Starstuff

by Kaylim

says.

  Yallie offers her a hand up and they stand in the middle of the star-filled room.

  “Me too,” Yallie confesses, eyes bright and determined, “that’s why I train so hard.”

  Ajita’s breath catches, “You are going to see the stars?”

  “If I make the cut, then yes, I will.”

  “How?” Ajita grasps the fabric of Yallie’s shirt.

  A bright star passes over Yallie’s face as she hesitates, and Ajita wonders what Yallie must see in Ajita’s eyes, because after the star moves on, the hesitation is gone and she’s pulling her through the constellations.

  “Let me show you.”

  The corridors seem to fold in on themselves, like they’re going around in circles. Yallie walks fast, like she’s flying through the hallways, and Ajita doesn’t have much time to observe what’s around them. The blue hallways become filled with noise, the clink of doors and machines, the hum of electronics, and the loud voices of Trainees. Yallie yanks her into a side room, and then into a side hallway, one that is narrow and dank and dim and contains pipes and panels that blink slowly, regularly. Yallie leads her into another dingy room, down a flight of stairs and then she stops by a door and puts a finger to her lips.

  It takes Ajita a moment to realize that maybe she’s not supposed to be here. She closes her mouth tightly, hand sweaty in Yallie’s, and their eyes meet. Yallie breathes out, long and slow, and then the door disappears.

  The room is blue and long, and a gigantic window dominates the wall opposite them. The room is otherwise empty and the air seems rather stale and still. It reminds Ajita of the Observation Hall. Yallie squeezes her hand, and her eyes have a fierce look to them, her face filled with a breathless, nervous sort of excitement, and she leads her to the window.

  A cavern-like structure yawns before them. It’s the largest room Ajita has ever seen, and it expands far above their heads and far below them. Pipes, steam, data-filled screens, elevators and staircases twist through the room, coming together in an organized sense of chaos, a tableau of grey, blue and white. Trainees, dozens, maybe even hundreds of them, scurry about. There are no Students here, no Instructors in black.

  The Trainees carry screens and tools, and work on kiosks that control huge pieces of machinery that create bright sparks. Large screens display data, graphs, and blueprints. There is so much movement that Ajita isn’t sure where to look, how to make sense of it.

  “Look,” Yallie says, and she’s right behind her, right next to her ear.

  She puts a finger against the window and Ajita’s eyes are drawn to where she is pointing. At first she doesn’t understand what she’s looking at, doesn’t understand what they are. But years of dreams and years of Lessons coalesce in her mind, and she’s able to find the word.

  “Ships,” she says, voice quiet and strained.

  A row of silvery-blue rockets gleam in the room below.

  “Yes,” Yallie says.

  Ajita rips her gaze from the ships, turning to Yallie as if to double-check that she isn’t seeing things. Never have the stars felt so close. Yallie leans in close to the window, her breath misting over the surface, her eyes focused on the rockets.

  “This is why I train,” she whispers, lips curving, “a chance to see the stars and live among them. To explore the rest of the galaxy, and maybe even those beyond it.”

  Ajita places a hand against her chest, feels her heart’s thumpa-thumpa, and thinks that her and Yallie’s hearts must beat the same.

  “I want to see them too,” she whispers.

  Yallie’s lips downturn and Ajita’s heart drops.

  “I wish we could see them together,” Yallie says quietly.

  “Are Students not allowed to go on the ships?” she asks, and the stars seem to be drifting farther and farther from her reach.

  “Trainees are not Students and Students are not Trainees,” Yallie explains.

  Ajita steps back, letting go of Yallie’s hand, and her face stings, “Why are you a Trainee and I a Student?”

  Yallie purses her lips and says carefully, “We are different.”

  “We do not get to choose whether we become a Trainee or a Student?”

  “No.”

  “What do Students become then?” she asks, wondering why Yallie knows all this, why she has the answers and Ajita doesn’t.

  “They are Students,” Yallie says carefully, “it is important that you continue to learn and do Tasks. The more you learn, the different Tasks you can accomplish.”

  Ajita pictures herself cleaning scanners for days upon days, as the answer box continually blinks at her, empty empty empty empty.

  “We are taught so that we can do Tasks?” she asks, bewildered.

  Yallie nods, “Yes. We all must be productive. We all must put our knowledge to good use. What is the point of learning if you do not use the knowledge?”

  “I don’t want to do Tasks forever,” Ajita snaps, “I don’t like what we learn, either.”

  Yallie shrugs one shoulder, vaguely apologetic, and looks rather bewildered herself.

  “You have a goal,” Ajita gestures to the ships, “you have something you Train for. Something you want to Train for. Why can’t I?”

  Yallie fidgets and doesn’t meet her eye, “We can try and find a Task that is better suited to you. You are...rather unique, even among Students. I am sure I am not the only one baffled by and curious about your star bears and art.”

  Ajita pauses, trying to figure out if that was insulting or not, and decides to cross her arms and stare at the ships. Yallie clears her throat gently, and her fingers flit against Ajita’s. Ajita doesn’t let her take her hand.

  “You get this look,” Yallie says quietly, as if to assure her she wasn’t insulting her, “when you create. Like you’re seeing things others can’t.”

  Ajita closes her eyes and swallows.

  “You too,” she admits, thinking of Yallie when she talks about numbers or conducts research in the databases.

  “I wanted to see what you were seeing,” Yallie whispers.

  Ajita nods to show that she feels the same way. She doesn’t pull away when Yallie takes her hand, doesn’t resist when Yallie tugs her towards the door, doesn’t flinch at the clink as the door shuts behind them; and when she opens her eyes she’s back in the grey corridors, and she’s convincing herself that she doesn’t yearn or regret. When she falls asleep she’s not thinking of star bears, art or kissing. She’s thinking of one word: escape.

  The night envelops her and the long reeds sting her legs as she gallops through them. She’s back in the forest, with the humming insects and bright moon. Behind her, three shadows follow. She runs without really feeling it, knowing with some fatalistic sense that her night is almost at its end. Her pacing slows, and the trees close in, the gaps between them becoming narrower and narrower until a ring forms around her and she stares at the tall, thick trees blocking her escape. There is the crunchcrunchcrunch of the three hunters stepping out from their shadows. She hangs her head, and with a heavy grunt, turns around to face them.

  Instead, Yallie stands there in the moonlight, frail and tall in her blue uniform, her hair and eyes illuminated. Ajita would dare to call her beautiful.

  “This is what I have been training for,” Yallie says.

  She raises a bow and arrow, gaze steady and determined, eyes bright with the moonlight. She nocks the arrow, pulls it back…and releases the bowstring. With a single forceful shot, Rasjaurom the Great Bear of the Stars…falls.

  When Ajita awakens, her peers do their best to ignore her scream.

  She glares at the ceiling as the Instructor comes in to awaken them and debates between getting up and staying in bed. She settles for lagging behind the other Students, staring at the back of their heads and wondering for the first time where they had all come from. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t remember anything before School. She knows she was small once, barely waist height, learning numbers and letters and speec
h. It has been a while since then, she decides, and all the faces that surround her, they all seem vaguely familiar, but she can’t remember their Numerical Designations. She can’t remember ever wanting to talk to them, but now she wants to know what they remember, and if they know they will be doing Tasks forever.

  They sit at their kiosks, and Ajita ignores the blank answer boxes, turning instead to a Student next to her. She registers, for the first time, that she has short dark hair and pale skin, with a large brown dot on her dainty chin. They must have been sitting next to each other for as long as Ajita can remember, but the details of her face have always escaped her.

  “Student,” she says.

  The Student’s eyes don’t flicker from the screen. Ajita, with a single finger, taps her shoulder. Immediately, her eyes snap to Ajita, shoulder twitching at the contact. She leans away a bit, and Ajita leans closer in response.

  “Student, I have a question for you,” she says.

  The Student’s eyes nervously slide away and she grasps her kiosk tightly, “Instructors are the ones who ask questions; Students are supposed to answer.”

  Ajita huffs a little impatiently, “Since you are Student then, answering my question shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You are not an Instructor,” the Student says, her voice tight.

  She turns back to her kiosk, quickly keying in an answer to a blinking question. Ajita resists the urge to roll her eyes.

  “Student, do you like our Lessons?”

  The Student stills, just for a split second, before continuing to answer questions.

  “Student, do you like our Tasks?”

  Ajita watches her expression closely, and thinks she sees the beginning of a frown.

  “Do you understand the question?” Ajita asks.

  “Your answers are blinking, you should answer them.”

  “Why?”

  “They are there for you to answer them.”

  “What would the point be in answering them?”

  “To get the questions correct.”

  “Why does correctness matter?”

  “Correctness implies one is learning.”

  “What is the point of learning?”

  The Student opens her mouth, perhaps automatically, so used to having all of the answers, but she says nothing.

  “Do you like what we are learning?” Ajita asks.

  The Student’s mouth shuts with a click and her lips are pressed tight, and Ajita wonders if she even knows what the phrase means.

  “I like to paint,” Ajita offers.

  “Paint?” the Student asks, wary.

  She’s looking at the kiosk but Ajita thinks she’s not really seeing it.

  Ajita’s lips curve, “Yes. Drawing. Creating art.”

  “Those words have not been in any Introduction I have read.”

  “A drawing, a piece of art, or a painting, is something created with one’s imagination that takes a visual form.”

  The Student looks perplexed and her answers go blinkblinkblink.

  Ajita decides to test out one final set of questions, “Student, why are we in School? Why do we do Tasks? What is our purpose?”

  Very slowly, the Student shakes her head.

  “Student.”

  Ajita jumps and turns around. Behind her, an Instructor looms. She squints at him suspiciously, and once he is sure he has her attention, he gestures for her to stand up.

  “Follow me,” he says.

  They walk to the door, but before they leave, the Instructor turns around. He addresses the Student Ajita had been talking to.

  “Student, finish your Lesson. Answer the questions.”

  The Student comes out of her stupor and begins to key in answers, looking rather relieved. Ajita rolls her eyes and follows the Instructor out of the room.

  She sits in front of three Instructors she has only seen briefly before. There’s a large kiosk screen on the wall next to them, but otherwise the room is empty. The woman Instructor briefly confers with the two men Instructors, too quiet for her to hear, before addressing Ajita.

  “Student, we have decided to redo