Star-Crossed

by Pintip Dunn

  Relief rushes through me. Two more months that I can continue to earn daily rations for Blanca’s patients. Two more months to uncover CORA’s mistake. Two more months to save Carr.

  “A word of advice.” The lines in his face are deep and unfixable, like a chocolate cake that’s been baked in a too-hot oven. He may be my friend now, but he is still head of the council. “Keep the recorder on when you interact with the Fittest. We can’t evaluate your actions unless we know what they are. We’ve been lenient with you up to this point. But if you don’t keep your end of the bargain, then neither will we.”

  My heart lodges in my throat. “Are you saying…?”

  “Yes, Princess. If you don’t leave the loop on, then we will no longer give food to Blanca’s patients.”

  Straight to the point. As clear as the planet air on a cloudless day. This is how Master Somjing and I communicate best. No fancy words, no blustery threats. Just plain and simple cause and effect.

  I slip the loop back on. “When will the council be done with its assessment?”

  “When we’re sure we have the right Successor.”

  The right Successor. Would the right Successor let her best friend’s brother die for the King? Or would she lie, cheat, and steal to save the ones she loves?

  Maybe neither. Maybe there’s a way for me to save Carr—and maintain my integrity. Because somehow, some way, something went wrong in CORA’s calculation. Carr couldn’t have won that competition, not with those scores. I know this to the very core of my being.

  And I won’t rest until everyone else knows the truth, too.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Six

  “What do you mean, the files are wiped?” My voice is so loud the analysts closest to me stop what they’re doing. At a look from their boss, they return to tapping on their holo-desks, launching see-through images and diagrams into the air.

  “Exactly what I said, Princess,” Captain Perth says. He’s not really a captain, of course. The space shuttles are permanently fixed on land; they’re not going anywhere. But he’s in charge of CORA, which is located on board the ship, so the name stuck. “When an analysis is complete, we copy the inputs and outputs in triplicate. And then, once a week, we transfer everything to a secure off-line storage. Unfortunately, the Fittest files disappeared before we could run our weekly backup.”

  “And there’s nothing you can do to get them back?”

  He shakes his head. Wall-to-wall panels of electronics blink behind him, and so many holograms crowd the air, they overlap. I feel like I’m standing inside the heart of a computer. “We can’t run the algorithms again because the inputs are gone, as if they never existed.”

  Gone. Disappeared like the steam that rises from the craggy rock of the outside planet. It sure puts a damper on my plan to double-check CORA’s analysis. But what if that was the point? What if somebody deleted the data so no one could examine it?

  The hair at the back of my neck stands up. Because the result might not be a simple mistake anymore. It might not be a wrong variable or a mistyped data point. It might be something—or someone—a lot more malicious.

  My saboteur.

  “Can we recreate the inputs?” I force my voice sun-lamp-bright, as if that alone can combat my creeping sense of unease. “Replay all the recordings. Collect the silver discs with the metrics from the candidates. The raw data is there. We only have to reassemble it.”

  “We could.” He taps a disc, similar to the ones Carr and the other candidates wore, on a glass desk. “But that’s a lot of extra work. Why is this data so important? The Trial is over. The Fittest has been named.” His tone is stiff and condescending, as if I’m a little girl who wants to play when the adults are working.

  He looks nothing like Master Somjing. He’s about thirty years younger, for one, and while Master Somjing is slender and bent, Captain Perth has one of those oversize frames with shoulders wider than a doorway.

  But at that moment, he reminds me exactly of the head of our council at the beginning of this task.

  I want to shrink into myself. Captain Perth would never belittle Blanca this way. But she’s in the control room on a daily basis, running the King’s scenarios and researching her own wild thought experiments. They know and respect her here.

  Me? I’m just the Princess who prances around the colony, picking Venus flytraps and shoving them in her father’s face.

  “A lot of people were surprised by the result, and now the data’s missing.” I look him straight in the eye, my voice stronger than I feel. “Someone’s been sabotaging the Trials. We need to make sure he hasn’t been manipulating the data, too.”

  Captain Perth taps the silver disc on the desk some more. Tap, tap, tap. And then he nods.

  The pressure crawls off my chest. “How did the files get wiped?”

  “Either our firewalls were breached”—his tone makes clear how unlikely this scenario is—“or someone with access tampered with the data.”

  “Who has access?”

  He exhales, and his breath stirs the stifling, recycled air. “The control room employees, which we can rule out. They’ve all been vetted through extensive investigations. That leaves the council members. And the royal family.”

  My eyes widen. “Why would any of us mess with the data?”

  “Why would somebody want Carr Silver to be the Fittest?”

  Good question. Who would want Carr dead? His parents? As his legal family, they would receive the same benefits as Astana. And they may not care enough to mourn his death.

  Blanca, a voice inside me whispers. To hurt me so much I drop out of the race for Successor.

  The hairs on my arm match the ones on my neck. “I don’t know who wants Carr dead,” I say. “But I’m going to find out. No matter who he—or she—is.”

  …

  I round a path and come face-to-face with a bee. Sweat breaks out all over my body. My throat feels sticky, like it might be gummed up with honey from the combs. After trying to save everyone else, my life is going to end like my mother’s—by the sting of a bee.

  Except this one’s behind the mesh screen of a cage. And I’m not actually allergic to the insect the way my mom was.

  Still, I take a deliberate step back.

  The Bee Park, located behind the medical facility, is one of the few places in our colony where there’s space for space’s sake. Part honey farm, part garden, and part escape, it boasts twisting pathways, shady trees, and flower beds. And, of course, bee hives. Hundreds and hundreds of bee hives.

  Closing my eyes, I breathe in the rioting scents of azaleas, roses, and hydrangeas. The low, incessant buzzing hums in my ears. I’m acting ridiculous. It’s just a bee. It can’t hurt me.

  I force myself to turn down a path in search of Astana, passing honeycombs in stackable boxes and cross-pollinators flying freely in cages. The colony founders probably thought the bees would make good pets. The medical patients seem to enjoy watching them buzz back and forth, anyway.

  But I wish we had real pets, like the soft, furry animals I’ve seen in the data feeds. However, the scarcity of food means we can’t waste any of our nutrition on non-humans. The only exceptions are creatures that can aid us with farming or terraforming: insects and moles, fish and plankton.

  Five turns and three cages later, I finally spot Astana, like the bot said I would.

  Her wheelchair’s been pulled onto a grassy knoll, and Denver holds a cage in front of her. Carr stands behind the chair, his hands wrapped around the handles.

  “Get that thing away from me.” My friend’s shrill voice pierces through the insect drone. She’s not crying, but old tears track down her cheeks like the veins on a pregnant woman’s legs.

  Denver strokes his finger along the cage, as though caressing the insects. “The bees are supposed to be therapeutic.”

  “I told you she wasn’t going to be comforted,” Carr says. A few seconds later, he looks up and sees me. “Vela.” His teeth clamp down,
as though my name is an admission ripped from his mouth.

  “You!” Astana lunges from her chair, the intravenous tube ripping from her wrist. “You promised! You promised you wouldn’t let Carr be the Fittest. How could you do this to me? To us?” Her voice pitches, so hysterical it knocks us both over. Or maybe that’s just her body. We fall to the ground, and my breath flattens out of my lungs. The purple sky wavers above me, and pain roars against my cheeks.

  “This is your fault. My brother’s dead because of you. Dead.”

  I feel my cheeks and come away with blood. She scratched me. My best friend, who wouldn’t swat a fly, just raked her nails across my face.

  The talons rear up, ready to take another swipe, when they’re caught in midair. A moment later, the weight disappears off my chest.

  “I’m not dead.” Carr scoops up his sister and carries her to the wheelchair, a safe ten feet away. “I’m right here next to you.”

  “You will be. She could’ve saved you. And she didn’t.”

  “I didn’t want her to.” He unfolds first one footrest and then the other, tucking her feet onto them. “I want to be the Fittest. I want to die to save the King. To save you.”

  I sit up. The scratches sting, but they’re nothing compared to the welts swelling up my heart. “I haven’t given up.” I taste blood along with my oath. “The transplant’s not for another two months. A lot can happen in that time.”

  She buries her face in her hands. “Like what?”

  “Like, maybe Carr isn’t supposed to be the Fittest. Maybe there was a mistake in CORA’s calculation. Maybe somebody messed with the data.” I tell them about the tampered challenges, the wiped files. “If there’s sabotage, I’ll find it. You’ll see.”

  Astana peeks over her nails, interest taking the edge off her despair, but Denver’s hands tighten on the bee cage. “I don’t think you should give her false hope.” My cousin’s voice shakes, as if worry over Astana has used up all his warmth. “It’ll only make things worse.”

  “The Trials are finished,” Carr adds. “You have to let me go.”

  “I can’t.” I crawl to Astana’s wheelchair, even though it puts me within range of her nails. She might be mad, but she’s my only ally in this whole mess. “This hurts me, too.” My voice breaks along with my heart. “Don’t you see? Making that decision destroyed me, but I couldn’t dishonor Carr by announcing to the entire colony that he was unfit.”

  “At least he’d still be alive.”

  “Not on his terms.”

  Her head snaps up. “Yeah? You want to hear my terms?”

  She jumps out of the chair and shuffles over to a free-standing bee cage. The three of us freeze, like candidates an instant before the starting horn.

  “I never asked you to give up so much for me,” she says to her brother, the bees buzzing like royal guards at her back. She shifts her eyes to me. “And I never expected you to make a promise you couldn’t keep. If you won’t save my brother, I’ll do it myself.”

  She turns, and time slows as if we’re approaching a black hole. An eternity passes as her hand reaches…up…up…up toward the door of the cage. I have another year to think: Bees. My mother. She’s taking away his reason to be the Fittest.

  She’s taking away his reason to be the Fittest.

  Time speeds up again, and she’s moving fast. Too fast. Hand grasping the handle, latch twisting, door opening.

  “Denver!” I scream. “The bees! She’s trying to kill herself with the bees!”

  He leaps and knocks her hand away, slamming the door closed before a single bee can escape.

  I drop to my knees, and sobbing overtakes me. The kind of sobbing you hear from the universe when a star is cleaved out of existence. But when I lift my eyes and meet Carr’s, I realize I’m not the one crying, after all.

  The keening comes from Astana. Her knees are pulled to her chest, and she rocks on the ground as though she will never stop.

  Denver presses his forehead against hers and whispers. Yet, I hear the words so clearly they might as well be branded in my heart.

  “Don’t you ever leave me,” he says. “I will never get over missing you. Do you understand? The most important part of me dies with you.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Seven

  “This is the residential floor.” I lead Carr down the narrow, steel-plated hallway. The ceiling starts twelve inches above his head, and every twenty feet, an oval hatch is cut into the wall, with a wheel in the center of each door. “My father, Blanca, and I each have a unit near the center capsule, and the rest of the Aegis sleep in one of the side corridors. During the space journey, these cells were used to store raw materials from Earth. One cell for each material…”

  I keep up the constant monologue. Ever since we left Denver and Astana in the Bee Park, we haven’t exchanged a single personal word. In fact, we haven’t really spoken, not about anything that matters, since he asked me to leave his recovery room.

  Me, because my emotions are all used up. Carr’s been selected as the Fittest. My best friend’s no longer speaking to me. She’s finally guaranteed to receive food—although not in a way I’m willing to accept.

  I don’t have any real words left. Even for Carr. Especially for Carr.

  Him? I’d guess it has something to do with the recorder around my neck. When I glance over my shoulder, he’s not looking at me but at the blinking amber light at my collar.

  I wish I could turn off the loop, give us a chance for private conversation. But I can’t. The daily food rations of a dozen patients are at stake.

  Clearly, Carr no longer hates me. Ever since I chose not to exercise the veto, his face has been softer when he looks at me. His body less rigid. But I don’t know what that means. I don’t know if he’s forgiven me or is merely tolerating me. Are we headed back to where we were? Or is polite civility the best for which I can hope?

  If it’s the second, I think I’d rather not know.

  “Stop here.” I spin the wheel on a door, and it swings open. “This will be your living unit. This cell was used to store frozen embryos, so there shouldn’t be any lingering smell.”

  Carr steps into the cell, and I follow him. The room inside is more spacious than you’d expect, with the same built-in furniture as the colonists’ living units.

  He fiddles with a latch and out pops a sink. Another latch, and out comes the bed. It’s like the hologram cubes: you never know what you’re going to get.

  I tap the black cube embedded in the wall, and immediately we’re surrounded by holographic water. Not the plain, clear water you find inside the bubble, but rings of iridescent color as brilliant as jewels—sapphire, emerald, topaz, garnet. The kind of waters you only find in the real planet. The kind Carr used to encounter in his job as a terraforming specialist.

  “You can upload the cube with any holo-vid you want.” I look at the fake water swirling around my feet. Instead of the stunning blue, somehow all I see are the deep black coals of Carr’s eyes. “I chose the hot springs because of your job.”

  “You knew I would miss the view.” It is a statement, not a question. “Even if these colors come from bacteria and algae, you knew they would calm me if I ever woke from a nightmare.”

  I flush. I wish I knew him so well. My mother used to be able to look at a dinner menu and know exactly what my father would order. Knowing a vid preference is similarly intimate, especially since Carr doesn’t eat. But the truth is, I was only guessing.

  “I’ve never seen these waters in real life.” I shuffle my feet through the image. “I’ve never even been outside the bubble. My father thinks it’s too dangerous.”

  “I’d like to show you sometime.” His voice is gruff with an emotion I don’t understand. But whatever he’s feeling, it’s not polite civility.

  He sits on the bed. Although there’s room for me to join him, he doesn’t ask. The last time he cleared a space for me, I snuggled against his chest—and he kissed me. I can still
feel the tingles in my toes.

  All of a sudden, I can’t bear if I’m misreading his signals. What if he’s waiting for me to leave so he can take a nap?

  “I have to go,” I blurt, stumbling across the holographic water to the door. The illusion looks so real, I’m surprised my feet don’t get soaked.

  “Vela, wait,” he says. But when I turn, his eyes fasten on the loop. “There’s so much I want to say to you.”

  I know exactly what he’s asking. I’ve done it so many times, the motion’s starting to feel automatic. See Carr; turn off loop. Only this time, I can’t.

  “I can’t turn off the recorder,” I say. “The council will take away the patients’ daily food rations if I do.”

  We stare at each other. The urgency of what we might have said disappears, and the minutes pass as the colored water laps at our feet, again and again.

  “Will you sit down?” he says finally.

  It is—and isn’t—the invitation for which I’ve been waiting. I sit at one end of the mattress, my arms stiff at my sides. Leaving at least a foot between us.

  He looks once again at the blinking amber light around my neck. And then he grasps the loop and turns it around, his fingertips brushing against my collarbone and igniting a trail of fire. “There. At least we won’t have to look at the light.”

  I touch the skin where he touched. I almost feel like I’m back in the red cells, holding up my finger against a ray of light.

  “Do you think my sister will try to commit suicide again?” he asks.

  Her sobs fill my ears like a recording. “I think—I hope—she was as scared as we were. Denver seemed to get through to her. And if not, I’ve got a bot on her every moment of the day.”

  “When can we get her off the feeding tube?”

  “Not for a while.” My skin still burns from his fingers, but our conversation is stiff. What did I expect? With the council listening, all we can do is talk logistics. “The crowning ceremony is tomorrow, and the King will welcome your sister and parents into the shuttle. Even though Astana’s been consuming a daily ration, her stomach’s not used to eating much food. She’ll have to be on a regimen of expander pills for at least a week before she transitions completely.” I stop, a thought occurring to me. “Your parents are coming, aren’t they?”