Stronger

This is a work of fiction; characters, names, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or if real, are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead are coincidental and not intended by the author.

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Text copyright © 2014 by Michele Tolley. All right reserved, including the rights to distribute, transmit, reproduce in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author.

Cover model photography ©2014 Sweet Expressions Photography

Cover background image NASA

Cover Design Chersti Nieveen

Text font Georgia

First Edition August 2014

For Erica Cameron, whose friendship and inspiration kept me going when I wanted to give up.

My Uncle Charlie killed me when I was five. My body didn’t freeze, my lungs didn’t fill with water, and my heart didn’t stop. There wasn’t even a broken bone or a drop of blood, but all you need to fool the general population is a hole in the ice, a grieving uncle, and an obituary in the daily newsfeed. According to the databases, I was dead.

Everyone believed it, even my family. That lie brought them to the cemetery on the day of my funeral. I was at my Uncle’s. I remember him sitting on the couch holding a monitor in his hand, tears in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. I went on my tiptoes to see the pictures on the screen. It looked like my family. I hadn’t seen them in a few days and I missed them. “Are they having a party?” I held up the doll I was carrying. “Polly and I want to go. Will you take us?”

He shook his head. “It’s not a party. And I’m not invited, that’s why I have to watch it from here.”

“That isn’t very nice.” I leaned closer to the screen, squinting at the images. “Are they crying? Why are they at the cemetery?”

“They think you died, Lexie, and they blame me.”

I frowned and clutched Polly to my chest. “That’s silly. I’m right here.”

“But they don’t know that.”

My family was dressed in black clothes, even my older brother Ty. Pink snow swirled around them and the headstone. They all looked so sad. “We need to go tell them the truth so they can stop crying.”

“We can’t, Lexie.”

I looked back at my family on the screen. They stood under the skeleton of one of the long-dead trees, Ty tugging at the collar of his black coat as he sniffled. Next to him, his best friend Bryant wiped tear streaks from his cheeks. He often called me his little sister, since he didn’t have his own.

They lowered the empty casket into the frozen ground next to my oldest brother’s grave. Hiram’s death a few months earlier had been all too real. My mom collapsed against my father, and together they fell to their knees.

My Uncle said a bad word then turned the monitor off, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “This has to happen.”

“Let’s go show them I’m alive,” I said, tugging on my Uncle’s fingers. “They don’t have to cry.”

He shook his head and pulled me onto his lap, hugging me. His scratchy beard rubbed my cheek when he whispered into my ear. “They have to believe you’re dead.”

“Why?” I asked him with a frown.

“Because your parents are so lost in grief over the death of your brother, they refuse to see the truth.”

“What is the truth?”

Charlie petted the back of my head. “The Orions aren’t what they seem.”

In my mind I saw the beautiful fluttering wings of the Orions, like the angels and fairies in the stories my mom read me before bed. “They love us.”

Charlie gritted his teeth. “No, they don’t. Never believe that.”

“But they tell us that every morning and every night.”

“They’re lying.”

His words made my insides feel funny.

“They are.” He took my chin between his fingers. “Only the brave can hear the truth. Are you brave?”

I nodded.

He kissed my cheek. “I knew you would be. You might have the body of a Debilii but your test show you’re as smart as any Valudis. That’s why our rebellion needs you. Why I need you. I can lead it, but I can’t do it alone.”

I glance down at my scrawny arms. “But I’m just a Deb. You need a Val like Stretch. He’s brave. And strong. He saved Polly once.”

“Yes, Bryant is brave and strong. But so are you.” He bends and picks me up. “There are different kinds of strength, my dear Lexie. And we’ll need them all, Debs and Vals, to save Earth.”

Twelve years later, that conversation still loops through my mind every time I see my headstone. I clear away a cluster of tiny truffs—one of the few things able to survive in the frigid ground—growing in front of it. The spongy domed tops break off the thin, tubular stalks and a puff of gray spore-dust erupts. They’re not the edible kind, and I toss them to the dark edges of the cemetery before returning to my grave. By the early morning light, I peel back the shell of a Sarallin pod to expose its tiny, pink flower and place it in front of Hiram’s grave. The little plant might be considered a weed but, to me, their small burst of color is enchanting.

I drop at my headstone’s base, settling on the frozen, packed dirt, the icy bite of eternal winter piercing my lungs like jagged icicles. In the dark, my finger traces my name, Lexie Hake, etched into the marble. The fancy L swirls from a big flourish to a tiny dot. I don’t like the frilly font much, but I guess you don’t get to choose your own headstone, even if you’re still alive. Despite the risk, I felt compelled to come and celebrate the anniversary of my fake death. It’s been twelve years to the day since I had to leave my family. Four thousand, three hundred and eighty three days since I’d last been surrounded and sheltered by their love.

Using the personal signacom on my wrist, I pull up the video on the daily newsfeed about Ty Hake, my brother, the strong Val warrior-in-training. His heroics would have been the lead story, if he had been saving Vals, but since it was just a collapse at a Deb factory, it’s only mentioned briefly. It might not have made the feeds at all if Ty weren’t one of the top students at the military academy. There are also a few extra videos of Ty and my parents, arms around each other, laughing. They look so happy. A complete unit. A family.

There’s an image of a house that brings back a few vague memories. Ty chasing me down the stairs, my mom kissing my forehead at night, my dad cuddling me on his knee. A small smile touches my lips.

Other videos and photos show what I missed: Ty and my parents on holiday mornings, Ty’s birthday, my parents’ anniversary. I try to picture myself in the photos, to place myself in their experiences, but I can’t. I pause a video and trace the lines on my mother’s face. I notice subtle changes, the fine lines that have been added to her complexion since the last video I’d found. An ache touches my gut, hollowing my insides. The story mentions Hiram’s death in the Musk wars, but it doesn’t even mention me. It’s like I never existed. Did they forget about me?

I swipe the video closed but another one pops up on the newsfeed, one that stabs my chest with a different pain. The commentator announces that Starburst, the youngest of the Orions, has been showing a preference for Bryant Donovan, the number one student at the academy. The story then gives us viewers more of Bryant’s background, how he became an orphan right before he started at school, when his father died in the wars.

I lean back against the cool stone and stare up at the last dwindling stars, not needing to hear the rest. I know all about this history. It’s his present that upsets me. Starburst has been known to lower her standards and condescend to spend time with humans, but I’d never heard of her dating a student before. There was a level of prestige that went with dating a full-fledged warrior, but Bryant has yet to graduate. Of course Bryant—Stretch, I called him—would be the one to catch her eye. He’d caught mine when I was four and I’d never been able to look away.

The lightening sky is turning from a deep mahogany to violet, but a few stars still blink through the velvety cover of night. I notice one star shining by itself, far away from the others. I wonder if it feels the isolation. Sure, it’s up in the sky and shining just as brightly, but it’s alone. Maybe I should name it Lexie.

The only things marring the beauty of the sky are the sleek silver Orion vessels hovering over the academy and the city, constant reminders of our lack of freedom.

Pink snow falls around me, landing on my lashes and the tip of my nose. The thin jacket the school gave me isn’t enough to keep out the chill. I breathe in the always freezing air, and shudder as its iciness sinks into my body. The moment is quiet, peaceful and I let it lull me into a moment of calm. But then my eyes shift to Hiram’s grave and my serenity vanishes.

I climb to my feet and brush off a few clumps of clinging pink snow. I press a kiss to my fingertips and brush it onto Hiram’s grave as I walk by. The cemetery is empty, my footsteps the only sound disturbing the eternal sleep of those buried here.

I head toward the academy, knowing I have to hurry to be back in time for my job there. I’d hate for ‘Emily’—the identity my uncle created for me—to get fired. For Debs like me, working at the school, serving the young Vals training to be great warriors, is a great opportunity. Not only do we get food, board, and a small wage, we also get the necessary training to have a career one day.

The street is abandoned, and the only house still standing leans precariously to one side. Around it are piles of rubble with an occasional chimney or standing wall jutting skyward.

In the distance, the newer buildings gleam in the early morning light. That’s where the Vals work and live.

I come to a cluster of Deb apartments and cut through one of the back alleys. More than half the windows are broken, and fallen bricks litter my path, but the muffled sound of a crying child lets me know some of the rooms are occupied. It makes me grateful for my position at the academy, and my small, but comfortable dorm there.

An early morning hover bus whooshes by as I come out into the foot traffic along the next street. I move quickly, but keep my head down, hoping to avoid notice from anyone who might recognize that I’m not supposed to be in this zone. Without even looking at clothes it’s easy to separate the tall, muscular Vals from us puny, frail Debs. Nearing the school, I make good time until I get caught in a crowd during the morning transmission from the Orions.

“Good morning, dear friends,” a melodious voice chimes. The world quiets in an instant, the hover cars pause, conversations stop, and everyone turns as one to gape at the giant holo-screens, where the images of Sunflare and Silvercloud, the Orion king and queen, appear. The beautiful winged couple hovers above us, and their large, sparkling eyes, glowing golden hair, and pointed ears wordlessly showcase that they aren’t human. The image is so real, I can almost feel the wind as their crystalline wings fan the air.

Silvercloud holds her arms out as if inviting an embrace. “I want you all to remember how much we love you.” Her words send a collective thrill through the crowd. Faces full of admiration and awe surround me. The Deb on my left with blue streaks in her long hair has tears in her eyes. Ahead of us, a Val falls to his knees in worship. “Keep up the good work. As each of you does your part in our battle with the hideous Musk monsters…” I tune her out, but I’m the only one in the crowd who can, literally. If not for the electronic inserts Uncle Charlie implanted in my ears, I would be as susceptible to the powerful compulsion of Silvercloud’s voice as those around me. I wish I could just walk away, but then I’d draw attention for sure and that is something every rebel needs to avoid.

I glance back up to the screen. A video clip plays, showing a victorious end to a recent battle with the Musks. Faces of Val war heroes appear one by one, along with their names and the lists of their heroic accomplishments. Some will receive the honors themselves, but for most—including my brother Hiram—the awards are given to their next-of-kin. Silvercloud’s compelling voice is heard the entire time, reminding everyone that the Musks must be defeated, that if left unchecked, they will attack again, changing our air and environment as they did before.

When the screen fades to black, I move as quickly as I dare. I know I should take the longer way back and avoid the area around the Sacred Square where Val soldiers regularly patrol, but I’m afraid of what might happen if I show up late to my shift again. I cut through the Square, skirting the large glass dome that houses the golden statues of the gods the Orions brought with them to Earth.

I try not to notice the grandeur of their sacred place of worship, but I can’t help myself; the marble altars, plush, silk-covered cushions, and polished granite floors are so beautiful. The three-foot high golden idols, like miniature Orions with lion faces, shine with an inner glow. Are the Vals who work here ever tempted to touch them, despite the death penalty for doing so? Even through the glass I can almost smell the trays of food they leave as offerings to their gods. My stomach whines. The thousand calories the scientists at the academy ration us Debs just isn’t enough.

The glass door of the domed building slides open with a hiss, disrupting the quiet of the early morning. A Val stumbles out into the pale lavender sunlight. The gold and purple trim on his black uniform declares that he has been blessed with the high honor of cleaning inside the dome of the Square. He looks only a little older than me, but with the open sores, pallid skin, and thinning hair, it’s obvious he’s been serving here for several months and will not survive it much longer. He staggers toward me and collapses to his knees. I reach for him, barely catching his once strong body before it hits the snowy ground.

He rests his head on my shoulder, his breathing labored. My own muscles quiver under his weight. His eyelids flutter open but his vision must be blurred because he thanks me. If he had been in his right mind, thanking a Deb for help never would have occurred to him, especially if it included being touched by one.

“Water…” he rasps.

I scoop up some of the fresh snow and bring it to his lips.

“Thank you,” he says again.

His eyes close and his chest rattles. Looking at what the radiation in the dome has done to him—afflictions that even a nearly impervious Val can’t heal from—makes me sick.