Starglass (38 page)

“No,” I agreed. “I can’t.”

But to my surprise she didn’t unsheathe her knife. Instead she only rested the heel of her hand there, letting out a deep sigh.

“We know what you did. Mazdin Rafferty’s illness is unmistakable.”

“I—” I began. Then I just closed my mouth again. Really, there was nothing to say. I’d done it, disobeyed the orders of the Children of Abel.

“Such a waste! It would have been easier to enact our plan without Silvan standing in the way. Boy fancies himself a leader. He’s
bound to fight me for control of the ship at some point. I told them we couldn’t trust you. But Hofstadter insisted you had nothing to lose.”

“Told them?” I asked. “Do you mean . . . the leaders of the rebellion?” I tried to imagine who
they
might be—muscle-bound fieldworkers, maybe, conspiring between rows of corn. But Aleksandra just regarded me carefully, a smirk curling her upper lip.

“I meant
my
trusted advisors.”

I stared at her for a long time, feeling my heart drop into my gut.

“You lead the rebellion?”

Her confirmation was only a small, short nod—almost invisible. But unmistakable.

“I guess you could say that the women in my family have always craved power. Whereas the women in your family . . .” A hint of disdain twisted her mouth. “Well, you try, don’t you? Even if you always fail.”

She pressed a button. The door dinged open. But her words had settled into me like a stone. I reached up a hand, touching her shoulder.

“Please don’t kill Silvan!”

I wanted to stop her—to make her understand how harmless he was. I knew that I had no right. He was in their way—in
her
way. But, to my surprise, Aleksandra gave her head a shake.

“Watching you kill the brat would have given me some satisfaction. Oh, it burned me when she named
him
as her successor.” She
gazed down the dark hallway, her pupils tiny pinpricks of determination. “But he’s not the one standing in my way, not really. Mother is.”

Aleksandra left no time for her words to sink in. She stalked off past me, disappearing down the hall.

I stumbled after her, past tiny windows that showed only a sliver of Zehava. Purple light mottled the floor. My steps were small—they had to be, because of my shoes—but hasty. At last I reached the sliding doors at the end of the hallway.

The doors opened onto a strange room, one filled with flickering panels and twinkling lights. Illuminated maps of the ship lined the walls, showing which systems were working and which had finally run down. The air was clouded with dust, and it smelled ancient, untouched. A soft stream of voices crackled through the silence. In my wine-addled state I didn’t yet understand them.

Behind a podium, lit blue in the alternating light, the trio stood—Silvan, Captain Wolff, and Aleksandra. The captain’s hair was twined in an intricate braid. She was dressed to the nines for our wedding today: dress boots, spotless wool, buttons bearing the pomegranate seal of the Council. My gaze flicked to Aleksandra. I had trouble believing it, that this woman, whose lean figure and proud posture were so like her mother’s, was preparing to strike her down.

As I fell into place by Silvan’s side, I heard Aleksandra’s hushed words. “Rioting has erupted in the dome,” she was saying. “They’ve
taken over the grain silos and the labs. They’ll likely descend on the hatchery next.”

“They’re liable to kill themselves,” Captain Wolff replied, the corners of her mouth turning down. In her dismay her twisted face looked even uglier. “I want you to see to it that they’re contained. Minimize the loss of human life.”

Aleksandra turned and marched off. Her hard gaze flitted over to me for only the briefest moment and then away. She disappeared behind the sliding doors.

Captain Wolff stared down at the podium. It hardly seemed like she registered our presence.

“We should have anticipated this,” she said, “when the probes disappeared. We shouldn’t have sent the shuttle crew.”

“What do you mean,
disappeared
?” I demanded. My heart pounded out a wild beat now. Silvan turned to me from his place beside Captain Wolff.

“Mara told you, didn’t she?” he asked, his tone a touch impatient. “We’ve sent two now. They nearly reach the surface, but then the signal goes out.”

“Yes,” I said dully, “she told me.”

But my mind went frantic at the thought. The Children of Abel were
wrong
—Captain Wolff hadn’t destroyed any probes. She’d been telling the truth. They’d been lost, truly lost. Silvan was the one who
finally brought me back to myself, pointing down at the screen.

“What’s that?” he asked.

An image, black and white and occasionally crossed by a frenzy of static, was projected on a screen set deep into the podium. The quality was so low that I couldn’t make out the image at first—only a dim impression of faces, people.

“That’s the shuttle crew,” Captain Wolff said. Her voice was low. There was sadness in it. “There’s Hannah Fineberg. I’d recognize her anywhere. I watched her grow up. Every Launch Day, her family had dinner with mine.”

Through the static I saw Hannah’s face take shape. She was sitting in the corner of the screen. There was something dark—blood?—smeared over her forehead. I listened to Hannah’s voice as it came thinly through the tinny speaker. She was repeating the same words over and over again.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday,” she was saying. “Zehava is inhabited. I repeat, Zehava is inhabited.”

“No,” Silvan said. He pressed his hand against the glass, smearing away the dust. “I meant
them
.”

That’s when I saw them—people, standing behind Hannah and the rest of the crew. But there was something wrong with them. They were too tall, or too skinny, or something. The movement of their bodies just wasn’t right.

I saw my sister-in-law, the mother of my niece, my brother’s wife, turn to the crewman beside her. She spoke to him. Someone jostled her. A figure stood hovering over her shoulder.

“The inhabitants are demanding that we leave the surface. Please send a recovery shuttle. . . .”

Inhabitants
. The three of us stared at the figures, trying to make them out. Their eyes were wide set and lozenge shaped and black, pitch black, not a single sliver of white in them.

I’d seen those eyes before. Eyes as dark and as endless as the space outside the ship. They visited me every night in dreams.
He
had settled down beside me, his cool skin as fragrant as a flower. He’d watched me, and I’d watched him, and we’d felt safe together—whole.

I saw Captain Wolff stroke her jaw with her gloved hand. “Our biologists have long known that there was a possibility of life on the surface. But we thought—”

I never got to learn what Captain Wolff thought. The sound of heavy footfalls against the metal floor interrupted her. Aleksandra had returned. Her boot heels clopped against the floor.

“Mother!” she called. “It’s worse than we feared. We’ve been unable to contain them. Perhaps they’ll listen to you.”

The captain nodded slowly. “We’ll deal with this later,” she said, tapping the dusty screen. She turned to her
talmid
, regarding him gravely. “Silvan, you stay out of the fray.”

Hannah’s voice lifted up from the speaker, contorted with pain.

“Please send a recovery shuttle. Please . . .”

Captain Wolff glanced down again. Her black eyes had gone huge at the sight of the screen. For the first time I realized that her gaze wasn’t cold, as I’d long thought. No, only proud. And now that pride had vanished behind her worry over Hannah, over her people.

“Wait!” I called, remembering Aleksandra’s threat. The captain turned to me, her gaze softening.

“The Asherati need me,” she said. The realization hit me like a slap. Captain Wolff didn’t see herself as apart from the rest of us because she hated us—but because she wanted to protect us, as a parent might. She gave me a small, tight smile. “Don’t worry, Terra. We’re almost to the surface. Soon you’ll be living the life your father always wanted for you.”

The thought of my father made me sway. It was all too much for me—my memories of Abba, Zehava, the wine. Hannah on the view screen, blood trailing over her face. And the people behind her. So strange, so familiar . . . As I tried to steady myself on my feet, Captain Wolff disappeared behind the sliding doors. For a long, gaping moment Silvan and I were left alone in the musty room.

“Are you all right, Terra?” Silvan asked, stepping close to me. I licked my lips, groping for words. But they didn’t come.

“I’m sorry,” he said. I felt the warmth of his breath on my ear,
noted the effort it seemed to take for him to get the apology out. I didn’t think Silvan was a boy who apologized often. “I guess we won’t be married today. You do look beautiful. We’ll get married when this is all over, though. Right?”

I didn’t answer. Instead I turned, letting my eyes linger on the strong, stubbly line of his jaw. My gaze drifted down to his shoulder and rested on the violet threads all tangled with gold. He and Captain Wolff were the only citizens who wore those colors. Soon Silvan would be the only one.

Unless I did something.

“Silvan,” I said, my voice hushed, “stay here. Stay out of the fray.”

With that, I stepped out of my silky wedding shoes. I couldn’t run with them on. And I needed to hurry. I handed them to Silvan. He frowned at them—at me.

But there was no time for that. I took off running toward the lift.

“Terra!” I heard Silvan calling after me. “Terra!”

But I only slammed my hand against the panel, then stepped inside. The doors were already sliding closed when I shouted back. I don’t know if Silvan heard my hysterical, echoing words.

“She’s going to kill her!”

But I realized that it didn’t matter if he heard me. Not one bit.

He was behind me now, left alone in that dark room as the lift plunged down into the ship. It was as if the taut string that had held
us together had finally been severed. I’d expected it to hurt, but it didn’t. It felt
good.
I knew then that I would never love him, that our marriage would never be sealed.

The doors slid open. What was revealed was nothing short of chaos. The stone pavilion around the lift was swarmed with citizens, who had descended upon the hospital and school and lab buildings in droves. They’d shattered every window, storming inside to liberate the computer terminals and gadgets and doodads from the oppression of their outlets. Only the library stood untouched, the stained glass dark and perfect in the evening light.

The crowd shifted and swayed around me like wheat stalks in a breeze. I waited until the crush of bodies parted—and then I surged forward.

The crowd stank of sweat and alcohol. Furious limbs surrounded me, jostling my body as I raced over the pavilion and toward the dome. At last my bare feet found the familiar cobblestone of the dome path. I jogged past the grain storage, barely noticing the people who poured out with arms piled high with ears of corn. Overhead, I knew that Zehava twinkled and shone—pinpricks of light illuminating the purple dark of her continents. I wanted nothing more than to stare up, to study the swirling blue oceans and the white clouds that passed over them. But there was no time for that. I ran forward.

At last I spotted a familiar face. Laurel Selberlicht. She and Deklan were running hand in hand across the green pasture before me. Each of them held sizable stones in their fists. Deklan’s hands were bloody. I couldn’t tell if the red that dripped from his knuckles was from his body or someone else’s. I watched, stunned, as they vaulted themselves over the pasture fence. They’d almost run right by me, but I shouted out to them.

“Laurel! Deklan! Have you seen Aleksandra Wolff?”

Laurel stopped, turning toward me. The frantic smile that had lit her lips fell. She lifted one hand—the one that was weighted by the stone—and pointed toward the desiccated fields.

“They say she took her mother there,” she said. I glanced doubtfully down between the rows of corn. Before I could answer, Deklan gave Laurel’s arm a tug and dragged her down the path.

I stood on the edge of the field, my hands balled into fists. The last time I’d run through the corn, I’d been with Koen. Back then my only worry had been getting him to press his lips to mine. Now I had bigger problems. Captain Wolff. Aleksandra. That knife she kept tied to her waist. My bare toes curled into the soil. I threw my weight back, readying myself.

And then I bolted forward.

Most years the rows would have been plowed under by now in preparation for the long, cold winter. This winter, our last on the
ship, they’d been left high. I almost cursed myself to realize it—how the Council would have never left the cornfields in such a state if they’d truly intended for us to stay in the dome. A contingency plan—it had only ever been a contingency plan. Captain Wolff didn’t want to stay inside this dome any more than I did. Mara was wrong and Van was wrong and the Children of Abel were more wrong than any of them. How many little details had I ignored to believe the lies that Aleksandra had seeded among us so that she could put herself in a position of power?

The dry leaves rustled all around me, smothering every trace of noise beyond. There was no shouting. No sound of footfalls or glass shattering behind me. There was only my own breath and the papery-dry swishing of the stalks as I slipped through them.

And then, a voice. Captain Wolff’s voice. I’d heard it lift up over the gathered crowds a hundred times before. Now it was low, grave. I slowed to a stop.

“You can’t do this. Put the knife down, Alex.”

My chest still heaving from my sudden sprint, I turned toward the sound of their struggle. There was a rustle, and then I heard something heavy strike the frost-hard ground. I parted the leaves, peering forward. Aleksandra had wrapped her mother’s braid around her gloved fingers, forcing the captain down onto her knees. Captain Wolff lifted her scarred face to watch her daughter.

“They won’t follow you,” Captain Wolff said. “Not after they’ve discovered that you killed your own mother.”