What was there to keep him on Philomel? His parents would be there, but he was twenty-one, and he’d been living away from home for years—their presence wouldn’t keep him on a planet to which he had no other tie.
But there’s me. I’ll be there.
Yeah, but was she kidding herself to think that was anything like close to enough?
This—everything he can offer the IPL on Sekoia—this is the kind of thing he trained for, after all. And he’d be useful—truly useful. Even Commander Dacre said it would be different if he’d come here without me and Lin. He wouldn’t even need our money to refuel the Phoenix for him. If he told Commander Dacre he wanted to come back, she’d arrange for IPL to fund him, I know it.
Extremely useful, the commander had said that morning, endless hours ago. Not Elissa, not Lin—they were burdens, both of them, too young, too fragile, too much of a liability—but Cadan and the Phoenix and the—adult—crew.
If he did return, his parents would approve. They would know, this time, that he was doing it because it was the right thing, not because he’d been manipulated into it by his girlfriend. And Cadan would know it too. He wouldn’t have to have doubts anymore, wouldn’t have to struggle with not being sure whether his motives were all clear and right the way he always needed everything to be.
He doesn’t like gray areas. He especially doesn’t like thinking there might be gray areas in himself.
The next thought came from nowhere. IPL could call Bruce back from Philomel too. Give him his career back. Put them both on the Phoenix to work together, pilot and copilot like they were meant to be before Bruce had to go into quarantine and missed his chance.
Then, borne by a vicious stab of jealousy: And won’t that seem just like old times, with no irritating little sister around to whine and cry and mess things up?
No. She was being stupid. That might be how Bruce would think about it, but it wasn’t how Cadan saw her. It wasn’t. And there must be half a million things for a trained space pilot to do—and plenty of them that his parents would approve of. There was no reason to assume he’d want to come back to Sekoia when there was a whole star system of opportunities out there.
But the idea was there now, the twist tightening in her belly, moving up into her lungs so for a moment it was difficult to take in enough breath to keep her climbing the stairs.
If Cadan comes back to Sekoia, I’ll be scared the whole time. Every minute I’ll think he’s been killed.
And nearly as urgent as that fear—she despised herself that it was so urgent, but she couldn’t help thinking it—was the fear of what would happen between them.
If she and Lin stayed on Philomel, and Cadan came back here, what would happen to them, to him and Elissa? Would what they had survive a separation of—God, maybe months, with scarcely any contact? With Elissa not knowing from one day to the next whether he was even still alive? With Cadan in the midst of a combat zone, civilian preoccupations fading further and further from his mind?
She reached the top of the stairs. The door in front of her was a normal sliding one rather than a flappy hospital door. Elissa opened it and went through into an entrance lobby. It wasn’t one of the main hospital entrances, so although it had a reception desk, the current understaffing situation meant that the desk wasn’t staffed, and the only person she could see was an armed IPL guard standing just outside the doors.
Even as she noticed him, another person came into her line of sight. Cadan’s mother, her hair ruffled by the dusty wind that swept almost constantly across the plateau, walking toward the hospital door. The guard nodded as she reached where he stood, and she smiled at him as he put a hand up to hit the doorpad and open the door for her.
The door whooshed open on a gust of air as hot and dry as if it came from an oven, and Elissa instantly tasted dust and sand and rocket fuel, smelled dead, baked-dry grass. Her skin welcomed the wave of warm air even as her nose wrinkled at the smell.
“Elissa?” said Cadan’s mother. “Whatever are you doing up here? Did you get lost?”
“No. No, I’m fine.” Infuriatingly, she found herself stammering slightly, nerves tying her tongue.
Emily Greythorn came toward her as the door swooshed shut. “You really shouldn’t be up here, though. I know it’s guarded, but—well, you’re already well aware of the threats we’re facing, aren’t you?”
Elissa shook her head. “Oh, I know. I’m not going to stay long—I just wanted to see Cadan.”
Mrs. Greythorn’s eyebrows lifted. “Ah . . . Elissa, it’s probably not the best time for that. He’s up to his elbows in prepping the ship. I’m sure you’ll get a chance to see him later, when he’s not so busy.”
Elissa bit her lip. She didn’t want to be rude to a grown-up—and really not to Cadan’s mother—but she’d waited for hours already. And she and Cadan had managed their relationship for weeks without needing advice. She made herself smile, hoping that it didn’t betray the edge of resentment she was feeling. “I won’t interfere. I know he’s super busy. I just have to see him for a minute.”
She took a step toward the door, and—to her bewildered surprise—Emily Greythorn put a hand out and laid it on her arm, halting her, gently but inexorably.
“I really don’t recommend it,” she said. “He won’t thank you for interrupting him, not right now. Take my word for it, my dear.”
The bewilderment morphed into something much simpler. Heat flickered into Elissa’s cheeks. She lifted her chin and stepped back so that Mrs. Greythorn’s hand fell from her arm. “Cadan’s pretty much always happy to see me.”
“I’m sure he is.” Mrs. Greythorn’s voice remained utterly calm—and kind, like she thought Elissa needed reassurance or something. “And I’m sure that when he’s next at leisure he’ll be happy to see you again. Right now, though—” As if she’d caught the flicker in Elissa’s expression, her voice changed to firmness. “Elissa, he’s at work.”
The heat spread through Elissa’s veins. “Wasn’t he at work when you came to see him too?”
Mrs. Greythorn’s eyebrows lifted again, and under them her eyes were suddenly the cold blue that Cadan’s could go. “I am his mother.”
Elissa folded her arms. “Okay. Well, I’m his girlfriend.”
“Oh good Lord.” For the first time impatience lent an edge to Mrs. Greythorn’s calm tone. “I don’t think it’s really the same, do you?”
“Well, it’s not like he’s flying the ship right now. If he doesn’t mind you interrupting him—”
“I didn’t ‘interrupt’ him,” Emily Greythorn said sharply. “I’ve been an SFI mother for a long time, I know better than to disturb him when he’s working. I had business there—I was arranging for his skybike to be fitted in the cargo hold. There are no slidewalks on Philomel, and Cadan can’t be of as much use if he’s grounded.”
Her manner had that not-quite-conscious pride Elissa’s own mother had always shown when she mentioned her SFI son.
“Well,” Elissa said, and it came out with more of a snap than she intended, “I know better too. I grew up with him—him and Bruce. It’s not like I don’t know what he does. I’m not going to interfere.”
“Really?” said Cadan’s mother.
“Yes!” Elissa stopped. “What? What do you mean, ‘really’?”
Emily Greythorn sighed. “Look, Elissa, don’t think I don’t understand the attraction. You and Cadan—you’ve been thrown together under some really stressful conditions. And of course it probably didn’t help that you had the world’s worst crush on him when you were little—”
“What?”
“Elissa, please. You think we didn’t notice? And he’s grown up . . . well”—again that look of pride colored her smile—“I’d be surprised if you could spend all that time with him and not be . . . tipped a bit off balance. Especially with the pressure you were both under. And, of course, you’re a very pretty girl—I can see the attraction for him, too.”
“Jeez,”
said Elissa, all at once furious, “thanks for the compliment.”
Mrs. Greythorn gave her a patient look, a look that said she’d noticed Elissa’s anger, but that she was choosing not to pay attention to it. “You say you’re not going to interfere. What do you think you’re already doing?”
Hearing it said like that, actually stated rather than implied, was like being hit in the face.
“I—I’m not—” She was stammering again. She stopped, staring at Cadan’s mother, shock and hurt taking away all that heat of anger she’d felt a minute ago.
“Well, I’m afraid you are.” Mrs. Greythorn’s voice wasn’t unkind, but it was unrelenting. “He’s thinking about you when he needs to have his attention undivided. After we escaped from the square, he came to you first of all, when he could have been—”
“We—we’d only just escaped! I’d thought he was—”
“I know.” Mrs. Greythorn spoke over her, cutting her off. “I thought he was too. Elissa, listen to me. I’m not opposing you here. You’re a sweet girl, and you’ve coped with an awful lot. I’m impressed, truly. And goodness knows, I’m not against Cadan dating!”
“It’s not just . . .” She trailed off. It’s not just dating. She could say that, but what reason would his mother have to believe her? And, really, despite what Cadan had said, despite what Elissa herself felt, it had been only a few weeks. It might not feel like just dating, to either of them, but all the same, that was pretty much what it was.
Mute, feeling like her defenses had been, very neatly and gently, taken away, Elissa stared at Cadan’s mother as she continued to speak.
“I just think, Elissa, that now probably isn’t the right time for it. Don’t look so stricken! I’m not trying to stop you seeing him.” Mrs. Greythorn laughed a little. “I’ve brought up two teenagers—I’m not so stupid. I’m just saying maybe . . . ease off a bit? Spend some time with the other young people. Make some other friendships. You can’t afford to depend on just Cadan—and he can’t afford to have you doing it.”
She sounded so . . . sensible. Like the voice of a million teen advice websites and magazine advice columns. And everything Elissa could say, every argument she could make, would just make her sound like the insecure girls who e-mailed those advice columns. But we love each other. But he doesn’t want us to ease off any more than I do. But I’m dealing with more than I can cope with alone. But it’s not just an ordinary teenage relationship. . . .
“And he’s a good bit older,” said Cadan’s mother, still the voice of an advice columnist. “Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that. Again, I’m not against it. Trust me, I haven’t forgotten being seventeen myself, and I can imagine I might have been swept off my feet if someone Cadan’s age had been interested in me!”
She paused for a moment, as if thinking whether to say her next words. Her gaze met Elissa’s, and although there was still an edge of coolness to her expression, her eyes were kind. That made it worse, really. If there’d been spite showing in them, or if Elissa could think Mrs. Greythorn was being the clichéd possessive mother of books and TV shows, at least then she’d have had good reason to ignore her. To fight back. To say to Cadan, Do you know what your mother’s been saying to me? and have him leap to her defense.
Cadan’s mother sighed again. “Look, I’m not blind. I can see how close the two of you have become. I can tell he cares about you. But honestly, Elissa, I have to ask: How much do you think the two of you really have in common?”
Elissa’s lips went cold. All this stuff, everything his mother was saying—it wasn’t like the thoughts hadn’t come into her head before this. It was what she’d been scared of. What she’d been scared of all along, the stuff she’d wanted Cadan to reassure her about, help her dismiss.
But oh God, hearing it . . . hearing it said out loud—and by Cadan’s mother—it was so much worse than when it had just been silent fears in her own head.
“I—” she said, and couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Mrs. Greythorn stepped away from her. “I’m sorry, Elissa. I don’t usually comment on Cadan’s relationships. If life was as it was before the takeover, I’d let things take their own course. But as things are . . .” She lifted a shoulder. “Well, I won’t patronize you. You know the situation as well as I do.” She moved a step toward the stairs up which Elissa had come. “Look, I’m going back down now. You’re old enough to make your own decisions. And it’s not like I have any authority over you—I’m not going to try to stop you seeing him if you’re set on it.”
She moved farther, out of Elissa’s line of sight. Elissa didn’t move her head to follow her. She couldn’t bear to meet her eyes again. Couldn’t bear to see all that dispassionate, adult wisdom—that look that said Emily Greythorn had witnessed this kind of thing before, that this time wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, that—whatever it felt like—it wasn’t anything different.
Cadan’s mother’s footsteps tapped across the floor. The door to the stairs slid open, then shut. She was gone.
Elissa put her arms around herself, not so much as a comfort as because of a feeling that if she didn’t, she would break apart. If I ask Cadan, he can tell me it’s not just because he thinks I’m pretty, it’s not just because we were thrown together and everything around us was going crazy. It would have happened anyway. It would.
He wouldn’t tell her that, though. Someone else might say what she needed to hear whether they were sure or not. Someone else might take a leap of faith—yes of course it would have happened anyway, no of course it wasn’t just right place, right time. Cadan wouldn’t. He wouldn’t say it unless he was sure. And that hours-ago talk with him (was it really only this morning?) had told her he wasn’t sure.
It was more than that too. His mother—probably both his parents—didn’t think she was good enough for him. She hadn’t said it, but then how could you say something like that without sounding like some crazy-awful snobby cliché? But no one talked the way she had to the girl they wanted their son to end up with. How much do you think the two of you really have in common? she’d said, and Elissa hadn’t needed to read between the lines to know what she meant.
She came out here to talk to Cadan. Was she saying this kind of thing to him, too? Does he know she thinks I’m not good enough for him? Does he . . . even a tiny bit, does he agree?
The door to the spaceport opened on a rush of hot air. Elissa’s fingers gave a guilty twitch—I shouldn’t be here, I don’t have a good reason—and her head jerked up to look.
It was the guard who’d opened the door. He’d left his hand on the panel to stop the door closing, and although he was still clearly on alert, he’d turned enough toward the lobby to be able to look across at Elissa. “You’re wanting Greythorn?”
Elissa nodded. “Cadan Greythorn?” There wasn’t any reason for Mr. Greythorn to be out there, but she really didn’t want to go straight from the conversation with Cadan’s mother to one with his father.
“He’s on his way.”
“Oh, he’s finished?”
The guard smiled at her. “No. I told him you were here, that’s all. Pretty girl, I said, dark hair, and he was happy to drop what he was doing.”
The twitch of guilt turned into a spasm like a giant hand closing on her stomach. The words What do you think you’re already doing? and He’s thinking about you when he needs to have his attention undivided rang in her ears. And the word “pretty,” which always before she’d have been super pleased to hear, suddenly sounded like an accusation.
“Oh God, I didn’t mean to interrupt him. He doesn’t have to come—tell him I can wait till he’s done, or taking a break, or whatever—”
“That’s an awful lot of backtracking, Lis,” said Cadan, coming in through the doorway. His fair hair was ruffled—the same way, Elissa noticed, his mother’s had been—and there was sweat and dirt on his forehead and staining the edges of his shirt collar. “Are you sure you weren’t actually hoping to see Mar
kus?”
His eyes laughed at her, and for a moment warmth crept through her like the warmth blowing in from outside, relaxing her muscles, warming her cold lips and hands. It doesn’t matter what his mother thinks. His mother’s not here, she doesn’t know what it’s really like. She’s only judged from the outside—she doesn’t know, she doesn’t understand.
She reached out for the reassurance she was still—mostly—sure he could give her. “Is it okay for me to be here?” Then, as insecurity took over, “I can go away again if you’re busy. I completely didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“You haven’t.” Cadan nodded a thank you to the guard and came across to pull her into a hug. He smelled dusty and sweaty, but underneath she caught the scent of his skin. And although his hands were rough with dust, they were warm and steady on the small of her back as his arms closed around her. “At least, I guess technically you have, but I can promise you it’s not a problem.”
He smiled down at her as the door shut, leaving them alone in the chill lobby. “The ship’ll be ready to go in another couple of hours.” He let out a breath. “I have to say, Lis, it’ll be a relief to be off this damn planet. I’m half-ashamed to admit it, after everything we hoped to do, but . . .”
He shook his head, and relief and hope bloomed within Elissa. He’s not going to want to come back. I’m not going to lose him to a combat zone.
“But at least on Philomel we’ll get a chance to regroup,” he continued. “There must be things we can offer IPL, for God’s sake. I’m hoping, Lis”—his arms slackened a little as he moved back, his face alight with enthusiasm—“that the IPL officials on Philomel won’t have quite such an . . . on-the-front-line firefighting mentality, you know? If they’re able to think a bit more strategically than the people down here, who’re just lurching from one crisis to the next, then talking to them might actually get us somewhere. What do you think?”
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