Starglass

by North, Phoebe

  “ ‘Terra,’ ” I read aloud, holding the scrap of paper between my middle finger and thumb, “ ‘we need extract of common foxglove. Stone will have in herbarium. Bring to next meeting. Van.’ ”

  I, too, frowned. “Did you know he was going to ask me for this?”

  “No!” Koen said, and from the way that his eyes went wide enough to show the whites, I believed it. “What would they want with some plant?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, biting my lip, “but I don’t think I can help them. It’s not like I’ve even seen the herbarium. Mara’s the only one who goes in there.” I’d seen the door at the rear of the lab but never even stepped past the threshold. And Mara wasn’t eager to help the rebels. She’d made that much clear. So I crumpled the sheet into a ball and tossed it down to the floor. Pepper pounced after it, batting it as if it were one of his catnip mice. I smiled at the way the cat’s tail furled and unfurled in slow waves. But then I saw that Koen wasn’t smiling anymore.

  “What?”

  “You should do what they ask,” he said. I was surprised to hear a note of fear in his voice, bright and clear. “From what Van tells me, they’re not . . . they’re not the kind of people you want to make mad.”

  On the floor Pepper took a running dive toward the paper and chased it underneath the bed.

  “I’ve proved my worth to them. So why should I be afraid of people I can’t even see?” I glanced at my intended. “Why should you?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s had to do stuff for them.” Koen raked his hand through his hair. “They asked me to watch your father, Terra. And report his activities back to them.”

  “My father? Really?” It was hard for me to imagine what sort of threat my drunken father might pose to the Children of Abel.

  “I don’t even know why. He never does anything. He mostly seems . . . kind of sad.”

  “My father is no friend of Abel,” I said, an echo of Van’s voice in my melancholy words.

  “I guess he isn’t. But he doesn’t seem dangerous, either.”

  Silence stretched between us. Desperate to fill it, I slid down onto the floor and gathered Pepper in my hands. The cat leaned his body into mine, drawn to its warmth.

  “I don’t really understand how you got involved with them, Koen,” I said softly. To my surprise, Koen set the journal on top of my desk. He came to sit beside me, his knee knocking mine. Pepper stretched slowly, then tiptoed over onto Koen’s legs. I watched my intended run his fingers along the bony ridges of the cat’s back.

  “I used to always hang out in the library. Reading about the way the dome works. The changes of the seasons, all of that. Van started talking to me one day. We hit it off. He’s just so passionate about everything. This was last year. I was worried that the Council would stick me with some job I didn’t want. I don’t know. Once I had my vocation, I thought things would change. That I’d lose interest in the whole thing. But I didn’t, not after Van dragged me to a meeting. The way people talk there . . . it was so easy to get swept up in it.”

  I thought of the jumble of voices that had filled the library rafters, rattling the dust and the cobwebs from the corners. I thought of how I’d moved my fingers to my chest in salute without even a second thought. I’d felt proud to be part of something for once. Like it wasn’t so bad that I was different—because there were other people here on the ship who felt as odd and ill fitting as I did. I could understand how someone could get caught up in that. But not Koen.

  “I thought you wanted to be normal.”

  “I do,” he said. “Of course I do. But . . .”

  “But what?” I asked.

  “But when it comes down to it, I don’t think I ever will be.”

  I didn’t know what to say. By then Pepper had settled in on Koen’s lap. Koen’s big hand rested between the cat’s shoulder blades. His knuckles were bony, and blue veins lined his skinny wrists. Despite their size, they were fragile, delicate-looking hands. When I reached out and finally put my dirty, work-hard hand on top of his, our hands presented a strange contrast. Koen didn’t turn his hand over, didn’t take my fingers in his, squeezing them tight. But he also didn’t draw his hand away.

  “That’s okay,” I said gently. “I don’t think I’ll ever be normal either.”

  • • •

  Two days later we entered the edge of the orbit of Eps Eridani, our new sun. The captain decreed it would be a feast day like the harvest, even though the weather was cold and the times were lean. We were excused from our duties and given extra rations, and the little kids all wore their best winter clothes—fur coats and velvet dresses and ribbons in their hair.

  I didn’t have anything nice of my own, only a green knit dress that had once been Momma’s. It was too big, but I tried to look presentable, rolling the sleeves up around my elbows, knotting one of her old scarves around my narrow waist. It felt strange to be wearing something other than my lab coat and trousers—I almost didn’t feel like me. But when Abba peered in and saw me staring at myself in my bedroom mirror, a smile lit up his weathered face.

  It seemed I was becoming my mother in more ways than one.

  The two of us went to Koen’s quarters for an early supper. Koen’s dad made an orange-colored curry and dry, flat loaves of bread that were so different from what we ate in our own household that it was hard to believe they were made from the same species of wheat. But I forced a smile as I chewed and washed it down with a big gulp of my rationed wine. Not that anyone was paying much attention to me anyway.

  Koen’s parents spent the whole meal fighting. I might have had the good manners to refrain from commenting on the food, but Koen’s mother apparently didn’t.

  “I can’t believe we wasted our protein rations on this,” she said, tossing her napkin down over her nearly full plate. Koen’s eyes widened in horror.

  “Well, then you should have spent all morning in the galley!”

  “Don’t even start with me! You know I was busy with Stella!”

  Koen’s sister was dressed in layers of navy velvet. Her dark hair had been curled into spirals. As her parents argued, she looked somehow pleased, a wicked smile curling up the pretty bow of her mouth. Koen buried his face in his hands. I thought he might start crying, but instead he just stayed there like that, frozen through the rest of the meal.

  The only gap in the Maxwells’ argument came during dessert. After Koen’s mother slammed a plate of steaming pie down in front of her husband, she spat, “There! You serve it!” and then collapsed in her chair again. Before her husband had a chance to respond, my father rapped the tines of his fork against his cup.

  “I’d like to make a toast,” he said.

  Five pairs of eyes swiveled over to him. I think we’d all forgotten he was there. My father lifted himself solemnly to his feet. I watched as Koen’s mom looked to her husband, shrugged. Reaching for our cups, we all stood.

  “To my daughter,” my father said. His voice was rough at the edges, a little sloppy. I wondered how much he’d had to drink that day even before this glass. “And to Koen, as they join our families together. To the promise of their lives ahead. To life, and to Zehava. L’chaim.”

  Everyone clinked glasses. I only sucked in my cheeks. Then I felt my dad set his hand between my shoulder blades. I could feel the pressure of his wide fingers on my spine as he leaned in close.

  “Your mother would be so proud of you,” he said.

  I gasped down the last mouthful of bitter white wine and said, “L’chaim.”

  • • •

  We all gathered in the field beneath the clock tower. The grass was blue with frost and seemed to glitter with a thousand diamonds even in the evening’s fading light. Everyone was bundled up in their heavy coats and hats and gloves. Though I’d layered myself as best I could, I could still feel the cold straight through my wool stockings. This was why I hated wearing dresses.

  “You’ll feel better when we get the heater going,” Ko
en assured me, hefting the electric device.

  “We could have sat with your family,” I said, looking wistfully at the children who huddled around the heaters, warming their hands against the heating elements. We’d left his parents to bicker at the starboard edge of the field. Koen turned to me, one side of his mouth edging up.

  “And we could have sat with yours,” he replied. He was right—I hadn’t given a second thought to dropping my father off with Ronen and Hannah and little Alyana not far from the clock tower. Abba had settled among them, his wrinkled face drawn and serious. I winced at the thought.

  “Good point,” I said. But the wind still cut through the weave of my dress. I clutched my hands around my shoulders, rubbing them for warmth. “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “I told Van and his wife that we’d sit with them.”

  At that, I stopped where we stood. Koen glanced over at me, his tangled hair falling into his eyes.

  “What?”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked, dropping my voice to nothing more than a murmur. “After all, you said that Van’s not the sort of person you want to make angry, and I still haven’t asked Mara about the foxglove, and—”

  “Terra!” Koen reached out and took my hand in his. Even through his nubby mittens his fingers felt like ice. “I didn’t mean Van. He’s fine. I meant the people he reports to.”

  I thought about the way Van had looked at us in the alleyway, how his green-glass eyes had sliced into me.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. You’re one of us now.”

  I felt a sudden flood of warmth from within. I found myself pulled across the field, my hand firmly in Koen’s. We finally reached Van’s little family. And I found myself smiling, too, despite my reservations. Van’s wife, Nina, grinned up at me.

  “Hello, Terra,” she said. She was tugging a knit cap over her baby’s red hair. They shared the same round cheeks, but little else. Her black hair cascaded down her shoulders. “Joyous Orbit Day.”

  “Joyous Orbit Day,” I returned. For a moment I hovered uncertainly over their little gathering. Koen put the heater down beside theirs and fiddled with the dials.

  “Have a seat,” Van said, gesturing with a pointed finger to the frozen ground. I bit the inside of my cheek, but then I pushed my worries away. I was a rebel now—one of them. I sat down beside Koen and let the heater’s glowing coils blow hot breath over me. I showed a shy smile to Nina and Van. They squinted back at me as if my presence among their family was nothing of note.

  “You found us,” Van said, turning to Koen, who let out a laugh as he settled in beside me.

  “Of course I did.” He reached out his arms and gathered Van’s son in them. It was clear they knew each other well. Koen began to sing “Tsen Brider,” folding down the baby’s fat fingers. The toddler did his best to sing along. He managed to pick up the rhythm of the song, even if his words came out in little more than an incomprehensible babble.

  “We should be able to see Eps Eridani F at any minute now,” Van said. Though he seemed to be speaking to all of us, it was Koen he was looking at, watching as the talmid cuddled the baby boy. But soon he glanced up. The dome lights began to flicker off. Overhead, through the honeycomb girders, we could see the sparkling expanse of space. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Koen pass the baby back to Nina. But my gaze was firmly fixed to the glass above. I’d never seen a planet among all those stars before. I couldn’t help but feel a small thrill at the thought of it.

  “Hey,” Nina said. A tremble underscored her voice, just fearful enough to pull me out of my excitement. “Look who it is.”

  She’d gestured to the other end of the field. A flock of dark-coated guards marched in a scattered line, stopping now and then around the huddled families. At first I couldn’t imagine what was going on. Then Van’s son lifted a pudgy finger and let out a little squeal.

  “Capun! Capun!”

  Sure enough, there was Captain Wolff, her long hair braided into a silver rope down her back. I watched as she stooped over to shake the hand of every citizen. She chatted easily with them. Still, an ominous silence descended on our strange, cobbled-together little family.

  “Here she comes,” Van muttered. We all watched as she drew near, flanked on either side by a guard.

  “Talmid Fineberg.” She spoke my name in a tone so sweet it was almost sickening. “The young botanist. Joyous Orbit Day.” She took my hand and shook it much too hard for my liking.

  “Joyous Orbit Day,” I replied, shocked by her firm grip. I tried to avoid looking at her scar—focusing on her hairline, her chin, anywhere else. But before I could find a place to rest my eyes, she moved on to Koen.

  “And Talmid Maxwell. How goes the clock keeping?”

  “Uh,” he stammered. “Fine.”

  Captain Wolff bent down to pinch little Corban’s cheeks and to shake Nina’s hand. My gaze strayed, catching a flash of white. It was Silvan Rafferty. He stood at the edge of her party, Aleksandra Wolff beside him. The guard tracked him as one might an animal with an inclination to bolt. But he hardly seemed to notice. In fact, he looked bored. Yet when he saw me staring at him, something behind his gaze warmed. He watched me for a long moment, his eyebrows nearly meeting, turning some new idea over in his mind.

  My cheeks burned. I looked away. I felt no affection for him—not after what he’d done to Rachel.

  “Good riddance,” Nina said, exhaling hard as the captain’s entourage finally moved on. At the edge of my vision, I saw Aleksandra nudge Silvan with the hilt of her blade. He waited just a moment longer before he turned and trudged away too. “I’m glad that’s over.”

  “She didn’t say hello to you,” Koen noted. Van’s lip curled in response.

  “Good,” he said, and then he added: “The murderous cow.”

  Nina rolled her eyes. Then she leaned back, resting her shoulders against Van’s body. He drew her close. I watched as Corban snuggled into his mother’s arms. They looked like the perfect family. Koen watched them too, frown lines deepening the edges of his mouth. Something clouded up beneath the surface of his expression, stormy and dark. He turned to me.

  “Come here,” he said, and when I only stared at him, he scooted forward along the frozen ground until he was right beside me. The outside of his lanky leg graced my thigh. I felt heat rise up across my face, and it sure wasn’t from Koen’s creaky old heater this time. He said it again—“Come here!”—and let out a rickety laugh as he pulled me against him.

  My shoulders sank back against his chest. He was so skinny—I could feel his ribs beneath his sweater and coat. His body smelled like cedar and musk and dirt. I could feel Van and Nina watching us. I did my best not to look at them, focusing instead on the orange glow of our heater, looking at my own knees, and then up, at the dark dome and the freckling of stars above.

  Koen leaned his chin into the place where my neck met my shoulder. This is what you wanted, I said to myself. My mind reached back to my dreams, where settling into someone’s arms felt just as easy as settling into my bed at night. I ignored the little incongruities—the stuttered, frantic beat of my heart; the way that Koen’s body felt, all knees and elbows, against mine. Here, in his arms, I should have been happier than I’d ever been before. So I closed my eyes and willed it to be true.

  I felt his lips brush my earlobe. The little hairs on my arms all stood up.

  “I’m so glad you’re here with us,” he said. I licked my lips, getting ready to echo his words back.

  “I’m glad to be here t—”

  But Nina cut me off. Her voice rose up over the rattle of the heaters.

  “Oh!” she said, pointing. “There it is!”

  We looked up. There, at the dome’s edge, what looked like a new star crawled into view. It was different from the other stars—a bigger pinprick through the darkness of space, shining brightly. Unlike the others, it was green, the color of oxidized copper. Eps Eridani F. Our ne
w neighbor. Applause spread slowly across the field. I should have clapped too. I was a part of something now. A part of Koen’s life. A part of the Children of Abel. But for some reason my mind was stormy. I didn’t clap; I only drew in a shuddered breath.

  • • •

  Later that night I came home to a dark house. I went from room to room turning on the lights, but it hardly did anything to beat back the darkness. I wanted to be out in the dome, under the sparkle of starlight and that new green speck of light. Of course, it wasn’t Zehava—it was a gaseous body, no ground or breathable atmosphere. Still, it was the closest I’d ever been to a planet. Part of me wanted to lay myself down on the frozen ground beneath its light, to wait for my dreams to overtake and comfort me. But it was a crazy thought.

  Almost as crazy as stealing plants for the rebellion. I stood frozen over the counter, thinking about it. I was one of them now, a Child of Abel. I needed to act, and soon. But I’d invented a million different reasons for Mara to take me down to the herbarium, and none seemed right when I was under the harsh lab lights. Mara would catch me. She would surely know. What if she turned me in to the Council? What if the guards came for me, just as they’d come for Mar Jacobi?

  I remembered his strangled cry. My hands went cold at the memory. When the sound of a fist came, frantic, at the door, I nearly jumped straight out of my skin.

  “Coming,” I said, rushing over, throwing it open. It was Ronen. He held Alyana against him, cradling her tightly.

  “Ronen, what are you doing here?”

  My brother barreled past me. “I’m here to talk about Abba,” he declared, and sat himself right down at our galley table.

  “You don’t live here anymore, you know,” I said. I could see my brother’s jaw flex.

  “I know. That’s why I knocked.”

  I sighed and fell into the chair at the far end of the table.

  “So go ahead,” I said. “Talk about Abba.”

  “Something happened today in the dome. It wasn’t normal.”

  When was our father ever normal? I stared at Ronen. Jiggling his baby in his arms, he went on.