Interrogation.
Exclusion.
My skin felt clammy and cold. What if Central thought I had been doing something wrong? I just wanted to find Papa. Was that a crime?
Trembling, I sat back on the edge of the bed. I could come clean to the Colonel and tell him that Baruj was the one who approached me. He was the one who said Papa was alive. But speaking up would only hurt Baruj, and I might lose any chance of getting Papa back.
Papa, what should I do? I closed my eyes and tried to imagine his steady, serious voice. Think. He would tell me to think. Use your head. Don’t lose your head. I grabbed my tablet, flipped it on, and tapped to the files I’d downloaded earlier.
I scanned the list of files. It was mostly his work, drawings of engine components, and schematics for the computers. One folder immediately caught my eye. Sadira. Papa had a folder dedicated to me? I tapped it open. Only one file appeared on the screen; I tapped it open immediately.
Sadira
Birthday present? Puzzle?
Ensure continued contact in case contingency plan is needed.
I wanted to laugh, but it came out a sob. Papa couldn’t have written a complete sentence to save his life. Even though the file was a list of disjointed thoughts, it was coherent enough for me to guess what Papa was driving at.
I had to figure out the puzzle.
The box was wedged tightly into the tip of the old, wrinkled boot against the side of the closet. I yanked the box out, then tapped the sides, watching the colors swirl and shift—red, blue, green, white—rhythmic and hypnotizing. The puzzle seemed so familiar, but I couldn’t place where I had seen something like it before. I wanted to call Dr. DeWitt and ask him about it, but I knew placing a call at this time of night would draw attention. Especially since Mr. Nagi was already suspicious of Dr. DeWitt. Frustrated, I threw the box against the floor.
The puzzle rolled a few times before landing on one face. All the colors on one side now matched, and the box gave a tinny ‘ding!’
I finally knew what the puzzle was. “A Rubik’s cube,” I said under my breath. I climbed out of bed and picked the cube up off the floor. Papa had given me a real Rubik’s cube for my ninth birthday, and I had been enchanted by it. Each twist and turn was a new permutation and new riddle to solve. I had played with it non-stop for weeks.
I hopped back in the bed and tapped the sides of the cube, my fingers flying. I studied the patterns that formed, and then slowed my tapping as I saw the solution start to appear. One face was now covered with green squares, then the next with white, and another with blue. Each time a side was finished, the cube gave a little ‘ding’. I rotated the cube in my hand and tapped two more squares. The last side turned red, and one face of the box unlatched with a click.
There was something stuffed inside the box, but it was too dark to make it out. I put my fingers in the box and tugged out a clear cube. It was filled with a nest of wires in every color, criss-crossing in an intricate knot. At the center of the knot, suspended in the box, was a crystal. It looked like the same type of stone Dr. DeWitt had shown me in his office.
I turned the box over, but I didn’t see a touch screen, switches, or any kind of opening. My shoulders sagged. How did this thing work? “Lights.” The bedroom lights glared down on me. I held the clear box up, studying it to find a seam or a dial or something that might activate it.
The box began to vibrate in my hand. I slapped my forehead. Of course. Dr. DeWitt had said something about photoreceptors. All I had to do was turn the overhead lights on. A touch screen came to life on one side of the clear box. There were only two buttons, both bright red. One, a small circle, appeared to be a dial. I ran my finger around the perimeter of the button, and the box began to hum louder. I spun my finger in the opposite direction, and the box became quieter.
The other button seemed to be a switch. I flicked it back and forth a couple of times. The box squealed softly and then made a clicking noise.
“Dr. DeWitt, Sadira, please respond. This is Mr. Pascal, engineer on board CAS Bright Star. Exact position is unknown. Our ship has crashed, and we are stranded without food or water. One of our party is seriously injured. Please respond.”
I jumped. My heart soared for a short moment. Papa was calling for me. He was alive. Alive!There was a chance to get him back, to bring him home.
But a breath later, a different realization hit me. The box in my hand had to be a radio. A radio. Papa had hidden this from me, from Central. What else had he been hiding?
I listened to the message replay a few more times and ran my hands over the box, searching for a way to respond. The two red buttons were the only marks on the radio, the only way I could see to interact with it. I flipped through my tablet and searched Papa’s notes, but I didn’t see anything else that talked about the puzzle box, or a radio, or how the transparent box in my hand might work.
Though I wanted to keep listening to Papa’s voice, I flicked the switch off, and the box fell silent. It wouldn’t do for the Nagis to hear it. “Off.” The bedroom dimmed. The box’s glow dimmed as well, like a coal surrendering itself to ash. I slipped the box under my pillow. Papa is alive, and I can help him.
Tomorrow, I had to see Dr. DeWitt. Tomorrow, I had to have a plan.
Otherwise, tomorrow, Mr. Nagi was going to report me for interrogation.
It was still the deep navy blue darkness of early morning when I woke, but I could already hear Mrs. Nagi knocking around pots and pans in the kitchen. I cracked open the bedroom door, tiptoed down the stairs, and peered around the corner. She stood alone in the dim kitchen, her head hung low.
“Mrs. Nagi?” I walked over to her, and she jumped. She quickly turned her face from me and wiped her eyes.
“I hope I didn’t wake you. I couldn’t sleep, and I decided I may as well cook.”
“No, you didn’t wake me. Are you feeling well?”
She sniffed. “I’m fine. Really. Come help me knead the bread.” She pulled a misshapen lump of dough from the fridge and slung it on the countertop. “Grab the flour, dear.”
I pulled out a bag of flour, and she dipped her hand in, sprinkling white lines of powder over the surface of the dough and counter. She began beating the dough, punching it and pummeling it with her fists. Sweat dripped down her forehead and mixed with the tears forming in her eyes. She paused for a moment to wipe her face with her sleeve.
“The Colonel said your Papa is gone, right Sadira?”
My throat tightened. “Yes.”
“He told you Henri was dead.”
“Yes, of course.”
“You haven’t heard anything otherwise, have you? No one has told you your father is alive, have they?” Her gaze was piercing, as though she could see the traitorous thoughts that had plagued my mind last night. I swallowed the truth and spoke the words I knew Mrs. Nagi would want to hear.
“No, Mrs. Nagi.”
She returned to her ruthless beating of the dough. Beat, beat, flip. Beat, beat, flip. With each flip of the dough, little sprays of flour sprinkled across her dark blue dress. Her arms moved mechanically, never hesitating, never missing a turn. She stopped abruptly and turned to me.
“I think you’re right, Sadira.”
“About what?” I set the bag of flour on the counter, careful not to spill it.
“About your—you know. Miquel won’t say it. Central won’t say it, so I’ll say it.” Her eyes were heavy with worry; a deep sigh rattled her frame. She leaned in very close to me, her mouth poised right outside my ear.
“You need to leave Samalut. Today. Miquel plans to report you to Central as soon as he wakes up. They’re all hiding something from us. Go find your Papa.” Her voice was barely audible. A chill ran through me, and I shivered. How much did she know, and how much had she guessed at? I stiffened and felt my fingers go cold.
“I packed a bag for you, in the cabinet to the right of the dispenser. Take it. Go.” I pulled away from her and walked over to the cabinet. Sure enough,
a small pouch sat in the far back corner. I pulled it out. It was stuffed with bread and cheese, and at the bottom, wrapped in a plain brown cloth, was one of my spare dresses.
“Why don’t you go take a walk?” she said, much louder than necessary. “It’ll be good to stretch your legs, especially while it’s cool outside.”
What about curfew? Civilians weren’t supposed to be out before oh six hundred, and the darkness outside suggested it was still much earlier than that. I opened my mouth to protest, but no words came out. If I was going to find Papa, I needed to bend a few rules.
“Yes, Mrs. Nagi.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek and walked swiftly upstairs, back to the guest bedroom. I grabbed my tablet and the clear box out from beneath my pillow, shoving them both into the pocket of my dress. They felt heavy in my pocket, but I smoothed my hand over my dress a few times. The pleats hid the fact that I carried anything in there. I fastened my shoes, grabbed my scarf, and headed back down the stairs toward the front door.
“Mrs. Nagi?” I called.
She stepped out of the kitchen, rubbing her hands clean on an old rag. “Yes, dear?”
I leaned to her and whispered, “I’m scared.”
She threw her arms around me and held me tight, kissing the top of my head. “Me, too, darling, me, too.” We stood there a long moment in the dark kitchen, her hug softening the sound of my tears. She kissed my forehead again and pulled back.
“You have to be stronger than your fear. Now go. Whatever you do, don’t come back here.” She pressed one final kiss on my forehead. “May God put courage in your heart.” She nudged me toward the door.
.
It felt uncomfortable to be alone in the dark. I had always followed curfew strictly, always followed all of the rules strictly. Rules kept society civilized. Rules made the world go round. Rules made people happy. Except I wasn’t happy. My world had stopped turning when Papa’s ship crashed. Rules would have to wait until I found him again. The radio, the broken rule in my pocket, could help. Papa had a reason for everything, and I trusted he had a reason for hiding a radio from me. Each footstep in the dusty earth felt like a rebellion.
Mrs. Nagi’s bag felt enormous in my hand, filled with hope and fear and promise. I clung to it.
Take it. Go, she had said. I struggled to think of a place to run to. I kept walking, but now I noticed my footsteps took me ever closer to Timothy’s house. I was deep in the housing sector now, weaving between rows of identical town homes. I came to the back of Timothy’s house. His room was on the second floor. Should I knock on the door? No. It was too early for that. The sun wouldn’t be up for a couple of hours still. It would be stupid to draw any more attention to myself. I picked a few pebbles off the ground and tossed them at his window.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
I heard a quick shout before a face appeared in the window. Timothy’s eyes struck wide open with fear. A soldier stood behind him, dragging him back into the shadows.
I turned to run, but all of the townhouses’ lights turned on, and Central soldiers poured out of the back of Timothy’s home. I had barely made it twenty meters before two khaki clad men tackled me, shoving my face into the ground. Gritty sand dug into my skin, stinging. The guards grabbed my arms, cuffed them behind my back, and jerked me upright. The sudden pull knocked the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping. Colonel Marwasi strode out the back door of the Rosens’, a scowl twisting his face.
“Why would a good girl like you be breaking curfew? I’m sure you know that’s against the rules.” The Colonel marched toward me, stopping a few centimeters from my face. “I told you I’d be watching you very closely, Miss Pascal. Give that to me,” he ordered, snatching my bag off of the ground. He opened it and chuckled. “Let’s see, food, water, a change of clothes. What might this be for?”
“It’s nothing.” I said a silent prayer of thanks that I had put the puzzle box in my dress and not in the pouch. That would be even harder to explain.
The Colonel harrumphed. “Let’s chat for a bit, Miss Pascal. Perhaps then you’ll be persuaded to open up a bit.” He gestured to the two soldiers restraining me. “Take her to interrogation. Room B3-C. I’ll be there shortly.”
The soldiers dragged me off to a hovercab concealed behind a row of short, scrubby trees. I stole a glace back at Timothy’s house. I could still see him at the window, thrashing and shaking off a guard that clung to his shoulders. He rammed his shoulder into his window, but bounced off of the shatterproof glass.
One of the soldiers picked me up, threw me into the back of the hovercab, and pulled the harness over my head. He jumped into the front seat and called out ‘Central Office’. The hovercab’s nav system lit up, a dozen tiny stars twinkling on the dash. A moment later we were off, hovering a meter off of the ground, gliding out of the housing district. My second cab ride ever, and I was heading straight to interrogation.
God, put courage in my heart.
I waited a moment for the prayer to be answered, but my heart felt as empty as ever.
The housing district became a green blur of buildings. Within five minutes, the hovercab had whirred to a stop at the front door of the Central office. Another cab pulled up next to the one I was in. The roof of the cab slid open, letting the cool morning air seep through. The guard driving the hovercab jumped out of his seat and grabbed me from the back, tossing me on my feet.
“Where are we going?”
The soldier, anonymous in his khaki uniform and burgundy beret, only snorted in response. He gripped my left arm securely. The soldier in the cab next to us jumped out and grabbed my right arm.
The two guards led me inside the huge front door and down the hallway to the clear lift Baruj had taken me to days before. They pushed me toward the lift. “B3,” said the shorter guard. I braced myself to be whisked upward.
Instead, the lift went down. I stumbled from the unexpected movement and fell to my knees.
“None of that!” the short guard snapped. He jerked my shoulder, pulling me back to my feet.
The lift stopped abruptly, and the sudden motion sent me back toward the guard.
“On your feet!” The short guard pushed me forward into a long hallway.
Though bright lights ran along the ceiling, the narrow hallway felt dank and cavernous. Earsplitting echoes chased our feet down the tile floors, and the khaki paint on the walls glowed a dingy yellow. There were three large metal doors along the right side of the passage, and at the very end of the hall was an opening with stairs spiraling upward. The guards walked me to the middle of the three doors, labeled ‘C’ The tall soldier pressed his hand against the door’s edge, and a ring of lights appeared, scanning his print. As soon as the door unlatched and swung open, the guards shoved me inside.
“The Colonel’s coming for you in a minute,” the tall guard said from the door, smirking. He slammed the door shut, and the metal latch clicked back into place.
The interrogation room was mostly empty, only adorned by a table and two chairs. The table and one of the chairs, I noticed, were bolted to the floor.
I’m being treated like a criminal. Suddenly enraged, I kicked the loose chair. Though kicking it hurt, the clanging and clattering of the metal chair as it spun on the ground took the edge off of my anger. I took a deep breath.
How did I end up here? If Papa were here...
I sighed. Even if Papa were still alive, he couldn’t help me now. I felt my anger bubble up again, fresh, acidic, and hot. I threw myself against the metal door again, again, and again, but it didn’t budge.
I’m going to rot down here.
I slumped to the floor. My eyes were hot with tears forming from frustration. I wanted to scream, to throw something, but the tears rolled down my cheeks instead.
Crying doesn’t solve anything.
Action does.
I bit my cheek. I would not cry, not for the Colonel, not for anyone. I was a Pascal, and Pascals didn’t
cry. I had to try to do something. Even if I failed miserably.
I decided to start with my arms. They were beginning to get stiff from being cuffed behind my back. I worked my arms under my legs and back in front of me, giving a long stretch to erase the weariness in my shoulders.
That was better already.
I stood up and studied the door. There was no handle on it. I placed my hand along the edge of the door as I had seen the guard do. A ring of lights appeared, and the metal beneath my hand grew warm. After a moment, the lights shut off. “Access denied,” the door chimed.
I scanned the room. There was nothing else in here—just a blank wall and a bare concrete floor, no windows, no vents. I sighed. Papa, what would you do?
My thoughts were cut short by the metallic clang of the door opening. Colonel Marwasi walked in, followed by another soldier, an older man in his forties. This man was a bit shorter than me, but what he lacked in height, he made up in fierceness. His uniform fit snugly around the chest and arms, and his face was all sharp angles and hate. Though he had dark olive skin and black hair, his eyes were a curious luminescent green. An enhancement? I wondered. I had heard some soldiers had surgery to improve their vision. Enhanced or not, they had an eerie, inhuman glow.
Colonel Marwasi noted my stare. “This is Captain Berings.” It didn’t feel proper to introduce myself, or even speak at all, so I simply nodded.
“Sit, Miss Pascal.” I walked to the chair bolted on the floor and sat. Colonel Marwasi picked up the chair I had kicked and sat on the opposite side of the table, and the Captain leaned coolly in the corner. Colonel Marwasi studied me, clenching his jaw.
“Miss Pascal, why don’t you start by explaining why you were breaking curfew?” His voice was calm, flat and even, but from the fire in his eyes I knew he was anything but calm. I paused, determined to choose my words carefully. I had been angry before, but now I was just scared. I would play dumb. That was my best bet. I was only a kid, not doing anything bad. Just a normal kid.
“I was upset from yesterday, when you were at the Nagis’. I couldn’t sleep. I thought a walk would help.”
“That’s not an excuse to break curfew.”
“I know, sir. I apologize.”
“If you were out for a walk, why did you have this bag with you?” The Colonel pulled out the sack Mrs. Nagi had packed for me and dumped the food and change of clothes on the table. “Were you planning to go somewhere?”
My eyes followed a piece of cheese rolling off the edge of the table, hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. I bit my cheek again, feeling the flesh there becoming raw and thin. I turned my gaze to meet the Colonel’s.
Play dumb. Play dumb.
“I was thinking about staying with one of my friends for a couple of days. I wanted to clear my head.”
“Why bring food?”
“In case I got hungry.”
“Damn your smart mouth! You’ll tell me the truth, and you’ll tell it now.” Flecks of spit flew from his mouth as he screamed.
The fear pressed in my throat, seizing my voice. “I—I—that’s what I brought it for. To eat.”
The Colonel’s face reddened and swelled. He slammed his fists on the table centimeters in front of my face.
“Speak, child! Speak and I may not exclude everyone you know from this outpost!”
“I’m sorry for breaking curfew, sir. I’ve been very upset the last couple of days, and I wasn’t thinking right.”
Both men stared, cold and silent. Apologizing didn’t work. They weren’t buying my story. I decided to try again.
“It won’t happen again. Besides, there’s no law against carrying food, is there? Or against walking or carrying a change of clothes? Can’t you just let me go?”
Captain Berings walked from the corner of the room and cleared his throat. “If I may, sir?” The Colonel nodded and heaved himself back from the table. The Captain, instead of taking the Colonel’s seat, walked around the table and stood right next to me. He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. I could feel every finger cutting into my skin.
The Captain rooted around in the cargo pocket of his khaki pants and produced a tablet. He tapped the side, and it glowed. A few more taps produced a list.
“Let’s see here. According to Central ordinances, we can actually charge you with several misdemeanors, and we can charge the Nagis with felony neglect.”
“What?” I gasped.
“Yes, yes,” said Captain Berings. “Breaking curfew. Since you’re a minor, that’s a misdemeanor for you and a felony offense for your legal guardians, in this case, the Nagis. Plus hoarding of food. Why, Sadira, you know that with Central’s distribution plans, there is no need for anyone to stockpile food. That’s another mark against you. Did the Rosens’ invite you to their home at four in the morning?”
I shook my head.
“No, I didn’t think so either. We can throw a trespassing charge on there as well. Additionally, it appears you were outside of your primary residence without wearing your earpiece. More marks. This is beginning to look very bad for you, Sadira.”
“How can not wearing your earpiece possibly be a crime?” Baruj had said they tracked the earpieces, Baruj-the-crazy-conspiracy-theorist. In the dingy, bare interrogation room Baruj’s claims didn’t seem quite so wild.
“Imagine a world where people didn’t wear their earpieces.” The Captain’s voice was calm and smooth. “What if something happened to you? What if there was an emergency? How could anyone contact you? That would be a world of disasters, wouldn’t it, Colonel?”
“Yes, it would be,” he said flatly.
“We’re here to protect you. We’re here to save you. You know, Sadira, there’s no purpose in lying to us. You think it was an accident that we found you at the Rosen residence? Not at all.” He squeezed my shoulder tighter still, until I felt my collarbone begin to shift. I let out a whimper and bit my tongue to stifle the noise. I couldn’t be weak, not now.
“See, we can listen to you. We can watch you. We can follow you. We can know what you’re thinking before you think it. It’s all patterns, Sadira. Patterns, right? We collect, interpret, and extrapolate the data, then presto! There’s your answer. Isn’t that what your Papa used to teach you?”
I nodded weakly. There are no coincidences, Papa used to say. Only patterns we haven’t recognized. If Central had been watching me, how hard would it have been to guess I’d go to Timothy’s?
Not hard at all.
Captain Berings released his grip from my shoulder, and I released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Colonel, I’ll let you take it from here.” The Captain’s bizarre green eyes glowed with malice, a stark contrast from his relaxed posture. I could feel his stare even as he took his place back in the far corner of the room.
The Colonel had regained his composure. The red had left his face, and his usual dead ashy color had overtaken his features. He straightened himself before sitting back down across from me.
“What will it be, Miss Pascal? What will it be? You’re in a lot of trouble just for these trivial things. If we add in a treason charge, you’ll be excluded.”
“Treason?”
“We have reason to suspect you possess a communications device.”
My heart skipped a beat. I had been ready to leave Samalut, but I had been ready to leave with supplies and a plan, not kicked out with only the clothes on my back. Walking through the desert of the badlands with no food and no water—that was a death sentence.
The Captain chimed in. “Oh, won’t any collaborators be charged with treason as well?”
The Colonel grinned, and it was repulsive. “That’s correct, Captain Berings. I decide who the collaborators are, Miss Pascal. Mr. and Mrs. Nagi? Gone. The Rosens? Gone, all of them, even the baby.”
“No,” I mumbled.
The Colonel cupped his hand around his ear. “What was that, Miss Pascal?”
“No.” This time I said it with co
nfidence. “I can’t tell you anything. There’s nothing to tell.”
The Colonel began to turn red once more, but swallowed a lump of anger. “Your father was a terrorist. He wanted that ship to destroy your school class.”
“That’s not true.” My voice was barely a whisper.
“We have evidence of his treason. His designs revealed that he had planted an explosive on board the Bright Star.”
“No.”
“It was supposed to detonate when your class went on board to tour the ship. He wanted to use the deaths—the murders—of your classmates to fuel his agenda.”
“But I was there!”
“He was willing to make that sacrifice. How much time did your father actually spend with you?”
“No.” The tears rolled down my cheeks. It wasn’t true, but I couldn’t help thinking of all of the missed birthdays and dinners, of all the times Papa had said he’d be home for me, and of all the times he came back two days later, with no excuses or apologies.
What if it’s true? What if Papa was a bad person?
I clasped my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob.
“Yes,” the Colonel said. “That’s right. Your father is responsible for two deaths. Tell us what we need to know so that no one else gets hurt.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” My face was streaked with tears as I sobbed.
“Stop crying,” Colonel Marwasi said, but I cried even harder.
“He said stop crying!” In a few swift, decisive steps, the Captain strode over to me and slapped me across the face. The force of it sent me to the floor and left my ears ringing.
“Captain Berings!” The Colonel stood and drew himself to his full height.
“She was disobeying you, sir.” The Captain’s face twisted into an odd sort of smile.
“Come outside with me, Captain.” The Colonel tugged on my cuffs, making certain they were secured, and stepped outside with the Captain. The huge metal door closed with a clang, leaving me once more alone in the interrogation room.
Was Papa a terrorist? I didn’t see how it could be true. And yet... the Colonel’s words dug under my skin and made my very bones itch with doubt. Papa was always away, gone for days at a time. I would ask what he was working on, and he would smile. You know I can’t share that with you, darling, he’d say, and turn back to his work.
Who knows what he had actually been doing?
But Baruj had said—
My head swam. Too much, too many ideas and thoughts and theories swam in my mind. Between that and Captain Berings’ slap, my head was starting to ache.
I took a few deep breaths. There had to be an explanation for everything. There had to be a way for me to get out of this, a way for no one to get hurt.
I just couldn’t see it yet.
There was a sudden roar, and all of the lights in the room cut out. I heard the metal door unlatch, and without even thinking, I raced to try the door.
It was open. I pushed it gently, cracking it open a hair, and slid out.
Bright Star Page 3
