Star-Crossed

by Pintip Dunn

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, but I was talking to the King.” My cousin’s tone is light and jocular, as though he’s unaware of the turmoil inside me. But this is Denver. He’s not oblivious. He’s just distracting me.

  A horn sounds, signaling that a candidate has dropped out of the race. I check the scoreboard to make sure it’s not Zelo—it isn’t, thank Dionysus—and look back at Denver. “Oh? What about?”

  “I’ve asked the council for a laboratory to experiment with my flowers, and I was hoping the King could put in a good word for me.” He grabs a handful of chips and piles them into his mouth. “I want to breed some new varieties. Introduce the people to pure, unadulterated beauty like they’ve never known. Of course, your sister walked in on the conversation, and she gave me the evilest look, as though I’m trying to usurp her affections with the King or something.”

  Bits of food spray out with his words. I wipe the spittle crumbs from my face, but instead of grossing me out, they make me smile. Denver would never act so uncouth with anyone else. In front of the public, he’s as smooth as Blanca’s fall of silky hair.

  But I’m not the public. I’ve been his ally since we used to build dirt forts and lie inside, quizzing each other on nutrition charts as the drying mud crumbled in our faces.

  “Don’t worry about Blanca,” I say as the horn blares again. I find Zelo on the track. Still going strong. “The King is your uncle, and he loves you. My sister’s so paranoid she even thinks I’m competition.”

  “You are competition. And don’t you forget it.” The smile flatlines. The dimple disappears. For a moment, my charming cousin looks deadly serious. “It’s easy to get lost underneath Blanca’s glow, but I’ve never doubted you’re every inch her equal. And probably more.”

  I blink. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  His eyebrows do their wiggle-dance. “Just trying to get in good with the Princess before she becomes Queen. Lookie, I even brought you a present.” He hands me the box from the table. “My newest breed of azaleas. This is my first contender for the royal flower. What do you think?”

  He lifts the lid. A flower lies at the bottom, its petals round and delicate. Tiny black buds sit on top of wispy stamens, and the deep, deep pink reaches inside me and pulls. I didn’t even know this color existed in nature. I thought it began and ended with the sticky rice and tapioca layer cake we sometimes have for dessert.

  “It’s beautiful.” I stroke a finger across a powdery petal.

  “Could you send a hologram to my mother and let her know?” His lips twist. It creates unattractive lines in his cheeks, but this is how I like him. Showering me with spit and a little bit ugly.

  “Is she still giving you a hard time about being a horticulturalist?”

  “She wants so much for me,” he says, his voice soft like the flower and just as vulnerable. All it would take is one hard blow to smash them both into spacedust. “I’m such a techie genius, she says, I could conquer the planet. I told her I’d developed a new variety of flower that neither Earth nor Dion had ever seen. She told me to grow up.”

  My heart squeezes. The King may not rely on me the way he does on Blanca, but he’s never asked me to be someone I’m not. Denver’s been on a lifelong quest to earn his mother’s approval. My father only wants me to be true to myself. “I’m sorry, Denver.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  The horn sounds once more. I look at the scoreboard, and the air coming out my lungs stutters at my throat. Because this time, it’s Zelo who’s dropped out of the race.

  And in the lead, going strong with a cool thirty laps, is Carr Silver.

  …

  Carr wins, of course. It’s not even close. The second-place finisher, Jupiter, takes one last gasping breath and falls to his knees on lap forty-nine. Carr continues for one more lap, back straight and head high, his chest pumping up and down like a metronome.

  Not good. If we continue with these physical challenges, Carr will be named the Fittest by the end of the week.

  I need to step up my schemes. Chanting encouragements in Zelo’s ear brought him up a few places from last, but it’s not enough. I need a trial that will test not just physical strength but also moral character. One that will give Zelo a chance to display his strengths.

  You’re doing more than targeting now, a voice inside me whispers. You’re manipulating the Trials so that you can help a particular boy die.

  It’s what he wants. I’m helping him fulfill God’s will.

  Do you believe it’s God’s will? the voice says. Or are his religious beliefs merely convenient for your purposes?

  My stomach heaves, threatening to empty the chewed-up mass of tortilla chips onto the steps leading down the spectator box. Dizzy with self-revulsion, I leave Denver and descend onto the track.

  The boys sprawl in the field, limbs draped over stalks of wheat and each other. They look like a painting from Earth, the one with the pocket watches melting onto the landscape.

  I wind through the candidates, congratulating each boy on his effort, lingering with Zelo to press his hand and tell him I believe in him. Then, I make my way to the edge of the track, where Carr and Master Somjing stand next to a pile of burlap sacks.

  “An impressive showing, Mr. Silver,” Master Somjing says. As usual, his legs are propped up by mechanical braces, and the hologram pendant dangles from a chain around his neck. “Although you didn’t beat the record for most laps in an endurance trial.”

  “Is that right, sir?”

  “In fact, here comes our record-holder now.” Master Somjing looks up as I approach. “Princess Vela lasted fifty-two laps at her own Aegis trials.”

  Carr’s eyes widen, as if the council member told him we only had one moon. “Really?”

  I stiffen. I’m smaller than him. Definitely not as muscular. But I’m in great shape, and the number of rocks we carried were in direct proportion to our weight. “I never would’ve passed the Aegis Trials without physical strength.”

  “I thought those Trials measured your aptitude to enter a life of sacrifice?”

  “We also need to be physically fit because eating can be an athletic activity.”

  “I see.” He runs his eyes over my caftan, as if he’s trying to see through the thick material. I try not to fidget, even though I know he’s imagining the shape of my limbs. Maybe he’s even remembering the way my arms looked when I took off my caftan and gave it to Astana.

  Master Somjing’s earpiece buzzes, and he moves away to answer the call. I take a step closer to Carr, and everything else fades. The council member yammering across the track, the water bottles strewn across the thick stalks of wheat. Even this competition in which we’re embroiled.

  “Carr,” I say softly. “How do you celebrate?”

  “The usual way. Parties and the like.”

  “Yes, but…” My mind races to the few parties I’ve attended. My own birthdays, my sister’s. Being a princess means that I don’t have many friends, even among my own classmates. Pathetically, all I remember is the food. Escargot hushpuppies, battered and perfectly fried. Platters of crispy green kale dressed with walnuts and beets. Freshly shucked oysters, so sumptuous you would think each one contained a pearl. All food. Just food.

  I try to push my mind’s eye deeper. There must’ve been decorations, but I can’t see them. There may have been music, but I can’t hear it. I return, again and again, to the vivid colors, the enticing smells, the brilliant tastes of the food. What’s wrong with me that I can’t remember anything else?

  “Can you describe it to me?” I ask. “Exactly what do you do at these parties?”

  Something I can’t read flickers over his face. “We have music. And dancing under the purple sky. If the sun lamps are turned up, our clothes stick to our skin, but the wind fans cool us enough so we don’t feel sweaty in each other’s arms. We string tiny lanterns between the trees so it feels like we’ve brought the stars down to our level.
We talk and laugh and sing until half the night is gone, drunk in each other’s words. Each other’s company.”

  “And there’s no food?”

  “Of course there’s some, for the Aegis in attendance. They can’t go more than a few hours without upping their calorie intake. There’s also blue pills for the colonists, but neither food nor pills are a focal point.”

  I shiver. I can almost see the lanterns reflecting off his dark eyes. I can also feel the warmth of his hand as it clasps my neck, our bodies moving to a music that pulses all the way through my bones. How much have I missed by being a princess? Have I ever danced under the stars? Have I even stayed awake past midnight?

  Hardly ever. And why not? It’s not like I have a curfew. But I almost always conk out two hours after the late evening meal, which is especially large due to the upcoming nighttime fast. Food coma at its finest.

  All of a sudden, I want more than anything to experience the dancing and the laughter.

  I turn to the candidates still lounging on the field. “We’re having a party tonight,” I announce, my voice getting stronger and more certain with each word. “A proper one, with music and lanterns and song and dance. You’ve worked hard today, and you deserve to celebrate the beginning of the Fittest Trials.”

  The boys cheer. The sound is not quite loud enough to drown the voice inside me. You mean, to celebrate the beginning of the process that will lead to a boy’s death?

  But I push the voice away. The Fittest Trials have been going on for decades before I was born. Its necessity was mandated by CORA. What’s a voice inside me compared to the weight of human experience?

  Master Somjing walks back to Carr and me, his eyes blinking rapidly. “You’re both to report to the medical facility immediately. Go to the Protector’s wing.”

  Both of us? Why?

  My chest contracts so hard I feel my joints pop. “The King? He’s dying.”

  “What? No, no.” Master Somjing shakes his head. “You’ve misunderstood. Your father’s fine.”

  Relief slams into me like a wall of water, but before it can sweep me away, Master Somjing reaches out his hand. I think he’s going to pinch my cheek, or some other weird Earth custom. Instead, he picks up the loop around my neck and switches it on.

  “It’s Astana. She’s been admitted, and you’re both to report to Room 108 immediately.”

  Chapter

  Twelve

  “Astana’s in the Protector’s wing?” I ask. “But she’s not an Aegis.”

  “She’s the one who’s dying, isn’t she? Oh Dion, tell me. Is she dying?” Carr slumps, his entire body a question mark.

  “No one is dying.” Master Somjing blinks again. “Astana is in stable condition.”

  There’s logic here. I know there is. I just can’t seem to grasp it. “So why is she in the Protector’s wing? They only treat eating-related issues there. Is it because she’s receiving the daily ration of food?”

  “No. She could receive food anywhere in the facility. But that’s all I may divulge at the moment, so please, no more questions.”

  “But why? What’s the big secret?”

  He blinks again. The motion is less precise this time, although no less deliberate.

  And then I get it. This is another one of the council’s tests. That’s why Master Somjing turned on my loop. I am being fed information little by little, so they can gauge my reaction. It’s one more data point to evaluate my suitability as the Successor.

  I glance at Carr. His arms are wrapped tightly around his torso, as if to subdue tremors that run far beneath the surface. It must kill him to know and not know about his sister. Just as it kills me to watch him.

  “Astana’s life isn’t a game, you know.” My voice is low, but it’s on simmer. Provoke me long enough, and it will boil over. “There are real people involved. Real lives at stake. The way I react isn’t to please you. It isn’t to prove to the council or anyone else how suitable I am.”

  “What do you think the role of Successor is, Princess Vela? Do you think the future ruler of our kingdom will make decisions that affect real people?” Master Somjing angles forward, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “You’re right. This isn’t a game. But the very fact that you question me makes me wonder if you really understand the big picture.”

  His words slice through my small, fast pants. Even now. Everything I say, everything I do contributes to their analysis of me.

  “Keep your recorder on,” Master Somjing says and lurches away, dismissing us.

  I think about disobeying, just to be contrary, but childish reactions aren’t going to do anything but annoy the council. They make me want to scream—but I need them. They alone control Astana’s food supply. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m better off with them on my side.

  “Does this mean what I think it does?” Carr asks, his voice a closed door and optimism a stranger he doesn’t dare admit.

  “I think so.” I can barely say the words since the hope bubbles inside me so strongly. “As the name implies, the Protector’s wing is reserved for the Aegis. The medics there have a specialty in digestive diseases. So if Astana is there, that must mean—”

  “She’s been cleared to eat food,” Carr finishes for me. “Permanently.”

  For a moment, we grin foolishly at one another. This could be it. Our deepest wish fulfilled. Astana saved.

  Without another word, we take off. Who cares if the council wants to be sly and secretive? Astana’s in the Protector’s wing, and I’ll be talking to her in a few short minutes.

  We run full-out, faster and faster, spurring each other on. Even after fifty laps, Carr’s able to keep up with me. Off the wheat fields, through the arches, across the courtyard. We collapse on the grass in front of the double doors of the medical facility.

  “Have to…catch our breath…before we see Astana,” Carr says, in between pants. “She’ll wonder…why we’re together. Why we’re both breathless.”

  “Yes,” I gasp. Similarly winded. Maybe even more so. “We need to figure out what we’re going to tell her.”

  The purple sky wavers overhead. If I focus on this small patch, away from the generator towers spearing the air, I can almost pretend there isn’t an energy shield separating me from the rest of the planet. Pretend we’re free to roam wherever we want. Pretend there’s no such thing as a food shortage and no reason for the Fittest Trials.

  I prop myself on my elbow and think of Denver’s words. Astana will only be upset if she knows her brother is a participant in the Fittest Trials. “If she’s safe, I don’t want her to know that I allowed you in the candidate pool.”

  “You didn’t have a choice.” He imitates my position, so that we’re lying face-to-face. Elbow to elbow. Lip to lip. “I called in the death debt.”

  “Doesn’t matter. She’ll never forgive me. Please.” I lean closer. His eyes are so black, so urgent. I might even be willing to drown again, so long as it’s in their inky depths. “We’ll say you were making a delivery to the shuttle, that’s how you were able to get to the medical facility quickly after being summoned.”

  He looks at me for a long moment. “I won’t lie. But I won’t go out of my way to tell her the truth, either.”

  “Thank you.”

  The conversation is done, but he doesn’t move away, and I don’t either. I can feel blades of grass tickling the bare skin at my waist, where my caftan’s bunched up. Worse, I can imagine his fingers replacing the grass.

  All of a sudden, my heart pounds harder than it did when we ran across the courtyard. My nerves feel like grasshoppers about to jump from my skin, and I can’t look away from his lips.

  He trails his fingertips along my cheek. “Vela?”

  My name is both a question and an answer, an invitation and a response. He lowers his head, and I stretch up. We align our mouths and move in another inch. Any moment now, our breaths will mingle. Any moment now, our lips will touch. Any moment now—

  “Princess Vela,
is that you?” A bot whirrs out the double doors and onto the grass. “I haven’t got all day. Do you want to see your friend or not? Let’s go!”

  …

  “Like I have nothing better to do than lead the Princess around,” the bot says in its robotic monotone. It speeds down a corridor to the Protector’s wing. “Fast, fast, fast. Not my problem if you can’t keep up.”

  Carr and I trot after the bot, our rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the tile. We pass carts filled with gauze, syringes, and electronic equipment. Patients lean heavily on metal walkers, the strings of their open-backed gowns trailing behind them. A loudspeaker blares overhead, and the smell of bleach perfumes the air.

  “Are the bots always this unhappy?” Carr asks.

  “Just the grumpy ones.” The bots can’t think for themselves, of course. All they do is access data stored in CORA, but that didn’t stop the programmers from giving each one a personality. The Grumpy Bots are my favorite. Their surliness never fails to put a smile on my face.

  The bot rounds a corner and zooms down a second corridor. We increase our speed and follow. Without warning, it lurches to a stop in front of an open door.

  “Consider yourselves delivered. Thanks for nothing,” the bot says, rolling away. “Now I’m off to do something actually worth my time.”

  I turn to Carr. He swallows, and if he weren’t a colonist, I’d swear he had food in his mouth.

  “Is it silly to be nervous to see my own sister?” he asks.

  “Is it silly to be nervous to see my best friend?”

  We exchange wobbly smiles and walk into the room. The far wall is made of glass, and since the medical facility sits at the edge of the bubble, we can see the dry desert of the outside planet. Slabs of rock jut out of the craggy landscape, large and imposing.

  But no view can ever compare to the real, live people in the room. My cousin Denver stands beside the bed, and my best friend rests on it.

  “Astana!” I fly to her side, knocking into a bed tray, tripping over a nest of wires. Don’t care. What matters is I’m with my best friend again. “You look so healthy.”