Rain on Neptune

by Lisa Jade

“What if they’re not?”

  My hands tighten into fists. So the story of my entry hasn’t been entirely lost.

  “I wonder who’s singing tonight?” someone else asks, disrupting my thoughts.

  A general murmur through the crowd.

  “Someone famous, no doubt.”

  “No way. It’s been months – if there were someone famous aboard, we would know.”

  “Maybe it’s Ahime!”

  “Are you mad? Ahime is known for saving her words. She wouldn’t sing, especially not for us. It must be someone else.”

  Luci glances at me, her expression unreadable. She can hear the discussion too, though she seems to know something that I don’t. When she sees me looking she turns her head forward again, like she’s avoiding my gaze.

  “So,” I ask, my voice low, “you have the inside scoop, right? Who’s singing tonight?”

  Her shoulders hunch.

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do,” I tease, “you’re a dreadful liar.”

  She simply shakes her head and carries on walking.

  An hour later, as Angelique takes centre stage, my heart sinks.

  Not her. Anyone but her. She looks especially smug today, her shoulders rolled back and her chin pulled up high. Everyone in the room stares at her. I make a point to look away.

  “Sorry I didn’t tell you,” murmurs Luci, “I thought you might be mad.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  My voice is light, nonchalant; but inside, I burn. After all she’s done, she doesn’t deserve all this respect. She doesn’t deserve for people to admire her beauty, discussing behind cupped hands how lucky they are to be in her presence.

  My stomach twists. She was born on Three, I guess. She opted to move to Four to be with Dad – and he had moved from the Mainland to be with her. Now she’s gone, and so have I, and Dad remains on Four alone.

  But then the band begins to play and she opens her mouth to sing, and suddenly I’m four years old, sitting on the floor at the Drop-off. We’re buried in darkness but despite my age, I feel unafraid of it. Mom sits to one side, Dad to the other, and her silky voice rings out across the sea. I raise my tiny arms towards the sky, shouting out the names of random constellations. The words of the song, I think – but sung out of order, since I was too young to understand the way the song lilted and rang.

  And then I’m alone, my toes hooked over the edge of the Drop-off, my eyes fixed on something in the distance. It’s a black dot, likely a plane or something equally innocuous; but my teenage eyes turn it into the Callisto. Without meaning to I throw out an arm, as though I can will it back and bring my mother back with it.

  I blink hard. We’re back in the ballroom now, and she’s singing the same song she once taught me. My lips are moving too, the words coming softly at first and then stronger, as the lyrics blossom in my memory. I remember this song. I remember her.

  Luci rests one hand on my shoulder.

  “Quinn. You’re singing.”

  I fall silent, though my mouth still follows every word. One by one those around us lead onto the floor, and the same slow, spinning, partner-changing dance strikes up around us. Even Luci is swept into the dance, a broad smile playing on her features.

  I gaze around and without meaning to, I look Angelique in the eye. The same blue-green, ocean-like eyes that once woke me every morning and wished me goodnight every evening. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was still in there. Still my mother, buried somewhere beneath the folds of satin. Maybe the voice of Angela is still trying to break out. But then she looks my way, sees the way my mouth moves in time with hers, and her eyebrows raise.

  I stop instantly.

  A moment later Finn sidles up to me, offering his arm with a wink.

  “May I have this dance?”

  “Hmm… no. I don’t dance.”

  “I watched you swim, remember? There’s a hint of natural grace there.”

  “Grace underwater is easy. Nobody needs to see me dance.”

  His eyes glitter.

  “You know I’m just going to keep asking until you say yes.”

  “Give it your all. I’m pretty sure I’m more stubborn than you. There are still nearly two years left. You’ll get bored eventually.”

  “Ah, yes,” he teases, “two whole years of me nagging you at every party. I bet you’d love that. Or, you could join the dance just this one time, and I promise I’ll never ask again.”

  I raise one eyebrow.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. What do you say?”

  I glance at the dancefloor and frown. It’s the same dance as before; the one where partners swirl around one another, then pass one hand to the next person and spin with their new partner instead. I wince at the thought of dancing to Angelique’s song; but before I can decline, Finn links one arm through mine and drags me into the fray. One hand finds my hip, another my hand – but oddly, there’s no heat in my face. It’s not like when Isaac entangled me in his arms, sending my stomach into chaos. It’s the touch of a friend, as familiar to me as Gray’s outstretched hand. I laugh at the bemused look on Finn’s face as he begins to lead. I promptly stumble.

  “Oh, wow,” he guffaws, “you really don’t have rhythm.”

  “I warned you. You had best pass me along before someone sees us together.”

  But he doesn’t. Instead he raises my arm over my head, sending me spiralling beneath him. It’s strange; he moves just like the rest of them, with that same peculiar smoothness. Each movement seems oddly natural, like they’ve been doing this their whole lives.

  “Finn?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I hate this so much.”

  His smile just widens. A moment later, someone squeals behind me.

  “Oh, my god!” Luci cries, “Finn, you actually got her to dance?! I’ve been barking up that tree for weeks!”

  “Don’t get too excited,” I warn, “this isn’t my idea of fun. In fact, I’m nearly finished.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. As my Companion, I instruct you. Dance.”

  My jaw falls open to object, but she simply cackles. Hands find me again and I turn back to Finn – but it isn’t Finn. Not this time.

  The Captain rests a vast hand on my hip. His fingers are endlessly long and wrap around me with ease. He looks down at me with an unreadable expression.

  “S-sir…”

  “How are you enjoying the festivities?” he asks. His voice is oddly calm and measured, incredibly polite – like our confrontation never happened.

  “I don’t enjoy dancing, sir.”

  His fingers tighten against me and my blood runs cold. I want to look around and see if the others have noticed – I need someone to cut in right now, to sweep me away and give me chance to run. But I daren’t tear my gaze from his. He lost it so quickly the first time; I don’t know what might set him off now.

  “Have you heard the news?” he says, “about the crew member deaths?”

  I give a small nod.

  “Yes. It’s terrible.”

  “Indeed. But you needn’t worry.”

  He spins me around, and as we come back together I lay a hand on his chest – the highest spot I can reach – and instantly regret it. I don’t want to touch him. Don’t want to hear his low, growling breath in my ear. Don’t want his hand on my back, growing tighter with every passing moment.

  When he speaks again, his voice is like ice.

  “I intend to capture whoever did it, and put them to rights. You may not know, but the laws of Pyre don’t exist on board this ship. Executions don’t require trials.”

  I swallow hard.

  “Yes, I’ve heard that.”

  “Whoever did this will suffer at my hands. And you of all people know how that feels.”

  I meet his gaze. Why does this feel less like a polite conversation, and more like a thinly-veiled threat? Could he know about me? Is there anything I’ve done, anything I’ve said that might
betray my real identity?

  But there’s nothing. So I fix a broad smile on my face and pray it doesn’t irritate him.

  “I’m sure you’ll find whoever did it, sir. And give them the suitable punishment.”

  His eyes simply glimmer in response.

  Several minutes later, my hand finds my newest partner’s – and electricity jumps between us. I know who it is without looking.

  “I thought you didn’t dance,” Isaac smirks. I realise with a start that both his hands are on mine, held carefully away from my body, and ignore the pang of sadness that follows. He won’t touch me. I remember how warm he’d felt that night, and how his body had smelled – comforting, oddly, and somehow familiar.

  “Finn dragged me up,” I say softly. He smiles.

  “You’re better than I thought you’d be. Very graceful.”

  “You didn’t see me fall over.”

  He lets out a chuckle. This is nice. There’s a pleasant flush in his cheeks and humour playing in those amber-brown eyes. I’ve missed him more than I realised.

  “I had the pleasure of dancing with the Captain,” I tell him. His brows furrow.

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Not especially. Just how he plans to torture whoever’s behind the attacks. Nothing we haven’t heard before.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s probably saying it to stop people panicking.”

  We twirl, and for a moment our hands release; we come back together a moment later.

  Despite my better judgement, I can still feel it. I want to kiss him again – just to see if the stars align like they did before. He watches me with a soft gaze, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. Pain swirls in my stomach.

  Don’t be stupid, Quinn. He’s a perfect stranger to you.

  It takes a moment for me to realise that the music has stopped. A moment longer to click that the dancing has stopped, too; and people are pulling apart and erupting into a small round of applause. I look up. Angelique gives a deep bow, her lips now firmly sealed, ready to step back into the role of ‘Companion’. I take a deep breath, then start clapping.

  Isaac fires me a blank look.

  “Really? After everything she’s done to you?”

  “What can I say?” I laugh, “the woman’s a monster, but her voice is beautiful.”

  As the crowd disperses around us, he runs a hand through his hair.

  “It’s good to see you again. I know we spoke after the murders, but needs must. For a while, I was worried you wouldn’t talk to me again.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. It’s just been…”

  I trail off.

  “Awkward?” he offers. I nod.

  “Eloquently put. I guess you’re right. I don’t know what to say anymore. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to talk to you.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “You’re talking to me right now, aren’t you?”

  I pause. He’s right. It feels natural to be around him now, as easy as talking to Alice or Dad – and the fluttering in my stomach fades into the background, sad but manageable.

  Luci and the others wave us over to the bar, where they’re already pouring something red from a huge glass bottle. I heave a sigh of relief. At least for now, I don’t have to worry about how to deal with Isaac.

  Sabina and Terri are here, too, slouching over the bar. As we approach, Terri’s smile broadens. Perhaps she’s a little sick of being around the snobs. I can understand that. Sabina tilts her head when she sees me, her eyes narrowing at the sight of the two of us together. I realise with a start that Isaac’s hand is still on my shoulder – and we quickly pull apart. Sabina smirks as we approach.

  “I think you’re starting to enjoy this, aren’t you?” she teases, toying with a strand of crimson hair. I blush madly.

  “No way. I’m only here to see…”

  “The stars, I know. I’ve heard it enough times.”

  She shoots me a toothy grin and I return it instantly, more out of habit than anything. Lately, she’s been acting differently. Something about the recent disasters has gripped her, compelling her to try and figure it out for herself. Every other conversation is some theory about how Four are sabotaging the cruise. I understand that she’s trying to help however she can; but something about it puts me on edge. One wrong word in her presence, and I risk revealing myself to someone who may not be quite so understanding.

  Luci jumps in to change the subject, exclaiming about Angelique’s gorgeous performance, and I silently thank her. It still impresses me how she can just change like that, from solemn to excitable, snapping from one extreme to the next so people always see and hear exactly what they want. It’s a shame she’s not being pushed to become a leader; I’d follow her anywhere.

  Suddenly, something shifts and clicks above us. I glance up. The great glass dome overhead is opening, folding in on itself to reveal an eerie blackness overhead. For a brief moment, I marvel at the half-mile circle on the ceiling, which leaves nothing but the ship’s invisible barriers between us and the inky darkness above. It’s beautiful – sadly reminiscent of a night spent sitting atop the ship – and I feel myself step forward for a better view. I’m not the only one, either. Others shift towards the circle of light on the marble floor, craning their necks to see.

  “Wow!”

  “I didn’t know the ballroom could do this!”

  “Is it supposed to be for a viewing?”

  Suddenly, another voice rings out – but this one is tinny and metallic, like a child’s voice heard through a tin can telephone.

  “Attention crew, passengers and Companions. Both the Oxygen barriers and Gravity barriers are about to be switched off.”

  I pause. What?

  The voice suddenly softens.

  “Maybe now you’ll finally listen to us.”

  For a brief moment, I stare blankly at the hole in the roof; and then chaos breaks out around me.

  Seventeen

  The same barriers that held us safely against the Neptune’s roof are about to be turned off? Will we be sucked out into the vacuum? In an instant, the room is filled with screams. The sound snaps me out of my daze and I pelt towards the others, my footsteps alarmingly light. Less gravity. It’s already happening.

  Next is the oxygen. Terror rips through me. They’re going to suffocate everyone.

  “Quinn!”

  My head shoots up. The others clutch the bar to keep from floating away, blind panic dominating their features. Luci’s arms are wrapped around the nearest stool, providing a somewhat secure grip. Her voice rings out again.

  I dart over and Isaac throws out a hand; I snatch it up just as the barrier breaks.

  Instantly, anything not bolted to the floor soars toward the roof – including several people who hadn’t moved quite fast enough. Deafening screams fill the room. Isaac pulls me to his chest as we clutch to the bar, suddenly grateful that the furniture is mostly fastened down. Through the blanket of my own hair I see objects flying past us, unnervingly close – chairs, tables, people.

  Something in my chest screams. People are dying. They’re actually dying!

  Instantly the world is ice cold, and it’s a little harder to breathe. Sabina shrieks in my ear, her long, silk scarf fluttering in my face.

  “Oh my god!”

  “What the hell is going on?!”

  I press my forehead against the bar and pull my eyes shut. Breathe. Stay calm. What’s going on? You can figure this out.

  Another attack, clearly. Someone’s trying to kill us all.

  Would being pulled out of the ship kill someone? No air out there. Really cold, too. Yeah. People are going to die.

  For a brief moment, panic overwhelms me. I suddenly remember sitting in bed, the Doctor perched beside me as he taught me how to breathe through the pain in my arm. Before I intend to, I’m doing it; and amazingly, a sense of calm takes over.

  I look to the side. The others are screaming now, too. I glance at their hands. The
y’re all holding strong. Good.

  A quick look in the other direction tells a different story. Two young women strain to remain on the floor, clinging to the other end of the bar. The nearest woman screeches as she tries to secure herself; but her manicured fingers find no purchase on the polished wood.

  Sabina’s scarf hits me in the face again, and a stupid plan forms in my head.

  I reach over, untying the scarf from her neck with one hand.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Isaac bellows, “don’t let go!”

  I ignore him, whipping the scarf away. I lock my knees around the nearest bar stool, tying the scarf around it as tightly as I dare. My gut tightens. Hope this holds.

  I loop the other end around my wrist and pull it so tight that it hurts. The others watch in stunned silence, perhaps too terrified to move – and it’s only when I start to shift, straightening my legs to stand, that they realise what I’m doing.

  “Quinn, no!”

  “What are you thinking?!”

  The two women are still holding on, but now their movements are more feeble. Screams have drained the air from their lungs and they’re growing weaker, which seems to terrify them all the more. Despite the pounding in my ears and the ever-growing dryness in my throat, I grasp the scarf and step aside, moving along the bar with shaking hands. I can hear the others protesting my every movement, but they daren’t move away from safety.

  “Give me your hand!” I bellow to the nearest girl. I’m as close as I dare to be, pressed hard against the bar. I’m holding stable; for now.

  Perhaps she doesn’t have much faith in her grip. Or maybe she realises that she doesn’t have much chance on her own. Either way, she grasps my hand without hesitation. Her fingers feel like ice.

  I gasp for air, and for a moment I worry I won’t have the strength to move her – but then I hear shuffling behind me, and panic overwhelms me. I can’t put the others at risk.

  With a swift movement, I sweep the girl aside. Her feet fall out from under her and for a moment she’s airborne; but then Isaac grabs at her, pulling her into the relative safety of the corner. As she throws herself into his chest, still screaming, he shoots me a worried look. I shake my head in response.