by Lisa Jade
“It’s all I could piece together, based on what you had in the kitchen. Do you guys ever shop?”
“I’ve been training,” I say, scooping a chunk of fish into my mouth, “I haven’t had chance.”
“Well, now you have to wait for the next test, right? So this afternoon, let’s go into town together.”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve not had a day to relax in ages. I’m starting to feel less like a sister and more like your mother!”
She opens her mouth to laugh, then pauses. Her gaze flits from my face to the ground and back again, and awkwardness starts to build around us. I choose to ignore it.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Getting onto the Scheme has been so important to me lately, I guess I kind of left you to pick up the pieces. We’ll go into town after lunch, alright? It’ll be great.”
“Good plan,” she says, clearly relieved. She’s right. She’s really helped us over these past few months. We may not be genetically related, but Dad raised us side by side. And after everything we’ve been though together, we’re about as close as any sisters could be.
As if on cue, Dad opens the door and hesitantly steps out onto the balcony.
“Whose idea was it to eat out here?” he says, pulling off his woodworking apron and tossing it aside. Alice passes him the final bowl, an apologetic look on her face.
“Sorry about that. It’s just such a nice day.”
Dad thanks her and digs in, promptly spilling the first forkful of pasta down his front. Under normal circumstances, I might tease someone for that; but not Dad. He can’t help it.
Pyre is segregated by genetics. One is home to the beautiful people – healthy, gorgeous, and of unbelievable intellect. The further down you go, the weaker the genetic standard becomes. Eventually, you reach us. Level Four is the home to most disease and injury on Pyre; not from poor conditions or starvation, but simply because our bodies are weaker on average. The lack of medical supplies and shared technology from the upper levels doesn’t exactly help, either. Dad’s genes dictate shaky hands, low blood sugar and a high level of exhaustion. I just can’t bring myself to tease him about it.
It’s times like these, when the sun is out and there’s a smile on his face, that I really notice the similarities between us. I inherited so much of Dad’s face; we have the same pointed chin and sunken eyes, the same thin brows and pitch-black hair. Even the upturned nose that earned him the charming nickname of ‘ratface’ in his youth.
Strange feelings twist in my gut and I turn my attention back to the bowl in my hand. It’s too late, though. Dad can see right through me.
“You look troubled. Did the test not go well?”
He’s doing his best to seem sympathetic, and I know his feelings are genuine. But I can’t help but notice the shred of hope in his voice. So I just plaster a too-broad grin on my face.
“I passed.”
“Congratulations!”
“When do you hear about the next test?” Alice asks through a mouthful of food.
“A few days. But the Neptune launches in six months, so we must be nearly done.”
“When do you find out who you’ll be escorting?”
I shrug. In truth, I’ve been trying not to think about it. I’m entering the Companion Scheme to go to space, and nothing more. Taking care of some self-serving snob isn’t exactly the highlight of the trip – though it’s a necessary evil.
“I don’t know. I have to pass all the tests first.”
“I heard that they try to match up the genders and ages of passengers and Companions,” she continues, “so you’ll be the Companion of someone similar to you. That could be fun.”
I scoff.
“I don’t think I’ll find much in common with someone from One.”
“No?”
“No. But that doesn’t matter. It’s just work, right? I provide company for them during the two-year journey, and in return they pay for my safe passage to Orithyia.”
Orithyia. Sometimes, I forget that it’s the end goal. A water-and-ice planet a couple of stars over; and the most recently founded Earth colony. It’s supposed to be a haven for humanity. People go and never want to return.
I catch Dad’s eye, and somehow, I know he’s thinking the same thing. I bite my lip. There’s so much still unresolved between us, so much I still haven’t found the words to explain to him. But even as my mouth falls open, I can’t bring myself to say it.
“It’s just two years,” I finally say. He nods.
“Two years each way. Four total.”
“Yes, if I decide to be a Companion on the cruise back. I might buy a ticket for a quick return, which should only take a couple of weeks. I’ll also get a monetary payoff at the end of each journey. I’ll come home with enough cash to keep us afloat for years. That’ll be good, right?”
He nods, then looks pointedly away. Alice shuffles uncomfortably in her seat.
“I can’t wait to see the Neptune,” she says suddenly, “it’s supposed to be huge, right? The biggest space liner ever built. I heard they had to build it on the mainland.”
“Yep. Did I show you the pictures?”
“No, you didn’t!”
“One second.”
I dart back into the house and scoop a paper wallet off the table. I clutch it close to my chest, desire building as I think about what’s inside – and what it means.
“Wow!”
We’re in the living room now, perched cross-legged on the tattered laminate floor. I spread the photos across the ground, and find myself pointing to each one in turn. The scraps of paper each show a different part of the Neptune; vast bedrooms with four poster beds, a grand-looking ballroom… but my eyes are constantly drawn back to the same picture. A viewing platform made of glass. I allow my eyes to slip closed momentarily, and imagine what it’ll be like to stand on it. To be completely surrounded by stars and planets and moons, and the raw beauty of it all.
That. That’s why I’m going. I’ll deal with as many snobby orders as I have to – just as long as I can see the universe up close.
“This sure does look luxurious,” Alice coos, gently fingering the edge of a photo, “are you sure you’re going to fit in?”
Dad chuckles. He’s sitting on the sofa, on the one clear seat, a steaming mug of tea clutched in his hands.
“Quinn will be fine. She managed to convince them to let her do the training, didn’t she?”
“That wasn’t easy,” I say, “they really weren’t keen on the idea of someone from Four applying for the Scheme. I guess they recognised me. They probably only let me try because of…”
The words die in my throat, and an uneasy silence falls over the room. I can feel Dad’s gaze lingering on mine as he tries to catch my eye. But I don’t want to talk to him. Not about this.
“There’s no point worrying about it, right?” I laugh, my voice a little too loud, “all I can give is my best.”
Alice’s face breaks into a small smile.
“You’ll do fantastic,” she says.
“If I can survive the tests, perhaps. You have no idea how much I ache.”
“Poor thing.”
“Did you still want to go into town this afternoon?”
She simply pushes me towards the door.
“Oh no you don’t,” she teases, “you don’t get out of it that easily. You promised me a day of fun, remember? Now grab your stuff and let’s go.”
Two
The centre of town is always a mixed bag. The stench of fish hangs in the air and there are slimy trails left along the pathways from wheelbarrows, but the area is still bustling. Main Street is home to the few small businesses that somehow scrape by on Four – key cutters, tackle shops, a greengrocer or two. But the shops never intrigued me all that much; my favourite place is the park. One of the few small patches of green in Pyre, it’s always felt like the heart of the Level to me, even if the Elevator is technically in the middle. I make a beeline for it, but A
lice tightens her grip on my wrist.
“Can we walk around just a little first?”
“But…”
“Please?”
I can’t say no to her – so I allow her to drag me further down Main Street.
Suddenly, my skin begins to itch. I can almost feel the gaze of those around me. Eyes look at me from every direction, tracing the lines of my body, narrowing as they recognise the upturned nose and deep complexion. Dad’s too unusual looking, and I resemble him too much. Everyone knows exactly who I am.
Then, the whispers start. They’re quiet at first. If I wasn’t listening for them, I might miss them. Initially I can’t make out the words, but I don’t need to. I know what they are. The same words people have been muttering about me ever since I was born. The same insults, the same expectations and simultaneous disappointment.
My hands curl into fists. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I’m not. Because when they see me, they think of Dad. And when they think of Dad… they think of my mother.
“Such a shame.”
There it is. They’ve grown confident enough to speak now. They’re reassured that what they’re saying isn’t cruel – that there’s no bad intention in their words, so it’s okay to say these things out loud.
“Not a bad girl at all, but compared to her mother…”
“Even if she goes on the Neptune, she’s got no chance of being like Angela!””
“Wasted potential, if you ask me.”
A familiar ringing picks up in my ears. Every day. Every damn day. I’m the reason she left, they say. She couldn’t deal with a failure of a daughter. Heat builds in my chest. It’s almost painful.
Alice pauses in front of me, her face awash with sympathy. She seems nonchalant as she gazes down the street, but I know she hears the whispers, too. It doesn’t seem to fluster her like it does me. Instead, she just threads her arm through mine and tugs me away from the rumours.
“You don’t have to put up with it, you know.”
Alice and I sit in the park, enjoying in the quiet of a sunny afternoon.
“Put up with what?”
“I’m serious, Quinn. Why don’t you say anything? People aren’t out to hurt you. They’re just curious. You’re interesting to them.”
“They can say whatever they want. I don’t care.”
She pauses. I can feel her pretty grey eyes watching me uncertainly, like she’s not quite sure what to say. She’s not the only one who doesn’t know how to speak to me.
“People did the same thing to me, you know.”
She pulls her lips into a small, sad smile.
“After my parents died, people were interested in me, too. Everyone wanted to know what the daughter of the rebellious lovers was going to do next.”
“That’s different.”
“No, it’s not. I’ve had to live under their shadow, just like you have to live under hers.”
I chew on my lip. There is a difference. A big one. Alice’s parents were killed, publicly victimised by Operators to make a point to anyone else who might dare fight back. My Mother isn’t dead. She wasn’t ripped away from our family by force or fear of death. She left of her own free will.
I glance at Alice. She’s staring calmly into the wind, a small smile playing on her lips. She’s happy. That’s good. There aren’t many things I want – but her happiness is definitely one of them.
I lean over and gently nudge her.
“You’re right. Next time, I’ll tell them to mind their own business.”
“You’d better!” she laughs, “or I’m going to have to fight your battles for you, like I did when we were kids.”
“You never did that!”
“Sure I did. I told everyone that if they had a problem with my sister, then they should come see me. I got into a fair few fights protecting your honour.”
I fire her a suspicious look, my gaze travelling over her soft eyes and thick curls.
“You? In a fight?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Okay, okay, so it was mostly verbal battles. I still defended you.”
“Please accept my deepest gratitude.”
She laughs again, and the sound is so breezy and comforting that can’t help but join in. It feels like it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to laugh like this. Since there’s been anything on my mind but the Companion Scheme. I stretch my legs over the grass, pretending not to notice the cacophony of cracks that emanate from my joints as I move. If Alice hears them, she doesn’t comment. She just falls back into the grass next to me, her arms spread wide.
For a long while we lie there, feeling the overgrown grass tickling our faces. I kick off my shoes and wrap my toes in the clovers around me. As much as I love Pyre, I’ve always been dismayed by its total lack of nature. All we have are man-made patches of garden built mostly with small, hardy perennials – the only things that grow well in the ocean air.
Alice sneezes.
“Bless you.”
“Thanks,” she sniffs, “hey, I have a question.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m allergic to plants, so why do we always come to the park?”
I glance over at her; her nose is red, her eyes watering, making their greyness even more apparent.
“You’re right,” I say, “let’s take a walk.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a small smile playing on her lips. She’s got me, and she knows it. As I climb to my feet and offer her a hand, I wonder how she ever learned to manipulate me this well.
Main Street has grown busy in the past two hours. Luckily, as we head towards the Elevator shaft, I find I can ignore the stares. Their expressions are full of conflict as they look me up and down, forming and breaking comparisons in their minds. I’m not as tall as my mother. Not as pale. I don’t share her sea-blue eyes or dramatic curves. Even my hair, thick and dark, is a far cry from the soft, white-gold locks that once led people to call her an angel.
Luckily, that doesn’t bother me. I’ve never been one to care about appearance. As long as my body can get me on the Neptune, I don’t care if it’s pretty.
“So, where do you want to go?” I ask.
Alice opens her mouth to speak – but a sudden crash interrupts her. The sound splinters the relative peace of Four, and I recognise it instantly. The familiar crunch of snapping wood. My eyes flit towards the source of the noise.
A pair of Operators – the bullies who run the Elevator – stand on the nearest corner. Their bulky bodies are wrapped in the familiar grey-and-black uniform that marks them out from the rest of us. They’re an odd bunch, I’ve always thought; neither intelligent enough or genetically superior enough to live well on One or Two, they consider themselves a class above. Especially around here.
So I’m entirely unsurprised to see the remains of a wooden stall scattered across the path in front of them. A hooded figure sits before them, scraping madly at the ground as though they could piece together the splinters of their now-destroyed business.
This, again. Unregistered businesses are illegal – and the Operators take it upon themselves to work as law enforcement, even when they shouldn’t. They’re speaking to the shadowed figure now. I can’t quite make out the words, but there’s no mistaking their intention. Threats of violence. Threats of being thrown down the Elevator’s shaft. Threats of a nasty, bone-deep scorch on their arm, the eternal branding of a ‘defective’ citizen. The figure visibly shakes.
I look around; but nobody’s lifted their head to look. They know what’s going on, and they want no part of it. We’re already so beaten down by the Operators – and it’s been proven time and again that resistance ends poorly. The Council on One do nothing to help us keep control; in fact, they seem intent on making it worse.
Alice clutches at my hand, conflict in her eyes.
“Come on. We need to help.”
“We shouldn’t get involved,” I mutter, “this is none of our business.”
&nbs
p; “But…”
I bite my lip. Like her, I want more than anything to help. But we mustn’t. Standing against the Operators might be the right thing to do, but it won’t end well. They’re not held to the same laws as us; if they don’t like someone, they can kill them without hesitation. And the worst thing I could do is earn a criminal record. I could wave goodbye to the Neptune then.
But then the figure buries their head in their hands, and something painful twists in my gut. Alice yelps.
“Quinn, please!”
“F…fine,” I hiss, “but we’re doing this non-confrontational. Follow me.”
I take a deep breath and walk over to the scene. There, I lean down and start collecting the broken wood from the ground. I feel it as the Operators eyes settle on me, as their hands clench in anger at this small sign of resistance. But I’m not breaking any laws; I’m not speaking against them. Over the past twenty years, I’ve learned how far I can push things. A few seconds later, Alice follows suit.
When we’ve placed the wood into a neat pile, I sit down next to the figure – who I now see is an older woman – and pull my lips into a smile. The Operators are still there, stunned into silence. I choose to ignore them, instead wrapping a protective arm around the woman. Alice sits down on her other side and takes the woman’s hand in her own. She hesitates a little as I touch her, perhaps frightened, but slowly leans closer. Perhaps she realises that the Operators have stopped berating her.
“W-what…”
And just like that, any semblance of power the Operators had vanishes. Suddenly, they’re not brave enforcers anymore. They’re just bullies – and as long as we don’t break any laws in front of them, as long as we don’t cross any lines, they’re powerless.
The two exchange furious looks, then walk away.
“You’ve learned your lesson,” one mumbles, “set up shop again and you’re going to Level Five.”
I ignore them, but the woman visibly winces. ‘Level Five’ involves being thrown out of the centre shaft and into the depths of the Atlantic. A public, horrific and torturous form of execution. I’ve only know that sentence to be carried out a handful of times, but each occurrence sends ripples of fear through Four.