by Alexa Donne
“Anyway, it’s not like I haven’t been to the last five memorials,” I said. “The speeches don’t change.”
“Is this because you’re trying to avoid someone whose name rhymes with Morge?”
“No,” I answered a bit too quickly. Karlson smirked.
“You should come to drink away your sorrows, then. I’m sneaking in some hooch. It’ll help.”
“I didn’t hear that!” Jatinder mock-shouted.
“I’m happy to share, though I’m sure the adults have their own stash, better than mine.”
“Maybe I’ll confiscate your stash.” Jatinder waggled his eyebrows.
Karlson ignored him, turning back to me, lowering his voice to accommodate greater privacy. “Seriously, Stella, come. We’ve had too hard a week not to have a little fun. Go with me as friends.”
It had been one hell of a week. Jon Karlson might not have been my favorite person on board, but spending the evening with him would trump orbiting George and his groupies for the evening. I shrugged and nodded in one movement, drawing from him an all-too-unsettling grin.
The space usually home to transport and cargo planes had been transformed. A platform at the aft end displayed a familiar red-and-black banner emblazoned with the fleet logo and motto: Survival Through Unity. Beneath that were the symbols of the fleet’s fifteen primary ships representing Earth’s wealthiest and most advanced nations that fled at the time of the disaster, plus the logo for the private ship federation.
My eyes traced over the familiar lines of the pitchfork and wheat stalk of the Stalwart emblem before moving to the top of the banner, where I found far more beautiful symbols. The elegant fleur-de-lis and Eiffel Tower of the Versailles, the lion and vibrant flames of the Shanghai, the emerald lady surrounded by stars for the Lady Liberty. Technologically advanced, thriving ships I’d never see. Or at least never see again. My eyes locked on the jeweled crown entwined with tea leaves of the Empire.
Joy hissed through her teeth, taking me away from unpleasant memories. “They didn’t take the Crusader off. Awkward.”
I wondered if, when we were finally forced to deorbit as they had been, they’d leave our logo on there too. When the Empire held its Remembrance Day ceremonies for years to come, would my aunt think of me? Probably not.
I spotted Karlson saving us seats in the third row, but first Joy pulled me toward George and the other girls to show off her handiwork. Against my better judgment, I’d let her dress me and do my make-up. The underlayer—my trusty moisture-wicking bodysuit—was mine, but everything else was clearly Joy’s. Bright and showy and wildly impractical. The overdress bodice was laced tight, with a skirt that flared at my hips, swooshing as I walked. The color was bright saffron—a hue that complemented both our brown locks but felt foreign on me, like a second skin that didn’t quite fit. My hair was slicked back, gathered into a high ponytail, my eyes lined with dark kohl. I actually felt sort of pretty.
“Stella, you look amazing!” Destiny said, giving me a high-five, which I met a little too enthusiastically. My hand smarted from it, but I didn’t care. Joy had plied me with her secret stash of booze, which she called “magic juice,” and I had to agree with the term. I might as well have been floating. George gaped in my direction, and I simply smiled back.
“Oh, Stella,” Faith piped up, “you left dinner early, so you didn’t see you had a message notification on the scroll.”
That just figured. It was likely my third and final job rejection. I’d check it later. Tonight I would have fun. But first I had to go sit next to Karlson, who, despite my turning him down for “something more,” I was fairly certain still thought this was a date. He stood up from his chair when I approached, nervously complimenting me. Then he offered me more secret alcohol, which I didn’t turn down.
Soon Captain Karlson took the stage, introducing Representative Engle and someone named Mason. We knew the drill. Every year, to mark the anniversary of the Kebbler virus outbreak, our elected representative and some other random government wonk from the Olympus came over, delivered some pretty speeches, let us dance, and then no one spoke about it for the next year.
Engle’s speech was pedestrian, a recounting of the history, peppered with personal anecdotes about how he’d felt watching the Stalwart’s population perish from afar. He affected anguish, but you couldn’t miss his sense of relief that he’d been spared, having been safely ensconced aboard the Olympus. Everyone clapped politely, but no tears were shed. Then Mason spoke. He was middle-aged, balding, with an unremarkable face, not unlike the parade of bureaucrats I’d seen at the last five memorials. But the man knew how to give a speech.
“Life in space is harsh: life in exile,” he began. “Yet we have survived. Persevered. Six years ago, we faced unspeakable tragedy. Many lives—too many lives—were lost to the Kebbler virus. Every ship suffered losses, but none more than the Stalwart.”
“Liar,” Karlson hissed under his breath. Then he leaned over and whispered into my ear. “None of the private ships lost anyone, and no one on the Olympus died.” I pretended to clear my throat and told him to stop. His uncle, the captain, was glaring at us. Mason continued, oblivious.
“You lost thirty percent of your population. More than three hundred people. Your pain was, and is, immense. But we banded together as a fleet, stopped the virus in its tracks. Survival through unity.”
“Survival through unity,” the crowd echoed back instinctively. Karlson laughed. I smacked him on the thigh. His response was to pass me the flask. Mason didn’t seem to be close to finishing, so I took a sip or three. It was hard to forget how many the Stalwart had lost. I hadn’t known any of them, as George and I had been imported to the Stalwart as part of the Orphan Transfer Program after the outbreak had been contained. But every year as I sat through the speeches, I remembered the panic and grief. Behind us, I was sure George was thinking of his parents.
Finally, a good twenty minutes later, Mason wrapped up with: “We forge forward, together, but we must never forget.”
The room erupted into applause. Karlson took a long drag of drink.
“You’re the one who wanted to come to this thing,” I said, snatching the flask away so he would take a break.
“My uncle made me.” He leaned into me, body warm against mine. “That Mason guy is here for an inspection. He wants to ground us, which I’m all for, but the captain insists on playing nice and begging for a few more years’ reprieve.”
“Maybe your uncle is right,” I said.
“You’re my date. You should agree with me.” He pouted, a bit drunk.
“We’re here as friends, remember? And if I was your date? I wouldn’t agree with you just to make you feel better.”
I was rewarded with a smile. “That’s why I like you, Stella.”
His earnestness made my cheeks burn, and thankfully someone shooed us from our chairs so they could clear them away. Date or friends, it would feel good to dance.
He handed off the top-secret bottle to me, since I had several well-placed pockets to store it in. Suddenly I was very popular. The girls were perfunctorily nice on a good day, but never much beyond that. Tonight, we were thick as thieves, dancing en masse on the makeshift dance floor by the stage. Boys whose names I barely knew—several years older than me, and a few younger as well—tucked up close, warm hands on my waist and hot breath in my ear, paying me exaggerated compliments to curry favor. I was an easy target, and shared with everyone.
Then there was Karlson, who at some point insisted I call him Jon. He oscillated between staying true to his word that we were just here as friends, leaving me to dance for hours with everyone else, and being stubbornly possessive. Toward the end of the night, both of us more than a little drunk, he was all hands, and thankfully recently showered for once. He kept “whispering” in my ear. Only with the booming bass and driving beats, he had to shout for me to hear.
“I heard you’re trying to get out of this hunk of metal,
” he said, close against my eardrum as we held court at the center of the dance floor.
“Probably won’t happen,” I answered. “I’m stuck here!”
“You should go with me, then. Down to Earth. My uncle may want to keep everyone up here, but I’ve almost talked him into letting me lead a scouting party.”
“That’s a death sentence,” I said. “It’s still too cold.”
“It’s better than dying up here. You know this ship is rotting from the inside.” He got very close to my ear. “We could start fresh down there, eke out a good life.”
“You’re drunk!”
“Yeah, but I’m right,” he replied stubbornly.
“Is he bothering you?” It was him. My George. Pretty, pretty George.
“Hi!” I was practically bouncing. “We’re fine! You’re fine. We’re all just great!”
“Stella, come with me,” George said, and suddenly it was like I was floating, following after him, through the crowd, outside into the cool corridor. “What’s with you? You’ve never been like this.”
“Like what?” I could feel the bass reverberating in the metal walls and desperately wished to go back inside, but then I realized George had a firm grip on my arm.
“Throwing yourself at guys.”
“I’m not throwing myself at anyone,” I insisted, trying to dance my way out of his hold. “They’re throwing themselves at me! Are you jealous?”
“No, I’m not jealous,” George said. It sounded ridiculous to my ears, like the highest notes on the piano—tink, tink, tink.
“I don’t believe you.” I quieted him with a finger pressed over his lips. Lips that looked too inviting, lips I could kiss. So I did.
It was clumsy, wet. A blur. But also bliss.
Until it wasn’t.
George shoved me away. “Stella! What the frex!” I felt my stomach plummet. “I don’t . . . I don’t think about you that way. So please . . . don’t.”
Suddenly things were clear. I had laser focus. And I felt like I was going to be sick.
“I’m sorry,” I spat out, careening away down the hall to the stairs. Up. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but with each level, my head felt a bit more clear. Then I was on the main deck, and I knew where I was headed: the community room. Straight back to the desktop tab in the corner. I logged on, checked my messages. I clicked on the one that called out to me in bold:
Application for teaching position on board the Rochester
I read the first line of the response:
Dear Ms. Ainsley,
We were delighted to receive your application and would like to offer you employment aboard the Rochester.
And then I promptly vomited all over my shoes.
Chapter Four
I woke regretting all my life choices. My body ached, but that pain was secondary to the wretched pounding in my head, as if something had burrowed into my skull with a hammer and was striking it against my temple over and over. Still, I rose from my bed, shuffling to the food port for my day’s water and protein rations, gulping down half the water in one go.
My underdress was the worse for wear—more soaked in sweat and grime than usual. I’d had a banner week. At least my chance to steam-clean my clothes was close. It was Friday, so I just had to get to Sunday. I pulled on clothes, thankful my day coat, at least, didn’t smell like stale hooch.
For once, the dim of Ward Z was a gift, and I wasn’t the only person sleeping in after last night. The corridors were mostly quiet. I trudged, slower than usual, to the community room to ensure I had not imagined the missive from the Rochester. So much of last night was a blur.
I avoided my favorite station—back corner by the window—lest they connect me to last night’s vomit splash. I repeated the fuzzier of the evening’s steps: logged in to my account, opened my message portal, clicked on the top missive, no longer bold. And I read it again in the sober light of the morning:
Dear Ms. Ainsley,
We were delighted to receive your application and would like to offer you employment aboard the Rochester. We were impressed with both your teaching credentials and your experience with ship maintenance. The Rochester is a private ship with a small but dedicated crew, and we would request that in addition to tutoring your intended pupil, you also offer auxiliary support to our engineer. We will provide you with a monthly stipend of two hundred digicoin, as well as room and board, of course.
While we did already appeal to your ship captain for permission to take you on aboard the Rochester, please be sure to speak with your placement head as well prior to departure. We will require you to bring your citizenry papers along with you. We’ve arranged for a shuttle to pick you up in two days. I am very much looking forward to making your acquaintance in person. Welcome aboard the Rochester, Stella.
In Salutation,
Iris Xiao
First Officer, the Rochester
Wait. Two days? They’d sent this yesterday, which meant the shuttle would arrive tomorrow. Frex. Suddenly it was all real, and panic rushed me. I’d have to say goodbye to everything I had known for six years: Jatinder, Karlson too, the children—Arden!—even the girls from my age group. I’d miss them all. And George most of all. Oh, God, I had kissed George. Heat rushed into my cheeks, and the hammer in my head started going again. For a brief moment, I worried I’d vomit, anointing yet another corner of the community room. But thankfully it passed.
I hadn’t anticipated the crying children.
“But who will teach us about Earth history?” Carter wailed to a background chorus of sniffles and moans from the others.
“And art,” Arden chimed in. It was her favorite subject—a useless bonus class I snuck into other lessons when I could. Even Jefferson, the resident smart-ass, seemed upset.
“You always taught us the weird death stuff that no one else did, Miss Stella. I’ll miss you,” he said.
“I’ll miss you, too,” I said honestly, drawing as many of the kids as I could into a big group hug. “Now you’ll have someone off-ship to talk to—isn’t that exciting?” A murmur of consideration went around. It left the worst of the criers in slightly better spirits, enabling me to extricate myself from the hug and head for the door with a final wave. But Arden wasn’t ready to let me go.
“Stella!” She jogged after me, catching me halfway down the corridor. She grabbed hold of my hand. “I’ve been talking to the stars, like you said. I think my mom got my messages.”
“Good!” I said, crouching down and blowing out a steadying breath, willing myself not to cry. “I’ll miss you a lot, Arden. Just send me a message through the tabs instead of the stars. George can help you until you’re old enough for your own account.”
George. I sighed at the reminder, then put a smile back on for Arden. “And don’t stop drawing. Or give up on that plant.” I drew her into a hug before saying a final, solemn goodbye.
Luckily there was no risk of tears with Jatinder.
“You can officially count me as surprised and impressed, Stella,” he conceded, shaking my hand. “We’ll miss you here—and those tiny hands—but I wish you the best of luck.”
“I’m sad I won’t get to say goodbye to Navid.” Or get my new drawing tablet, I kept to myself. “And I’ll miss you, too.”
“I’ll be sure to pass on your best wishes to him,” he said. We shared an awkward embrace—the kind where neither person really wants to touch, but a handshake would seem too formal—then I turned to Karlson. Him, I offered my hand.
“Transferring off-ship just to get away from me, eh?” Karlson said. “Bold move, Ainsley.”
“It was that or do something drastic, like parachute down to Earth.”
I ignored how attractive he looked when he laughed at my joke.
I couldn’t find George. I wandered the ship for hours, and upon arriving at each successive location with no George to be found, I developed a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had less than twel
ve hours left on board, and my best friend was making himself scarce. Avoiding me. Eventually, lights-out and curfew caught up with me, and I was forced to retreat to my quarters on Ward Z. I packed in the dark, my meager belongings fitting easily into the small carry bag I’d brought with me to the Stalwart all those years ago from the Empire.
My hand touched something fuzzy, tucked away in the back of my wardrobe—worn to the point of no longer being soft. Even if I couldn’t see it properly, I knew what I had found. Earl Grey, my old stuffed elephant. When Aunt Reed handed me over to the orphan export board, I’d clung fast to him, even though I was far too old for stuffed animals. The other kids made fun of me—Baby Stella needs her bestie, Mr. Elephant—but not George. He’d stood up for me, told everyone he wished he still had his childhood stuffed toy, only his had been thrown away during quarantine, and that I was lucky to have a piece of home—they were all just jealous. We’d been friends ever since.
And now we wouldn’t be anymore. The thought made me want to cry, so I forced myself to sleep. When the lights came on the next morning, I did one last sweep of the room, making sure I’d grabbed everything I needed, especially my drawing tablet and stylus, and my water and protein rations for the day. I would save them for the journey. Earl Grey went in last. Then I pulled on my gray overcoat, put on my regulation boots, and sat down on the bed.
This was it. Something flickered inside me, tickling up from the bottom of my spine. Hope. I wouldn’t die on the Stalwart, or plummet down to Earth against my wishes. Who knew what awaited me on the Rochester? But I knew this much: It was new. And it was mine.
With the spark heating the soles of my boots, I hefted my bag over my shoulder and stepped out into Ward Z for the last time. “Goodbye, dark, cold, sad place,” I whispered to no one but the stars in the sky.