Tarnished Are the Stars

by Rosiee Thor

  Thatcher chuckled. “He wanted my help, of all things. His son, barely older than you were, was ill—in desperate need of a doctor—and your parents knew exactly who to call.”

  “The warrant was only a trick?”

  “It worked, and lucky it did. The Commissioner’s son was destined for an early death. He bore all the signs of heart disease—of Tarnish. I’d never treated it with any lasting success before, and with the technology allowed, I could do very little.”

  Anna’s jaw dropped as the pieces began to fall into place.

  “I built that boy a TICCER—out of an old clock they had on hand—in exchange for your life. You’re alive because he’s alive, but I—” He took in a sharp breath. “I never expected him to live this long. After we left the Settlement and you developed a similar condition, and I saw the many faults of my design, I was sure: Without my help, that boy should have died years ago. But it seems you, of all people, found him.”

  “Do you mean—”

  “Your new client is the Commissioner’s son.”

  Anna’s blood ran cold. How could she have been so naive? And yet, how could she have known? Settlement politics interested her only when they concerned her, and since the Commissioner’s laws applied only to those who cared, she hadn’t paid any attention to the succession—she hadn’t even been aware that the Commissioner had an heir.

  “You knew all along,” Anna growled. But she couldn’t be angry with Thatcher, not when she’d spent all her anger on Nathaniel, though her anger at him was misdirected, too. He’d done nothing suspect. Perhaps he truly was just a young man with metal he didn’t understand. Maybe it didn’t matter who his father was. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  Thatcher raised his eyebrows. “I’m telling you now.”

  “But I could have— If I’d known—”

  “Are you telling me, Deirdre-Anne, that if you’d known, you’d have stayed away?” He sipped at his tea. “I don’t believe for a moment you would have let this mystery go. I know I certainly haven’t.”

  Anna, who had risen halfway out of her seat, paused, hand gripping the edge of the table. “What mystery?”

  Thatcher tilted his head, raised an eyebrow, and said simply, “Him.”

  Any other time, any other day, Anna might have pressed him, might have made him say it, but the truth stared her in the face like a reflection. She’d been so wrapped up in trying to understand why he shared her exact tech, she’d failed to see the bigger picture.

  “He’s the only one,” she whispered. Out of all her patients from the Settlement, she’d never come across one with a TICCER until Nathaniel. She’d never given it much thought—perhaps children with Tarnish simply died in the Settlement. Without the proper care, it made sense.

  But what if it wasn’t a matter of high mortality, but a lack of patients altogether?

  “Why do only those of us in Mechan need TICCERs?” Anna asked, all accusation gone from her tone.

  Thatcher lowered his gaze. “I don’t know.”

  Anna opened her mouth to argue—he always knew. Thatcher had never before admitted defeat, so why now? But it didn’t matter. Nathaniel was the key.

  Thatcher swirled the remaining liquid in his mug. “All I know is that before I left the Settlement, Tarnish had just begun to spread. I only installed the one TICCER—the technology didn’t even exist until I made it for that boy—and now it’s the most common surgery I perform.” He sighed heavily. “The Commissioner’s son is the only boy from the Settlement ever to cross my operating table, and the Settlement has seen no significant drop in its population. The facts are thus: We are still sick, and they are not.”

  Anna sank back into her chair, thoughts swimming wildly in her mind. “The Commissioner’s son,” she whispered, putting her head in her hands. “But he seemed so genuine, like he truly wanted my help!”

  “Deirdre-Anne, just because someone is not who you expect doesn’t mean they are the opposite.”

  Anna narrowed her eyes. How could Nathaniel be anything but the enemy? He was the child of a cruel and discriminatory leader, but he was also like her, one of Thatcher’s patients. She couldn’t imagine what he must have endured living with a father who legislated against his very nature. She should have seen it in his eyes or in his tech—maybe in his words. But Thatcher, who had known Nathaniel only as an infant and had felt the wrath of the Commissioner firsthand, looked past Nathaniel’s position to recognize his humanity.

  Anna looked up, catching Thatcher’s gaze. “I thought you didn’t want me meeting him again.”

  Thatcher nodded solemnly. “He is more danger to you than you are help to him.” He quirked his lips. “But you might yet help someone. Mechan still needs you. We’re getting sicker by the day—Roman is proof of that—but perhaps if you focus your training, you can save us all. You’re treating symptoms by patching him up. Think like a physician instead. Visualize the entire problem and diagnose; do not simply apply the bandage.”

  But Anna wasn’t a physician; she was a mechanic. She knew how to fix things with her hands, how to break something and rebuild it better. She didn’t do what Thatcher did. She didn’t know how to diagnose, how to unravel truths.

  But the mystery burned bright against the insides of her mind, keeping her awake long into the night, looking for answers where she hadn’t known there was even a question.

  When Nathaniel ventured down to the dining room for breakfast the following morning, the Commissioner sat at one end of the long table, politely chewing a scone.

  Nathaniel took a surprisingly painless breath before sitting opposite him.

  “I highly recommend the marmalade.”

  “I like them plain.”

  “Trust me,” said the Commissioner, a hard look on his face. He slid a dish across the table. It landed beside Nathaniel’s plate, a dollop of jam oozing between the dishes.

  He took the offered dish and applied a conservative amount to his breakfast.

  The Commissioner allowed his son to eat in peace for exactly five minutes before he pushed away his own plate. “Come along now, Nathaniel.”

  Nathaniel glanced up from his half-eaten biscuit, feeling some of the undesired jam making its way down his chin. “Where?”

  “Since it appears you lack the discipline to structure your own learning, I will lend you some of mine. I will not allow you to continue in this ruinous fashion.” He sighed, waiting for Nathaniel to stand. “You were right about one thing, however: It’s time you were given more responsibilities. Beginning today, you will attend my council meetings with me.”

  Nathaniel winced as his father’s words cut through him like blades. He couldn’t disagree. He had lacked discipline as of late. The stack of unread tomes on his desk proved that much, as did his muddy boots, set aside for the servants to clean. Still, he’d gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? His father had invited him into the weekly council meeting. It was a step forward.

  So why did it feel like he’d been pushed backward?

  As Nathaniel followed his father toward the council chambers, he tried to banish the feeling of self-pity, but it was embedded in him like the metal around his heart. A leader wouldn’t feel sorry for himself. His father would never feel sorry for himself.

  The room awaiting him on the other side of the doors was wide and expansive—more like a theater than the sort of meeting hall he had imagined. Chairs fanned out in rows from a large wooden table at the center of the room. The reddish wood was carved with leaves and reaching, spiraling vines, reflective of Earth Adjacent’s mission to preserve the natural world. The walls, too, were painted with a mural of nature. Large trees towered overhead, stretching toward a cloudless sky. The whole room gave the illusion that they were outside.

  “Sit.” The Commissioner indicated a chair to his left.

  Nathaniel did as he’d been told and laced his fingers together to wait for the rest of the councilors to arrive. A flood of men and women he mostly knew by sight
began trickling in, filling the seats on all sides so that curious eyes met his wherever he looked.

  “Order.” The Commissioner’s word halted the chatter that filled the room to its rafters. “As you’ve no doubt noticed, my son, Nathaniel, is joining us today. He will do so as a matter of practice in the future. As he is shadowing me for the sake of his education, you may carry on as though he is not present. He will be a silent observer of our proceedings.”

  Nathaniel flushed and dropped his gaze. Perhaps it was for the best; no one would want to hear what he had to say. Anna did, said the voice in his head, but Nathaniel had always been too afraid to listen to anyone but his father. Still, in recent days, Nathaniel had listened to Anna, too. Perhaps he was not so cowardly after all.

  Perhaps someday he could even be brave.

  “Councilor Ming, if you please.” The Commissioner sat.

  A short man Nathaniel recognized promptly bounded from his seat to press a small button at the center table. A hologram flickered into life and a woman appeared, her image an icy shade of blue. Queen Elizabeth swept the room with a veiled gaze. Even though the Queen was his family, Nathaniel had never met her. He was glad of it—if her hologram sent chills down his spine, he shuddered to think what she might be like in person.

  The Commissioner and the councilors stood and bowed to her; Nathaniel followed suit.

  “Begin.” Her voice carried, lacking the peppery quality of the aged Councilor Ming’s.

  “First on the agenda is a petition with”—the Commissioner paused to glance down at his paper—“one hundred and fifty signatures.” He handed the paper to Councilor Ming.

  The councilor bent over the paper and began to read: “ ‘We the people of the Planetary Settlement petition the high office of the Commissioner and his wise council to consider revising Tech Decree Twenty-Eight, which bans all uses of technology on the human body. We ask for an addendum defining the scope of this law and its impact on medical technology.’ ”

  “Do we even need to discuss this?” The Commissioner glanced around at the councilors, soliciting obedience with his eyes.

  “This is the third such petition we’ve received in a month,” said a bearded councilor at the end of the hall.

  The councilor beside Nathaniel shook her head. “You’d think they would tire of being told no.”

  Nathaniel’s mind raced. He would have liked to discuss it, if only to understand the full scope of the petition first, but the assembled councilors either did not share Nathaniel’s curiosity or did not dare raise opposition to the Commissioner.

  “There is no room for movement on this government’s stance on tech. I move to have this petition dismissed.” The Commissioner looked to the councilors for agreement.

  “You’re not even going to consider it?” Nathaniel asked, the words escaping his lips before he could rein them in.

  The Commissioner eyed him darkly. Nathaniel stared at the table, not daring to look up.

  “What was that? Speak up.” The Queen’s voice boomed through the hall, commanding a power even the Commissioner could not. It was a marvel Nathaniel was related to either of them, his own voice so small.

  The Commissioner grabbed the back of Nathaniel’s shirt, pulling him into a standing position. “Speak up for the Queen,” he snarled.

  Nathaniel, still unable to look at his father, cleared his throat. “I— It’s only … If you’ve received this petition three times, might that speak to a larger disquiet among the populace?”

  Councilor Ming nodded, and others exchanged thoughtful glances among themselves.

  Emboldened by their reaction, he continued. “Furthermore, our definition of technology as referred to by these laws is wildly insufficient. It does no one any good to govern on such broad and ill-defined parameters. It seems to me these petitioners seek only to clarify that definition.” The words he spoke were his own, but Anna’s voice reverberated in his head. He hadn’t meant to echo her, though he was surprised at how softly her sentiments landed on his tongue.

  The Queen finally broke the silence that followed. “Well said. Well said, indeed.” Her veiled face rotated slightly toward the Commissioner. “Oliver, you do not give the boy enough credit. He has found a weakness in your laws where others have not—or at least he has the integrity to voice his concerns.”

  At these words, the councilors exchanged nervous glances. A few murmured noncommittally.

  The Commissioner set his jaw, closing his eyes for a moment. “I will not entertain these petitions without first ensuring the safety of the Settlement.”

  Nathaniel cocked his head, remembering Anna’s words. The Tarnished posed no threat to the Settlement if what she’d said was true. She and her fellow tech users simply wanted to be left alone. Why, then, did the Commissioner act as though the Settlement was in constant peril?

  The Queen did not appear fazed by the Commissioner’s fearmongering, and she continued as though he’d not spoken. “Who here agrees that we must clarify these definitions before responding to such petitions?”

  Slamming his fist down on the desk, the Commissioner turned an ashy white and barked, “There will be no petitions while the Technician roams free!”

  Stunned silence permeated the room for a moment before the Queen shook her veiled head. “Commissioner, it would behoove you to remember you are not the only one in this room with the power to make decisions.”

  “You dare give orders in my council room?” the Commissioner growled.

  “I’ll dare as I please, Commissioner.” The Queen jostled her shoulders as if laughing silently. “But I was referring, of course, to your council. Now, revisiting the language in Tech Decree Twenty-Eight to clarify the Settlement’s definition of tech—call for a vote.”

  The Commissioner didn’t move.

  After a few beats of stillness, Councilor Ming cleared his throat. “All those in favor?”

  Every hand in the room shot up in approval, with the notable exception of the Commissioner’s.

  “Well, you have your survey,” said the Queen, gesturing to the many hands in the air. “I would remind you, Commissioner, to interrogate how your doctrine of rigidity serves our greater cause. I admire your commitment to preservation, if not your methods, but we must first seek to build. For without a planetary home that welcomes us all, what is truly worth preserving?”

  “Your Majesty.” The Commissioner bowed, grinding his teeth.

  The Queen’s image disappeared. But where the Queen’s face had been, the Commissioner’s appeared as he crossed the room. A small, spiteful smile tugged the edges of his lips, warning of the punishment yet to come for Nathaniel’s insolence.

  Nathaniel should never have opened his mouth.

  A summons from the Queen could come at any time. Eliza had learned this early in her career as the Queen’s Eyes, once roused from slumber in the middle of the night by a pinging on her wall com. But nothing—not even her beauty rest—was more important than the Queen’s time.

  Today, the Queen’s com arrived in the middle of an arduous afternoon tea with Lady Beatrix and her cohorts. Eliza secured herself a place in the outer ring where she could lounge and read old scannings of Judith Butler and Sappho from her wrist tab, undetected by the other courtiers. She’d only just looked up from her reading to discover Lord Farley eyeing her from across the room, a combination of terror and fury on his face.

  After their last encounter, Eliza didn’t fancy entertaining the lord, so when her wrist tab pinged with the Queen’s message, she was glad to excuse herself.

  When Eliza arrived, the Queen’s door slid open and the Queen beckoned her forward.

  “Eliza, dear. Do sit down,” the Queen said. “I believe I interrupted your tea with Lady Beatrix, but fear not. I’ve made alternate arrangements.” She gestured to a deep blue teapot on her desk.

  Eliza sat opposite her, and though she’d had her fill of tea and sandwiches already, she accepted the Queen’s offer.

  “We
need to discuss the details of your mission,” the Queen said.

  Pleasantries never did last long with the Queen.

  “I’ve just finished quite a revealing discussion with the Commissioner and his council,” she continued, lacing her fingers together on her desk. “It certainly reaffirmed my decision to send you—and now is the opportune moment for your entrance. I believe the Commissioner and his government are primed for infiltration, especially of your subtle variety.”

  Eliza nodded slowly. She’d known her marriage to Nathaniel would be a front for something, but the Queen had yet to relay what.

  “The government is fractured. They follow the Commissioner, of course, as law dictates they must, but his councilors are easily swayed by pretty words.” The Queen laughed. “The body politic is at a crossroads, indeed.”

  “And I’m to destabilize it?” Eliza asked.

  “Destabilize it? Stars, no! Nothing quite so radical.” The Queen dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “No, my son—the Commissioner—has a secret, and I need you to discover it for me.”

  Eliza’s breath caught. Finding secrets was her specialty, though it hadn’t always been. Three years ago, Eliza and her classmates had each been given a slip of paper on which to pen a secret. Then the Queen had instructed them to protect it at all costs. Only those whose secrets went undiscovered but who also revealed a classmate’s secret would advance to the next round of the Queen’s game. It forced them to be guarded but also to strike. It taught Eliza balance.

  So, too, had it taught her trust.

  “What kind of secret?” Eliza asked in barely a whisper.

  The Queen readjusted her veil but did not answer, just as Eliza knew she wouldn’t. It was not in the Queen’s nature to instruct with precision. It left room for interpretation, room for Eliza to find more than what the Queen intended. It made Eliza better at her job.

  Three years ago, it had almost been Eliza’s downfall. The secret she’d committed to ink, perhaps foolishly, had been true. I’d like to kiss Marla, she’d written. It was a secret, after all, and no one was ever supposed to see it. Eliza was the best, and she was going to win—not even Marla and her pretty green eyes could stop her.