Stars Above

by Marissa Meyer

  A gruff voice bulleted through the haze of fists and feet and Carswell was left blessedly alone, curled up on the school’s tiled floor. He tasted blood in his mouth. His entire body was throbbing.

  As his senses began to register his surroundings again, he realized that Vice Principal Chambers had broken up the fight, but Carswell was too woozy to make sense of his angry words.

  “Carswell?” said a sweet, soft, horrified voice.

  His left eye was already swelling shut, but he peeled open the right to see that Kate was now crouched over him. Her fingers were hovering just off his shoulder, like she was afraid to touch him.

  He tried to smile, but felt it probably looked more like a grimace. “Hey, Kate.”

  Her eyes were filled with sympathy, her face still flushed, but she wasn’t crying anymore, and Carswell liked to think he’d put an end to that, at least.

  “Are you all right? Can you stand?”

  Bracing himself, he sat up, which was a start. Kate helped a little, although she still seemed hesitant.

  “Ow,” he muttered. His entire abdomen was throbbing and bruised. He wondered if they’d broken a rib after all.

  Aces, how embarrassing. He would be investing in some good martial arts simulators after this. Or maybe boxing. He’d never be on the losing side of a fistfight again if he could help it, outnumbered or not.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Thorne?” said Mr. Chambers.

  Squinting upward, Carswell saw that they’d been joined by two of the tech professors, who were standing with their arms folded over Jules and his friends. Everyone was scowling. Rob even looked a tiny bit guilty, or maybe he just hated that they’d been caught.

  “I’m grand,” said Carswell. “Thank you for asking, Mr. Chambers.” Then he flinched and rubbed at the spot on his side where the jolt of pain had originated from.

  Mr. Chambers sighed heavily. “You know that all fighting is against school policy, Mr. Thorne. I’m afraid this calls for a one-week suspension. For all four of you.”

  “Wait—no!” said Kate. Then, to Carswell’s surprise, she laced their fingers together. He blinked at their hands, then up at her profile, and doubted she even realized she was doing it. “Carswell was defending me. They’d taken my portscreen and wouldn’t give it back. It’s not his fault!”

  The vice principal was shaking his head, and though Carswell could tell he felt bad about the decision, he also had an expression that suggested there was nothing he could do about it. “School rules, Miss Fallow.”

  “But that isn’t fair. He didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “It’s a no-tolerance policy. I’m sorry, but we can’t make exceptions.” Mr. Chambers glanced back at the other boys. “Mr. Keller, Mr. Doughty, Mr. Mancuso—you can follow me to my office so we can comm your parents. Miss Fallow, why don’t you assist Mr. Thorne to see the med-droid.” He attempted sympathy when he met Carswell’s one-eyed gaze again. “We’ll comm your parents later.”

  Chin falling to his chest, Carswell cursed under his breath. This was also against school policy, but Mr. Chambers blessedly ignored it.

  “Miss Fallow, I’ll alert your teacher to forgive your absence for this period.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Chambers,” she murmured, full of resignation.

  As Jules and his friends were escorted away, Carswell allowed himself to lean against Kate and push himself onto his wobbly legs, with another handful of curses and groans.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered as he draped an arm around her shoulders and she began escorting him toward the med-droid office.

  “Not your fault,” he said through his teeth. Although, now that he had the strenuous effort of walking to focus on, the pain almost seemed to be dulling. Almost. “You get your portscreen?”

  “Yes. Thank you. And I got your bag.” Then she huffed angrily. “I can’t believe they’re suspending you. It isn’t fair.”

  He tried to shrug, but it came out as a more general flopping of his free arm. “I was already grounded for mid-July break. A suspension can’t make it that much worse.”

  “Grounded? For what?”

  His gaze flickered to her, and he couldn’t avoid a wry smile, even though it pinched his throbbing cheekbone. “Poor math grade.”

  She flushed. “Oh.”

  Carswell pressed a hand against his ribs, finding that by applying a slight amount of pressure he could relieve some of the jarring as they walked. “Yep, I’m grounded until I bring my score back up. Of course, that’s not going to happen now that I can’t even go to class.” He tried to laugh as if it didn’t bother him, but quickly realized what a bad idea that was, and the sound turned into something of a pained cough. “Oh well. Just more time to catch up on my Joel Kimbrough reading, I guess.”

  She tried to giggle, maybe to make him feel better, but it didn’t sound any more authentic than his laugh had.

  “When you’re done,” she said, “I’m sure you could write an amazing paper that explores the parallels between the dangers of space travel as compared to navigating school hallways and social status and … and…”

  “And parents.”

  Her laugh was less forced this time. “And parents, of course.”

  “I suspect that Martians have pretty much always symbolized parents in those books.”

  “They must, being that they’re so … otherworldly.”

  “And terrifying.”

  This time, her laugh wasn’t forced at all, and it gave Carswell a warm, tender feeling somewhere under all the bruising. He wished he could have laughed with her without it causing a flash of pain in his skull.

  “Think Professor Gosnel would give me extra credit?”

  “I’m sure she would,” said Kate. But then her sympathy was back. “It wouldn’t help with your math grade, though.”

  “True. If only studying algebra formulas was half as much fun as corny space adventures.”

  “If only.” Pursing her lips, Kate glanced up at him through her cascade of hair. Then she took in a deep breath. “I’ll let you copy my math homework.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Until … until your grade is up. And when we come back from break, I can help you study, if you still want me to.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled, and he didn’t even have to fake his gratitude, though the relief came with that peculiar undercurrent of shame again. He knew that she felt guilty, that she felt as though she owed him something. He knew he was taking advantage of those feelings.

  But he didn’t argue, and he didn’t reject her offer. Because in the back of his head, he was already counting up the hours this would save him, the money he could earn with that time. He was already moving past Kate and her portscreen and her gentle laugh and the lingering pain from his first fistfight.

  Already, he was moving on to the next goal, the next dream, the next obstacle. Carswell grinned, just to the point where it started to hurt, and rubbed a thumb over his tie tack.

  For luck.

  After Sunshine Passes By

  At nine years old, Crescent Moon was the youngest infantry soldier in Luna’s great warrior army. She stood at perfect attention in the front line of her platoon—back straight as a pin and arms locked at her sides. She was proud of her service to the queen. Already she had been hailed for her bravery and even honored with a medal of courage from Commander-General Sybil Mira after the battle of—

  “Crescent.”

  Mistress’s voice interrupted the fantasy, and Cress snapped a fist to her heart in salute. “Yes, Commander—um, I mean, Mistress?”

  Some of the older kids snickered down the line and Cress felt her cheeks flame. Though she had pinned her gaze respectfully to the bunk beds against the opposite wall, she tore them away now to look at Mistress Sybil, who stood at the end of the long, narrow dormitory. Her lips were thinned and white.

  Cress swallowed hard and lowered her hand. Her body shrank, mimicking the same meek posture the other kids had when they line
d up for the monthly blood withdrawals. Of course, she wasn’t really a soldier. She wasn’t even sure what the word infantry meant. But that didn’t keep her from fantasizing, from imagining herself somewhere better than here. Anywhere but here.

  She couldn’t understand why the other shells were so content to accept their stifled existence, why they mocked her for trying to escape, even if the escape was only in her own mind. Yet mock her they did. At least, until they wanted something from her; then they were sweet as syrup.

  Sybil’s nostrils flared as she inhaled an impatient breath. “Did you hear what I said, Crescent?”

  Cress racked her brain, even though she knew it was useless. Her face grew hotter as she shook her head.

  “I was just telling the rest of your peers that we have received evidence that someone recently hacked into the feed of the educational programming intended for Luna’s most promising youth.” Her gray eyes narrowed at Cress. “I was unsurprised to find that the feed had been copied, and was now being broadcast here, in the shell dormitories. Can you explain this, Crescent?”

  She swallowed and shrank back again, and her shoulder bumped into the boy beside her. “I … um…”

  “It was my idea,” said Calista, who stood near the front of the line. Sybil’s piercing eyes shifted to her. “Don’t be mad at Cress. I put her up to it. I just thought … we just thought…”

  Sybil waited, expressionless, but Calista seemed to have lost her gumption. A silence filled the dormitory, and though the temperature was static, Cress began to shiver.

  Finally, Arol spoke. “We thought it could teach us how to read.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, those of us who don’t know how…”

  Which was most of them. Cress had managed to download a Beginning Readers app to their shared holograph node a few years ago, and she and a couple others had made it through the entire course before Sybil had found out and blocked it from them. They had tried to teach the others—those who wanted to learn—but without paper or portscreens it was a slow, tedious process.

  Most of them wanted to know, though. There was something liberating about it. Something powerful.

  She thought Sybil knew that too; otherwise she wouldn’t have been opposed to it.

  Sybil began to pace down their line, eyeing each of them in turn, though most of the kids dropped their stares as she passed. She moved like a cat. A proud, spoiled one, who hunted for sport, not survival. The guard who had accompanied her waited by the door, attention pinned on the distant wall, ignoring them all.

  “If it was important for you to have the skill of reading,” said Sybil, “do you not think I would have ensured that you were taught? But you are not here to be educated. You are here because we have hopes of curing you. You are here to supply us with shell blood so that we might study your deficiencies and, perhaps, someday we will know how to fix you. When that day comes, you will be reintroduced as full citizens of Luna.” Her words turned sharp. “But until that day, you have no place in civilized society, and no purpose beyond the blood that runs through your veins. Reading is a privilege that you have not earned.”

  She stopped in front of Cress and turned to face her. Cress cowered, though she wished that she hadn’t. There would be no medal of bravery today.

  Reading was a privilege she had not earned. Except … she felt that she had. She had learned the language of computers and networks and she had learned the language of letters and sounds and she had done it all on her own. Wasn’t that earning it?

  It didn’t matter now. Knowledge was something that Sybil could never take away from her.

  “Crescent.”

  She shuddered and forced herself to look up. She braced herself for a reprimand—Sybil certainly looked angry enough.

  But instead, Sybil said, “You will have your blood taken first today, and then you will prepare for a departure. I have a new assignment for you.”

  * * *

  Cress held the bandage against her elbow as she followed Mistress through the underground tunnels that connected the shell dormitories to the rest of Luna’s capital city. The shells were kept separated from the rest of society because supposedly they were dangerous. They couldn’t be manipulated by the Lunar gift, which meant they posed a threat to the queen and the rest of the aristocracy, those Lunars who were able to manipulate the minds of people around them. It had, in fact, been an enraged shell who had assassinated the previous king and queen, leading to the banishment of shells in the first place.

  Cress had heard the story a hundred times—this proof that people like her weren’t fit to be around other Lunars. That they needed to be fixed before they could be trusted. But still she couldn’t understand it.

  She knew that she wasn’t dangerous, and most of the other shells were children like her. Almost all of them had been taken from their families when they were newborns.

  How could someone as powerful as Queen Levana be afraid of someone like her?

  But no matter how many times she tried to get a better explanation from Sybil, she was rebuked. Don’t argue. Don’t ask questions. Give me your arm.

  At least, since Sybil had learned of Cress’s affinity for computers, she had started to pay a bit more attention to her. Some of the other kids were starting to get frustrated. They said that Cress was becoming a favorite. They were jealous that Sybil kept taking her out of the dorms—no one else ever left the dorms, and Cress had even gotten to go to the palace a few times, a story that the younger kids never tired of hearing about, even though Cress had only gone in through the servants’ passages and been taken straight to the security control center. She hadn’t seen the throne room or anything interesting like that, and she certainly hadn’t seen the queen herself. Still, it was more than most anyone else in the dormitories had seen, and they loved to hear her tell the tale, over and over again.

  She suspected that Sybil was taking her to the palace again this time, until Mistress took a turn that she had never taken before. Cress almost tripped over her own feet in surprise. The guard, pacing an arm’s reach from her (because, again, she was dangerous), cast her a cool glare.

  “Where are we going, Mistress?”

  “The docks,” Sybil answered without pretense.

  The docks.

  The spaceship docks?

  Cress furrowed her brow. She hadn’t been to the docks before. Did Sybil need her to program special surveillance equipment into one of the royal ships? Or update the parameters for the ships that could enter and exit Artemisia?

  Or …

  Her heart started to thump, although she did her best to temper it. She should not hope. She should not let herself be excited. Because the thought that Sybil might be taking her on a ship … that she might be going into space …

  Her eagerness was almost too much to bear. She knew that she shouldn’t let herself wish for it, but she wished anyway. Oh, the stories she would tell. The little kids would crowd around her to hear all about her space adventure. She started looking around the corridor with new eyes, trying to mentally record every last detail that she could take back to them later.

  But these corridors were so bland, with their polished-smooth stone walls, that there wasn’t much to tell. Not yet.

  “Mistress,” she ventured to ask, “what will you have me do at the docks?”

  Sybil was silent for so long that Cress began to regret asking. Maybe she’d angered her. Sybil didn’t like being asked rudimentary questions. She didn’t like it much when Cress talked at all, other than Yes, Mistress and Of course, Mistress and I would be happy to complete this task for you, Mistress.

  And though Cress had never been fond of Sybil—had, in fact, been terrified of her since before she could remember—she still wanted Sybil to be fond of her. She wanted Mistress to be proud. She imagined Sybil bragging about her to the queen, telling Her Majesty of the young prodigy in her care, who could be so much more useful to the crown if she weren’t trapped in those awful dormitories all the time. Cress
hoped that if she could impress Sybil enough, someday the queen would have to take notice of her. Maybe she would be offered a job and she could prove that shells weren’t dangerous after all. That they want to belong and be good, loyal Lunars just like anyone. Maybe, just maybe, the queen would listen to her.

  “Do you remember,” said Sybil, jolting Cress from a daydream in which Queen Levana herself was praising Cress for her brilliance and essential service to the crown, “when I asked you about conducting more extensive surveillance on the leaders of the Earthen Union?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “You told me then that our current software was unsuited for the surveillance we had in mind. That the feeds were too easily disrupted or dropped. That the very act of obtaining live audio feeds from Earth would no doubt be noticed, and likely traced back to us. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Sybil nodded. “Your work has been invaluable to me of late, Crescent.”

  Cress’s lips parted. It was rare to hear anything remotely resembling praise from Sybil, and her chest warmed at her words. They turned a corner and the corridor ended at an enormous set of double doors.

  “I believe,” Sybil continued, not looking at Cress as she pressed her fingertips to a scanner on the wall, “that I have resolved all of the dilemmas that were keeping us from achieving our objectives.”

  The doors slid open. Cress followed Sybil onto a wide platform that encircled a cavernous domed space, filled with the shimmering white bodies of royal spaceships. The floor beneath them was glowing, casting the shadows of the ships onto black ceilings. At the far end of the dock, the massive barrier between the atmosphere-controlled area and outer space was sealed tight.

  What was more—there were people.

  Not many, but a dozen at least, mingling around one of the larger ships. They were too far to see clearly, but Cress could make out vibrant-colored clothing, and one of the men was wearing an enormous hat and—

  Sybil grabbed Cress’s elbow and yanked her in the opposite direction. Cress gasped and stumbled after her.