Spinning Starlight

by R. C. Lewis

  Also by R.C. Lewis

  Stitching Snow

  Copyright © 2015 by R.C. Lewis

  Cover design by Marci Senders

  Cover illustration © 2015 by I Love Dust

  All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

  ISBN 978-1-4847-1957-2

  Visit www.hyperionteens.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Also by R.C. Lewis

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  TO MY MOM FOR STARGAZING,

  AND MY DAD FOR MAKING ME

  LOOK UP MY OWN ANSWERS

  AFTER SIXTEEN YEARS, you’d think I’d be used to the incessant buzz of vid-cams swarming to chronicle every breath I take. I’m not. Good thing, too, or I might not have noticed when one of the tiny airborne devices slips into the hovercar with me like an errant bumblebee. I shoo it like the pest it is. The lights and hustle of Pinnacle blur by until the city thins, then disappears as I enter the country—or the closest thing to “country” you can find on Sampati. A small river winds through fields and woods extending for several miles, with no sign of any neighbors. The house greets me with a few warm lights along the front path.

  As nice as it is to be away from the noise of the city, the two seconds of silence as I open the door press in on me, twist in my ears. I hate the sound of an empty house. It isn’t natural.

  “Welcome home, Liddi.” The disembodied voice breaks silence’s hold, the same voice that’s greeted me most of my life. Sometimes I wish it weren’t the only voice greeting me now. “You’ve returned earlier than scheduled.”

  “It was like every other party, Dom. Loud music, too much lip gloss, and Reb Vester’s existence. I got bored.” Bored, and tired of the weight of myriad eyes watching me, manifesting as an ache in my lower back. Or maybe that’s just from these shoes. I kick them off and pull the pins from my hair before tapping a touchscreen to activate the wallscreen in the main room. “Pull up those news-vids I was watching earlier. Resume playback.”

  The first vid loads with a familiar face, sienna-skinned and dark-haired like all us Jantzen kids, and I settle on the couch to watch. I’m not sure why I bother. I could recite these start to finish.

  “Among technologists more than twice his age, eleven-year-old Durant Jantzen presented his biometric exercise unit at the Tech Reveal today. Athletes from Pramadam gave the system high praise….”

  “Jantzen twins Luko and Vic followed in their big brother’s footsteps at this year’s Tech Reveal, debuting a customizable pesticide. Ecologists on Erkir have already placed orders for ten thousand units….”

  “This year’s Tech Reveal brought young Fabin Jantzen and his Domestic Engineer and Itinerary Keeper….” I wonder if Domenik ever feels all meta hearing about his program’s debut.

  On and on they go. The first year Anton presented at the Reveal, then the triplets. Marek, Ciro, and Emil were only ten, so tiny next to the other technologists and already dubbing themselves the Jantzen Triad. That was the first year after Mom and Dad’s accident. The year everything changed.

  I watch more years, more Tech Reveals with all my brothers presenting inventions and innovations and upgrades. The narrative changes, though, becoming less about the technology, more about my brothers themselves.

  More about me.

  “Durant Jantzen attended the opening of a new art exhibit on Yishu before returning for the Tech Reveal….”

  “Vic Jantzen presented two different technologies before rushing off to the laserball title match….”

  “No sign of the Jantzen girl at this year’s Tech Reveal….”

  “Luko, will your sister be presenting this year?”

  “Emil, when will your sister stop partying and take her place in the family business?”

  “Fabin, do you think your father made a mistake, leaving the majority of the company to the youngest of you?”

  My brothers answer the same way every time, staunchly supporting me. I don’t go to that many parties—it just seems like I do because the media-grubs follow my every move. I’m taking extra time because of the responsibility I bear. Our father knew exactly what he was doing, seeing how competitive my brothers were with each other, but how they all doted on me. When I turn eighteen and take control of Jantzen Technology Innovations, the boys will support me. It won’t tear the family apart the way it would’ve if Dad had picked one of them to take his place. They say I’m the best of the Jantzens, that everyone else will realize it soon.

  That’s been the story since I was six years old. I only believe some of it. Only the parts about my brothers. Somehow I have to make the rest come true.

  “Turn it off, Dom.”

  I get up and go into the adjoining room, the workshop that takes nearly half of the house’s first floor. Plenty of space, but I stick to the bench in the corner that’s always been mine. This room used to be so noisy and busy, with computers beeping and tools whirring, Dom interrupting to tell us we forgot lunch and that if we didn’t eat, he’d cut power to the whole shop.

  Used to be, right up until last year when “the Triad” turned eighteen and moved to the city, becoming full-time technologists for JTI like everyone else.

  The silence makes me itch.

  “Dom, music.”

  “Genre?”

  “Whatever they’re saying is the new thing on Yishu. Surprise me.”

  A syncopated beat fills the room, followed by a point-counterpoint melody on electronic instruments engineered to sound like they’re not electronic.

  Durant designed some of those. I wonder if this is one of the recordings he’s done under a false name. Maybe I’ll ask next time I talk to him.

  I fiddle with a few of the half-finished projects on my workbench for more than an hour, but it’s no use. None of them are any good. Either they won’t work, or they’re inferior knock-offs of things my brothers came up with when they were half my age.

  I can’t do it. Not when everyone’s watching. Not when my picking the wrong skirt is cause for its own media-cast.

  “No Tech Reveal for me this year,” I mutter. “Again.”

  The volume of the music cuts in half. “Please repeat, Liddi.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you, Dom. Check my message queue. What have I got?”

  He rattles off media-casts of my appearance at tonight’s party, requests for interviews, invitations to parties and concerts and fashion shows. I cut him off in the middle of relaying that some senator’s daughter from Neta wants me to go shopping with her.

  “Nothing from the boys?”

  “No.”

  It’s been weeks since I’ve seen any of them, enough to deepen the ache when everything is quiet. As much as I tell them they don’t need to worry about me being on my own, they don’t usually believe me for this long at a stretch. Not that it’s a big deal. They’re busy with the work I’ll be p
art of, if I can ever get my defective neurons to cooperate. Still…

  “Dom, send a message to Emil. I’d like to see him.” Emil’s the youngest other than me. Not only will he drop everything—all my brothers would—but he’ll tease me less for asking.

  “Message sent. It’s getting late. Time for bed?”

  “Not yet. Discontinue music.”

  The house goes silent again as I tidy up my workbench, but I’m not sticking around long enough for it to bother me. I walk out the back door, the grass of the yard cold on my bare feet. Luna Minor is straight overhead, giving plenty of light, and there’ll be even more when Luna Major rises in the next half hour. The night phlox is blooming pink and maroon, and the scent of the flowers brings back memories of playing hide-and-seek when we should’ve been in bed. A time when wondering what we’d have for breakfast tomorrow was my biggest worry about the future. When the scarier future and potential failures were still far enough away to forget sometimes.

  I cross the yard into the stand of trees, letting the sound of the river draw me; the grass gives way to smooth pebbles, warming my feet a little with the heat they’ve retained from the day. It’s never silent out here, not even at night. The water rushes along, and nocturnal insects chirp and chitter, the noise wrapping around me. Calming me. A little, anyway.

  The Tech Reveal is just fifty-one days away. Hardly enough time to create something groundbreaking when I don’t even have an idea yet. My brothers would never say so—they’d never pressure me—but I know everyone worries that I haven’t come up with anything to present. Ever. At this rate, I’ll be as old as an average technologist at debut. The idea of someone saying the word average in the same breath as Jantzen and it being my fault makes me shudder. I walk along the river’s edge, hoping something will click.

  Maybe the ecologists on Erkir could use a less disruptive way to irrigate their agricultural zones.

  Maybe there’s a way to help data flow more smoothly in the computer networks.

  Maybe the tiny moths fluttering by could serve as a model for better vid-cams, with less buzzing.

  Bad idea. The annoying buzz lets me know the cams are watching me, which they always are. Everywhere but here, because Luko set up an interference field like a bubble over the property so they can’t get through.

  Maybe I’ll go to some of those events tomorrow so everyone can keep thinking my “busy social schedule” is the real reason I haven’t lived up to the Jantzen name.

  Domenik was right. It’s late, and as nice as it is to walk down the river, it’s not helping. I should get some sleep. That means getting back to the house. I’ve gone farther than I meant to, but at least the return trip means I’ll be tired enough to fall right to sleep. Always a bright side.

  Except comfortable thoughts of my bed leach away in the not-silence of the trees and river. Some noises are missing; others don’t belong, but I can’t place them. A little closer to home, I figure it out.

  Voices.

  I didn’t intend for Emil to drop everything this quickly, and he should know better. My feet slip on the bank’s wet pebbles as I hurry to tell him off. Really, though, I’m hurrying to see him, so the telling-off will have to be brief. A few steps later, I curl my toes into the rocks.

  That’s not my brother’s voice. None of my brothers sound like that, gruff and sharp-edged, and the voices are too near me, too far from the house.

  If the media-grubs have trespassed on the property, my brothers will kill them for crossing that final line, especially in the middle of the night. It’s breaking the law. Instinct pulls me into a crouch, then I’m sidling up to the closest tree and straining my ears.

  “Team Two, are you in position?”

  Not a media-grub. Then another voice, maybe over a live-comm. My pounding heart obscures the words.

  “Team Four, hold the perimeter.”

  I don’t like the sound of that. Another tree, a larger one, is nearby and closer to the voice. I creep over to it and peer around its trunk.

  Five men all in black stand several yards away. Without the light from Luna Major, I might not see them in the darkness of the woods. They’re carrying some kind of equipment and facing the house.

  Three options present themselves. I can confront them, I can run, or I can wait and see what happens. Options One and Two are no good. If I heard the voice right, at least three other teams lurk out here. I don’t know enough.

  Option Three it is.

  “All teams, on my mark…go!”

  The men race toward the house, dodging the remaining trees before cutting through the yard. It’s hard to see but it gets loud quick. A boom as they force the door open, maybe breaking it, then gunshots.

  Guns.

  Charge-bullets flying in my home. Where I should’ve fallen asleep more than an hour ago.

  I brace myself against the trunk and force my legs to straighten out of my crouch. The bark scrapes my palms. Everything shakes.

  Boys, what do I do? Why aren’t you here? Why couldn’t even one of you be here?

  A few more shots, then an unmissable shout from somewhere inside the house.

  “Find her!”

  I’m running before the words fade from my ears.

  The other teams could be anywhere—I don’t know where their “perimeter” is, the edge of the property or closer in—but I run anyway. I run back along the river, back to where the trees beyond the banks are thicker. Faint sounds follow, then not-so-faint shouts of “This way!” and “Move it!” and “Box her in downriver!”

  Boxed in. I picked the wrong direction. The river bends up ahead. If they’re positioned right, they’ll have me cornered.

  The trees to my right block my view of anything useful, but across the river to my left is one of the clearings where the boys and I used to play. Something there catches my eye, and I slow enough to look through the darkness. A lone, shadowy figure stands in the middle of the clearing, waving to me. He’s familiar. One of the twins, either Luko or Vic—I can’t tell from this distance.

  I don’t dare call out, and he must not, either, because he just beckons me to him. Across the river. It’s small enough, as rivers go, but my brothers always forbade me from setting foot in this part—during the hottest summer days, we swam in a slower stretch upstream.

  The gunmen are getting closer, either in my imagination or in reality—doesn’t much matter which. I wade in, cold water shocking my feet, the silty bottom squishing under my toes. The force of the current on my ankles, then calves, then knees threatens to push me over and sweep me along, but I fight. As I step toward the middle, the ground drops from beneath me and water rushes up past my chest.

  I cry out briefly before clamping my mouth shut. Luko-or-Vic might hear and know I need help, but so might the gunmen. I have no purchase, no traction, and I’m carried several yards downstream. I stop fighting it and just try to make progress toward the opposite bank. A quick glance along the path of the river reveals just what I need—the dark shadow of an old log stretching halfway across. I brace myself and grab hold, the bark cutting into my hands and arms, but I don’t lose my grip. It’s enough that I can pull myself along the length of it until my feet are under me again.

  My soaked skirt and top cling to me as I climb out of the river, the light breeze chilling every inch of my skin. It doesn’t matter. I doubt the river is enough to stop the men after me, whoever they are, and I’ll warm up soon enough. I force myself up the bank into the clearing and look for my brother.

  He’s not there.

  I blink three times and rub the river water from my eyes. The light of both moons must be combining to play shadow games. But he’s still not there.

  You imagined him, Liddi. You’re scared and wanted one of your big brothers to protect you, so your subconscious pointed the way out of the river-bend trap. And guess what—you’re still scared.

  The men across the river shout to each other, maybe asking if anyone sees me, if anyone’s caught me yet.


  I’m alone, and right now I’d give anything for some silence.

  The woods continue past the clearing. No roads that way, but I don’t need a road to find my way to Pinnacle’s edge. The ground is rougher, not smooth pebbles and soft grass like it is on the house side of the river, and I curse my bare feet, but that doesn’t matter, either.

  I need to get to my brothers, so I run again.

  I’m pretty sure my feet are bleeding but I can’t look. I keep moving. The sight of blood isn’t my favorite, and seeing it won’t help the pain any. It’s been ages since I heard any sign of the gunmen. I keep moving. Between the sweat and the dirt, everything itches, and my body aches. I can’t remember which designer sent my latest party outfit. He’ll die when he sees what I’ve done to it, filthy and ragged with a hem torn where it snagged on a branch. Still, I keep moving.

  The trees thin, revealing the edge of Pinnacle in the dim predawn light, and I finally stop. The city means civilization, protection. It means getting to my brothers, making sure we’re all safe, and figuring out what in the Abyss is going on. I take a moment to orient myself. Anton’s place is closest.

  About a million people stand between me and the boys, and at least as many vid-cams. That keeps me frozen at the last tree. I’d had no reason to bring a com-tablet for my walk along the river, but now I would cut off my bleeding feet for one. I could live-comm one of my brothers, they could come get me, and I wouldn’t have to walk alone into the city full of watching eyes.

  Then again, maybe those eyes are a good thing. The gunmen came out to the house, the one place the vid-cams can’t go, and in the middle of the night. Whatever they were planning to do, they wanted to be invisible. Maybe ransom. It would make sense as much as anything.

  For once, having every sneeze caught on a vid might be exactly what I want. It might keep me safe long enough to get to my brothers.

  Or I might have to run for it again.

  If only my feet didn’t hurt so much.

  It takes ten minutes for the first vid-cam to find me. I’m still on the outskirts of the city, where there wouldn’t be much hovercar traffic even if it weren’t so early. The cams usually stick to downtown or the trendy entertainment districts, but a few wander the edge of the city, looking for something interesting.