Last Star Burning

by Caitlin Sangster

  My roommate, Peishan, waves from the front row, giving me a questioning smile when I wave back. She knew I was up in the Second Quarter with Tai-ge and will want to hear about the visit down to the pitch of Comrade Hong’s annoyed sniffs. She starts to mouth something at me, but stops as Captain Chen hobbles into the room. The old Captain frowns at her as he limps toward his chair on his ancient pair of crutches, then heaves a deep sigh as he leans them up against the wall. He sits, pulling at the two metal stars on his collar, which had folded inward so that the metal scratched at his throat. The two hash marks carved into his hand look faded and stretched. Remedial Reform isn’t important enough to merit a First teacher like the other quarters get. The finer points don’t matter much when your days are filled with twisting wire or picking bits of gunk out of the industrial looms. “Did we stop with the Great War invasion, or were we all the way to Jiang?” he grumbles. I try not to flinch.

  A boy sitting two seats away raises a work-worn hand, angry red scars lining his palms and forearms like a grid. “You left off with Yuan Zhiwei, sir.”

  “Yuan. Right.” Scratching at his sparse gray hair, Captain Chen turns toward the front of the room, pointing at the portrait of Yuan Zhiwei hung at the head of our classroom. “Salute.”

  We all stand, each raising a fist toward the portrait. “We stand united, our City dedicated to equality, honesty, and hard work. We strive to protect our homes and families from infection, shoring up our walls against the anarchy poisoning Outside. We destroy complacency within our own ranks. We pledge to follow the teachings of Yuan Zhiwei, each of us dedicated to our own tasks. Thirds to the glory of labor that forms the backbone of our society. Seconds to protecting our walls and defeating our enemies. Firsts, in their superior wisdom, to lead us toward dignity and enlightenment.”

  And Fourths, I add silently, my mother’s face still pulsing in the back of my mind after what Tai-ge said about Kamar discovering our City. To betrayal. To infecting our own children and murdering our leaders. Even saying the number four out loud is unlucky. As if just one syllable could bring death and destruction to anyone who heard.

  “Shoulder to shoulder we stand, comrades building a society strong enough to find the cure to SS.” With that, we finish chanting and sit down, waiting for Captain Chen to start.

  He rubs his left temple with two fingers, eyes closed. “Kamar’s invasion of our country started with Sleeping Sickness bombs. That beyond anything was their biggest mistake, as SS was not only the cause of our destruction, but also the cause of their own.” He pauses to let that sink in, as if this weren’t something we’ve all known for as long as we can remember. Sleeping Sickness—SS—the weapon that bit back at that hand that wielded it. If not for Kamar, the whole world might still be living freely in peace instead of fighting for scraps.

  After the moment of silence, Captain Chen continues. “Bombs infected our armies, our cities. Those who weren’t infected ran or were killed. Yuan Zhiwei argued not to use SS as a weapon of revenge. Deciding to destroy them with their own weapon would only leave a blasted continent, a pile of ashes where there was once a great civilization. Our ancestral leaders did not listen to him. Yuan led as many as would follow up to this City. They hid in these mountains as SS destroyed everything during the end of the Influenza War. Why would he trap us up here like that and then call it ‘Liberation’?”

  Peishan raises her hand, smoothing long hair out of her face before answering his nod. Her voice chirps like a little bird, every word measured and confident. “The walls, sir. Yuan Zhiwei wanted to find a cure, and walls were the only thing that could keep out Sephs. . . .” She falters, crossing her arms tightly when she realizes the ugly slur slipped out, but Captain Chen doesn’t stop her. “I mean, walls were the only thing that could keep out those infected with encephalitis lethargica—with Sleeping Sickness.”

  Captain Chen considers her. “They never figured out how to make the engineered flu that causes SS contagious. Why would keeping SS victims out matter?”

  “Not contagious.” Peishan bites her lip. “But even one infected inside our walls that goes untreated . . . is . . .” She shivers, not finishing the sentence. “Yuan chose this place in particular because it’s so remote that Kamar couldn’t find us.”

  “Thank you, Peishan.” The captain’s nod is a little surprised. He doesn’t expect much from a classroom of Thirds, but then Peishan has always been an overachiever. “Did it work? Are we liberated?”

  The question annoys me, and I start to roll my eyes, but wrench them back down to my desk when Captain Chen’s gaze falls on me.

  Once again, Peishan provides an answer. “Our work is Liberation. Seconds fight and Thirds work to make sure Firsts can find the cure and end the war. We are far more free here than anyone trying to survive Outside.” The pledge regurgitated, but it’s true. Safety from SS and Kamari soldiers is enough for anyone—even a hated Fourth like me—to fight to keep their place inside the City. Peishan is still trembling as if the thought of SS doomed the rest of her evening to looking over her shoulder and watching shadows, terrified an unmedicated SS victim could be sneaking along after her, wondering what her flesh tastes like.

  I sit up straight, suddenly noticing the rigid line of my friend’s back, the way her hands grip the sides of her desk, fingers turning white. Peishan’s whole body shakes in palsied bursts, her grasp on the desktop the only thing keeping her from falling to the ground.

  “Sir!” I jump from my bench and run for Peishan. “Sir, she’s . . .”

  Peishan slides from her seat, the shakes suddenly stopping as if she’s done fighting the compulsion that’s taken her. Hands outstretched, she strides toward Captain Chen, who only has time to fall off his chair as he frantically gropes for his crutches.

  I crash into Peishan, my ribs and sternum crushed against her bony back as I tackle her to the floor. Other students in the class spring up from their desks to pull her arms flat on the ground, grab her feet to keep her from kicking. They leave me to lie on top of her, to keep her twitches and screams smashed against the floor, where they can’t hurt anyone. Or at least where they won’t hurt Captain Chen.

  The captain yells for help, members of the Watch sprinting from their posts in the hallway at his call. One of the Watchmen pulls me off my friend, gathering her in a bear hold until her muscles stop straining and pulsing, and her head hangs down, sobs of fear and revulsion tearing from her chest.

  “I took Mantis an hour ago!” Tears spill down her cheeks, her hair a tangled bird’s nest atop her head. “I’m supposed to be safe!”

  I can’t watch as they drag her out. No late-night discussion in our room to look forward to tonight. None of Peishan’s silly questions about Seconds and Tai-ge and whether we really are just friends. Our room will just be dark now. Silent. Asleep.

  Captain Chen’s chest heaves as he pulls himself up on his crutches. “This is, perhaps, an unfortunate but appropriate launch into the rest of our class discussion.”

  Peishan’s sobs echo down the long hallway, fading as the Watch carries her away.

  “For a hundred years, the City was completely free from SS. We didn’t need Mantis. We certainly hadn’t seen strains of Mantis-resistant SS. Chemical bombs and the war were no more than an uncomfortable memory. All of this was true, until eight years ago. Now SS is here, rearing up in the places we least expect—the epidemic we were supposed to be safe from.” He pauses, and my stomach cramps. “What changed?” He makes a show of looking back and forth over the students, half of us still standing, frazzled from restraining Peishan.

  Then, as I knew would happen, his stare fixes on me.

  I shrink from where I stand at the front of the room, wishing I could go back to my bench, that I could duck behind the broad-shouldered Thirds, still smelling of the metal and soot from the factories. I don’t know why I’m still trying to take these classes; I should have known that having a military captain for a teacher was enough of a promise of misery to
just take double shifts at the cannery and stop trying to play at school. Tai-ge had to argue to even get me here, but my stars will always speak louder than he ever could.

  Captain Chen’s glare stings, expectantly waiting until I look up. “SS has returned to the City, and Kamari heli-planes fly over us daily. What changed?” His voice is pinched and poisonous. “Jiang Sev? Care to enlighten us?”

  I straighten and meet his stare, refusing to blink, refusing to let him bully me. Hating the way his mouth pinches over my name—my mother’s name, the one they made me take instead of my father’s. Another kind of brand, just as loud as my scar. “Jiang Gui-hua happened. My mother betrayed us all.”

  CHAPTER 2

  THE ORPHANAGE LOOKS COMFORTABLE IN the lamplight, the mishmash of peaked tile roofs turned up at each corner and the sprawling glass windows just like a family compound from a feel-good propaganda film. Warmth glows from inside, seeming almost cozy until you catch sight of the plaque nailed above the entrance reading HALL OF WAR-ORPHANED CHILDREN in peeling black characters.

  When I pull open the front door, I’m careful not to dislodge the handle from its precarious one-screw tether. It feels good to do something softly, to stop trying to break a hole in the road with my boots, to calm the angry demon stretching inside of me, howling to come out.

  My mother the traitor.

  Even the mention ignites an illness deep in my belly looking for the quickest way out. As the door opens, someone comes running through from the other side, slamming the heavy wood against my shoulder and wrist.

  “Sorry!” It’s one of the younger residents. She runs past me without another word, late for a factory shift, no doubt.

  I roll my shoulder and look at my hand where the door scraped me, a drop of blood welling at the point of the star burned into my skin—the mark of a traitor. The mark that will never wash away, no matter how many years I spend being reeducated by General Hong.

  I clench my fist, trying to tune out the memories of her beautiful voice telling me bedtime stories, of her duets with Aya, which always dissolved into laughter when one or the other couldn’t hold their part. She left us. She left us for them. Every chemical bomb that falls might as well have Jiang Gui-hua’s name chiseled into its brassy nose, because she’s the one who told Kamar where we are.

  My back hunches as I walk into the orphanage’s open-air courtyard, gulping down deep breaths of the frozen air. Focusing on any one thing seems too difficult. My eyes dart between the cracked cement ground to the main desk that blocks access to the rest of the orphanage, my hand creeping up to the fleshy inside of my elbow, where the soft, smooth expanse feels as if it’s on fire.

  And it might as well be. That seemingly insignificant spot on my arm is Mother’s last word to the City, delivered through me. Because she didn’t just tell Kamar where to find us and our Mantis stores. She didn’t just leave half of the First Circle dead in their beds before she was finally caught.

  No, she also brought SS back to us personally. To me, her own daughter, in a syringe.

  I was the City’s first Seph.

  I didn’t understand what my mother had done to me until later. Much later, when General Hong found time to explain it all to me. All I could think during those first few months was that somehow the Circle and the Reds were all wrong, but even I couldn’t erase the memory of her voice in my room, her face hovering near mine, and the prick of the needle.

  The Sister on duty peers over the counter, her bald head reflecting the golden light filtering down from the lamps hung above the waist-high wall between me and her desk. It takes me a moment to get control of myself and find a calm sort of a smile for her. The nuns are supposed to be even more honored than Firsts, giving up everything to serve those who can’t help themselves. The ultimate example of society before self.

  I don’t see a flicker of charity in this Sister’s expression. Not surprising. It’s Sister Lei, who seems to think her life’s purpose is to bring up good members of the City with a switch in one hand and a book with every word Yuan Zhiwei ever said in the other. She actually slapped me once for pretending to compulse. I was chasing some of the younger kids, telling them I was hungry for ears to make them laugh, when I felt a sharp sting on my cheek. “SS is not something to joke about!” she fluted, pointed finger level with my nose. “Especially not for you, Ms. Jiang. I suppose I should expect nothing better, considering where you came from.” Then she ordered me to report my gross disrespect during the next morning’s self-criticism.

  I did, complete with sound effects.

  “You’re late,” she says, standing up. “And you didn’t eat dinner.”

  “Class went a little late. I’m sorry, Sister.” The smile isn’t so hard now that I’m talking. “I haven’t managed to wrench out any of my own teeth, though, so I think we’re okay.”

  “You can joke about SS even now? After what happened to Peishan?” She pulls at her long brown robe, flashing a tattoo of a City seal on her hand. However many slashes were cut into her skin to mark her place in the City, they’ve been obscured since the day she took the oath to serve. I could probably see if I looked close enough, but for some reason, I think she’d be offended. “Come flouncing in here long after you’re due for Mantis? You are putting us all in danger.”

  Sliding a small paper cup across the counter, she jerks her head toward a water jug pushed up against the metal grate that bars entrance to my home. Not all of us in the orphanage are infected, but separating the sick from the well has never seemed to be something the nuns or anyone else cared about. Not down here, anyway.

  Back during the Great Wars, no one really knew what SS was, just people catching sick and falling asleep for too long. Days, weeks, sometimes even months. In those days, people were so terrified of being buried alive because of SS that they went down with a bell at their side just in case they woke up. And not everyone does. It is still almost impossible to tell the difference between the dead Sleep of encephalitis lethargica and the plain dead.

  If only that were all SS did to people. Put them to Sleep.

  I take the cup, rattling the two green pills against the sides as I get a cupful of water to wash them down. But Sister Lei doesn’t buzz the door open.

  “There’s been a change of schedule. The Watch had to take Peishan to the Sanatorium for observation, and the cannery needs someone to cover her shift.”

  The deep pool of anger bubbling inside my chest begins to froth again. Peishan. The newest in a line of unforgivable sins to lay at my mother’s feet.

  I glance down at the pills now cupped in my hand, suddenly not wanting to swallow them. Yuan Zhiwei invented Mantis himself. It’s the only way to combat the second half of what SS does to us—the half that happens after the victim wakes up. One moment, you could be sitting and chatting about the weather; the next, singing the City anthem with full vibrato, or trying to pull out your own hair. Or attacking your Remedial Reform teacher. Compulsions aren’t exactly random. They just destroy inhibitions and agitate the victim. A bad toothache might have you in the bathroom, trying to extract it with a wrench. An annoying sibling you wish you could smack might end up with strangling bruises. Mantis cured all of that and allowed those of us Sephs who woke up to go about their lives as normal, needing only two doses a day. Yet, about a year ago, Mantis suddenly stopped working for certain people. People like Peishan. The First Circle hasn’t even issued a statement about the problem. The victims are just carted away to the Sanatorium one by one, and they don’t come back.

  “Are they sure Peishan isn’t responding to Mantis? She didn’t miss a dose or—”

  “Her shift starts in eleven minutes.”

  I look at the floor. What was Peishan’s infected brain telling her to do when I landed on top of her? It distracts me from wondering how anyone could manage to survive in the Sanatorium. Uncontrollable compulsions, floors and floors of untreatable inmates confined. I don’t know why the City doesn’t just let them go. Send them Out
side.

  I close my eyes, ashamed of myself for even thinking it. The Sanatorium is a blessing from the Firsts. Nothing could be worse than being forced Outside.

  Taking a deep breath, I force myself to think instead of a problem I can actually address, like my empty stomach. Only Firsts can help Peishan now.

  “Food? Before I go?” The orphanage cafeteria usually stays open for those of us with odd shifts over in the factories, and I don’t think I can face another four hours of a sweaty rubber jumpsuit and gloves without something to go on.

  Sister Lei doesn’t even blink. “Comrade Hong informed me of your trespassing in her home this evening, Sev.” Her eyes go back to the paperwork on her desk. “You have leave to enter the Second Quarter only for specified reeducation sessions. All of your lessons were canceled for this week, yet you still crossed the wall. If you can’t keep your Fourth tendencies in check, the Hongs aren’t going to continue trying to reeducate you back into the City’s good graces. If I were making the decisions, you’d be doing hard labor like a Fourth deserves.”

  I quickly swallow the pills, the feeling of Mantis lodged in my throat remaining long after they go down.

  It’s a hungry walk to the cannery, and a long night of sweating in the rubber getup that keeps me safe from the chemical-laced fruit they cart in from farms Outside. But I can’t complain. Not when I know Peishan—or any of the other kids locked away inside the Sanatorium—would die to trade places with me.

  • • •

  Tai-ge appears at the orphanage doors right as the sky falls dark a few days later, bearing an official invitation to sit across the table from General Hong to have my brain reorganized to better fit the City’s aims. Something must be brewing up in the Second Quarter for the General to summon me this late. He would have had to ask for special permission to have a Fourth out after dark.