by Lisa Jade
Still, it’s better than being Branded. I’ve witnessed that punishment once before, too. The screams were deafening. The stench of burning flesh lingered in my nostrils for weeks. To this day, I can barely look Cherise in the eyes without remembering her pained cries. I shudder at the thought.
Now the Operators are gone the woman pulls away from me, her eyes wide.
“Are you okay?” I ask. She hesitates, then nods.
“Th-they caught me trying to trade without a permit. But I need to – the supplies from One just aren’t enough to keep my family going!”
“The Operators will forget all about it in a day or two, and then you can start up again. Don’t worry.”
“But… what do I do now?”
I glance down at the stack of broken wood. They’re shattered beyond repair, the brittle grain snapped down the middle.
“I don’t think you can rebuild this stall,” I mutter, “but if you need help putting together a new one, I’m not too bad with this stuff. I can help.”
She opens her mouth to accept, then stops herself. I get it. She must be scared to set up again, scared that they’ll come back and follow through with their threats. I rest a reassuring hand on her shoulder and shoot what I hope is a confident smile her way.
“It’s okay. If you move somewhere else and lay low for a few weeks, they’ll never know.”
“But I rely on this. How will I survive?”
I bite my lip. I can’t help with that; I have no job, no income. Under normal circumstances I might offer to take up a few tasks here and there and pass her the cash – but skipping even a day of training might mean I slip behind the curve. Frankly, I’m not willing to give up on the Neptune to help her.
“I can help with that.”
Alice. There’s a look of glum acceptance playing on her face as she pats herself down, digging in her pockets. A moment later, she pulls out a few scrappy notes and pushes them into the woman’s hands.
“It’s not a lot, but this should help a little. I’ll bring more when I next get paid.”
“I can’t take your money.”
“It’s the least we can do. We should have come over to help sooner.”
The woman shakes her head.
“No, no – I don’t blame you girls for not getting involved. Especially since it’s you two.”
She lowers her head, and Alice catches my eye. So she does recognise us.
“It was a risk for you to help me,” she says, suddenly standing, “I never want either of you girls to do that again. You’re too young to give up your income to someone like me. And you’re definitely too young to be punished for my crimes.”
At that, my stomach twists uncomfortably. Thanks to the Operators and the Council, everyone feels this way. Everyone’s afraid, angry and lost. It’s a feeling that’s all too familiar.
I know. I can’t get to space without the Neptune. And to get on board, I need to be a Companion to some snob from the upper levels. I get that. But sometimes, like now, I find myself questioning it – wondering if it’s really worth giving up my dignity for the sake of a dream.
But then I remember the endless beauty of an inky sky, and the doubt vanishes.
I don’t want to do it; but I have to.
As we wander away from Main Street, Alice elbows me in the ribs.
“We could have done more to help her.”
I rub at my aching side and scowl.
“What? If we’d pushed much further, the Operators would have flipped. Do you want to get beaten up? Because I don’t.”
“I know very well how dangerous it is. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t defend the people they’re attacking.”
“I know how you feel,” I sigh, “it makes me mad, too. But getting yourself killed isn’t a solution.”
She pouts.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“They wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you, Alice. You should know that better than most.”
She’s always been this way. Even when we were kids, Alice would race into the middle of a conflict. I can only assume it’s the remainder of her parents in her; they always taught her to protect people. After all these years together, I’ve picked up some of the same habits – if only to ensure I don’t disappoint her. But with the Neptune’s launch approaching, I’ve been less likely to confront them lately. It’s not worth risking punishment.
But then I look over at her again, and see her eyes sparkling. She loves it. She loves being able to step in. To help people.
“What is it?” she asks suddenly.
I shake my head and tighten my grip on her arm, steering her in the direction of home.
“Quinn, where are you going? There’s a mandatory Broadcast in a few minutes.”
I pause on the stairs. Dad and Alice sit in the living room, their eyes fixed on the projector. It shimmers as it loads the image of whichever arrogant asshole is leading the Council Broadcasts today. I used to try and track their names, to follow the politics that dictate our lives, but news is hard to come by and nothing filters down to us. The Broadcasts are intended to be compulsory; but as long as I’m registered by the house while it’s airing, they’ll never know.
“I’m pretty tired,” I say, “it’s been a long day. You’ll tell me if there’s anything important, right?”
Alice nods. We both know the updates don’t apply to us. A new tax charged on luxury items we could never afford, ever stricter rules on migration between levels. Every so often, they’ll provide a timely update on the Neptune – but it’s nothing I can’t find out for myself.
The Council insists on keeping us ‘educated’ about the running of Pyre. I don’t know why. Perhaps they want it as a defence if people ever spoke out against them. Maybe they just want us to know how under the thumb we really are.
But then the shimmering image takes form, and instead of the regular snob in a tailored suit, the figure is different. Smaller and daintier, somehow. I sink to my knees halfway up the stairs, suddenly curious.
The figure that forms is somewhat diminutive, but gives off an unmistakeable air of grace. Slender arms are the only visible skin – everything else is lost in the folds of a heavy, lilac ballgown. Silver bangles work their way up both arms. Pitch hair is pulled into a complex knot behind their head, framing sharp eyes and brightly coloured face paint.
Dad leans forward.
“Ahime.”
Suddenly, my heart is in my throat.
Alice gasps.
“That’s Ahime? S-she’s so young!”
“Thirty-six, I think. Just look at her. How regal.”
Regal is right. She certainly looks like royalty – though nobility is likely a better word for it. Her father is Gyoku – the first human born on Orithyia. Ahime herself is the first born of the planet’s second generation. As a result, her family is granted an astounding level of respect. Even I feel it. I may hate the snobs on the higher levels, but my chest fills with respect at the sight of her. I can’t explain it. Perhaps it’s genetic. She’s impossibly perfect, her shimmering visage hacking into something instinctual. My head tells me she’s no different from any other snob. But my body tells a different story. It pulls me forward, makes me want to be around her. In spite of myself, I’d do anything just to stand near her.
The figure doesn’t move, doesn’t speak; she’s above directly addressing worthless individuals like us. Someone else speaks over her motionless image, reminding us that she’s coming to Pyre. That she and her crowd of servants will be attending the Neptune’s launch. That she’ll be the most prized passenger on board.
I wait in silence for the Broadcast to end, unsure what to say or do. But then Alice glances back at me, and I know she sees right through me.
They’ve just given me another reason to go.
I wait until the early hours before sneaking out. I creep down the stairs and past Dad’s room, reassured by his squeaky snoring, and pull my rucksack from the cupboard. I try to be eve
n quieter than normal tonight – Alice decided to stay over for once, dozing in the box room that sits upstairs, next to mine. Perhaps she sensed some tension between the two of us and took it on herself to provide a barrier to keep us from clashing. I’ll never call her out on it, but secretly I’m immensely grateful.
Even so, I don’t want her to know where I’m going. If they wake in the night, they’ll know exactly where to find me; but they have no clue how often I’m out here. How often I slip away.
There’s an absolute silence over Level Four as I make my way towards the edge. Despite the warm day, the night is bitterly cold. I tug my jacket a little tighter around myself.
Eventually, I reach a rusted sign. DANGER – KEEP OUT is scrawled across it in what looks like spray paint. A half-hearted, last-ditch effort to keep people like me away from the Drop-off.
None of the Levels have external fences. The floor simply drops away into the darkness, meaning that a drunken stumble or accidental misstep can spell disaster. It’s not quite so bad on the upper Levels – they’re smaller, so falling just means you hit the next floor down. It’s still certain death of course, but here? When there’s nothing but miles of ocean below and no way of being found?
Only a lunatic would come out here.
I nudge past the sign and keep walking.
The Drop-off.
Here, the lights of Pyre fall away. The cobbles underfoot sink down into a smooth, white tile. This tile is always underfoot in Pyre, though it’s usually disguised by concrete or shrubbery. Sometimes, it’s bizarre to think about it. Pyre is just a massive airship floating over the Atlantic – and yet, somehow, it’s become a country in its own right.
But I don’t care about that – not right now.
Because as the lights fade, and the chaos of the day sinks back into the folds of my memory, I’m captivated by the stars.
The sky overhead is inky blackness decorated with a tapestry of stars. Swathes of deep blue and indigo swirl above me, highlighted every so often by a splash of pink. The lonely moon resembles a silver disc that sinks into the glittering canvas. And the stars themselves – a million tiny, indifferent specks, images created a billion years ago. Many are already dead, burnt out millions of years ago. In their place are millions of others, stars I’ll never see, patterns that will cascade through the sky like brushstrokes on a scorched, blackened wall.
I can’t help it. When I think about the beauty that must be out there, how long a simple thing might take, how impossible it all seems – I’m filled with strange emotions.
Excitement. Ambition. Hope. And a wonderful, indescribable, near-painful sense of joy.
I grab my bag and tip it out onto the tile, digging through all I’ve brought. Books to help map the stars. My own messy, handwritten notes. And the pitiful start of a refractor telescope – one I’ve been piecing together for years now. It’s built from old pipes and door hinges and the tripod from an old camera. It’s surprisingly sturdy, though it’ll never be accurate. The only thing it’s missing is the only thing it really needs to work – a lens. I’ve been searching for months now, but they don’t exactly show up naturally on Four. Recently, I’ve even asked some of Four’s criminal elite to look out for one. They’re the kind of people who regularly sneak out and ‘liberate’ useful shipments heading to higher Levels. Personally, I think they’re insane – but they’ve saved us before by stepping in during hard times. The Operators might call them criminals, but we owe them everything.
I open a book and begin mapping. I calculate where we’re going, how far we’ve travelled in the last day. It seems we’re heading further South. We’ll need to go North to board the Neptune.
Suddenly, conflict flickers in my chest.
I know this is mad. Space travel is for people who are better than me; people who are beautiful and intelligent and talented. People who have amazing genes and the potential to create offspring with even more amazing genes. It’s not for people like me.
But life on Pyre has always lacked something. With the Council showing clear indifference to our struggles, and the Operators striving to make those struggles worse, everyone is frightened and somewhat lost. Especially me.
Out there, though? That fear melts away. I think about the likelihood of life developing on Earth. The tiny, near-impossible chance that we would one day explore a universe much larger than anything we could imagine. What immense odds must we have overcome to reach this point? Out there, ‘lost’ means nothing. ‘Fear’ means nothing. Out there, impossible becomes normal.
Surely, it’s not too much to wish I could be a part of it.
I sit down and allow my legs to dangle over the edge of the Level. Below me, the sea is pitch black and unnervingly peaceful. It’s been years since Alice’s parents were tossed down there, never to be recovered.
I didn’t know Alice before that day. Half the town had watched as she stared down the open shaft, bawling after her parents. We’d later discover that she had nobody else to take care of her.
To this day, I’m still not entirely sure what drove me to approach the girl. Why I chose to braid her hair in my hands, forming a shoddy version of the Loss Knots practiced on Four. Dad had stepped forward a moment later, asking if the girl needed a place to stay.
My hands loosen on the book. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I shouldn’t be out here. Dad would be furious if he knew how often I sneak out, though I’m sure he has his suspicions. Besides, I’ll likely fail to make it onto the Scheme. Only one Level Four citizen has ever gotten onto the Companion Scheme before. Even if that person was my mother, I know I can’t possibly measure up to her.
I let out a long breath, watching a puff of condensation fill the air around me.
It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing this for her. I’m out to prove that I can do something without her help. That I’m not just a failure of genetics, or wasted potential, or whatever other insult the world wants to hurl my way. A strange feeling builds in my chest, something akin to grief but tinged with fury.
I hate her. I hate her for abandoning us, for finding a better life on Orithyia and only returning to disown us. I hate her for deciding on a whim that Dad and I weren’t good enough, and that she deserved better.
I press my head into my hands and take several long, slow breath. Something hot pushes against the back of my eyes.
“Don’t.”
I don’t want to cry. Not over this. Not over her. Not over the feeling of abandonment and isolation, or the fact that everyone thinks I’m a waste and a disappointment, or that nobody believes in me. You only get the respect you earn, I remind myself.
I force myself upright and lock my gaze on the horizon. Towards the Mainland, where they’re building the Neptune. The name alone fills me with hope. If I can get onto the Neptune, it’ll all be okay. I’ll have accomplished something for myself, and nobody will be able to take that away from me.
Something rustles behind me.
“Quinn? Is that you?”
A shadow shifts behind me, and recognition floods my chest.
“Cherise.”
A woman steps out into the Drop-off. She’s several years older than me, with dramatic curves and a smile that always looks like she’s up to something. Confident eyes look me up and down, finally settling on my hands. I follow her gaze; I hadn’t realised that I was clenching them both at my sides.
Still, if she senses my tension, she doesn’t say anything. Instead she walks over and drops down onto the floor next to me.
“How’s it going?”
I pause, suddenly hesitant. Anyone else would scold me for being out here, or run off and tell Dad what I’ve been up to. But Cherise is different. She’s bolder than I could ever hope to be. She doesn’t question me. She leans a little closer.
“Looking at anything good?”
I clear my throat.
“T-the usual. There are supposed to be some meteors tonight, but so far, nothing. What are you doing out here?”
Her smile widens.
“I was looking for you.”
“You were?”
“Yep. Do you remember a few months ago, when you asked me about obtaining some… particular items?”
Right. Cherise is one of the few who dares steal from the higher levels, hijacking deliveries, pickpocketing snobs on the Elevator, and otherwise being a nuisance around town. Since her Branding several years ago, she’s become an expert at doing what needs to be done without being spotted.
She leans forward a little more, revealing the edge of her Branding scar. It’s right there on her chest, a silver-white cross hatch of damaged skin. I shuffle uncomfortably.
“Yes. I remember.”
“Do you remember asking about a lens?”
My heart races.
“Don’t tell me you found one!”
“Sure did,” she says, tugging it from her pocket. As she passes it to me, I run my hand over the smooth glass, marvelling at the way it picks up the moonlight.
“Where did you…?”
“There was a shipment from the Mainland for the observatory on One. It had to come through here though, so I took the liberty of picking up a little gift for you.”
I gasp.
“You stole this from Level One?! Cherise, if they catch you…”
She laughs and waves me away.
“What kind of amateur do you take me for? This isn’t my first rodeo. They’re not going to catch me.”
“Even so…”
She laughs again, a little louder this time.
“Hey, I risked my ass big time to get this thing for you. At least try it, make sure it works. I probably got the wrong one, anyway.”
I do as I’m told, slotting the lens into the end of my homemade telescope. A perfect fit. I secure it and glance through the viewfinder, aiming it towards a random cluster of stars.
Immediately, happiness fills me. It works. It may not work with any kind of precision, but I don’t care. The stars have never seemed so close before.