The Clouded Sky

by Megan Crewe

  “Do you have any idea what all this big talk recently has been about?” another asks. “ ‘Things are going to change for me. I’ve got something invaluable to contribute now.’ What’s he onto?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s made him less interested in coming here,” the first man remarks.

  Something invaluable to contribute? Like information on a rebel group? I’m struggling to think of what to say to draw more out of them when the older guy who called me over earlier shouts my way.

  “Hey, what’s so interesting about them? Why don’t you want to talk to us, Earthling?”

  I look over, pretending confusion, unwilling to leave this conversation again.

  “I said come here!” the man says, getting to his feet. As I waver, the mustached man hurries up the steps.

  “Please quiet down for the . . . of the other guests,” he says to the man, who grimaces but sits. I’m relieved for the moment it takes the barkeep to turn to me and grab my shoulder.

  “I think it’s time for you to go,” he says, propelling me back to the lower level. Britta’s gotten up, already apologizing. I glance back at the table with the Earth Travel friend one last time.

  Davic. It could be him—Silmeru’s source. And if it is, we’re just one step away from finding out who’s been talking to him.

  23.

  It’s late when the shuttle Britta called drops me off in Jule’s sector—late enough that his apartment lights have dimmed to half brightness. But I’m not surprised to find Jule waiting up. What surprises me is the edge in his voice when he says, “I thought you were just going to their apartment.”

  That early confrontation in the club comes back to me like an elbow to the gut.

  “Your dad talked to you,” I say. I guess I’m not putting off discussing this particular subject any longer.

  “He showed up,” Jule says with a nod to the door. Otherwise he’s standing so still and controlled, his face impassive, I can’t tell how upset he is or even what sort of upset: Angry? Embarrassed? Hurt? “He had this idea I’d sent you to keep an eye on him. But it wasn’t him you were ‘spying’ on, was it?”

  “A comment Silmeru made at that function came back to me,” I say. “Something about her source, and gambling. So Isis took me to a few places where that sort of thing goes on, in case I could pick up on any talk. It wasn’t that big a deal. I’m sorry about the thing with your dad. I had no idea he’d be there.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do?” Jule demands. “Why didn’t you ask me to take you?”

  “I didn’t know if people would recognize you, and be more careful talking around me because I was with you,” I say. “And . . . I had the feeling you weren’t going to love the idea. I’m getting a pretty strong impression I was right.”

  He blinks, as if he’s only just realizing the figure he’s presenting. I remember abruptly the wonder in his voice when I told him I trusted him. But I haven’t, not completely, have I? Not since I listened to him defend the Earth Studies exhibits and their human captives the other day. There’s another reason I’ve shied away from more serious conversations. I’ve been so afraid of seeing that side of him again—afraid to see that he doesn’t really believe I can be an equal partner in this mission—that I avoided giving him the chance to show it.

  “I just worry about you,” he says.

  “I wasn’t alone,” I say. “I didn’t do anything stupid. It’s not like I was in danger.”

  “Of course you were,” he says, taking a step toward me. “If you’re close to finding this guy . . . you could get hurt.”

  I think of Isis telling me how precarious my position here is. Of Thlo calling me expendable. Jule, now, trying to protect me by stopping me from doing the one thing that could save us. My voice goes tight.

  “I could get hurt anyway,” I say. “In a couple days I’m going to be out in that jet-pod like Britta was. The Enforcers could catch us again. We might not make it. I’m in more danger with the traitor still out there, passing information on. That’s what’s going to hurt all of us.”

  “We’re being even more careful now. Nothing else is going to get out.”

  “You can’t know that,” I say. “Not when we don’t even know who’s doing it.”

  “It still shouldn’t be you taking the risks,” Jule says. “Let Britta and Isis do the spying. Let me.”

  “I’m the best person for the job,” I point out. “As soon as anyone realizes I’m an Earthling, they stop caring what they say around me—they assume I can’t understand, that I’m too clueless to have an ulterior motive. None of the rest of you can accomplish that. And I want to do it, Jule. It was a huge risk coming all the way here, but I wanted to do that too. There’s a whole planet of people depending on me—” My parents. My friends. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. Every teacher I’ve ever had, every classmate. Far more people than I’ve ever met, than I can even imagine. “—and no one here cares about them as much as I do. You don’t know what that’s like. I know you think Earthlings are . . . deficient, and weak, but I’m not. I can handle this. I’ve been handling it.”

  He’s silent for a moment. Then he says, “No, I don’t know what it’s like. But there’ve been other things I’ve needed to protect. I have some idea. And I don’t think you’re weak, Skylar. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

  There’s no teasing or flirtation in his voice, just blunt honesty. I stare at him, suddenly unsure how to respond. He sighs, rubbing the side of his head. “I know I shouldn’t ask you to stop, so I won’t. Can you at least believe I’m worried not because of a ‘deficiency’ I think Earthlings have, but just because I hate the thought of something happening to you?”

  “Okay,” I say quietly, with a jab of guilt. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I was doing. I will from now on.”

  “I get it,” he says. “But . . . is it too much to suggest you hold off from now until after that run to the planet? Just sit tight for one day? I really think Thlo has the situation under control, and to risk drawing extra attention to you right before . . .”

  “Okay,” I say again. I don’t think I could have gone out tomorrow anyway, not without it looking suspicious for both me and Isis and Britta. We got our lead. I’m best off waiting until we see what they dig up on this Davic guy.

  “Thank you.” He takes another step, close enough now to rest his hand on my waist. “And then we’ll be ready to go, and we can leave the station, and no one will be able to get in our way.”

  “And I’ll go home,” I say.

  “Yeah,” he says, bowing his head.

  In that moment, part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me would take the restrictions and the prejudices and the taunts, the dangers and the horrors of how people like me are treated here, just to keep this: the warmth of his hand, the tingling of my skin, the feeling of being simply wanted, with no expectations other than I offer whatever I want to give in return. I think I see the same thought in his eyes as he gazes down at me.

  “Jule,” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  I don’t have the words. So I reach for him, pulling his head toward mine.

  It’s easier just not bringing it up, Britta suggested when I asked her about knowing how much to talk. And that’s exactly what it is. Easy, the slide of his mouth against mine, my hand trailing down his chest, his tracing up my spine beneath my shirt. Nothing I could say would give me a reaction as certain as the tightening of his arms when I let my teeth graze his lower lip, the hum in his throat when my fingers slip along the muscles of his stomach. Or the hitch of breath that escapes my throat when he presses a kiss to the hollow of my shoulder, the corner of my jaw. The slow steady burn that fills my entire body, searing hotter everywhere I touch his, until I pull back and stomp it out, again.

  Why? The question rises up, and I can’t shake it. This is the one good thing I’ve found here. Why shouldn’t I go all in? Is leaving really going to hurt more that way�
��more than leaving knowing I gave up the chance?

  Angela and I talked about this, months ago: discussing boys and crushes and where those things lead. “Lisa says it hurts the first time,” she said. “How would that not be a little scary?” And I said, “I guess you know it’s the right person when you’re not scared.”

  I’m not, I realize. I don’t have the slightest fear of Jule getting too caught up in his enjoyment to consider mine or acting distant the morning after. I can’t imagine it feeling anything but good. And he knows parts of me I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to share with a guy on Earth, without being dismissed as crazy. I might not even make it back to Earth— I might die in the jet-pod two days from now, or tomorrow if the Enforcers come barging in to arrest us for treason, or a billion other moments.

  Of all the risks I’m taking, this is hardly one at all.

  I twine my hand around Jule’s so that when I ease back, I can tug him with me toward my bedroom door. An unspoken invitation. He glances at it, and at me. Then he closes the small distance between us with a kiss that’s somehow more crushing and more tender than any before.

  “Lead the way,” he says when we come up for air, a hint of a familiar challenge in his voice. I smile and curl my fingers between his, and he follows me through the doorway.

  The morning of our second expedition down to the planet’s surface, I pull out my photographs and look at the people I care about most in the world I’m fighting to go back to.

  What would they say—Mom and Dad; Angela, Lisa, and Evan—if they could see me here? The first thing that comes to mind is Lisa’s laugh, amused disbelief at this whole situation. Angela would stare at me, trying to understand, but I can hear her bright voice saying, “Of course you can do it, Sky.” Mom’s favorite catchphrase: “Think positive.” Dad’s quiet smile.

  They couldn’t comprehend what’s going on here, but they’d believe in me anyway. I know that. I won’t fail them.

  “I want to go with you to the control room early,” I tell Jule as he finishes his morning coffee. “Before it’s time for me to be in the pod. I need to talk to Win.”

  Jule nods as if I’ve imagined any rivalry between them, not even a flicker in his expression. There’s been something mellowing about waking up next to each other—in his bed, this time, which was nice because it’s nearly half again as wide as mine. Not that my chest doesn’t still flutter when he gives me that sly grin, which brings to mind all the things we did before going to sleep. But I’m at ease in his presence in a way I wasn’t quite before, a shift in comfort that happened without needing to talk about it.

  But some issues do have to be talked out. Especially when I’m about to make a very dangerous trek into space. So a half hour later I’m stepping into the new control room Thlo’s arranged, my nerves buzzing with apprehension about both tasks ahead of me.

  “You’ll be fine,” Jule says, touching my cheek. He ambles over to join Thlo and Isis at the other end of the room. Only then does Win look up from the console he’s sitting at, as if he’d been waiting until he didn’t have to acknowledge Jule.

  “Hey,” I say. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Of course,” he says, but there’s a weariness in his voice, a stiffness in his posture as he stands. I step back toward the closed door, where we’ll have a tiny bit of privacy in the narrow room. Win joins me, running his hand through his jagged hair.

  “I’m sorry you found out the way you did,” I say. “About me and Jule. It just sort of . . . happened. And before, when I said there was nothing with him, it hadn’t yet. I wouldn’t have lied to you. I just didn’t know what to say about it, after.”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” Win says, looking at the floor. “You didn’t do anything wrong. No surprise, right? Everyone likes Jule. He’s a great guy.”

  I can fill in the blank: except when he decides you’re only worthy of mockery. Though Jule’s backed off in the last couple weeks, been almost considerate at times, that doesn’t change the history. But Win doesn’t even sound bitter. Only . . . matter-of-fact. As if this is just one more in a long line of frustrations, so long they’ve become expected. Maybe it is. Thlo trusted Jule before Win—with the information about the traitor, with more responsibilities on the mission to Earth. I can easily picture, in Traveler training, the instructors heaping praise on Jule’s language skills and confidence while disregarding every comment Win made because of his family background. Does Win think he’s lost me, the one sure ally he believed he had?

  “It’s not important,” he adds, and I grab his hand.

  “It’s important to me,” I say. “You’re important to me. It’s important to me that we’re all right. Whatever happens with Jule, it has nothing to do with you and me. Okay? After everything we’ve been through together . . . We’ve saved each other’s lives, Win. You’ve helped keep me sane. I could be kissing every person on this station and it wouldn’t stop that from mattering. I’m still here if you need me.”

  He’s raised his head as I spoke, his eyes searching. At the kissing comment, his lips twitch. Whatever he’s found in my expression, his shoulders relax a little.

  “I know,” he says. “You shouldn’t be worrying about me. Just focus on making it back here safe, all right? That’s what’s important to me, more than anything.”

  He squeezes my hand, and the tension inside me releases too. “Believe me,” I say, “I’ll be doing my best to get back in one piece.”

  My nerves have maybe three seconds to settle before Isis says my name. She motions me to the door. “It’s time.”

  “Good luck,” Win says as I let him go.

  My pulse starts to skitter as I walk with Isis to the inner-shuttle. “Any luck with Davic?” I ask once we’ve stepped on.

  “We’ve found some interesting patterns,” she says. “I’m almost certain he is the one who’s been passing on the information. We haven’t been able to figure out from whom yet, but we’ll get there.” She pauses. “You know you’re okay today, right? None of the others has any idea we’re doing this. You shouldn’t run into anything worse than what the simulator’s thrown at you.”

  Shouldn’t. I wish I could feel as sure as she sounds.

  The shuttle glides to a stop. We duck through a side passage and then down an unlit hall with only the glow of a square Isis holds to guide us. She taps something into the wall and another door opens. We climb down a ladder and step into a dim, chilly space where a jet-pod and Odgan are waiting. The air feels thinner, or maybe that’s just my nervousness.

  Odgan tips his head to both of us, his eyes lingering on me with curiosity but nothing unfriendly. “Fueled up and equipment loaded,” he says.

  “Good,” Isis says. “You two met in my apartment? Skylar, Odgan. Odgan, Skylar. Let’s get you settled in.”

  I give Odgan an awkward wave of greeting. I don’t think we exchanged a single word that last time. Then I train my attention on the pod, sliding into the seat that molds against my body. No matter what happens, bad luck or sabotage, I’ll need the same skills to get out of it. I hover my fingers over the different areas of the dash, mentally rehearsing the practice I’ve done on my own and at Britta’s side.

  “I’m good,” I tell Isis.

  She grips my shoulder. “I’ll be with you the whole trip there. You might as well put your communicator on now.”

  I fumble with the device she hands me as she pushes the pod door shut. The space inside constricts. I drag in a breath as she vanishes up the ladder, and press the tiny sphere into my ear. Beside me, Odgan’s doing the same.

  “I know you’re new at this,” he says. “If there’s anything you’re uncertain about, tell me. I can pick up some slack.”

  “I’ll try to make sure you don’t need to.”

  “From what Isis says, I don’t expect I will,” he replies with a respectful dip of his head.

  I’m going over the controls again when Isis’s voice hums out of the earpiece. “Power u
p and prepare to head out. We have our opening in five minutes.”

  My heart thuds. But I have the initiation sequence down so well now that I don’t even have to think. The screen in front of us blinks on, offering the hazy gray view I saw from the control room last time. Odgan’s fingers patter over his side of the dash and the hatch ahead of us eases open. The hazy violet-red clouds of the true Kemya lie directly ahead.

  A faint shudder passes through the jet-pod as it lifts off the floor. It hangs there in the air, perfectly still, waiting for our next command. The filter kicks into a higher gear with a faint gasp, adding a metallic tang to the air.

  “Everything clear,” Isis says. “Full speed ahead!”

  Odgan revs the propulsion system and adjusts the angle of the pod’s nose as I release the pod equivalent of brakes. The tiny vehicle soars forward, picking up speed. The doorway slips away behind us. And then we’re out in the vastness of space. Even though I know the station is looming just behind us, a chill trickles through me.

  The others are back there keeping an eye on the wider view. We just have to deal with what’s in front of us. I hit the pressure regulator at the first glint of the sensors, my stomach lurching as the pod drops. Some bit of atmospheric debris too small to bother dodging tinkles against the pod’s shell. The ruddy clouds of the planet expand to fill the display.

  “Jetter at 4-23-8-1 is coming in 10 degrees off what we expected,” Isis says. “Sending course adjustment.”

  I reach to shift the controls to match the new data appearing on my display, Odgan working just as quickly beside me. I can’t see the jetter, and it hasn’t shown up in our limited navigation readings yet. If its sensors “see” us . . .

  “Everything still looks okay?” I can’t help asking.

  “We’re doing well,” Isis says. “Keep it up!”

  The jet-pod dips into the clouds. A distant roaring penetrates the walls. The readings on the dash momentarily scramble as a wind shakes us, and my hands clench. I force them open. Keep the nose steady. Watch the electrical figures. Adjust our angle when the readings blink back into coherence.