These Broken Stars

by Amie Kaufman

  After the underground darkness, the stars seem like fiery beacons, bright and promising. I drag myself up so that I can look down at Tarver, who’s still half dazed, searching for breath.

  “You stupid, stupid man,” I murmur, reaching for his face, tracing the path the starlight takes across the bridge of his nose, over his cheekbones. “We have no way of signaling now. If those were ships up there, they’ll never find us. You’ll never go home.”

  Tarver presses a hand into the dirt and hauls himself upright so he can look at me properly. “I am home.” He lifts his hand when I start to protest. “My parents would understand. If they knew what was happening here, they’d tell me so.”

  “Still, how could you do such a thing? The signal was working. They would have seen it.”

  “It was killing you,” he says simply.

  I’m already dead. The words hover on my tongue, but remain unsaid. Because now, here, for the first time, those words aren’t true. I draw a long breath, watching the way it steams the air when I exhale.

  Tarver eases closer, reaching for my hand. I’m still weak from so long eating next to nothing and sleeping so little. But my muscles respond to my commands. My hand, as I twine my fingers through his, doesn’t tremble.

  For the first time since I was brought back, something inside me flickers, warm and vital. Hope. Together we stagger to our feet and move away from the sinkhole that used to be the station.

  Tarver starts to let go of my hand, but I tighten my fingers through his, and he watches me for a long moment. I don’t pull away. He lifts our joined hands and kisses my fingers, his eyes closing as his lips linger against my skin.

  I can’t help but wonder which is worse: losing the girl you love suddenly or being unable to touch her while she wastes away.

  “How do you feel?” he asks, watching me intently.

  “Incredible. Alive. Tarver, how did you know?”

  “I didn’t.” He’s still watching our joined hands. “But I just—I sensed they didn’t want us hurt. They just wanted to be free. I guessed.”

  A little chill ripples through me, and at my shiver, Tarver hauls off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. “Pretty big guess,” I point out.

  “I had to believe it.”

  “You picked a hell of a time to start believing in hunches and feelings.” I pull the jacket more tightly around myself and flash him a smile.

  His arm around me tightens, and for a little while we just listen to the breeze stirring the leaves overhead.

  “What do we do now?” I let my head lean back, looking up at the sky.

  “Hell if I know,” he replies cheerfully. “Start building a house, I guess.”

  I laugh again, startling myself with how easy it is. I didn’t think I remembered how. “Can it have a garden?”

  “A dozen gardens.”

  “And a bathtub?”

  “Big enough for both of us.”

  “Can I help?”

  “I’m certainly not doing it all on my own.”

  I shift my weight and lean against him.

  “We should get some rest first,” he says, turning his head to touch his lips to my temple. “We can start on the house tomorrow. Shall we go back to the cave? Some idiot destroyed your bedroom.”

  “Some idiot,” I echo, with a smile. “I don’t want to sleep in that cave again. Can we just sleep out here, under the sky, the way we used to? Before all this?”

  “Anything you like.” He kisses my cheek again, still gentle, still hesitant, and disentangles his arm from mine so he can stand. “I’ll get the blankets from the cave. Tomorrow we’ll start planning our life as castaways.”

  “We’ve already been living a life as castaways,” I point out. “I think we’ll be fine.”

  He’s merely a shadow through the starlit trees as he makes his way back toward the cave. It’s not until he’s out of sight that I let my eyes close, tipping my head against the tree at my back, imagining I can feel the gentle glow of the stars on my cheeks.

  All is silent and still. The air is crisp, and as I draw in a deep breath it sears the inside of my nose, tingling and strong.

  “Rest,” I murmur.

  Though whether I’m talking to myself, or to our absent friends, I don’t think I’ll ever know.

  “Is that what this is about?”

  “This is about the truth of what happened on that planet.”

  “I’ve told you the truth.”

  “None of what you’ve told us has explained the anomalies in Miss LaRoux’s medical tests.”

  “Sorry, I don’t do well with big words. What do you mean?”

  “Major, you know to what I am referring.”

  “I’m pretty sure I don’t. Sir.”

  FORTY

  TARVER

  I haven’t been able to sleep yet, but i don’t mind. I yawn, holding Lilac a little tighter. She murmurs in her sleep—one of those stubborn little sounds that melt me—and nestles in closer.

  I’ve been looking up at the stars, familiar constellations now, and naming them. I squint at what I’ve decided to call the Lyre, tracing the shape of a harp over again as I learn it. From the bright star at the base, to the next above it, and then … the next star moves. So does its neighbor. I blink again, and they slide into focus.

  They’re landing lights.

  “Lilac, quick, wake up.” I scramble to sit up, reaching automatically for the Gleidel, though I don’t know what use it could possibly be. I lift my other hand to shield my eyes as the huge ship eases down toward us, thrusters rising to a steady roar. She’ll be landing no more than a klick or two away.

  Lilac comes awake lashing out with one arm, and I catch hold of her wrist gently. “No—no, leave us alone! We did what you wanted!” Her voice is high with fear as she gazes up, blinking, trying to understand what she’s seeing.

  “No, Lilac, it’s a ship. They must have registered the explosion or the energy surge. Quick, we have to move.” The dread’s heavy in my gut. If they find us, they’ll take us on board, who knows what her medical tests will show. “Let’s try for the cave, they might have infrared.”

  She’s still sitting there, staring, mouth a little open now. “A ship?” I can barely hear her whisper.

  “We can’t let them find us. Come on.” I reach down for her hand to try to tug her up.

  She resists, my stupid, stubborn girl, tugging back. How did she find this strength so quickly? “Tarver, what are you talking about? You can go home after all! We need to find them, make them take us with them.”

  I drop to a crouch beside her, taking a breath, trying to slow myself. “I’m talking about us not knowing what’ll happen to you if they get their hands on you. Who knows what your father’s company will find if they do tests on you. Come on, there’s food in the cave, we can hole up there until they leave.”

  “Tarver, no.” There’s a hint of that old LaRoux steel in her voice, but it’s tempered now, warmer. “We’re getting on that ship. You’re going home.”

  “Lilac, I’ve made my choice, we don’t have time for this conversation.”

  Behind me, the landing lights are moving lower, and the whine of the engines is growing deeper. I’ve heard this a thousand times. Usually it’s a welcome sound. They’re nearly down.

  “No.” She’s soft, but sure. “I’m going with you. You kept telling me you’d take me home with you, and that’s what you’re going to do.” She squeezes my hand, climbing to her feet now.

  I want so badly to believe her, but the bitter twist of fear inside me says she’ll do anything to keep me safe. She’d lie to my face if she thought it would save me.

  I know she would. I’d do the same for her.

  She reaches up to curl a hand around the back of my neck, pulling my head down so her forehead can press against mine. “I know what you would’ve given up for me. I could never let that be for nothing.”

  We stand like that for an instant, forever, and I try to reach in
side myself for that trust. She waits, watching me, sure I’ll make the leap for her.

  I straighten up, reaching for her hand to lead her toward the rescue ship. She sees my decision on my face and opens her mouth to speak when she’s interrupted by a new sound—in the distance, there’s undergrowth snapping, crunching, booted feet moving toward us. I realize the sound of the ship has vanished.

  They’ve landed. We don’t have much time before they find us.

  Lilac turns back to me, suddenly intent. “They’re going to ask questions.” Her hand tightens around mine. “We need our stories straight.”

  “Too much risk in both of us lying. You tell them nothing. Be the girl they expect. Distressed, pissed off. Shout for your father, cry if you can, but don’t answer their questions. Be a princess.”

  She’s shaking her head, her eyes on mine. There are flashlights in the distance, but here there’s only the stars overhead to light her face. “I don’t want you to have to face them alone. You don’t know what my father’s company is capable of—”

  “I won’t be alone.” I lean down to press my forehead against hers, quick and sure. “You’ll be playing your part as much as I will. Say you’re too traumatized to answer questions. I’ll have to talk, I can’t avoid a debrief, but if we contradict each other, we won’t be able to hide what’s happened here.”

  “Traumatized.” She’s nervous, but there’s a hint of laughter in her voice. I drink it up. “I can do that.”

  I start to move toward the sounds of cracking underbrush and dead leaves, but she stays still, tugs on my hand to pull me back.

  “Tarver,” she whispers, her eyes on my face. “There’ll be cameras all the time. More questions. Everyone will want to hear your story. Your life will be different, no matter how far from Corinth we go.”

  A flashlight flickers through the trees, broken and jagged as it shines past the trunks. The light glances off her face, illuminating her eyes for a brief, brilliant moment.

  I step closer. “I don’t care.”

  “My father will try to—” She swallows, then lifts her chin, mouth firming to a straight, determined line. “No. I’ll figure out a way to handle him.”

  I can’t help but grin down at her, this steely assurance, my Lilac through and through. “I’d pay to see that showdown.”

  She smiles, lightning quick, then squeezes my hand harder, holding on like she’s afraid someone will come and pull us apart. “You’ll face it all with me?”

  The world narrows, the sounds of the oncoming search party fading, the lights blurring around us until it’s just her and me, our breath condensing and mingling in the cold air. She’s stolen my voice, this girl in my arms, and for a moment I can’t answer. I have to gather my wits, try to remember how to breathe.

  “Always.”

  Her smile is like the sun coming out. “Then you ought to kiss me while you can, Major Merendsen. It may be a while before your next opportunity.”

  Her cheekbones are still shadowed, her face still showing the signs of her weakness, but her eyes are bright too, her cheeks flushed with life once more. Her fingers curl around handfuls of my sleeves, as though she can’t wait to pull me in.

  I thought I’d never get to touch my Lilac again. Even when she came back, I thought I’d lost her forever.

  I break away from her a heartbeat before the rescue parties burst into the clearing. I’m almost tempted to tell them to come back later.

  “Why did you blow up the station, Major?”

  “I could see the ships in orbit. I was hoping somebody would notice it. I didn’t want to miss this little get-together.”

  “The damage was significant.”

  “Well, it didn’t seem like anyone really needed the place anymore.”

  “That wasn’t your decision to make.”

  FORTY-ONE

  LILAC

  The ship that first picked up my signal was a research vessel on its way to A243-Delta. The researchers didn’t have any luck deciphering the static, but cleaned it up the best they could and bounced it back toward the rest of the galaxy. Then it reached a larger transport, a few days later, and then on to a junk heap of fringe theorists trying to discover structure in the background static of the universe. They were the first to clean up the signal enough to know there was a woman on it, asking for help. In the end it took dozens of ships, picking up the fragments that reached them, piecing them together.

  The ship that collected us was one of my father’s vessels, an advance team scrambled to get here before the image in the signal was clear enough for them to know who I was. They confirmed what we already suspected—we are the only survivors from the Icarus. Imagining fifty thousand people dead is impossible—and so instead I see Anna’s face, and Swann’s, and the face of the weary man in the shabby top hat who only wanted to pass a message to my father. I only have so much room for grief.

  Four days after our rescue, still in orbit around the planet, another of my father’s ships catches up to us. Tarver and I are bundled into separate rooms, and I don’t see him again.

  My meals are monitored. Someone stays at my side at all hours of the day, even when I sleep. My questions about Tarver are met with polite evasions. He’s in the best possible hands. You’ll see him shortly. He’s doing just fine.

  Your father will be here soon, why don’t you wait and ask him?

  Their attempts to question me are met with floods of tears. I have my part to play as surely as Tarver does, and I do it well. Tears don’t forestall the doctors, though, and I’m stripped down and inspected. They draw some of my blood, take a lock of my hair, scrape under my fingernails. I’m connected to machines by electrodes at my temples, on my chest. They attach clamps to my fingertips and watch some readout I can’t see, staring wide-eyed, faces lit by the pale green glow of the monitors as they crowd around them.

  And then I’m ushered back into the exam room, where a new round of doctors takes more blood, more hair. They check their results again and again. They’re leading me back to the room with the monitors and the electrodes when the doors suddenly burst open.

  “What is the meaning of this?” A voice like steel cuts through the hum of the machines.

  The doctor grasping my arm drops it like she’s been burned. Unsupported, my legs wobble and I drop to the floor. She and the others back away, leaving me blinking in the light.

  “Sir,” one of them starts, “we were only following orders—”

  “Shut it down,” the voice says, and the doctors scramble to obey. I know that voice well, after all, and no one hears it give an order without complying immediately. From somewhere, someone gives me a navy-blue dressing gown, a welcome change from the paper-thin hospital gown they had me in.

  Someone reaches up and turns off the blinding overhead lamp, and as my eyes struggle to adjust, a face ducks down into my vision.

  “Darling?”

  For a moment all I can do is stare. The blue eyes, reddened with emotion; the chiseled features that don’t betray his years; the close-cropped white hair he’s never bothered to dye. It’s a face I never thought I’d see again—a face I never wanted to see again. But here, confronted with it—I remember how safe it is. How easy, how warm. I remember how much I want him to make everything okay.

  “Daddy?” I whisper.

  His mouth trembles, then tightens, as if he can’t believe it’s really me. He throws his arms around me, and after a second I remember I’m supposed to cry—and once I start, it’s impossible to stop. For long moments we sit there on the floor of the medical wing, me sobbing wildly into the shoulder of his suit jacket, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne. I’m a child again, in a perfumed forest, secure with my father’s arms around me. All I want to do is pretend to fall asleep so that he’ll carry me home.

  But eventually my tears dry up and he helps me stand. He leads me to a meeting room dominated by a long glass table, then sits me down in the first chair on the left. He drops into the chair
at the head of the table and rolls it closer to me so he can take my hand in both of his.

  “Tell me everything, my heart.”

  Sitting here, with my father gazing at me with red-rimmed eyes, I’m finding it impossible to connect him with the lambda symbol stamped all over the hellish prison for the creatures that gave me back my life. For a moment I want nothing more than to tell him what’s happened to us, what’s happened to me, that I remember death and rebirth and everything in between.

  But Tarver’s words are still ringing in my ears. Tell them nothing, he said. We lie. I can’t let him down.

  So I sniff loudly and drop my head, staring at my lap as I shake my head. “I don’t know,” I stammer. “I can’t. It’s all too—I don’t remember, it’s all a blur.”

  “Are you sure?” He pats my hand, soothing. His skin is cool to the touch, soft and smooth. His hands always were well kept. “Perhaps it would help to talk about it.”

  I just shake my head again. The tears that were so easy to locate earlier have dried up as my conviction returns, and so I have to pretend, keeping my eyes on the fabric of the dressing gown.

  My father is silent for a while. I know him well enough to see that he doesn’t believe me. But he wants to. Eventually he pats my hand again briskly and straightens. “Well, good. We’ll just put all of this behind us, then. What you need is some quiet. As long as you’re safe, that’s all I care about.”

  It’s all I wanted—him to just accept me back, for all of this to go away, for my life to go back to normal. And still, I’m uneasy. There’s a tension here I haven’t felt since I was fourteen, and I learned that Simon was gone. Some part of me knows he’s only telling me what I want to hear.

  My father clears his throat. “I understand the young man in the other room is partially responsible for bringing you back in one piece?”

  “Tarver Merendsen,” I correct him, nodding, keeping my head down. “Entirely responsible, Daddy. He’s the reason I’m here at all.”