfully in my chest.

I could hardly listen as Captain Wolff stood before the shuttle crew and made her formalities. She lifted her hands. The guards beside her looked purposeful and proud. There was yet another speech, this one on the importance of their mission, of how the shuttle crew would be the first noble step toward
tikkun olam
. Yadda yadda yadda. I leaned against Silvan, feeling sad as he raked his fingers along my back. And guilty, too. I should have been thinking about my brother, my niece. And Hannah. But I thought only about myself. In a few
weeks we’d be landing, and I’d poison Silvan. And I’d lose the last small comfort I had.

We watched as Captain Wolff opened up the air lock. The glass door rolled aside, letting out a rush of musty air. One by one the shuttle crew filed in. Then they disappeared up the narrow stairwell that led to the shuttle. Soon the door rolled over again, closing. All we could see was the panel of shining glass.

“I hope the shuttle still works,” Silvan joked. But his tone was grim. I hoped so too.

There was a sound—the massive roar of engines igniting. It seemed to go on for a very long time, growing louder and louder still. Then it was done, and there was only silence.

There was a smattering of applause from the crowd. Even Silvan clapped, and he let out a whistle.

Not me, though. I was watching Ronen. My brother rocked his daughter in his arms almost frantically. Then I realized he was doing something that my father had never done. Crying. Big, sloppy tears ran down his cheeks.

A
fter the shuttle departed, something changed, shifted, about the mood of the ship. I’d walk through the districts and hear how nobody spoke except in whispers. In the cool, stirring air of the dome, the fieldworkers went about their business in silence. Even the merchants spoke in low tones. When I walked by the shops in the morning, nobody shouted “Sale!” at me. At the counters citizens paid their gelt, took their packages, and were gone.

I think that everyone was holding their breath. I know I was. For
one thing, I was waiting to hear what kind of disaster would befall the shuttle. I was sure that at any moment Captain Wolff would call us to gather in the pastures and announce that there had been an accident—an explosion, maybe, or a crash. Then we’d all hang our heads and sing.

But I don’t think that was all of it. We worried about the shuttle crew, sure. Every night I watched my brother rock his daughter and promise that her mama would come home, and my heart broke a little more. But there was something else, a sort of breathless excitement in the way we all looked up as we walked through the dome, watching Zehava grow bigger and bigger in the sky overhead.

We were almost there. For five hundred years the planet had been nothing more than a story parents would tell their children. I’m sure there were times when nobody believed we’d ever
really
get there. It was just a myth, a fairy tale. But now things were different. Nine Asherati were bound for the surface, even if their mission was a farce. Soon we would arrive. And then maybe—just maybe—we’d finally be free.

Two weeks. Only two weeks remained. I went about my business like my life would always be this way—I walked to the labs in the morning, talked genetics with Mara, spent my afternoons dreaming up new plants or digging through the dirt. Then I came home to eat supper with my brother and his baby before frittering my nights away
with Silvan. But part of me was always looking up at the glowing sphere of blue and white that grew bigger and bigger in the black distance. Soon we would arrive. Soon everything would change.

But not for Silvan.

He was the only one who seemed unaffected by our journey’s approaching end. When I joined him in his parents’ quarters at night, he joked and cuddled with me like he had no worries at all. Since the blowup with his dad, the only thing he fretted over was our wedding. He was
very
concerned that the day go off without a hitch.

“You’ll ask Mara for flowers from the greenhouses,” he said. “I like lilies. White lilies. Ask her for those.”

“Silvan,” I said, turning over in his bed. “She’s not a florist. The greenhouses are for
research
.”

“But we can’t get good flowers from the florists anymore. It’s too cold. Besides, you want flowers on our wedding day, don’t you?”

I arched an eyebrow. His smile was sweet, showing only the smallest line of his white teeth. I almost couldn’t stand it. I pressed my face into his neck, disguising beneath a giggle the guilt that twisted my stomach.

“Oh, all right,” I said. I felt his fingers work their way through the cowlicked locks of my hair.

“Good. I was thinking about something else, too. Thinking maybe we should both wear white.”

My body went stiff beside him. I sat up, struggling to keep my
frown from warping my expression. “What? No. I’m not wearing the color of death at my wedding. Besides, wedding dresses are supposed to be
gold
.”

Silvan scowled. “Says who? Just because it’s tradition doesn’t mean you
have
to. It’s not like it’s in the marriage contract.”

“No!” I spoke the word decisively, clearly. Silvan gave a small shrug.

“All right,” he said.

I fell down onto the bed beside him. “I don’t see why you’re so hung up on the white thing, anyway,” I said, a note of sulkiness seeping through my voice. Since Silvan had become Captain Wolff’s
talmid
, the only color he ever wore was his purple and gold rank cord. Even now, his silk underclothes were as white as new paper.

“What, you don’t think I look good in white?”

I bit the inside of my cheeks. I couldn’t deny that he did. Silvan grinned.

“I wear white because I like it and because I have the gelt for it. You know why most people save white for funerals? It’s because it gets dirty so easily. Most clothes can be worn again and again and again for generations, and no one can tell the difference. People think they’re doing a mitzvah by saving their whites for funerals. I think it’s a waste.”

I’d never heard Silvan talk about mizvot before. My stomach clenched again. It was like he was taking the memory of my father and stomping on it. And his smile never faltered for even a second.

“A waste,” I said.

“The dead don’t care that you save your best clothes for them!” I could tell that Silvan had spent a lot of time thinking about this. The way he said it sounded almost rehearsed. “The dead are
dead
!”

I felt anger flare up inside me. Red-faced, I muttered, “Fine. But don’t expect me to wear white to
your
funeral.”

Silvan thought I was joking. He locked his arms around me in a bear hug, rocking my body as he mimicked my words. “Fine! Then don’t expect me to wear white to
yours
!”

•  •  •

Those days, work was a necessary release for me, the only place where I wasn’t “Terra, Silvan’s intended” or “Terra, the secret assassin of the Children of Abel” but simply Terra—a girl, a botanist, a person who did good work when she could and who lived and changed and grew. I’d already shown Mara my drawings. She laughed and told me it was a wonderfully backward way to design plants—function to follow form—but then she let me sit down beside her at her computer and watch as she put one of my designs into practice, rendering its gene structure on the dusty, fingerprint-streaked monitor.

We didn’t talk about rebellion. We didn’t talk about Silvan Rafferty. In the lab we could pretend like the world outside didn’t exist—that Zehava didn’t loom overhead, an ever-expanding circle beyond the dome glass.

But I couldn’t just keep my head down and pretend like nothing was happening. One morning I arrived at the labs to find Mara perched on the edge of her desk.

“Good morning,” I said as I went to hang my coat on its hook. But Mara held up a hand, stopping me.

“Not so fast. Someone came looking for you this morning.”

“Was it Ronen?”

I’d been up all night with Alyana, rocking her, feeding her. It was supposed to be his turn to care for her now.
Leave it to Ronen to come bother me at work
, I thought bitterly. But Mara only lifted her eyebrows.