Across a Star-Swept Sea

by Diana Peterfreund

  “You,” Shift growled as best he could. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. Grasping, uppity little reg. You won’t sleep your way onto the throne, I can promise you that.”

  Tero straightened, then looked down at the aristo darkly. “I think the poor man has suffered enough,” he said, and opened his left palm again.

  Isla put her hand in his, covering the port before the knockout drug could be released. “Don’t,” she said softly. “I’d like the soon-to-be ex-Councilman Shift to be awake to see me dance with my boyfriend.”

  Tero looked at Isla. Isla looked at Tero, a tiny smile on her face.

  “You want to dance with me?” he whispered.

  “Desperately,” she whispered back, before looping her arm in his and walking out into the crowd.

  Persis watched them go, unable to contain her smile. At least one romance on this island would end happily. “Convey my regrets to your nephew, Lord Shift,” she said as the court medic arrived.

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  Twenty-eight

  FOR A GOOD FIFTEEN minutes after the visitors had been introduced, Justen saw no one he knew. The crowd of people seeking to get a glimpse of the visitors had kept him separated from them, and Persis and Isla were nowhere to be found. Then, when he finally did catch a glimpse of the princess, dancing with Tero Finch like it was the most natural thing in the world, he didn’t want to interrupt. Thankfully, he was soon joined by Kai, Elliot, Andromeda, and Ro, who had found respite when the entire court had been distracted by the sight of the princess regent embracing a lowly gengineer.

  Ah, Albion. Not as equal as they liked to imagine. But then again, if Isla and Tero were an official item, maybe they were headed places.

  The visitors looked understandably overwhelmed. Though Justen was growing used to the typhoon of clothes, flowers, perfumes, and flutters at court, he knew the visitors, with their technologically backward origins, still had a long way to go.

  “It’s all I can do to keep watch over Tomorrow,” Andromeda said, hitching up the train of her dress. “You’d think, with everything to look at here, they wouldn’t be so fascinated by one girl.”

  “Oh, they aren’t fascinated by one girl,” said Kai, laughing. “You’re just as captivating.”

  She stuck her tongue out at her fellow captain. “And you’re lying low?”

  “So far,” he replied with a grin, but Justen could see how tightly he held Elliot’s hand.

  “I can’t wear things like this. I’m too much of a Luddite,” Elliot said now, dipping her head.

  “A Luddite lord,” Kai corrected, “and therefore, the only visiting dignitary on the Argos. Remember that.” Elliot nodded but didn’t lift her head. Sometime, Justen was going to have to get the entire rundown on the political system of their homeland. If Elliot was an aristo, she certainly didn’t act it. “Also,” Kai added, “you look lovely.”

  She lifted her chin to look at Kai now, and he leaned in, kissing her mouth softly enough not to mar her makeup.

  Justen looked away. He’d never thought the foreign aristo—or Luddite lord, as she called herself—was a beautiful girl, but tonight, everything seemed different. Maybe it was because she was wearing Persis’s clothes. Maybe it was the way she and Kai looked at each other. It reminded him of the looks he’d seen Persis’s parents giving each other, the love Persis had claimed in the star cove was an impossible standard to meet.

  At the time, Justen had agreed. Who even wanted a love like that? Wouldn’t it distract from everything else you wanted to do with your life? But looking at Kai and Elliot, Justen wondered if, instead, love was what made it possible. Torin and Heloise had defied the customs of their nation and helped bring about great social change in Albion. Kai and Elliot had sailed to a whole new world. He didn’t know much about the intimate aspects of his grandparents’ relationship, but he did know that Darwin Helo had worked tirelessly to help his wife bring the cure to all the people of New Pacifica. If Justen ever found someone like that, would he change his mind?

  Of course, that couldn’t happen, not while he was playing games with Persis. Persis, who’d looked so gorgeous tonight he’d almost forgotten the danger hanging over his head. Dreams of grand love and world-changing partnerships aside, it would be nice to get in one dance with his fake girlfriend before the night was over. After all, she’d put so much effort into their matching costumes.

  Tomorrow took off through the crowd toward the water organ, and Andromeda followed, still scowling. The rest of them watched the party for a while, Justen keeping his eye out for Persis, Isla, or indeed, anyone who might be able to connect him to the Wild Poppy, and Kai and Elliot looking far more content to stand at the sidelines than brave the crush in the center of the court. The water organ cycled through several songs and servants lit bonfires around the dance floor for fire dancing, but he couldn’t make out anyone he knew. Andromeda and Tomorrow never returned, and Elliot was starting to look overwhelmed again. Justen snagged a few glasses of kiwine from a passing waiter and offered it to the visitors. “This might help.”

  Elliot made a face at the pale green liquid, then took a sip and smiled, relieved. “It’s wine.”

  “Kiwine.”

  “Kiwi … wine?” She laughed. “You people have the strangest foods. The strangest everything. I thought the Cloud Fleet clothes were crazy, but this is”—she tugged at her skirt—“this is like something out of an ancient book. Marie Antoinette, maybe?”

  “I was always partial to the French Revolution.” Vania swooped in on them, swiping Justen’s glass of wine right out of his hand. “They certainly knew how to deal with their aristos. Good evening, everyone. How do you like my outfit, Justen? Does it meet with your aristocratic fashion taste?”

  His eyes dropped from her sly, calculating smile to her clothing. Vania still wore revolutionary black, but tonight she was dressed in a slinky, glittery gown that wouldn’t be out of place on any Albian aristo. Crisscrossed straps webbed up the bodice and down the sleeves, and there was a black cormorant-feathered cape tossed jauntily across her shoulders. The feathers shimmered with iridescence, and Justen realized how much he must have learned from his week with Albion’s most fashionable aristo. Vania had chosen a feathered outfit specifically to ruffle aristo feathers.

  “Are you trying to cause an eruption?” he asked her, eyebrows raised. Even if Isla hadn’t chosen that fashion style this particular evening, feathered capes were usually reserved for royalty, in ancient tradition.

  “Yes,” Vania replied. “I am a revolutionary, unlike some people I know.” She looked at the visitors. “Can I borrow him for just a moment?”

  As soon as they were alone—or as alone as they could be in the crowd—Vania turned to him and took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology.”

  “You owe me my sister,” he hissed at her.

  “Remy is fine,” Vania said with a shrug. “You honestly think I’d do something to her? Come on, Justen. That’s what I wanted to apologize about. I was so angry at you, at the way you’d abandoned us, that I lashed out. I’m sorry.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. This was the Vania he knew. And if Remy was safe, it was all that mattered. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Not as glad as I’ll be when you come back to Galatea with me tonight.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t go back, Vania. Not ever.”

  Her lips formed a scary little line. “Why, because of Persis? Justen, the clothes are nice and all, but let’s be serious. You have work to do.”

  “I’ll do it here.”

  “Oh, no you won’t,” she said. “That Reduced girl is going to Galatea, and she’s not coming back. You think I’d miss an opportunity like that? I saw her name all over your notes the other night. Any work you want to do with her—and I know you well enough to tell you’re just it
ching to start your little experiments—you can do in Galatea or not at all.”

  “Please,” Justen scoffed. “Do you honestly think that the Albians are going to let you leave here with any of the visitors? They’ve learned their lesson after yesterday.”

  Now it was Vania’s turn to laugh. “Please,” she mocked. “They’re already gone.”

  Justen’s face drained of blood.

  “Andromeda Phoenix knows aristo tricks. She couldn’t talk Kai or his aristo sweetheart into coming along, but we don’t need them anyway. The important one is the Reduced girl, and it was ever so easy to convince Captain Phoenix that these shiny, sparkly aristos do not have Tomorrow’s best interests at heart. She didn’t want that controlling princess or her stupid sidekick trying to stop us either.” Vania gave him a simpering, closed-lip smile. “We’re of such similar minds, Andromeda Phoenix and I. They’re halfway there already, and I only stayed behind to give you one last chance to come along.”

  He stared at her in shock. “Vania, don’t you think Andromeda’s also smart enough to see through your ruse?”

  “What ruse?” she looked mystified and a little hurt. “It’s only Albians who think things are so very bad in our country, Justen. Well, Albians and you. True Galateans are much happier now.”

  “I know a lot of Galateans who would claim otherwise,” he grumbled. “And Andromeda won’t be happy at all when she hears about your plans for her friend.”

  “Why not?” Vania shrugged off his concerns. “We’re not going to hurt the girl. It’s not like we need to drink her blood, right? A few genetests. Besides, at least there she’ll have friends of her own kind.”

  “The victims of the drug are not Reduced,” he growled.

  “Well, you’d know best. Please come,” Vania said, placing her hand on his arm. “I don’t want to be enemies with you anymore. I love you so much, Justen. You’re my best friend. Please come back. We can smooth over everything with my father and the populace. I don’t blame you for getting sidetracked here. Aristos can be … bewildering. And I know that Father wasn’t letting you work on the projects you really wanted to. But we can convince him together. That Reduced girl will change everything—for DAR and … well, for the revolution, too.”

  “How so?”

  Vania gave him a pitying smile. “I know how much guilt you’ve been feeling over the pinks, Justen. And, believe me, I feel the same. It’s just not right for the aristos. And it’s like you said. Seeing Tomorrow made me realize it—how perverted their form of Reduction is. It’s not real Reduction at all, is it?”

  Justen nodded, relieved, and took Vania by the hands. “I felt that way, too. Oh, Vania, thank you so much. Seeing Tomorrow, seeing how she lives, the light that shines out of her—I can’t believe I was ever so crude as to call the effects of that drug Reduction.”

  “Exactly. For the aristos to truly get their just desserts, it’s only right that they be really Reduced. Permanently. And now that there’s a real Reduced in Galatea, we can figure out how to make it happen.”

  Justen must have dropped her hands. He must have stepped back. But he couldn’t tell. His body seemed to go numb. “No,” he whispered.

  Vania looked confused, then angry.

  There was a roaring in his ears. “You can’t.” He thought he said it. He must have said it, based on the rage that overtook Vania’s features.

  “It’s our turn to win, Justen,” she said, her voice sounding sad and a little lost. “How can you not understand that? We’ve been punished long enough for what our ancestors did. It’s their turn for punishment now, and our turn to rule.”

  One night, not long ago, Justen had floated in a starlit cove with a girl who told him, There is only one way to recover from the evil humanity does to itself: overcome it. We can only be held responsible for what we ourselves do. Bad things happen in this world, and we are judged on how we respond. Do we take part in evil, or do we fight against it with all we have?

  He had to fight. But he couldn’t stop Vania on his own. There was only one man in New Pacifica who could.

  The Wild Poppy.

  JUSTEN GRABBED VANIA’S HAND and shouted for a guard. It had the effect of bringing at least three heads swerving in his direction, but no more. A crowd of hundreds, and dozens of flutternotes in the air above them—but not a single chance of calling for help.

  “What are you—” She writhed in his grip, then brought the side of her palm down on his wrist.

  He winced and his hold on her slipped. She slammed her knee against his groin.

  “Are you trying to start a war?” she whispered in his ear as he grunted. “Not so fast, Justen. There’s plenty of time for that after we perfect our drug.”

  He grabbed at her again, but she easily evaded him, spun, then took his elbow in her hand. A lightning bolt of pain shot through his arm.

  “Honestly, Justen, perhaps you should have spent a little time outside the lab. Have you any idea how much combat training I’ve had?” She let go of him and he stumbled back, gasping. “I’m going to assume that’s a firm no to my offer. A shame.” She bit her lip. “But at least now I know for sure. I’ve tried so hard to help you, but you’ve chosen your path.”

  “Vania, don’t.” The agony spread from his throat to his fingertips. This was no mere pressure point. He ran his other hand across his sleeve and pulled out a pricker. Empty. Justen turned his eyes to Vania. “What is this?” he gasped.

  “Oh, don’t look so betrayed,” she said, annoyed. “It’s just a mild neurotoxin. I could have used something way worse on you and you know it.”

  And with that, she melted into the crowd, leaving Justen fighting for breath. He needed to find the medic station. But more than that, he needed to find the Poppy. If the rumors were true, if he was an Albian aristo, then the spy must be at the luau. But he had no idea how to even begin searching.

  Justen clutched at his arm and searched through the crowd with watering eyes, but he didn’t even see anyone he recognized. Persis, Isla, Andrine—where were they all?

  Persis was right. He should have gotten a palmport like everyone else in Albion. Instead, he stumbled toward the palace wall. If he remembered correctly, there was a public wallport near the restroom here. If he was lucky, there might even be a medic kit in the restroom.

  The medic kit he found was standard, but it still contained an epinephrine pricker and a pain relief pricker. He utilized them both, then logged into the wallport, his fingers straining with every button he typed as the medicine took effect.

  Noemi, it’s Justen. I need you to put me in touch with the Wild Poppy immediately on a matter of utmost importance.

  He watched the portal open and a sad little generic flutter zip out. How long would it take to reach Noemi? Should he try Isla, too? At least she was here.

  Justen massaged his arm with his good hand, sweating as the pain radiated out from his elbow. How long would he have to wait? Could he even afford to wait? Slowly, feeling returned to his fingers and shoulders, and the pain subsided. He leaned his forehead against the cool stone wall, breathing heavily.

  A tiny golden poppy flitted by his nose and sunk into the wallport. Justen turned back to read the screen.

  Hello, Justen Helo. What do you want from me?

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  Twenty-nine

  PERSIS MOVED THROUGH THE crowd as quickly as she could in her gown, the voluminous fabric undulating about her legs like real waves as she hurried, her eyes searching everywhere for a glimpse of Justen. The flutter Noemi had forwarded to her sounded desperate, but what could Justen possibly have to contact the Wild Poppy about so urgently at the party?

  Another generic flutter buzzed her palm. Now that he had a flutter from the Wild Poppy, Justen could contact her directly. It was a risky move, but the chance that someone could follow a flutter back
to her, especially in this crowd, was slim. She slipped her wristlock aside to allow his message entrance.

  I need to meet you.

  She laughed.

  I think not. I have a policy of not revealing myself to Galatean revolutionaries. Tell me what you want. Your sister, I suppose?

  At last she saw him, leaning against a column by one of the public wallports. She stationed herself several yards away, on the outskirts of a group of people watching the fire dance. From the corner of her eye, Persis saw Justen read her flutter, then bang his right hand against the wallport in frustration. Persis narrowed her eyes. A moment later, she received:

  I’m not a revolutionary! Not that kind, anyway. Typing takes too long. Please, you have to believe me.

  Well, she had been telling him since he’d arrived to get a palmport. Now, perhaps, he’d learned his lesson. She sent back:

  Why would I ever trust the person who invented pinks? Why would I trust someone who takes secret meetings with Vania Aldred? You’ve lied to everyone who has tried to help you in Albion: Princess Isla, Noemi Dorric, even your little girlfriend Persis Blake. But I know who you are, I know what you’ve done, and you’re lucky to be hearing from me at all.

  At last, the words she’d wanted to cast at him so long. At the wallport, she watched him read her flutter, and even from a distance, she could see his chest rise as he took a deep breath. He was gripping his arm, flexing the muscles of his left hand as if it was bothering him. Clenching his jaw, he leaned over and began typing, while Persis waited impatiently.