“I will,” Ryn says, his voice calm.
“I’m in, too,” Braxon seconds. I hold back a sigh of frustration. I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Come in only if you see you the signal,” I tell the others.
They all nod. I turn to Ryn and Braxon.
“Let’s go.”
We race down the dunes, fanning out around the first tent we see. Ryn presses his body to the side of the tent, pushing the flap open with the tip of his gun. He looks at me and shakes his head. We move to the next tent. Braxon peers inside.
“Empty,” he says.
We go from tent to tent, each one empty. The camp is eerily quiet. The rebels are nowhere to be found.
“What is this, some kind of trick exam?” Braxon scoffs.
Panic rises in my chest. We’ve been on our mission for only a few minutes. We can’t fail this quickly.
“Let’s retrace our steps,” I say. I start walking toward the front of the encampment, but Braxon and Ryn stay where they are.
“No one’s here,” Braxon says. “Retracing our steps isn’t going to help us at all.”
I look over at Ryn for support, but he’s staring out into the distance.
“Li…,” he says, pointing past the tents.
A cloud of sand rises up in the air, billowing out, rushing toward us. The wind picks up. The sandstorm races forward at a terrifying speed. It will be on us in seconds and there’s nowhere for us to go, no place to hide.
“Masks up!” I shout, my heart pounding. “Get down now.”
We drop to the ground. The storm swells, surging over us, blocking out the sun. Sand hits my skin, searing pinpricks across my body. I clench my eyes shut, praying that the storm will pass quickly, that the rest of the unit is okay.
The dust clears. I stagger to my feet and look toward the dunes. I can’t see Nava, Akia, Ranthu, or Mirabae, but going back to find them could compromise the mission. My eyes sweep across the perimeter of the camp. At the edge is a tent set back from the rest, one I couldn’t see before.
I motion to Ryn and Braxon to follow me, hoping that Braxon won’t argue. We creep toward it, keeping low to the ground. I move around to the side of the tent, peeking through an open fold. The rebels are here, all together. They stand around a long table, maps laid out in front of them. Their pale skin is stretched over the sharp bones of their faces. They don’t speak. Their hands flutter, moving rapidly, forming signals I don’t understand. I don’t know what they’re saying to one another, if they’re planning some kind of attack. We can wipe them out all at once, but our only choice is to storm the tent.
I signal for Ryn and Braxon to pull back. I raise my arm above my head, then let it drop. Ryn sets off the flare. It shoots silently into the air, bursting into a quick flash of light. Nava, Akia, Ranthu, and Mirabae run down the dunes, their faces stained red with sand. Mirabae struggles to breathe, her gills flickering rapidly, her chest heaving with the sheer effort of pulling in air.
“We got caught in the sandstorm,” Akia whispers. “She couldn’t get her mask down in time.”
There’s fear in Mirabae’s eyes, but we don’t have time to be afraid. I point her, Nava, and Akia to one side of the tent; I point Ryn and Ranthu to the other. I point to Braxon, then to the tent’s entrance, where there will surely be guards waiting, hoping he’ll back off me as long as he gets the chance to show his strength. I walk around to the back of the tent, pressing my body against it, looking at the other cadets, and nodding, once, for everyone to move.
We rush the tent. The rebels scatter away from the table. We pull down our masks and open the canisters of gas, throwing them through the air. The gas hisses, a thick green haze settling around us, making it impossible to see. I hear the dull sound of the rebels’ bodies hitting the ground, their ragged breath. Their bodies seize and shudder until finally they’re still.
The air clears, revealing a smaller group of rebels with masks of their own. They surround their leader in a tight circle. We have no chance of capturing him without combat.
“Move, now!” I shout, and we descend upon them. We’re outnumbered, but we’re better fighters than the rebels. I wrestle one to the ground, shoving my gun against her chest, pinning her down. I pull off her mask. She opens her mouth, shrieking, her teeth black. She twitches beneath me. Her eyes roll back into her head; then her body goes limp.
Guilt surges through me, but before I can think about it, I see Ranthu retreating to the edge of the tent, cradling his arm against his chest, his face twisted with pain. I’ve never seen an Abdolorean injured before. It almost never happens; their bodies are stronger than mine, more resistant to attack.
I move toward him to see if he’s okay, when screams split the air. Akia stands in the center of the tent, frozen in place. A rebel races toward her, teeth bared. Braxon leaps out in front of her, smashing his gun across the rebel’s forehead, knocking him out. The rebel crumples to the ground, his blood seeping into the sand.
Ryn and Nava sneak around the edge of the tent, running up behind the last standing rebels. Together, they take them all down, until only their leader is standing. Ryn kicks the leader’s legs out from under him, pinning him to the ground.
All the rebels are unconscious, many are bleeding, but no one’s dead. The leader lifts his head and lets out a low moan. I look into his eyes and see something so familiar I almost lose my breath: His look is one of loss. His people have been defeated, just like mine were so long ago.
The desert dissolves around us. We’re standing back in the station. The sim is over.
“Congratulations, Unit Fifteen,” Magister Sethra says, smiling proudly. “If this had been the actual examination, you all would have passed. Excellent leadership, Cadet Li.”
I hear her words, but I don’t feel any relief. For the first time, what I’m doing becomes fully clear to me. I’m joining the same military that eliminated my entire species, the military that bombed my home planet, the one that killed my family. I wait to feel victorious. I wait to feel anything but this sinking in my stomach, until I feel nothing at all.
* * *
—
After Sethra dismisses us, I walk across the base, hoping to find some semblance of calm, a space where I can think. I stop at a narrow stretch of beach, wild and untamed. The trees reach out over the water, light glittering through their leaves.
I slip my feet out of my boots and bury my toes in the sand. The waves dissolve into foam as they reach the shore. I stare at the sand on the ocean floor, watching the delicate motion of each grain shifting. I led the unit safely, we completed our mission, but today’s victory seems hollow and far away, like it doesn’t even belong to me. It wasn’t real, I tell myself, but I see my hands ripping the mask from the rebel’s face. I feel her body shudder as she takes her last breath.
“Li!” a voice calls out, and I turn from the water to see Ryn walking toward me.
“I was hoping I’d find you,” he says once he reaches me. “You raced out of there after the sim.”
“It was harder than I thought it would be,” I say, averting my eyes. “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Ryn steps closer to me. “None of us knows what we’re doing,” he says gently. “We’re all trying our hardest to pretend we do. Our lives are changing completely, and there’s barely any time for us to catch up.”
I stare at the waves crashing against the shore, the ocean endless before us. I think about what Zo said, wonder if it’s true that I can’t be happy for her. Abdoloreans believe humans were soulless somehow—what if they were right?
Ryn watches me. He takes my hand in his, a look of concern crossing his face.
“You’re shaking,” he says. “Are you okay?”
I pull my hand away.
“I’m fine,” I say. “It’s just…” I trail off, unsure of what to say next.
“Li,” he says quietly, and I look up at him. “I know.”
What do you know? I think, sea
rching his eyes with my own. Ryn reaches up and touches my cheekbone.
“Your freckles, right here,” he says softly. “They’re like a constellation. You have your very own stars.”
He runs his hands through my hair until he’s holding my shoulders, pulling me toward him. My eyes flutter closed. I lift my face to his.
This is happening. And this time I don’t stop it.
Ryn brushes his lips against my mine and the world opens, explodes. I kiss him back. I kiss him over and over. He pulls away, resting his forehead against mine.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the first day I saw you,” he says, his voice low.
I’m afraid that if I speak, all my secrets will come tumbling out. Instead, I press my mouth to his, kissing him again, hoping he feels what I hold inside.
I walk home in a daze, in another universe completely. I barely notice when I reach my street, my house. I press my hand up to my lips, feeling Ryn against me, his arms holding me as though nothing else matters. How is it possible to want something so badly, something you didn’t even know existed before?
I pick a handful of berries from the bowl on the counter and head upstairs. The door to Zo’s room is closed, but I hear the slight rustle of movement behind it. Whatever anger I felt toward her before is gone now. I just need to talk to my sister.
“Zo?” I call through the door. “Are you in there?”
I wait a few seconds, then press my hand to the door and step into her room. She’s lying on her bed, reading. She scans the pages quickly, barely looking up at me. I stand in the doorway, searching for something to say.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
“Advancement and Innovation in Environmental Preservation Technologies,” she says, making a face.
She tosses the book down onto the bed and sighs, staring up at the ceiling.
“We haven’t really talked all week,” I say, walking into the room and sitting down at the foot of her bed.
Zo shrugs one shoulder in what I know is frustration. “That’s what happens when you avoid someone,” she says, and my cheeks burn.
“I know,” I say. “I haven’t been around.”
Zo is quiet, staring down at her hands.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m here now.”
“You said some pretty awful things about Braxon,” she says. “And you know how I feel about him.”
“You said some awful things about me,” I reply, and she turns away, avoiding my eyes.
Zo isn’t someone who moves on from a fight easily, but when she does, it’s with her whole heart. Still, she won’t look at me, and I stand up to leave, trying to find some way to make her let it all go.
“Come down to the water with me,” I say. “Come swim.”
A sliver of a smile appears on her lips, and soon we’re outside, walking down the cliff and onto the beach. We slip out of our clothes and walk into the water, wade in up to our knees, and dive under.
“Look up,” Zo says when we surface, pointing to the sky. “It’s a solar eclipse.”
The shadow of the moon slips over the sun, making it a crescent in the sky. Golden light spills out around us, and the whole world glows.
“You know what this means,” I say. “There’s a new moon tonight.”
Zo looks at me, but I can’t see her expression in the growing darkness. I don’t know what she’s thinking.
“Remember our new moon rituals?” she asks quietly.
When we were younger and our father first taught us about the way the moon moves, the way it carries the tides with its gravity, how it sometimes covers the sun completely, we would send our wishes into the sky on the night of the new moon. This tradition became a part of the way we lived, a seam running through our months, our years, until we grew older and our attention moved on to other things. I wonder what Zo’s life will be like once I’m gone, if the years we’re apart will change us.
“Of course I remember,” I say. I slip my hand into hers and look up at the sky. She follows my gaze, watching as the moon covers the sun completely and the world falls into darkness.
I feel the same rush I used to feel when we were kids, like we were part of the energies making the moon move, like we held the planets themselves in orbit and the world would give us anything we asked for.
Zo closes her eyes.
I ask for survival, I think, the same thing I’ve wished for my entire life.
We watch as the sun reappears, the world bathed once again in light. We don’t talk, we don’t move, we just stand in the water and stare up at the sky, thinking about what we want. I consider the dreams I hold deep inside, the ones I don’t let anyone see, the ones I want most but never let myself ask for.
I ask for love. The words run through my mind over and over, and I feel like I’m filled with the moon and stars, with the sky itself.
* * *
—
Zo and I sit together at the edge of the water, watching as day fades into night. So much has happened these past few days; my world has changed completely. I lean my head against Zo’s shoulder, happy to have her.
“Listen,” I say to her. “About Braxon.”
Zo tenses slightly.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know him well enough to judge. If you like him, he must be okay.”
“Do you mean that?” she asks warily.
“I do,” I tell her truthfully.
She smiles, her blue eyes sparkling, her face flushed. “I really like him, Li.”
She looks up at the sky. Her skin glows in the moonlight. She’s spent her life in hiding, too. She’s kept my secret for me, never knowing anything else. She deserves to be happy, to have the things she wants. We both do.
“The other day, you asked me about Ryn,” I say, my heart beating faster as I say his name. “I didn’t tell you the truth.”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
The stars blink above us, and I imagine floating through them, close enough to feel their light on my skin.
“I’m falling for him,” I say, my voice quiet.
Zo is still for a moment, then she breaks into a smile.
“I knew it!” she says, clapping her hands. “I knew you were into him.”
She laughs and throws her arms around me, kissing me on the cheek.
“I wanted to tell you how I felt, before,” I say.
Zo nods, understanding what I mean without me having to say anything more. “I’ve been sneaking out to see Braxon after you go to bed, or when you and Dad are training.”
“Zo! Seriously?”
She looks at me, hurt. “I like him a lot. Try to understand.”
She’s right; I don’t understand. But I look at my sister’s hopeful face and I know I have to try. Her heart is so open. She sees the good in others; there must be good in Braxon, too.
“No more secrets,” she says, her face growing serious.
“No more secrets,” I promise.
The waves rush to shore, the sound filling the air around us. Zo leans her head against mine.
“I’ll miss you,” she says, so softly I barely hear her, and I know she’s talking about Conscription, about the years to come.
“I’ll miss you more,” I say thickly.
When we finally go back upstairs and into the house, whatever distance there was between us has disappeared. I walk to my room and Zo walks to hers. Before she opens her door, she turns around.
“I’m really happy for you,” she says.
Me too, I think, going into my room and lying down on the bed. I look at the skylight. The sliver of sky it captures is so familiar, the same moon and stars I’ve seen for the past sixteen years. I listen to the wind as it curves around the house, to all the sounds Earth makes. I breathe in and out, and the weight of everything I’ve been holding in begins to fall away.
The next week, I move through training as quickly as I can, running circles around the track, going through round after round of circuits. I sit t
hrough afternoons of lectures, learning about the resistance movements on Tevru and Velparian policies of engagement. All I want is to be alone with Ryn. Every time he looks at me, every time he smiles, I think of the way his mouth felt on mine and can’t remember anything else. One hour slips into the next, each one dragging on, until each day is over. I wait for Ryn on the train platform, leaning back against a girder, looking up at the awnings, looking out over the crowd. The minutes pass slowly, stretching out before me. Finally, Ryn comes up beside me, kissing me on the cheek.
“You found me,” I say, joy rushing through me.
“I could find you anywhere,” he says.
The train moves across the ocean, winding along the edge of the base, pulling to a stop. We step inside and sit facing each other, our knees touching. I look out at the city in the distance, the way it sparkles, the way it shines, and I have the distinct sense of freedom, of light.
As we walk through the forest, Ryn asks me about the names of the flowers he sees. Thin streams of sunlight break through the trees, surrounding us both.
“What’s that one?” he asks, pointing down to a plant. It has three leaves shaped like teardrops, a white line running down the middle of each leaf.
“Pipsissewa,” I say.
“And that one?” He points to a flower with bright orange petals.
“Calendula,” I say.
We reach my house and walk through the garden, picking fruit as we go. We sit on the cliff and eat the cherries we’ve gathered, their flesh dark and sweet.
“What did you eat on other planets?” I ask, holding the pit of a cherry between my teeth.
“It depended on the planet,” he says. “Tularans are hunters, they eat mostly meat, so obviously I didn’t eat that. The fruit there is completely different from what we grow here.”
“How so?” I ask.
“There aren’t many trees there,” he says. “All their fruit grows underground, in these bogs at the base of the mountains.”
We reach into the bowl at the same time, our fingers touching.
“They grow mostly berries, but they’re not like the ones on Earth. They’re not very good,” he laughs.
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