by Lisa Jade
I weigh up my options. Can I get to the door before he catches me? If I do, will I know how to get it open? And if I manage that, where will I end up? In another white-painted hallway, surrounded by many more just like him? How many of them would grant me chance to explain myself?
My hands tighten into fists. What’s the point? If I tell him the truth, he’ll report me. I’m not a good enough liar to come up with a convincing story. Suddenly, I become aware of where his hand sits; just a half-inch away from my scar. I tear my hand from his grip and clutch at it, praying he didn’t see the mark when he reached out for me.
“My name is Quinn,” I finally say, crossing my arms defensively, “and you’re right. I’m not supposed to be here.”
His eyes widen.
“Are you restricted to a different sector?”
I open my mouth to respond, then bite back on it.
“No. I’m supposed to be on Four.”
He gasps.
“Hold up. You’re the stowaway the crew mentioned?!”
I swallow hard and step back. What will the crew do to me, once he hands me over? How will they kill me? My fingers begin to shake.
But then I look up, and to my surprise there’s conflict in his eyes. Perhaps I seem too pathetic to turn in, all diminutive and covered in filth, with tears brimming in my eyes. Maybe he’s too kind of a person to do it. Maybe he’s just scared of me. I suppose I could understand that. I must seem somewhat manic.
“I…”
My voice breaks a little.
“…I just wanted to see the stars.”
He tilts his head.
“What?”
“I didn’t mean to break into your room,” I say softly, “or even to go to Orithyia. I just… want to see the stars up close. I was due to join the Companion Scheme, but…”
Instinctively, my right hand closes around the scar. I ignore the pang of sadness in my chest and sniff deeply.
“…it didn’t work out.”
“So you just… came aboard anyway?”
His voice is thick with incredulity as he takes a hesitant step forward. I nod.
“Yes.”
“You must know what will happen if you get caught.”
“I guess I wasn’t thinking. In the moment, I just…”
I trail off, unable to continue. The man just watches me. He must be around my age, perhaps even a little younger – though it may just be his superior genetics making him seem so youthful. To be in a room this luxurious, he must be a passenger. He must be from One. Suddenly, I feel very, very small.
But then he runs a hand through his hair, sending his ponytail shaking.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
He waves at one of the doors.
“If you go anywhere looking like that, you’ll be caught. So if you want a chance at seeing the stars, you’ll need a disguise. I know someone who can help.”
He holds out a hand for me to take. Instinct propels me forward, but my fingers stop a half inch from his. Something feels wrong.
“Why would you help me?” I whisper. He just smiles.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
The man leads me into a second bedroom, nearly identical to his own aside from a series of dresses hanging from the four-poster bed. They glimmer even in the low light, silk and sequins and tiny gems catching my eye. I’ve never seen clothes like that before – strapless and full, with lace and frills covering every surface.
“Wait here,” he says. He strides over and knocks sharply on yet another door. Someone stumbles and yelps inside, and a split second later, I hear a woman’s voice.
“Isaac! You scared the hell out of me!”
“Are you in the bath already?” he asks, “get out here, I need your help with something.”
“Ugh. Give me a minute, will you?”
The man – Isaac, she said – fires a sheepish smile my way.
“Lucinda’s coming. She’ll just be a moment.”
I nod politely. Something about being in this room feels strange, wrong; like I have no right to be here. I eye the pretty dresses again and swallow hard.
Finally, the door to the other room bursts open, and a vision steps out.
The woman is deeply tanned and utterly curvaceous, with the smallest waist I’ve ever seen and a statuesque build similar to Isaac’s. Her hair is white-blonde and falls in loose curls around her chin, framing a heart-shaped face and vivid amber eyes. She steps into the room with all the confidence of a supermodel, one foot in front of the other as though she were living on an eternal catwalk.
And then she looks at me, the dirty pillar of chaos in her flawless room, and I feel myself shrink back. It’s instinctive, I guess – some vague evolutionary trait that inexplicably forces me to respect good genetics. She steps up beside Isaac, who I now realise must be her brother. They have the same eyes. A sliver of intimidation works its way up my spine.
“Who’s this?” the woman demands. Isaac shrugs.
“I’m not entirely sure myself. But her name is Quinn. She needs help, Luci.”
She looks me up and down, then grimaces.
“I’ll say. What happened to you? Did you get stuck in a lawnmower?”
I swallow hard.
“You’d be surprised how close that is to the truth.”
“She needs a change of clothes,” Isaac explains, “and maybe a few lessons on how to blend in around here.”
“I can do all that, no problem. But who is she, exactly?”
“A stowaway.”
Lucinda’s eyes flash with anger.
“You brought someone on board with you?”
“No, no! She got here on her own, we’ve never met before. I just ran into her by mistake. She needs help.”
“Isaac, if Dad knew what you were doing, he’d be furious. This is exactly the kind of thing he’s always scolding you for.”
He shakes his head.
“I know, I know. But we can’t just leave her. If the crew catch her, she’ll be killed.”
“We?! Don’t drag me into this. I’m not getting involved.”
“But without you, she’ll get found out.”
“That is none of my concern.”
She turns her gaze to me, and I notice a similar look of pity in her pretty eyes.
“Look - Quinn, was it? I’m sure you have a great sob story and I know you need help to get out of this hole you’ve dug for yourself, but we’re already in a precarious position and I just can’t afford to help you out. That goes double for my stupid brother, here. I’m sure you understand.”
I hesitate. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on; I’m unused to their thick accents, so by the time I’ve managed to decipher one sentence, the conversation’s already moved on. Isaac shoots Lucinda an irate look.
“You can’t tell me not to help.”
“I can. You need to turn this girl in. Remember what Dad told you.”
“I don’t care what Dad said. She’s Branded, Luci.”
My stomach tightens.
“How did you figure it out?” I ask, my voice soft.
“When I grabbed your arm earlier, I felt a scar. It’s a pretty specific shape. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“No, no. You didn’t.”
Lucinda hesitates at that, her gaze fixed on my arms.
“May I see?” she finally asks. I nod. There’s no point refusing now. I’m already at their mercy. I turn my arm over slowly and she gasps. I must admit, there’s something undeniably satisfying about the horror building on her face. Level One citizens don’t live under the Operators. It’s likely unthinkable to have their rights restricted like this. Let alone suffer scarring like this.
Lucinda holds out a hand and I obediently step closer, allowing her to place her fingertips on my arm. Her soft touch passes over the scar, and she winces at the dips in my skin.
“I heard all about this,” she says, “but I’ve never seen it. How do they do it?”
&nbs
p; “It’s hot metal. Like a cattle brand, to the bone.”
She frowns, then fixes me with a reproachful look.
“So… you’re a criminal. You’re defective.”
“Lucinda…” Isaac starts, but I wave him into silence. A small voice tells me that I should be ashamed. I should probably plead with them to help me. But I can’t. I feel no shame. I tried my best to save Cherise – and though I could have done more, I’m not ashamed to have tried.
“I’ve always loved the stars,” I breathe, “so my friend, Cherise, stole a lens for my makeshift telescope. She stole it from the observatory on One.”
Isaac opens his mouth to speak, but I push on.
“She was found out and arrested. Since she’d already been Branded, the next step was Level Five.”
“What’s that?” Lucinda asks in a hushed, horrified voice.
“Being thrown off the edge of Pyre. Execution by drowning.”
Her eyes widen.
“She was…”
“Yes,” I whisper, “I tried to save her – she was only in trouble because of me – but I failed. The Operators carried out her sentence, and for defying them, I was…”
I don’t want to say it. I wrench my arm from her grip and look away, unable to meet her eyes. I thought I was ready to talk about this. I was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “I can’t imagine that.”
“Of course you can’t. You’re from Level One, you’ve never experienced…”
I bite back on the rest of the sentence. These people are potential allies. My only chance of survival. I need to keep them on my side. So I push the anger back down and tug my face into a smile.
“It’s not something that most people know about,” I blurt, “so I don’t expect you to know. That wouldn’t be fair. Thing is, I intended to hide the scar. See, I was working to get on the Companion Scheme for the Neptune, before this happened. Someone who’s Branded isn’t allowed to leave their Level, let alone Earth. So I knew that my only chance to see the stars was to sneak on during the launch.”
Lucinda’s face has changed. Any lingering sense of indignation has vanished entirely, replaced by utter horror.
“You were supposed to be a Companion?”
“Yes. Listen, I know you’re suspicious of me, but I don’t intend any harm. I didn’t plan to do any of this. This isn’t some convoluted plan to attack you. I just…”
“Want to see the stars, right? I get it.”
She sighs, stepping away and rubbing a hand over her face. When she turns back to her brother, she seems exasperated.
“Damn you, Isaac. No matter how hard I try, you always get me wrapped in your plans. Fine. I’ll take care of her. But you have to help me.”
Isaac chews his lip.
“I’m no good with all that girly stuff.”
“Not that. Look, Companions are usually matched to their passenger, where possible, so if you plan to keep this girl alive, we should make her my Companion.”
My heart hammers in my chest. A Companion?
Lucinda fixes me with a critical gaze.
“You were working towards it, right? You should be able to play the part. I’ll pretend that I decided last minute to get a Companion for the trip. After all the arguments with Dad about whether I needed one, he should be happy. I’ll sort out some clothes for you, too, though we’ll need to make sure that scar is covered. You understand that if someone sees it, you’ll be killed?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we’ll be punished along with you. Probably a good scolding, maybe a curfew. We might even need to remain tagged or in isolation for the rest of the trip. That’s why it’s important that you exercise some caution. Do you understand?”
I nod. This is going well. Too well. But then she smiles, and I sense that the catch is coming.
“What is it?”
“In all honesty, I wasn’t really looking forward to this trip. It’s considered a pilgrimage of sorts for us, you know. Something we’re all supposed to do in our early twenties. I figured it would be pretty boring – but now, I’m interested. And besides, it’ll be nice to have some help around here. Maybe having a Companion won’t be so bad.”
I swallow hard. I’ve just remembered something I was told on my first Scheme trial. The Examiner had explained that every passenger has different expectations of their Companion; some will want a handmaid to dress them and clean up after them and otherwise stay silent. Others will use them for actual companionship. Still others dress their Companions up and parade them around, more like accessories than actual people. There’s an excited spark in Lucinda’s eyes as she swings the belt of her bathrobe in anticipation.
So, I’m alive. That’s good.
But what have I just agreed to?
Eight
I heave a sigh.
Three hours. That’s how long I’ve been sitting here, allowing Lucinda to poke and prod at me. We’ve missed the Captain’s welcoming speech, though Isaac excused himself to go and watch. Aside from a few minutes where we braced for the final break through the atmosphere, Lucinda has barely acknowledged where we are.
I have, though. My skin tingles at the thought. We’ve broken through the final barrier. We’ve officially left Earth. I want to cheer at the realisation. But I force myself to sit still as she works.
She made me bathe in her enormous tub first, pushing bottle after bottle of heavily-scented soaps toward me. People don’t smell like me on One, she’d insisted. According to her, they all smell of chamomile and jojoba and lavender, and any number of other flowers you’d never find growing on Pyre. Then she’d handed me a razor and left the room, telling me not to leave until every stray hair was gone from my body.
Then, I was smothered with more creams than I can count. She’s slathered strange concoctions on my hair and massaged it through, plucked my brows into a new shape, filed my nails into neat shapes. The close contact has left me breathless more than once, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s clearly enjoying herself. She fires me a pleased look.
“You know, you’re not bad looking, under all the oil.”
I pause. Was that a compliment? A jab? I choose to smile in response.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say, “are you sure you’re okay with all this? I mean, you even missed the Captain’s speech.”
She scoffs.
“Please. I don’t care about the speech. This whole cruise is just a chore. It’s a tradition on One - I’m expected to visit another world before I can be considered an adult back home. Already there’s pressure to settle down and have kids, but that’s not my idea of fun. I’d much rather spend my time doing things like this.”
“Really?”
“Women aren’t expected to be leaders or politicians on One. We’re told to pump out children and share our genes with the men, so they can make all the choices for us. Personally, I’m not interested. All I want is to make things pretty. Pretty hair, pretty makeup. Pretty music and pretty paintings. That appeals to me much more than the housewife lifestyle.”
She glances up at me and her expression changes.
“What’s that in your hair?”
Before I can reply she reaches for my loss knot – and instinct takes over. I snatch it from her hand and tuck it behind my ear. This is all I have left of home. Lucinda shoots me an offended look.
“Alright, calm down. What’s wrong?”
“Sorry. I’m kind of protective over my loss knot.”
“What’s a loss knot?”
I pause. She doesn’t recognise it? Perhaps it’s a Four thing.
“It’s like… a memorial you carry with you,” I explain, “one of my Level’s traditions.”
“Ah. This is for Cherise.”
“Yes.”
“I see. Well, we’ll do our best to hide it where we can. I promise I won’t untie it.”
Something tells me she still doesn’t quite understand the knot’s significance; but she seems respect it, so I can
’t complain.
Lucinda tucks the knot into my hair, then hands me a wad of black cloth.
“What’s this?”
“A dress. Put it on, and hurry. Don’t forget to put the jacket over there on, too. It should cover the scar. I have some friends I’d like to meet up with, but I can’t go without you looking the part.”
“I’m coming with you?”
“A good Companion is always by your side. I expect you to stand next to me, Quinn. You hold my drink, get stuff for me when I need it. You carry things I need. If you want to seem convincing as a Companion, you’ll need to play the part.”
“I understand.”
I pull on the dress and shudder. My legs are fully on display, and the neckline is low enough that if I had cleavage, it would be bursting out. The jacket provides some small comfort, but I still find myself tugging at the hem of the dress. No wonder she had me shave every last inch of my body.
Lucinda dabs at my face with makeup, then spritzes me with even more flowery, stinking perfume. Finally, she passes me some objects that resemble torture weapons and informs me that they’re shoes. When I shoot her a disbelieving look, she just laughs.
While she gets ready, I spot myself in the full-length mirror. For a moment, I don’t recognise myself. Gone is the scrawny, messy girl with the upturned nose. The girl – the woman – in the mirror is my polar opposite. Thick black locks frame a face painted with deep red lipstick and dark shadow. A body I once considered diminutive and childlike is now shapely, with legs longer than I could have imagined. I doubt I’ll ever truly fit in; my nose is still pointed and my chin is still too sharp for my face. It’s obvious I’m not from One. But I feel like a different person - and that alone is reason to smile.
Still, as I wobble in my towering heels, I don’t feel entirely at rest. That voice from before is still in there, screaming for me to acknowledge what I’ve done. What a risk I’ve taken. How thoroughly I’ve destroyed the people I love.
I push the thoughts down. The moment I acknowledge them, I might break. Once the realisation hits me, and I’m forced to come to terms with my own selfish decisions, I fear there may be no coming back.
