She sighed, staring up at the stars, and when she looked over, she saw that the ration was doing the same. Her heart skipped a beat. It had been years since she had seen another face beside her like this, gazing up at the sky, and she felt her thoughts trying to force themselves down onto her tongue. She ignored the feeling, swallowing the words back, but the silence seemed to scream at her as the moments passed, almost as if begging her to speak. It was suffocating, like she was holding her breath, and finally, she couldn’t bear it any longer.
“That’s called the Big Dipper,” Amber whispered, pointing at the stars.
Those few, simple words were familiar; they flowed easily, the same as they had the first time she had spoken them all those years ago. She took a deep breath.
“A long time ago, when there was water everywhere, people used to scoop it up with something called a cup that had a handle on it. It looked like those stars. They could drink whenever they wanted to. I can’t imagine what that would be like, to never be thirsty.”
She moved her hand, pointing at another group of stars.
“That’s the Little Dipper. As long as you can find either one the dippers, you can find the North Star. Polaris. That’s how people used to travel a long time ago.”
She moved her hand again.
“That’s Sagittarius, my mom’s birth sign. And over there is Aquarius. My dad and Alex both have that one.”
Amber looked at the ration. What she was thinking sounded unbelievably foolish in her mind, but her heart felt too raw to care.
“I wonder if you have a birth sign,” she said quietly. “I guess it would probably be the day they started growing you.”
She fell silent for a moment, thinking as she studied the shadows of moonlight that highlighted the curves and angles of the ration’s face. It looked to be around twenty years old, but the rations grew faster than humans. Estimating its age based on its appearance was impossible despite its formidable size, but judging by when the Peterson’s got theirs and the three-cycle trial period before the center would offer a guarantee, she knew it had to be a least a couple years old. Even so, there was no way of knowing for sure, much less guessing the month.
“Maybe it should just be the day they issued you to us,” she decided. “September 18th. That would make you a Virgo, but you can’t see that constellation right now.”
Her voice wavered, and she swallowed hard.
“My sister was Taurus, the bull, which is that one over there. Orion is next to it, you can almost see all of him. She used to make up stories about Orion fighting Taurus, it was really funny.”
She shivered, gesturing at the horizon.
“Somewhere over there is Leo, the lion. I saw it the night we walked back from center. It’s my birth sign, since I was born in August. It’s still too early to see it right now, but when winter comes, I should be able to see it right after the sun goes down. I’m excited, but I’m not looking forward to how much colder it will be. The days will be a little less hot, but more people die from the cold than the heat. That’s how…that’s how my little sister died.”
The ration moved closer to her, pressing its body against hers. Amber sighed, puffs of vapor from her breath filling the air. That was enough for tonight.
“We should go in, it’s getting late.”
She yawned, standing to her feet and gathering up the blanket. The ration followed her inside, moving ahead of her when they reached her room and pulling the clothing out from under the shelf. It handed hers to her, dutifully turning its back as she began to undress.
Amber got into bed, watching it as it quickly changed. Something stirred in her heart as it lay down beside her, an excitement she didn’t recognize. She actually liked its company for some reason, and being with it reminded her of the pets she had read that people used to keep back when there were animals.
The ration turned to face her, nudging closer to her, and she nestled up against it. As she drifted off to sleep, she couldn’t help wondering what it was like inside its mind. It had shown that it was capable of at least some form of thought, and despite how foolish it seemed, a tiny part of her hoped that some of those thoughts were of her.
* * *
Amber’s mood felt a little brighter the next day. She was actually looking forward to the evening, and she found herself moving a little faster as she sorted through the piles of dirt. The ration seemed to be working faster, too, and she smiled every time it came back from a trip to the dumping ground. With each load, the end of the day was drawing closer and closer.
Finally, it was time to head back. She waited for the ration to return from its last trip, beckoning for it to follow her home. It fell into step a few feet behind her, and she winced, remembering when she had yelled at it.
“It’s okay,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at it. “You can walk next to me.”
The blank look the ration gave her was a disappointing reminder of its limitations, and she sighed, motioning for it to come closer. This time it reacted, moving to her side and matching her stride as they walked.
Amber ducked through the doorway, trying not to focus on her mother’s downcast eyes as she went to her room to get her book. She hadn’t felt like reading in the week since the execution, but today was different.
She sat down in her usual spot, opening her book and finding her place. As she began to read, she heard footsteps approach, and she glanced up to see the ration step into view. It stood outside the shaded space, staring at her with dull eyes, and Amber shook her head.
“You’re supposed to be inside,” she said, waving it away as she returned to her book. “The rations stay in after work until it’s time for bed.”
It turned, slowly beginning to walk back inside, and for a split second, she almost felt sorry for it. She couldn’t imagine how boring it would be to sit in a corner during the hours between finishing work and bed.
“Wait.”
The ration looked at her, and she beckoned to it.
“I suppose it’s up to me,” Amber said. “You can stay. I don’t mind.”
It moved to her side, sitting down next to her, and she almost immediately regretted the decision. Its presence was distracting, and she couldn’t stop watching it out of the corner of her eye. Every so often, she could see its eyes glance over at the page. If it were a person, it would probably be wondering why she just kept staring at the same one.
Amber pursed her lips, giving a quick look around as a thought occurred to her. She stared at the ration for a long moment, contemplating.
You talk to the sky, Amber, come on. That’s just as weird as talking to a ration.
She took a deep breath, hoping neither of her parents would come outside.
“It’s about stars,” she said quietly, pointing to the page. “And these little squiggly lines are words.”
The more she talked, the easier it became. The ration sat perfectly still as she rambled on, and after a few minutes, she flipped back to the beginning of the book. This was her second time reading it, but she wouldn’t mind starting over again.
“I’m not very good at reading out loud,” she warned. “But I guess I could use the practice.”
That would be her excuse, anyway, if someone saw her.
“Chapter One: The Night Sky. Since the dawn of time, mankind has been fascinated by the stars. It is a love story as old as the universe itself, a deep fascination and curiosity stirred to life from the very first moment man gazed up at the sky and wondered about the lights that live there…”
The words began to fade from the page as the sun set, and Amber shivered, glancing up in surprise. She had lost track of time.
“That’s all for right now,” she said, closing the book. She beckoned to the ration as she stood up, moving to sit on the ground in front of her house. It followed suit, sitting down beside her as she tilted her head back.
The stars twinkled brightly as the moon rose higher in the
sky, and the sounds from inside the house grew quiet as her parents went to sleep. The ration stood up and went inside, reappearing a few moments later with her blanket.
“Thanks,” Amber said, forgetting herself as it returned to its place beside her and wrapped itself in the other half of the blanket. She shot it a sideways glance, remembering the last time she had read aloud before watching the stars come out. It had been forever, but somehow, with the ration beside her, it didn’t seem quite so long ago.
She swallowed hard against the lump of sorrow that had appeared in her throat, her voice cracking as she began to speak.
“My little sister used to sit out here with me every night to watch the stars come out. This is the first time I haven’t been alone to watch them since she died.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the ration turn to look at her, its green eyes sparkling in the dark as she continued.
“Her name…her name was Jude.”
She gasped a quick breath, a wave of goosebumps washing over her skin the moment she said the name, and she realized just how much her heart had longed to hear it again. Until now, she had never even dared to whisper it to herself.
“She was eight when she died, I was thirteen. I think my parents blame me, even though they don’t always act like it. That’s why Alex sleeps with them instead of me, and that’s why my mom gets sad sometimes. I can always tell when she’s thinking about Jude because she can’t look at me.”
She shivered, but this time, it wasn’t just from the cold.
“The anniversary is coming up, January 26th. It was really cold out that night, colder than it’s ever been. She rolled out of bed, and I found her the next morning on the floor. I didn’t even realize she was gone at first, it just looked like she was sleeping.”
Her voice broke. The memory had been locked away for so long, but despite how painful it was to recount, the words refused to be stopped.
“If it had just been few weeks later, it would have been after the harvest…I definitely would’ve noticed then, but the ration kept me warm enough and I just didn’t feel her move. At least, that’s what I’ve tried telling myself all these years, but I know it’s not an excuse.”
Amber drew a shuddering breath.
“Everyone said that she should have been old enough to wake up on her own, that something else must have been wrong with her, but I know it’s my fault. I should have noticed. That’s why it bothers me so much when I can tell my mom’s thinking about her, it reminds me that my mistake is what killed her. I feel so guilty about it, especially because I only begged for her to sleep in my bed so we could stay out late without my parents finding out. She loved it so much, and I loved having someone to tell stories to.”
She chuckled to herself.
“And Jude adored the stories, especially the ones about the Greek gods. One of them says that the sun is pulled across the sky every day by a chariot driven by a god named Helios. At night, he puts the sun away and watches the moon come out with his family. We would pretend to be his daughters, imagining that he was sitting here with us every night. She used to get so excited when the sun disappeared, she said she could actually see the horses that pulled the chariot.”
Amber’s eyes blurred with tears as she gazed up at the stars.
“Sometimes I dream about her,” she whispered. “I dream that she’s up there in heaven, that she’s playing with the animals that live in the stars and waiting for me. I used to talk to her when she first died, but I can’t anymore. I think it just hurts too much, so instead I talk to the stars and hope that maybe, if she’s up there, they’ll tell her what I said. I miss her, but I hope she’s happy. I hope she’s in a better place. Sometimes I feel stupid for imagining it, but it’s nice to think about, even if it is just pretend.”
A wave of sadness washed over her. That’s all it was, pretend. Just like the conversation she was having with the ration, none of it was real. Her sister was gone forever, the same as the animals and plants and a world without hunger and thirst. She sighed.
“Well, we should go in. I’m freezing.”
Amber stood to her feet and walked inside, the ration close behind. As she readied herself for bed, she couldn’t help noticing that her heart felt a tiny bit lighter. She had never spoken aloud of her feelings for her sister, much less admitted the things she imagined about the stars, and she realized that until now, she hadn’t ever felt like it was okay to do so. Something about the ration’s quiet attentiveness made her comfortable in a way she hadn’t experienced before, and as she fell asleep, she was almost tempted to tell it how she felt.
†‡†
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning, Amber was awakened by the sound of Alex’s screams. She sighed with annoyance as she rolled out of bed; he was usually like this when he woke up, but today seemed even worse. The ration was staring at the doorway, its head cocked almost as if listening, and she gave it a knowing look.
“He never shuts up,” she whispered, gesturing for it to turn around so she could change. “Mom’s been saying he’ll grow out of it, but it seems like it won’t ever end.”
She grabbed the bags of supplements, crossing her legs underneath her as she prepared to portion them out for the day, when she heard her mother call to her.
“Coming!” she answered, standing to her feet and going out into the main room. Mica glanced up, and this time, she seemed to have no problem making eye contact. Amber sighed with relief; usually the sullen mood didn’t last more than a week or so, but every time it happened, she couldn’t help worrying that it wouldn’t ever end. She smiled.
“Yes?”
Mica’s face was dark.
“I need you to stay here with Alex for a few minutes, just until I can get our water allotments.”
Amber’s heart skipped a beat; she glanced down at her little brother, fear racing up her spine. He was collapsed on the floor, his miserable, exhausted little face streaked with tears as he shuddered with each wail. Her annoyance vanished, replaced with nervous concern.
“What wrong with him?”
Mica shrugged.
“Nothing, it’s just the supplements. His dose was increased from last cycle since he’s older, last night’s dose is probably upsetting his stomach a bit. I don’t want to take him with me screaming like this. Sit with him for a few minutes, I’ll be quick.”
Amber nodded, and Mica grabbed the flasks as she disappeared through the doorway.
“It’s okay, Alex,” Amber soothed, sitting down beside him. She reached for him, but he screamed even harder and shrank away. She sighed. Better to just leave him alone.
The ration had followed her out, and she gestured for it to sit.
“Wait here, I’m going to go finish with the supplements.”
She stood to her feet and walked back to her room, pulling the curtain aside and tying it back so she could still watch her brother. She dumped out a handful of capsules, making a pile for herself and moving on to the ration’s, when she realized that the screams had gone quiet. She glanced up mid-count.
The ration had moved a little closer to Alex, its back to her. Alex was sitting up, staring at the ground in fascination, and Amber cocked her head as she watched. He smiled and clapped his hands, and she quickly finished counting, standing up and walking back out into the main room. She froze, catching sight of a little face that had been drawn in the dirt. It looked exactly like Alex.
The ration glanced up as she approached, preparing to stand. Its leg swiped over the lines on the ground as it moved, completely erasing them, and Alex let out a shriek of dismay. He sniffled hard and leaned over, dragging his finger through the dirt to make more lines, and Amber stared at the ration with wide eyes. It gazed back at her, a blank expression on its face.
“You got him to stop crying,” Mica said, appearing in the doorway and startling Amber from her shock.
“Oh…yeah, he’s just…playing now.”<
br />
“Come here, little one, I have your water,” Mica sang, sitting down and pouring a capful of water for Alex. He drank it quickly, reaching for more, and instantly began to cry again when Mica shook her head.
“You can go get your allotment now, Amber, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Amber managed to reply, turning to go back to her room. She grabbed her flask and headed out, the ration at her side.
She shot it a look as they walked to the taps, her mind racing. Maybe she should tell someone. She shook her head, dismissing the idea. No one would believe her, and even she was having trouble convincing herself of what she had seen.
Amber thought back, trying to picture the drawing, but it faded from memory as her mind kept whispering that she had to be wrong. She had only caught a tiny glimpse, after all, maybe she had just imagined it. Besides, there was no proof either way, which meant anyone she told would probably just think she was crazy and report her.
Even if someone did actually entertain the possibility that she was right, they would just process the ration for early harvest. Her family didn’t have enough salt yet to preserve an early harvest, and the ration wouldn’t reach full yield. The strain guarantee would be voided, which meant that the result would be bad for her family either way. No, it was better to keep her mouth shut. She had probably just imagined it.
There was a pungent, acrid smell in the air as she and the ration reached the center of the settlement, and she glanced over at the harvest station. The ration followed her gaze, and she watched its eyes settle on the source of the smell.
The harvest tables were filled with dead rations, and families were gathered around them to process the meat. Ration harvests occurred roughly every four weeks according to each family group’s cycle, and today was day one of this group’s harvest. Out of the forty families, twenty at a time would butcher their rations over a two-day period.
The rations were dispatched right before the sun went down the night before, allowing the blood to drain and the carcasses to cool overnight until the next morning, then the meat would be stripped, salted, and hung out to dry before nightfall when the next twenty would be killed. It was still early, and the rations that occupied the tables were only halfway through being stripped down.
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