The Stars Change

by Mary Anne Mohanraj

  Part V: After the Clouds

  Post nubila phoebus:

  After the clouds, the sun.

  Day Breaks

  Amara huddled on a stone park bench, her legs pulled up tight to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She was freezing and still drenched, though at least the sun was shining now. A weak, morning sun, but she would take it. A sky unmarred by missiles arcing overhead. “I still can’t believe that Dhir was a professor here. Assistant Professor Dhir Vasananathan, Computer Science.” She kept turning over the pieces of the puzzle in her mind, trying to make sense of them. They still knew so little, and they might never learn all the truth. She found that thought…difficult.

  Narita sat erect beside her, feet planted on the ground—she was covered with dried filth and blood, but she looked as poised as if she were at temple, listening to the pandit's lesson and absorbing it in peace. There lay perhaps a finger-width of distance between them. She said, “He taught here years ago, before marrying and moving off-planet. That’s what the captain said. I guess that explains how Dhir got access.”

  Amara frowned. “Maybe. They must have changed his codes when he left…”

  “But who knows what kind of back-door access he left running?”

  Amara shook her head. “Wouldn’t that mean he’d been planning this all along? That makes no sense…”

  Narita shrugged. “Sweetheart, I don’t know that we’ll ever really know the whole story. There are big players in this game, important people, with a lot more wealth than even my family has. You and I—we’re just ordinary people. Pawns for them to move around the gameboard.”

  “Pawns who rebelled,” Amara said sharply.

  Narita smiled. “It’s true. You don’t make a very good pawn. I always envisioned you more as a queen. Like your mother, ruling your own little kingdom.”

  Amara winced a bit at the thought. She had led all these people tonight. Led some of them to their deaths. Would her mother have done that? “Amma rules through love, you know. That’s why all those people answered the call tonight—despite her sharp tongue, they love her.” And they loved Amara too, some of them, at least. Gods, she was so cold. “It doesn't seem right, that it's stopped raining." It should be raining. The sky should be grieving with them.

  Narita shrugged. "They've repaired the weather system. The first missile—"

  "—the only missile." She could be proud of that, at least. Could cling to it. She was so tired. But she couldn’t imagine going home, going to sleep. Wherever home was. Amara couldn’t go back to Rajiv’s apartment.

  Narita agreed gently, "The only missile. Apparently it knocked out part of the system."

  After the police came, Narita had tuned back into the net to pick up the news and the weather report; Amara couldn't bear to reconnect yet. The world was still, for the most part, going along normally. The police had taken over on their arrival, had eventually released them, temporarily, after taking their recorded statements. Gaurav had had a fancy internal recorder transmitting throughout, it seemed; standard police procedure, and its review confirmed their accounts. Amara was grateful for that; she didn't think she could have borne it, if they hadn't believed her. Not after all of that. "No weather control—hence the storm."

  Narita turned to her. "You didn't talk like that before."

  Amara raised an eyebrow—even that felt like it took effort. "What, 'hence?' I guess marrying an English professor was good for something, even for me."

  She frowned. "Don't do that to yourself."

  Amara shrugged. It was hard to feel like it mattered what she thought of herself, said about herself. Not now. They had lost seventeen people tonight, almost all of them people she'd known her whole life, aunties and uncles and friends. Plus two of the devadasis. And Gaurav. If it weren't for Gaurav taking the worst of the blow with his thick body, the explosion might have brought the roof down and killed them all.

  Narita leaned in, put her hand on Amara's knee and shook it gently. "I'm serious. If we're going to be living together, I can't be havin' with that kind of nonsense."

  "Since when do you talk like that?" Amara said, bewildered. Narita sounded like the peasants from the hinterlands, accent and all. As for the rest of what she'd said—it wasn't worth responding to. She didn't mean it.

  Narita blushed, her dark skin flushing even darker. "It's something my great-granny used to say. She was from Old Europe, you know. I wish you could have met her—she wasn't a Firster, but she also didn't see the point of humodding, not beyond curing the worst of the diseases. She always said that if she didn't earn it with her own sweat and tears, it didn't count for much."

  "Well, we had plenty of sweat and tears tonight." Amara's head still ached from all the crying she'd done, as she tried her best to play nurse to Narita's almost-doctor. Narita hadn't shed a tear, but Amara couldn't seem to help herself. The tears just poured down her cheeks, but at least they hadn't stopped her. Wrapping bandages, applying pressure, breathing when needed. They had saved a few, Narita thought. The medics that finally arrived seemed to agree.

  Narita managed a smile. "Great-grandma would have been proud."

  Amara shook her head. "I'm not. I could have been so much smarter about it all. Sweat and tears are well enough, but did your grandmother say anything about using your brain too? Gods. If I had just left them all behind!" That was the worst of it. That they hadn't been needed in the end, all those people. They could have done it with just two, in the end: Amara to pump, Rajiv to open the doors. If they'd tied everyone up properly, while they slept, they could have called the cops and handed them over. But no, she had to wake Dhir up, just because she felt like something else was wrong. And it was, but the cops could have handled it so much better than they had. Amara could feel herself starting to shake now, and she tightened her arms around her legs, trying to still the tremors. Hadn't they had enough drama for one night?

  "Hey," Narita said. Her hand had lingered on Amara's knee, and now she squeezed lightly. It didn't seem to help; Amara couldn't seem to stop the shaking. After a moment, Narita slid closer, put an arm around her, pulled her in tight. She was warm; that was something. That was a lot.

  After an endless time, the tremors finally eased. Amara stayed there, her head resting on Narita's shoulder. It felt good, resting there. Felt right.

  Narita said softly, "You couldn't have known. Neither could I. We had no idea what we were facing, who would be needed—we took everyone, everything we could. Everyone who came knew what they were risking."

  "They didn't understand."

  Narita shook her gently. "They chose to come. Don't take that away from them. In the midst of all this madness, they volunteered to do what they could to help. If anything's going to get us through this war and out the other side, it's people like them."

  Amara sighed, and felt a little of the grief and guilt and pain leave her with that sigh. "All right. Fair enough." She knew, in her head, that her second-guessing was pointless. She did know that.

  "You were amazing," Narita said softly. "I would never have thought we could do it; I was ready to give up. You pulled us through.” She hesitated, and then said, “I was serious about what I said before. About us. I don't know whether we have a chance of making it work. But I’d like to try."

  Amara’s throat tightened; Narita sounded like she meant it. It felt wrong, to be happy, after this night, with everything that was still to come. Twelve hours ago, Amara had left her marriage, walked out on her husband and into the night. She’d been through a roller coaster of emotions since then, confusion and terror, determination and grief. And now, what was this, surprising and unlooked for? It might be happiness, landing like a bird in her hands. Small and fragile and shining bright. She didn't deserve it. "I left you. I abandoned you." Amara tried to make the words as clear and blunt as she could. On this chill morning, she had nothing to offer but the truth.

  "Well. I hated you for a long time." Narita shrugged, her arm shifting around Amara's shou
lders. "But that was a long time ago. And somehow, despite your leaving and me hating and all—" Her voice dropped to almost a whisper, "—I just don't think our story's done. Not yet."

  Narita took her hand from Amara's knee, and hesitantly, put it on her cheek, turning her head gently, so they faced each other. "Chieri was right. I love you. Don't understand it, can't explain it. But there it is." And then she bent, and kissed her. Lips tasting of smoke and sweat and salty tears—but sweetness too, under it all. Amara froze for a moment—and then she was kissing back, her mouth opening beneath Narita’s, soft and yearning. Suddenly eager. Frantic. Narita’s hands moved on her body, sliding across bare skin at the waist, under sodden sari blouse. Lightning flashed across the sky—the weather wasn’t completely under control yet. Or maybe Amara had just imagined it. That was possible—suddenly, anything seemed possible, even that someday soon, they would be clean, and dry, and naked in a bed. With a window open to catch a warm breeze, and sunlight pouring over tangled brown limbs.

  Then Amara could show Narita how sorry she was, for the wasted years. She would kiss every inch of perfect skin, learning it all over again, worshipping it with hands and mouth. It would be strange, surely, to see the marks of age on her own body, and none on Narita’s. But Amara couldn’t believe that it would matter, not after this night, after what they’d done together. None of the differences mattered. Even her mother would come around. And who knows—maybe, someday, there might be children. Amara hadn’t wanted them with Rajiv, but now she thought that had been less about the children themselves, and more about being with the wrong person. Would it be selfish, to bring children into a world at war? Or could having children, raising them well, be another way of fighting for a better future?

  A conversation for another day, and that clean bed would have to wait as well. For now, there was just the cold stone bench, the thudding of her heart, the warmth of Narita’s mouth, moving over hers. Hands cupping breasts, brushing against taut, hungry nipples. Gods. All the gods must surely approve of this—this joy. Pulse racing, fingers digging into chilled flesh, pulling her close, as close as they could get, here in the naked dawn. Anyone could come along, could see them here—but despite what her mother would say, Amara simply didn’t care.

  Now Narita’s hands moved between her breasts, unhooking the grimy sari blouse, freeing Amara’s small breasts to the morning sun. Narita bent down to take a cold tip in her warm and moving mouth, and at that, Amara bit her bloodied lip, sparks shooting through her, running down her spine, a blaze igniting. She tangled her fingers in Narita’s dirty, disheveled hair, urging her on.

  Sorrow lingered, a cold stone in the pit of Amara’s stomach, for Gaurav and the others. It would take time to wear that stone away. But Jequith, his mates, and the baby had survived. Uncle Karthik was recovering well in hospital, with Aunty Vani by his side. Her mother was safe, and the Warren survived, host to thousands of living souls. They had made it through the night, through to the brightening dawn.

  The future was uncertain, but wasn’t it always thus? Here, in this moment, was joy.

  END

  The Stars Change

  The night air

  thick as a brick

  crackles and chokes.

  Past echoes

  hammer in the dark.

  Old friends meet

  in the house of God

  seeking clarity

  amidst the shouting.

  Slowly we gather

  sparks fly

  and brightly blaze.

  Phoenix rises

  dragons fall.

  Day breaks.

  Notes on the Mottoes

  The title and section headers for this book were taking from a variety of university mottoes.

  • University of Sydney. Sidere mens eadem mutato: The stars change but the mind remains the same.

  • University of Liverpool. Haec otia fovent studia: These days of peace foster learning

  • Visvesvaraya Technological University. Modalu monavanagu: Above all, be human

  • New University of Lisbon. Omnis civitas contra se divisa: All the city divided against itself will not remain.

  • Hacettepe University. Times hominem unius libri: I fear of a man with a single book.

  • University of Zulia. Post nubila phoebus: After the clouds, the sun.

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I must thank each and every one of the hundred and sixty-eight Kickstarter donors who made this book possible. Without you, literally, it would not have been written. Crowdfunding is an amazing thing.

  I’d like to also thank Cecilia Tan and Circlet Press, for picking up the book just before I was about to dive into trying to print and distribute it myself, freeing me to go back to writing the next book, thank the gods. Circlet published my very first story, twenty years ago, and I’m so happy to return to them with this book. Cecilia, in particular, is the kind of editor who seems to get everything you’re trying to do, even the things you didn’t realize you were trying to do until she tells you you’re doing them, and then you say, “Oh! Of course! That’s the most important part!” Finding an editor like that—well, every writer should be so lucky.

  My illustrator Jack Kotz was an utter joy to work with—I was thrilled to find such a talented artist. He was a consummate professional, and my only regret is that I couldn’t afford to have him illustrate every single page of my book. Maybe someday!

  My Oak Park writing group, the Mighty Acorns, looked at many drafts of many stories, and then I made them read the whole book—greater love hath no fellow workshopper, than to look at a piece again, and again, and again. I’m so glad I found you guys, and I can’t wait to read all your books, so finish them already, okay? That’s Allison Baxter, Julie Chyna, Dan Giloth, Diane Maciejewski, Holly McDowell, Elaine Marzal, and Angeli Primlani. Watch for those names! Special shout out to fellow writer and critiquer Lori Rader Day, whose first novel, The Black Hour, is forthcoming Summer 2014. It's awesome. You should read it.

  Many others offered thoughts and critique along the way—I will undoubtedly miss a few, but among those who sent notes were Roshani Anandappa, Kate Bachus, Ingrid de Beus, Serge Broom, Catherine Coe, Thida Cornes, C.J. Czelling, Lori Rader Day, Jeremy Frank, Jeanne Fredriksen, Marg Frey, Alex Harman, Jed Hartman, Jonathan Marcus, David Moles, Kat Tanaka Okopnik, Dan Percival, Angeli Primlani, Benjamin Rosenbaum, Ellen Keyne Seebacher, Angela Sinclair, Jennifer Stevenson, and Stan Warren. Whew!

  Finally, let me take a moment to thank my sweetie, Jed Hartman, and my partner, Kevin Whyte. Kevin and I had a daughter in 2005, and a son in 2007, and for a long time, I would have said my sexual orientation was "tired." If you had asked me, in that long dark time of the children's infancy, whether I would ever write erotica again, I think I would have laughed, if I could have summoned the energy. Thanks, guys, for being patient with me. On all fronts.

  This book is dedicated to Aparna Sharma, a donor and friend who passed away before she could see the finished version. She sent me e-mail the day after the book was funded, saying that she’d been staying up watching the Kickstarter counter rise, biting her nails, ready to donate more to get me over the top. Aparna was a tremendous supporter of the arts, and a visionary who fought tirelessly to build community and forge a better future for us all. I know if she’d been there in Uma’s house that day, Aparna would have been the first one to raise her voice in support of the Warren. I like to think she would have liked this book.

  Kickstarter Supporters

  The Stars Change was originally funded through a Kickstarter grant, a form of crowd-sourcing. These donors made it possible for me to set aside the time to write this book, and I am immeasurably grateful for their generosity and faith in me and my work. Without them, this book wouldn’t exist. It continues to astonish me, what we are capable of, when we come together as a community.

  Chip Ach

  Sharbari Ahmed

  Nilofer Ahsan

  Laura Almasy<
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  Camille A

  Aparna

  apathyjane

  Matt Austern

  Hawyee Auyong

  Karen Babich

  Sanchita Basu

  David P. Bellamy

  Christian Berntsen

  Nova Bhattacharya

  Bill Bodden

  meriko borogove

  Suzanne F. Boswell

  Serge Broom

  constance burris

  Candra

  Tom Cardarella