by Megan Crewe
“Okay,” I say. “Who else should I know?”
I let my mind absorb the faces they point out, cataloging features and mannerisms I hope will jog my memory if I see them again. One more way my overactive attention to detail may help us. Isis has just noted two more members of the Security council when Nakalya, the “mayor,” steps onto an invisible lift that elevates him to the level of the stage. A few other figures follow suit at intervals around the platform.
As they congregate in the middle of the stage, Jule tenses.
“Kurra’s the Enforcer who saw you on Earth?” he says.
All the breath leaves my lungs. “Yeah. We . . . talked. Is she—”
“There are several Enforcers patrolling the hall to make sure no one gets disorderly,” he says. “She’s a few tiers up. But it looks like she’ll pass this way.”
It takes an effort to peek over. Near the ramp maybe fifty feet above us, Kurra’s icy visage and white-blond hair stand out amid the darker figures around her. She’s not looking at us, just scanning the crowd, but she’s stalking steadily down the ramp. My pulse skips, my hands tightening on the railing. I close my eyes, the memory of her aiming her blaster flashing behind my eyelids. The jumble of sound and bodies surrounding me presses in.
“She can’t get a good look at you from the ramp, and she probably won’t come right into the audience unless there’s a disturbance,” Isis says, but her brow has knit. We’re not that far from the ramp.
“We’ll move farther over,” Jule says quickly.
Britta tugs a lock of my hair. “I’ll come by tomorrow and give you another touch-up, and a navigation lesson,” she says.
I hurry after Jule as he squeezes past the spectators squashed along the tier wall. Every nudge and jostle sends a tremor of thereness through me. I force myself to keep moving, one foot after the other, willing the panic back.
We haven’t quite made it to the opposite ramp when a trumpet-like sound blares from above. The chatter of the crowd fades away. Everyone pushes closer, jamming us against the wall. Jule grasps my arm as if to reassure himself he won’t lose me.
I glance back the way we came. Kurra’s patrol has taken her almost to our tier. I jerk my head back around. We put more distance and more faces between her and me. Now I just have to avoid looking her way.
With the celebration beginning, it’s not as hard to focus elsewhere. Spirals of shimmering light loop out into the air above the stage in the same shades as the intertwining strands of the strings so many people are wearing. The spirals weave around each other until they form an interlocking circle, and then cascade down over the eight figures on the stage in a shower of sparks. The trumpet sounds rise, high and triumphant.
“Kemyates,” the mayor says, his voice artificially amplified, booming over us, “we come together now to remember the moment we first came together as one people, one united strength. Let the Council hear your praise!”
The crowd roars, so many voices mingling I can’t make out a single word. The noise floods up into the dome and rains down over us. Even though I have no desire to praise Kemya, the cheer propels a torrent of emotion through me. I have to catch my breath at the surge of elation.
The woman to the mayor’s left—Silmeru, the head of Earth Travel—speaks into the ebbing cheer. “Let us remember the strengths of those who came before us. Their industriousness, their rationality, their prudence and benevolence. The qualities all worthy Kemyates share to this day!”
Another roar swells around us, but it doesn’t quite carry me away this time. Benevolence? I’ve seen only the opposite shown to the people of Earth—the people they sent there and now treat like lab rats. And where is their benevolence for families like Win’s? I can’t imagine how he must feel, listening to this every year.
Each member of the Council speaks in turn, heaping more and more platitudes on their Kemyate ancestors and Kemya itself. Although no one mentions the accident that forced all of these people off their treasured planet, I pick up an underlying tenor of warning. They all make some mention of caution or being prepared, of patience or restraint. Reminding everyone how important it is not to break from the status quo, not to challenge the “wisdom” of their leaders. It’s always easier to keep going the way things are than to veer off in a new direction, Isis said, and these people are reinforcing that inertia.
Then the Council members drift to the edges of the platform. Five men and women in outfits echoing the interwoven colors of the holiday appear on stage. The trumpet tones blast out a brisk melody, and the five start to dance.
It’s not like any dance I’ve seen back home. Every movement is sharp, precise but also powerful, stomping feet and jabbed arms and sudden dashes. The dancers’ clothing unfurls as they move, trailing streamers in each of the colors, which wind around each other and come apart, only to weave closer, and closer, with each peak in the music. Sparkles glint off the fabric and spiral up into the air as it thickens around us with a spicy scent.
A lump rises in my throat. It’s beautiful. I can recognize that, objectively, even as my stomach knots. It’s a celebration of unification that allows no place for me or anyone I care about back on Earth. Angela would be awed by the imagery, Lisa would want to jump on stage and join in, and these people would never think them worthy of witnessing it. Isis suggested being here would show me a pleasant side to Kemya, but it’s only making me feel more like an outcast.
The crowd shifts behind us, all the spectators eager to get a better view. Someone knocks Jule into me. He braces himself with one hand against the wall, his other arm encircling me. I stiffen automatically. But it actually feels nice, the solid warmth against my back. The knowledge that he, at least, sees the hypocrisy of this celebration too.
I inhale, and relax against him. Why am I worrying so much about where this flicker of attraction could lead? It is what it is. I can keep spending all this energy fighting it, or I can accept that it’s as legitimate as any other emotion and just feel it.
If Jule notices the difference, he doesn’t stir. But he keeps his arm there, his fingers careful against my ribs, while the lights below dwindle.
As the brilliance dims, I catch sight of Kurra’s pale form near the edge of the inner circle. She swivels, and I turn quickly, hiding my face from her view. The mayor calls out a few last words, but I’m not concentrating enough to translate them.
“We’ll be gone in a moment,” Jule murmurs. “She hasn’t seen you.”
There’s one last hurrah from the crowd, and then everyone flows toward the ramps and up to the exits. I stick close to Jule as we’re crowded along, the clenching in my chest easing with each step I put between me and Kurra.
Outside the domed hall, the throng disperses in multiple directions, packing into the tight network of hallways toward their apartments or the inner-shuttles that will take them there. We squeeze into a line for a shuttle. They arrive at a steady pace, carrying off groups of ten at a time. I stand beside Jule silently, playing my role as pet in case anyone who knows him passes by.
There’s just one more bunch of revelers ahead of us, a cluster of preteens chattering between giggles, when a tall, broad-shouldered man and a similarly built woman push past the line to approach us.
“Jule,” the man says, in a smooth voice a lot like Jule’s own.
I’m not all that surprised when Jule inclines his head and says, “Dad.” He acknowledges the woman with, “Aunt Mar.”
His aunt inspects me with heavy-lidded eyes, the narrow space forcing her so close I feel a wisp of her exasperated sigh. “So this is it,” she says.
It takes me a moment to realize “it” is me. Jule holds the controlled indifference in his expression, but he brushes his hand against mine surreptitiously.
“This is Skylar,” he says.
“Hi,” I say with what I hope is suitable haziness.
Both ignore me. “A lot of money to spend,” Jule’s dad says. “You don’t want to get careless.”
“I know my expenses,” Jule says flatly. “Did you need to talk to me?”
“I never understood this fad of bringing the creatures into one’s home,” his aunt remarks.
Can’t understand, I remind myself. Numb.
“Youth will be youth,” Jule’s dad sneers.
The group ahead of us piles onto the next shuttle, and Jule taps in his request for a private vehicle.
“How else have you been throwing your credits around?” his dad asks.
“This is my only recent extravagance,” Jule says. “Maybe you should be more concerned about how you have.”
They glower at each other, and his dad lets out a huff. “Sometimes I don’t believe I raised you. I hope you can at least spare a moment.”
“Ah,” Jule says, as if he’s been waiting for this. The shuttle pulls up. “Skylar, you know the way to my apartment. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Is that really wise?” his aunt says as I make myself step onto the shuttle alone. Then the door’s humming shut and I’m gliding away. I sag against the wall.
Well, I can see why he wasn’t in any hurry to invite his family over to meet me.
When the shuttle stops, I hurry down the hall to the apartment. It’s less than ten minutes after I’ve slipped inside before the door slides open again and Jule strides in. I close the cupboard I’d opened trying to decide if I was hungry enough to eat any of its contents. Jule sits down on his usual bench, nudges the table up, and leans his arms onto it, his head bowed.
“One big happy family?” I venture, and he snorts.
“You could say that.”
He lets his hands drop to the tabletop. I have the impulse to reach out to him, an impulse I catch.
Why? As frustrating as I’ve found him sometimes, I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t ache a little seeing him look so unhappy. He’s worked his way in there somehow.
So I sit down and set my hand over his. His gaze twitches to me, startled. Then he turns his hand over so they meet, fingers to palms. His thumb traces a soft line back and forth across my knuckles, sending a not particularly soft shiver over my skin. Hell.
But how did Jule put it before? If you’re going to do something, you do it all the way.
“It’s silly to keep pretending nothing happened,” I say.
He smiles. “It is. I—” The smile falters. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, contemplating our joined hands. “It’s not like— People here— I can’t go about ‘courting’ the way I would if this were a normal situation.”
Courting. The formality of the word makes me want to laugh, but it also provokes a twinge of jealousy at the thought of him courting other, Kemyate girls—of all those “guests” he used to hint about.
I push that aside. This only works if I’m okay with how temporary we both know it’ll be.
“I’ll be leaving soon,” I point out. “Going home. Hopefully.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Jule says. “Carpe diem and so on. Better to have a short good time than none at all.” His eyebrows arch, but he still doesn’t look up. “I mean your position here. Your options. How few you have. You were practically forced to live with me. You don’t have the same . . . footing another Kemyate would.”
I take a breath. The conversation feels fragile, like a bubble that could shatter if I say the wrong word. I’ve never talked this frankly with a guy about feelings. Wants.
“Should I assume from what you’re saying that you’d like to ‘court’ me?” I ask.
The smile comes back, and this time he meets my eyes. “Assume away.”
“Then . . . I think you should do whatever seems normal to you, and see how it goes, and believe that I can handle myself like I have so far.” I swallow the nervous flutter in my throat. “I’ll tell you if you’re going too far. I know you’ll listen.”
“You trust me, do you?” he says, in that familiar flippant tone, but his hand tightens around mine.
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.” Odd that it seems to surprise him, to be trusted. Then I think of the brittleness to the Enforcer’s deference the other day, the way his father and aunt talked to him just now. There’s a simple explanation.
He’s not used to it.
14.
The computer terminal in my room can’t provide a completely accurate simulation of the navigation controls for Britta’s upcoming flight to the planet, so she and Isis “borrow” me a couple days later to practice on a proper console in one of the tech bays, while they conduct some final tests of Jeanant’s weapon systems. Thlo is waiting inside the compact room when we arrive.
“I’d like to consult with our Earthling associate for a moment,” she says, and Isis nods. She and Britta step past the sliding transparent wall that blocks off the half of the room that’s filled with rows of tiny screens and control panels. I move with Thlo to the opposite corner.
“You were able to enjoy our Joining Day celebrations,” she comments.
“Yes,” I say, although “enjoy” is not the word I’d use.
“Observations from then or elsewhere?”
What have I seen that could be helpful? I’ve had so little to offer so far. “I noticed Pavel was standing near the councils’ area at the ceremony, on his own,” I say. “And Tabzi wasn’t with her mother, if that’s at all significant. Jule had an argument with his dad afterward, but it seemed to be about thinking he shouldn’t have spent money buying, ah, me.” I pause. “And Mako said she was going to send me some tutorials for the inventory work, but she never did. She might have just gotten distracted—she mentioned it right before the Enforcers showed up by the tech bays that day.”
The memory makes me glance toward the door. But I know in another room somewhere above us, one of the others is monitoring the Security channels.
I just hope it’s not the person who betrayed us last time.
“Hmmm,” Thlo says, her gaze slipping away from me for a second. “Well, that could be something. And you’re planning on attending one of the top-ward functions?”
“As long as you don’t think it’s too big a risk,” I say. “Jule’s looking into ones happening soon.” I think back to when Isis first told me about the traitor, about Thlo’s uncertainty. “You’re sure it was deliberate sabotage now?”
“Yes. And I’ve been able to find out a little through the Earth Travel council.” Thlo’s lips purse. “It seems whoever wanted to expose our operations passed the information on to an employee of my division, who took it directly to the head.”
“Silmeru,” I say, remembering the stately woman Thlo was talking to at the celebration.
“She’s being very guarded about her source, who is apparently afraid of being implicated as part of our group, and has made arrangements with Silmeru to keep his or her identity quiet,” Thlo goes on. “But he or she has indicated more information will be coming.”
“You’re sure this person isn’t the real traitor, just pretending to be a . . . middleman?” I ask.
“I gathered that Silmeru spoke with her source while we were Earth-side,” Thlo says. “All the members of our group who work for Earth Travel were with us then.”
I suppose it makes sense for a traitor to put as many people between them and the Enforcers as they can, if Isis is right and they’re doling out information in limited quantities to avoid prosecution themselves, or to protect people they still consider friends.
“Better not to focus on the details,” Thlo adds. “Your impressions may be more helpful if unfiltered by prior assumptions. Continue to report anything that strikes you as unusual to me.”
She leaves me without another word, heading over to consult with Isis and Britta in the enclosed area of the room. No sound penetrates the clear wall. Isis starts demonstrating something with glowing figures projected from the panels there, and Britta ducks out to join me.
“Ready to get to work?” she asks, cracking her knuckles and pointing her elbow toward the small console near the door.
<
br /> Within a few minutes, I’m sending readings and redirections down to a miniature spaceship heading for the planet’s surface. It’s a good thing the triangular shape on the display isn’t a real ship yet. Despite my earlier practice, I’ve already gotten it pinged by the sensor lines four times.
“Don’t worry,” Britta says. “Isis will be watching too. It’s just a lot easier for two sets of eyes to catch everything.”
There are so many variables in the scenarios she’s set up, sensors from the station and the satellites nearby, other ships that appear at the edges of the display, bits of orbiting garbage. “This is the super hard version, right?” I say. “The actual trip, it shouldn’t be this bad?”
“I hope not!” Britta says with a laugh. “We’re trying to get you ready for anything.” She leans over. “The parameters you’re using are throwing the calculations off. Make sure you adjust the margin of error when the speed increases.”
“Oh. Of course.” I start again, tweaking the figures in the boxes along the top of the screen more carefully as I go. Call for a quick burst of propulsion there. Then a dodge to the right. I let out a breath as the simulation ship finally descends to the target spot on the planet’s surface. One successful run completed.
“Nice,” Britta says, and then, “So . . . Jule?”
My cheeks flare. “I—” I start, and find myself tongue-tied.
She grins. “Ah-ha! I got a feeling, seeing the two of you on Joining Day.”
“It’s not really anything,” I protest. Jule hasn’t made any moves toward “courting” yet, and bringing it up was as far as I’m comfortable pushing things. “Seriously.”
“Sure,” Britta says, still grinning. “There are a lot worse people in this place, Skylar. I mean, he’s not my type, but you can’t fault him on smarts or diligence, and he can even be pleasant to talk to when that ego isn’t getting in the way.”
“Well, I’m glad to have your approval,” I say, raising an eyebrow at her, but I can’t help smiling too.