Star-Crossed

by Pintip Dunn

  My best friend is dying. Her fate is up to my power-hungry sister. Her brother is competing to die in her place.

  And now, she’s crushing on my cousin. As much as I love Denver, I’m not sure if this is the right time for romance.

  “Astana, you know what a flirt Denver is,” I say carefully, making myself let go of the tube. “His attention might not mean anything. You know that, right?”

  But if she hears me, she doesn’t respond. Instead, she plucks a flower from the vase on her nightstand. Not just any flower, either. One with pink petals and black-tipped stamens. A new breed of azaleas, grown in a certain glasshouse on the edge of the Agriculture Bubble.

  She strokes her finger across the petal, like I did. Except not. Because my touch was an appreciation for the beautiful. Hers is a tender caress for the boy behind the gift.

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  Over my head, tiny lights are strung across the courtyard. Instead of stars, they look like fluorescent butterflies commissioned to hover above the dance floor. Fluffy pom-poms and rainbow confetti are scattered across long, white tables. Not as popular as a platter of spring rolls—but not as distracting, either. And the black night sky covers us all, the mother-daughter moons full and round, peeping at us like the eyes of curious children.

  A worthy backdrop for the first party I’ve ever hosted. My birthdays are always organized by the royal staff. But this get-together is mine. My idea. My execution. Too bad all I can do is worry about Denver and Astana. How can I be sure he’s not toying with my best friend? Ever since he brought three shiny apples to three trainees on the same day, I’ve made it clear to him that the girls in my Eating class were off-limits.

  Silly me. I never thought to include Astana in the proscription. But why should I have? He’s known her since she had to clutch a stuffed grasshopper to go to sleep, and there’s never been any kind of spark.

  Until now.

  I catch a flash of Denver’s face at the other side of the courtyard, and I start making my way through the crowd. Not easy when everyone’s mingling, laughing, and—judging from the number of pom-poms sailing through the air—having a great time.

  Despite myself, a smile tugs at my lips. Maybe there’s not such a big divide between the Princess and the rest of the colony, after all. Maybe I just need to learn to relax.

  As I get closer, Denver’s entire body comes into view. He’s not flirting with any of the girls. Not talking or dancing, either. In fact, his shoulders are hunched, and he looks…lost? Can that be? My center-of-attention cousin, lost at a party? Apparently. His feet drum the ground, and he keeps checking his red-beam watch, as if he’d rather be somewhere else. Somewhere like sitting on a hospital bed next to my best friend.

  I trip over a rock. Could I be wrong? Could this thing between him and Astana actually be real? He’s a good guy, my cousin. His only fault is his inability to commit. But maybe he’s changed. Maybe he’s beginning to see what I see, that Astana is one of the most wonderful people on Dion.

  I open my mouth, about to call to him, and then strong arms lift me into the air.

  “Dance with me,” Jupiter says, his face crinkled with joy and adrenaline.

  Fun. Handsome. Coordinated. I couldn’t ask for a better dancer partner. And yet, my heart plunges below my feet. Because he’s not Carr.

  Of course, Carr never said he would come. He’s probably sleeping, so he can be at his best for tomorrow’s trial. Still, after our near-kiss on the lawn, after he pressed his ear to my stomach, I was hoping he would show.

  Jupiter twirls me and twirls me, and my feet step-step-step in response. It’s not the arms I imagined around me, but still, I’m dancing. The laughter bubbles inside me like carbonated soda, as if it was always there, waiting for the tab to be pulled. The conversation with Denver can wait.

  It can wait until after I introduce York to the royal cook’s assistant—and giggle when he leans in and sniffs her neck. It can wait while Zelo points out the space shuttle constellation in the night sky. And it can really wait when I see Blanca hesitate at the edge of the crowd, twisting her torso as if to go, before Hanoi whispers a few urgent words to her and tugs her onto the dance floor.

  By the time I think to look for Denver again, I no longer care that I can’t find him. Because I’ve thrown a party. A real, actual celebration. And I’ve never had so much fun in my life.

  And then I see him. The person who will make my evening even better.

  He stands under the archway, melting into the stone, as though he doesn’t want to disrupt the festivities. I walk toward him, smiling. Doesn’t he know he’s always welcome at any social gathering?

  I take his hands and lead him into the yellowed glow of the twinkling lights. “Dad. I didn’t know if you would make it.”

  “And miss my little girl’s first hosted party? Not a chance.” He holds me at arm’s length so he can examine my dress. It has a simple shape—fitted through the waist with a flouncy skirt. But the color is the fresh, vibrant green of pea shoots poking out of the soil.

  “Your mother had a dress this color,” he says.

  “I know. She’s wearing it in one of my holograms. I took the cube to the clothier to see if he could match the color.”

  “You remind me more and more of her every day.”

  I startle. “She’s tall like Blanca. Not me.”

  “Not in the way you look.” His words are strong, his voice misty. He yearns for her. Every minute of every day, he yearns for her with a ferocity that reaches into the heavens and tries its damnedest to force her back again. I know because I feel the same way. “You remind me of her because of the strength I see in your eyes. Because of your ability to discern the moral core of a situation and your courage to act upon it.”

  I try to swallow, but the saliva won’t go down. It pools at the top of my throat and threatens to choke me. “How do you know I’m strong enough, brave enough to do the right thing?”

  “I don’t. I can only hope.”

  The soft strums of a guitar emit from the speakers. A slow song, to cool the frenzied dancers in the courtyard. My father holds his hands out to me, and I step into his arms. We rarely dance in the shuttle, but I remember being a little girl and placing my slippered toes on his feet as he demonstrated how to step in an invisible square.

  “I spoke to the council about your request to give the patients in Blanca’s pool a daily ration of food,” my father says. “And they’re amenable. But it’ll come at a price. Remember, for every meal we give, we take many times that amount away from the rest of the colony. So, the council suggests we eliminate a meal a day from the family members of the Fittest candidates.”

  He spins me in a circle. “If you agree, we’ll change the deal. For every day you continue in the Trials, every patient—not just Astana—will receive food.”

  Hanoi’s face floats across my mind, the wan smile, the brilliant burst of hope in her eyes. But immediately, other faces crowd into my vision, chasing hers away. Miss Sydney and her blue sash. Cairo Mead’s brother. Lenox Gray, with a gray beard to match, the father of the very first Fittest girl. I’m not sure what he thinks about the children dubbing him “Santa Claus,” on account of his round belly.

  But I know exactly how all of them will feel about a portion of their reward being taken away. Not. Happy.

  “Is there any other way?” I ask.

  “The food has to come from somewhere.” He places his fingers under my chin. “We’re not placing conditions to be mean, my eye-apple. The council has always had one purpose—to do the best we can for the overall colony. Sometimes, in order to do that, we have to make unpopular decisions.”

  Unpopular. Ha. I’ll be the serpent from the carving come to life. But how can I let these patients, how can I let Hanoi, starve? Sure, they have Blanca’s feeding tubes, but she said so herself: the bags of formula aren’t a pill replacement.

  I nod slowly, like a bot in need of oil. And hope this is what
my mother would’ve done. “Okay. Let the council know I agree. But can it be a permanent solution? If the families give up their meals forever, Astana, Hanoi, and the others will be saved.”

  His hand drifts to my elbow. “We made the families a promise, and we can’t go back on that promise. Just like we can’t undo the deaths of their sons and daughters. In exigent circumstances, such as the selection of the Successor, we may take extreme measures. But only then.”

  “What if they voluntarily gave up their meals?”

  “If anyone can convince them, it will be you, my eye-apple.” His voice tells me how impossible this task is. “But please remember, this is Blanca’s task. We need to let her act as she sees fit. Besides, you can’t save everyone.”

  “Why not?” I ask fiercely. “What’s the point of being a ruler if I can’t save my people?”

  “On the contrary, a ruler must pick and choose whom to save. That’s what makes the position so difficult.”

  We continue dancing. In the middle of the dance floor, a crowd forms a ring around a boy. But it’s not the Circle of Shunning. It’s just Jupiter refusing to be cooled. Spinning on his head, his back, his hands. If the music won’t aid him in working up a sweat, he’ll do it himself.

  The tempo’s gotten too lethargic for me, too. I don’t want to be moving gracefully anymore. I want to be Jupiter, my sweat swinging out in an arc and spraying everyone in a five-foot radius.

  “I wish I remembered Mom better.” I spin out of my father’s arms.

  “Why? You think she’d be able to give you the answers?”

  “Maybe.” I stare at the pine cone insignia on his shoulder. “If I knew her better, maybe I could guess what she would do. You’ve always been so generous with your stories, and I have the holograms on my cube. But when I think about what I actually remember—something that’s not filtered through your memory or a mechanical lens—there’s very little.”

  “You don’t need to remember her,” my father says. “Because she lives in your heart.”

  I lay my head on his shoulder and get a whiff of eucalyptus perfume. Am I losing my mind? I take another sniff and realize it’s not my mother’s ghostly presence, after all. My father’s just mixed the eucalyptus water with his aftershave.

  Tears sting my eyes. Our ancestors on Earth thought that by hurtling hundreds of light-years from the original planet, we’d somehow get closer to heaven. But they were wrong. Heaven is in the same place it always was. Infinitely far.

  “Do you ever think about entering another union?” I ask. “I mean, you’ve had other wives before Mom. Other families before us.”

  At ninety years old, my father is the oldest Aegis on this planet. He suffers the same tragedy as the colonists who choose Aegis spouses—he’s had to survive his wives and children by decades.

  “I don’t think so, my eye-apple. I loved all my families. You know that.” He puts his chin on my head. “But you, your sister, and your mom were the family I was waiting for. You are who I want to think of in the last moments before I die.”

  My chest constricts. “You’re not going to die anytime soon, Dad. You’ve got five whole years left.”

  “I know it.” His voice is thin and distant, as though it were flung into space with my mom’s ashes. “But what I’m trying to say is: I’m perfectly fulfilled. After all these years, there’s nothing more I need to feel. Nothing more I want to accomplish. I’ve been with this colony from the moment we discovered the pods were destroyed and were convinced our mission was an utter failure. To now. When our society is alive and blooming. When we can look forward to both stability and progress for centuries to come. I have one duty remaining, and then my life will be complete.”

  “What’s that?”

  He moves back, so I have to lift my head off his shoulder and look at him.

  “To find the proper Successor to rule in my place.”

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  Come on, Zelo, you can do this. The words run through my head like a bot stuck in the same programming loop. You can do this. You can do this.

  You. Can. Do. This.

  I look through a one-way window, into a room where Zelo stands on a flat stone, one foot wide by one foot long. There’s no table, no desk, no holo-feeds. No food. Nothing but concrete floors and white plaster walls.

  All the other candidates stand on their own stones in their own empty rooms. It’s the second event, and I’ve chosen another challenge from my own Aegis Trials.

  The boys may step off their stones at any time, and the last boy standing wins. The twist? The candidates will be offered incentives to quit. Incentives specifically designed to entice them, based on information collected during the personal interviews. Incentives meant to show exactly what is important to them—and by how much.

  The most important thing to Zelo is serving his god. So he has to do well today. He’d better. I picked this challenge just for him.

  My face feels hot, like I’ve stuck it over a pot of boiling water. I look up and down the corridor, certain any passerby can see the guilt etched in my features. My actions are more suspect than what I did in the first challenge. A step more manipulative.

  But I’m not targeting a boy to die, I tell myself. I’m helping the worthiest boy win. The one who won’t be missed by anyone in the colony.

  Except, perhaps, by me.

  My ribs squeeze together, as if the serpent from the mural has wrapped its body around my torso. Master Somjing plods down the hallway, peering into each window, and I struggle to break the snake’s hold.

  “One hour in, and half the candidates are gone,” he says, coming up to me. “Once the incentives came out, they folded like laundry from the smoothing press. A warm bed. Dissolvable strips flavored like chocolate-chip cookies. Pills. Even more pills.”

  Pulling out my handheld, I scan the next round of incentives. “Next, we’ll offer the opportunity to go on an expedition in the outside planet. A position as aid to a council member. A featured spot on the news feeds.”

  Master Somjing clicks his tongue, which is all the approval I ever get from him. “Getting to the core of their true characters. Not bad, Vela.”

  “I remember the stone challenge well from my own Aegis Trials.”

  “How long did you last?”

  I bite my lip. Why is he asking? Master Somjing doesn’t make conversation with me. But ever since I made the decision to take away food from the Fittest families, he’s been friendlier. As if he can better relate to the cutthroat side of me. The side that’s more like Blanca.

  “I lasted an entire day,” I say. “They offered the usual. Longer life, more pills, political power. That kind of thing.”

  “I heard it came down to you and your sister.” He scrutinizes my face, as if searching for a tell. Blanca should’ve had her Trials the year before me, but she missed them due to some analysis she had to do for the King. My sister insisted that the work was so important she was willing to delay her entrance into eating for a year—but I always suspected that she just wanted to compete directly against me.

  “You were both offered the same incentive in the final round,” Master Somjing continues. “That’s when you caved, while Blanca remained strong. Yet, you were recorded as the winner of the challenge. How can that be?”

  I glance through the window. Zelo’s eyes are closed, head tilted toward the ceiling. He hasn’t moved an inch.

  Master Somjing wouldn’t know what happened in my final challenge, of course. The records of a person’s Aegis Trials are highly classified. Even council members don’t have access to them.

  “It was a trick,” I say finally.

  “How so?”

  I turn and look at him. The light at his collar is off, which means this conversation isn’t recorded. There isn’t a team of psychologists somewhere dissecting my every word. Could this mean Master Somjing is actually interested in me? As a person and not a data point?

  “They gave me an ultimatum. G
et off the stone, or my sister gets tortured. It wasn’t a choice for me. I got off the stone.”

  His mouth opens. “And Blanca stayed on?”

  My eyes feel wet. This is ridiculous. The challenge happened over two years ago. I didn’t cry then, and I’m not going to cry now. “I guess it wasn’t a choice for her, either.” My voice cracks, and I hate the tone, hate the pitch, hate my vulnerability. “She stayed on.”

  Long moments pass. Inside the room, Zelo stretches his arms overhead. Shakes one leg out and then the other.

  “I have a confession to make,” Master Somjing says, his tone changing. Without the stiffness shoring up each syllable, he sounds like a completely different person.

  “What is it?” I keep my eyes on Zelo and his standing-in-place calisthenics. Zelo is safe. If I watch him, I won’t have to see the pity on anyone’s face. The mocking ridicule of the poor little Princess, who continues to idolize her older sister, even though the feeling isn’t mutual. Has never been mutual.

  The air whistles in and out of Master Somjing’s mouth. “After you got caught stealing food for your friend, I was one of your…well, I was your most vocal opponent. In fact, I didn’t even want to give you another chance. I always knew you were a sweet girl, Vela, but I thought you were soft. Malleable. I thought there was no way you were qualified to be our next ruler.” He stops. “And now…”

  “Yes?” I sneak a glance at his face. He’s watching me, as usual. But instead of searching for a mistake, he’s looking at me like I might have something to teach him.

  “Now, I think I was wrong. I hope you make the right decision. I hope you prove to the council, and everyone else, that you’re worthy of your father’s confidence. Because I’m starting to root for you.”

  “I’m trying.” The words get stuck in my throat and come out as half air.

  He shakes his head. “Not good enough. Try harder.”

  …

  The day is a slow-burning candle, melting time in small, imperceptible moments, leaving behind an ever-growing pile of cooled wax and minutes. One by one the candidates drop out, until there are only two left. Zelo, that lovely boy. And Carr.