Star-Crossed

by Pintip Dunn

  His eyes narrow, and I get the reason for the tattoos. The resemblance is uncanny. “Why? Are you having some trouble?”

  “No, no trouble,” I say quickly. “I want to be prepared, that’s all.”

  “I haven’t heard anything.” He glances at the far side of the bank, where some of the Fittest families have gathered. I can’t tell if he’s imagining their culpability or protecting them. “But I’ll keep an ear out.”

  I thank him once more and head back to my seat. Cyprus didn’t agree to my proposal, and I didn’t learn anything new, but I feel less jumpy. More like I might have an ally.

  Carr surfaces when I reach Astana. He hoists his eighth rock onto the shore and falls back onto the long grasses that extend over the water, completely spent.

  I check Jupiter’s pile. He’s stacked his rocks in groups of ten, so they’re easy to count. Thirty-six. Just a little while longer, Carr. Hold on, and you’ll be done soon.

  “I can’t believe he’ll work himself to physical collapse when all I’ve ever done is disappoint him,” Astana says, tears ringing her voice as her brother dives back down.

  “He loves you. No matter what, he’ll always love you. That’s not how he feels about me.” I force myself to laugh. “I don’t think he’ll ever speak to me again.”

  I want her to contradict me, to tell me her brother only needs time to come around. But she doesn’t.

  Her silence, more than anything else, makes me wilt. Astana knows him better than anyone. If there was any hope, she would tell me.

  At that moment, Jupiter deposits his fortieth rock to the pile. And then, Carr’s hand breaks through the surface—only to sink down again.

  I leap off the tree trunk. “Did you see that?” I rush to the edge of the stream and squint. There, under the water’s splashes, is a thrashing form.

  Without another thought, I dive into the water. I can’t see past the bubbles, but I propel myself forward as fast as I can, and when I hit a solid mass, I wrap my arms around him and yank up.

  Nothing happens. He’s too heavy, and I can’t get any traction in the water. No. I’ve got Carr in my arms now, and I won’t let him drown just because I don’t have the strength. Gritting my teeth, I wrap my arms more securely around his chest and scissor my feet as hard as I can. We move forward a few inches, but then begin to sink down in the water again.

  My lungs burn. The air inside is becoming short; panic makes it even shorter. But I won’t give up. Not yet. Not ever. I lock together my fingers, trying to get a better grip, when his body is jostled against me. Suddenly, York has a hold of his legs, and Jupiter latches onto Carr’s upper body, easing my strain. Reinforcements. Thank you, Dionysus.

  Together, we kick upward and break the surface. A few of the other candidates have reached us, and they help us drag him onto the shore. Carr sputters and chokes. A long, torturous moment later, he rolls onto his hands and knees and continues to cough, expelling a lungful of stream water.

  After an entire minute, he sinks to the ground, and his cheek squishes in the mud. The medics on standby descend on him with a stretcher.

  “Carr. Are you okay? Please say you’re okay. Please.”

  He opens his eyes as the medics move his body onto the stretcher. “I always knew you would save me back.”

  My heart breaks. Splits cleanly in two like it’s been whacked by a cleaver. This outcome was exactly what I wanted. There’s no way Carr can win now.

  So why do I feel like I’ve lost everything?

  Chapter

  Twenty-Four

  “Jupiter!” half the crowd screams the next day.

  “Zelo!” the other half thunders back.

  “JUPITER!” The first group shouts even louder.

  “ZELO!” The second group will not be beaten.

  Master Somjing and I stand on the metal platform at the top of Proctector’s Courtyard. The entire colony has turned up to watch the Fittest announcement ceremony. People stand shoulder-to-shoulder on the lawn, and I can’t see a single patch of green grass.

  Horns blare incessantly, and colorful streamers shoot across the courtyard like volleyballs. Banners featuring Jupiter’s and Zelo’s faces wave in the air.

  Everyone has their favorites, but no one knows who will win. One thing is clear: either Jupiter or Zelo will emerge as the Fittest after the ceremony. There’s no other choice. Both boys had strong showings in all four challenges. Jupiter won the last task, but Zelo won the third. Jupiter finished second in the endurance challenge, but Zelo tied for first in the incentive one. CORA itself will have to compare the relative strengths of each boy and determine the winner.

  I thought I’d feel differently right about now. Knees liquid with relief, heart pulsing with victory. I achieved all my goals—Carr’s not the Fittest. And Zelo, the candidate I’d pushed from the beginning, is one of the two final contenders.

  Instead, my stomach feels like it’s plummeting off the side of Bubble Falls. One of these two boys is going to die, and I helped put him here. Out of all the people in this colony, I am the single most instrumental person in this boy’s death.

  This scenario is exactly what the council intended. They wanted to see how I would hold up under the weight of such responsibility. The answer? Not well.

  “What do you think, Princess Vela? Are you ready for this announcement?” Master Somjing watches a guy climb onto his friend’s shoulders, beat his naked chest, and let loose a primal yell. “Are they?”

  I skim my eyes over the candidates in the front row. I can’t bear to look at Zelo or Jupiter—much less Carr. Blanca stands with Hanoi and some of the Aegis around the refreshment table. The Aegis munch on thin wafers topped with avocado and fish roe. They’re certainly not hungry—we finished the mid-afternoon meal an hour ago—but this ceremony is one more opportunity to boost their caloric intake. Even Hanoi nibbles delicately on a wafer. This snack must be part of her food allotment for the day.

  At the side of the stage, hands flash as a pair of guards exchange pills, no doubt placing a bet, and Denver stands by himself on the edge of the row of candidates, Astana conspicuously missing.

  “Master Somjing, would you mind reading the name CORA chooses?” My voice wavers. I don’t bother to hide the tremor, the way I would’ve at the beginning of the Trials. “I don’t trust my reaction.”

  “Certainly,” he says, with a sympathy which makes me wonder if he understands more than I assumed.

  It’s raining outside, in the real planet, and the red drops hit the shield in colorful splatters high over our heads. Inside the bubble, the sun lamps cast everything in a warm glow. You might not even know the light wasn’t natural if you didn’t look up.

  Does anyone else see the irony of this setting? The celebration of an entire courtyard, while somebody, somewhere, mourns the impending loss of their loved one. The cheers on the outside, and the tears on the inside. We are the exact opposite of the drops outside the bubble, but both the rain and the tears are dangerous. The former, because it is acidic. The latter, because it can just as surely burn a hole through your soul.

  A bot enters the courtyard and rolls down an unfurled carpet, and the chanting dies. It is a Regal Bot, its procession slow and stately, one of its mechanical arms held at a right angle and waving from the wrist. It carries, in the opposite hand, a folded cloth.

  CORA could’ve zapped the name of the Fittest directly to one of our handhelds, but Master Somjing wanted drama and ritual. He wanted to honor the Fittest boy from the first moment.

  Back on Earth, the winner of any major contest was revealed in a white envelope made of a substance called paper. On Dion, we don’t have paper products of any kind, so a scrap of fabric will have to do.

  The bot reaches the platform. Master Somjing bends down to take the cloth, and a girl clutching Jupiter’s arm moans. My heart pounds, so loud and hard that my entire body becomes one pulsing point.

  Master Somjing unfolds the cloth and hesitates. I brace myself, not
sure whether I want to hear Jupiter’s or Zelo’s name.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Aegis and colonists.” His amplified voice booms over the courtyard. “I am honored to announce that CORA’s choice for the Fittest is…Carr Silver!”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Five

  The Fittest is Carr Silver…Carr Silver…Carr Silver…

  For one long, unending moment, there is silence. In my mind, the moment loops around to infinity and back, in between the space of each tightly pressured heartbeat.

  Impossible. How could CORA have spit out Carr’s name? How? He lost the last challenge by thirty-two blocks. There’s no way his previous performances could’ve made up for that. No way. There has to be a mistake.

  One of the candidates begins to clap. Another joins in, and then another. Denver adds his hands to the noise. And then Blanca and Hanoi and Master Somjing and two or three other council members and the royal guards ringing the crowd. Pretty soon, everyone is clapping and cheering.

  Everyone, that is, except for me—and maybe Carr.

  I find him in the front row, five people to the right of the flagpole. As much as I tried not to see him, I always knew where he stood. I expected triumph or maybe shock, his mouth smiling or his features frozen.

  But I see neither. Instead, he stares at me, his eyes wide and imploring. Begging me…for what? CORA already made its decision. What else does he want from me?

  And then I remember. Of course. I have one more decision left. The veto.

  Even now, Master Somjing’s moving toward me, his fingers outstretched as the clapping dies. He clasps my upper arm and turns me to face the crowd.

  “Before we crown Carr as the Fittest, is there anything you would like to say, Princess Vela?”

  “I…” The words get stuck in my throat.

  Just say it. I choose to exercise my veto. Carr is not a worthy candidate. He is not fit to represent our colony.

  The ground tilts, and I stumble, trying to find my balance. Sweat beads on my forehead, and a drop slips past my brow and into my eye. I blink rapidly, but it still burns, as though I’ve been splashed with hot oil from a frying pan.

  It would be so easy. This nightmare could be over in a matter of seconds. My one chance to turn things around. It’s what I’d planned all along, should we come to this.

  Well, that unthinkable moment is here. I can make the horror go away. All I have to do is say the words. Don’t look at Carr.

  Just. Say. It.

  “I…”

  Of their own volition, my eyes seek him out. The boy of my dreams glares at me, and even though everything about him is hard—hard lines, hard muscles, hard ridges—my eyes automatically find the soft parts of him. A square of cheek, underneath the slash of his cheekbones. The hollow below his Adam’s apple. His lower lip, full and pink below the thin upper line. It’s these soft parts that clog the sentence inside me. They are the underwater vegetation that stops my words from draining out.

  “Do you know of any reason why Carr should not be selected as the Fittest?” Master Somjing prompts.

  I look at Carr across fifty feet. I am trying to save your life. Who will care about honor and integrity when your body is nothing but ashes released into space?

  His spine straightens, his jaw clenches. And I can hear his words as clearly as if he’s spoken them. I am trying to save my sister. This result is what we’ve both been working toward since the beginning.

  My knees slosh around like gelatin. Any moment now, they’ll spill onto the platform and bring my whole body down. No. You don’t have to do this. Cyprus Mead will bring the Fittest families around. Blanca will come up with a solution. We can save you both.

  If he understands, he chooses not to listen. His eyes continue to glare. This is your chance to redeem yourself. To show me and the world you can make the right decisions. To prove to the council you have what it takes to be the Successor.

  “Vela?” Master Somjing’s voice is gentle, as if he understands the debate raging in my head, the one taking place in sharp, silent glances across the courtyard. “We need an answer. Do you choose to exercise your veto? Is Carr Silver worthy to represent this colony?”

  Worthy? The word washes over me, chopping my joints, puréeing my muscles. I’m back in Protector’s Pond and my breath comes in gasps, as if I only have a moment to fill my lungs before the water drags me under again.

  Memories assault me. Carr in the royal kitchens, handing peach-colored pills to his mother for a pat on the head. Astana dozing under two heavy blankets, while her brother sleeps by her side in threadbare pajamas. Carr telling me he is loved only because of the things he does.

  Can I really announce before the colony that this boy is unfit? Integrity is everything to him. Without his character intact, he’ll never be proud of who he is, ever again. He’ll never believe he’s worthy of love. Can I destroy, in a single moment, everything he’s worked for in his nineteen years?

  I open my mouth. The cool air hits the back of my throat, and my tonsils shiver. Every last inch of me cowers at the decision before me.

  Because there’s only one possible answer. Only one response I can give and still live with myself.

  “Is Carr worthy?” My voice is raw and hoarse, as if it’s been years instead of a few minutes since I last spoke. The crowd before me spins in slow, undulating waves. “Yes, Master Somjing. Carr Silver is worthy. In fact, he is the worthiest, most honorable boy I know.”

  Someone gasps. It might be one of the council members. Perhaps the sound comes from Blanca. I don’t turn to find out who. I lock my gaze with Carr’s. Instead of cold and hard, his eyes are now pools of caviar, dissolving in my mouth, melting my insides.

  “Let me be perfectly clear, Princess Vela,” Master Somjing says. “You are choosing not to exercise your power of veto?”

  There’s got to be some other way. To prove this is all a mistake. To save him still.

  “That is correct.”

  “Then, Carr Silver…” Master Somjing pauses. His words ring out across the courtyard, powerful, authoritative. Legally binding. “I pronounce you the boy fit to die for the King!”

  A piece of my heart detaches from the whole, burning itself out of existence the way the incinerator obliterated my mother’s dead body. But I don’t regret my decision. I can’t.

  It is the right thing to do.

  …

  The next few minutes pass in a blur. Carr disappears from my vision as the crowd swarms him. Rainbow confetti blasts out of the air nozzles hidden in the four corners of the courtyard, and the King’s anthem pipes through the loudspeakers. An instant later, Carr pops up again, hoisted onto the shoulders of his fellow candidates, so high he is framed against the red raindrops falling on our energy shield.

  I suppose they mean to put him on a hero’s pedestal. But all I can think, when I see him up there, is of a lonely strip of plantain jerky, left out to dry.

  My shoulders tense into thick, hard knots. This isn’t a celebration, I want to shout. The only thing Carr’s “won” is a death sentence.

  But the people are well past speeches. They drop Carr to the ground and surge toward the libations that have magically appeared on long white tables. Champagne in glass flutes for the Aegis, hydrangea-blue pills for the others.

  I sweep my eyes across the crowd, looking for Carr. In the space of a second, he’s disappeared again.

  Zelo lopes up the steps to the platform. As he approaches, he spreads his long-fingered hand across his chest, both a salute and a resignation.

  “I’m sorry,” I say and then cringe. Sorry for what? Sorry CORA didn’t pick him? Sorry he’s not going to die? “I thought you would win. Either you or Jupiter. But if there’s been a mistake, I’ll find it. I can promise you that.”

  “That’s the way life goes. I suppose I’ll have to find some other way to fulfill God’s will.” His voice is a mixture of sorrow, loneliness—and relief? Can that be?

  He turns to leave.r />
  “Zelo, wait. Are you happy you didn’t win?”

  “Of course I’m not happy. This was my choice, my destiny.” His eyes flash, and something I can’t read, something I don’t understand passes through them. “But in the end, nobody wants to die, Princess. Not even me.”

  He takes the steps two at a time and almost runs across the courtyard, tracing the Regal Bot’s path on the red carpet.

  The acid begins at the bottom of my chest and burns its way up, like it does after a particularly excessive meal. Zelo was the perfect candidate in so many ways. Except one: CORA didn’t choose him.

  I resume my search for Carr. Before I can find him, Master Somjing shuffles to my side.

  “I’m intrigued. You may have made a noble decision. Quite possibly, you may have sacrificed someone about whom you care deeply. But I’m not sure.”

  He’s still holding the cloth from the Regal bot, the one with Carr’s name on it. He tries to hand the cloth to me—for what? as a souvenir?—but I shake my head.

  “You see, there are too many gaps in your recorded conversations with Candidate Carr,” he continues. “Too many places where the data stream stops for the council to understand the exact nature of your relationship with him.”

  So, I’m still being evaluated. There’s probably a team of kinesiologists watching my feed this very instant, taking note of my every movement. Forming a hypothesis of my feelings, complete with margins of error.

  My hands close around the thin wire around my neck. Flipping my collar up, I slide the loop over my neck and hand it to the council member. “Here. I won’t be needing this anymore.”

  But he doesn’t take the loop, just as I refused the cloth. “You’re not finished.”

  “The task is done. The Fittest has been selected. What else is there for me to do?”

  “Acclimate Carr to life in the shuttle. There are two more months until the transplant takes place. As the day approaches, the Fittest sometimes has a change of heart. It’s your job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”