“Yes, I fainted, okay?” It comes out more peevishly than I intended. “I saw something happen to a philax and I just passed out.” I walk a little faster, as if to put distance between me and the subject.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting my words fade.
“I don’t believe you.”
“What?”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“And you know this how?” I demand. I almost laugh, but what happened at the Beak is too recent to be funny yet. Especially when its consequences are still playing out.
Rondo shrugs.
“I know people. And there’s more to it than that.”
I don’t know what to say to this, so I say nothing. We’re still on the shop side of the stream, which is mostly empty. People have gone home to their families. We walk by one gray-haired man locking up his shop, keying in his security code. When he finishes, he lets a scarlet banner billow down over the door, an image of some kind stitched on the front. I’ve never seen this before. When the fabric settles, I find the same emblem that the councilmembers wear as a gold pin: the likeness of the Vagantur and the five circular compounds.
“Excuse me,” I call to the retreating shopkeeper. “What is this? The banner, I mean.”
He turns, a pleasant smile on his face.
“Oh, you like it? I’m one of the first to get one. We’ll all have them soon. Nice, isn’t it? Dr. Albatur’s suggestion.”
“What is the purpose?” I say, taking a corner of the banner in my fingers. It’s fine work, the stitches neat and tight.
The man gives a good-natured shrug.
“Purpose? Ah, you greencoats. Not everything has to have a purpose. Not in the way you think. It just makes you feel good! Something for us all to identify with: face the galaxy as N’Terrans, you see? To unite us against those that might divide us.”
“But I thought Dr. Albatur hated N’Terra,” I blurt, thinking of my encounter with him outside the Beak. The man’s smile wavers.
“I don’t know what would give you that idea,” he says, his voice taking on a haughty quality. “He believes there’s a lot that is to be desired, but who doesn’t? We only have so much to work with on this planet, but he knows our history: he knows we’ve been better than we are. His goal is to give N’Terrans something to be proud of!”
“Like what exactly?” Rondo says.
“It’s a really nice banner,” I say quickly, turning my eyes back to the banner, fake-studying it. “I hope the rest of us get ours soon.”
That seems to satisfy the shopkeeper: his smile returns and he bids us good night before disappearing over the nearby bridge.
“It’s a really nice banner,” Rondo mocks when we’re alone again.
“Word travels fast lately,” I say.
Maybe it’s a neurological reaction to the intense red of the fabric, but anxiety rattles through me, a restlessness I can’t place.
“Let’s keep walking,” I say.
“Albaturean or not,” he says, jerking his head over his shoulder to indicate the shopkeeper. “I wish I could do that.”
“What? Make vague references to unity based on obscure references to the past?” I roll my eyes.
Rondo’s laugh startles me.
“What?” I frown.
“I think that might be the realest thing you’ve ever said.” Rondo chuckles. “Usually you’re trying to give the right answer. That was just . . . your answer.”
He laughs again before continuing.
“But, no, I meant I wish I could have a shop. Instead of working in the labs.” At first I think he’s joking, but one glance at his face tells me he’s serious. I shake my head.
“Seems like a waste. You’re one of the smartest people in our class. Dr. Espada always says you’re ideal for the Zoo.”
“You don’t ever want to do something that doesn’t fit?”
“Are you talking about the izinusa you still haven’t played for me?” I say.
“You look ahead at your life and all you see is whitecoats and the Zoo?” he presses.
“I look good in white.”
“Be serious, O.”
What do I see when I look ahead? I glance up at the ceiling, the light filtering in orange now as the sun sinks. I think briefly of what I’d been feeling before Rondo appeared on the bridge, imagining myself as a marov burrowing under the walls of the compound and emerging free in the jungle on the other side. I inwardly cup my hands around the thought. I hadn’t considered it as a secret until now, but suddenly it feels like one.
“I want to be a whitecoat,” I say. “I don’t think it’s limiting to be able to be part of learning more about this planet. There are possibilities.”
He snorts and I look at him sharply, still not convinced he can’t read my mind.
“There goes the real.” He laughs. “Just as it showed up, gone again.”
We’ve walked all the way through the communal ’wams and now find ourselves at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the main dome. The flowers I like are all curling slowly shut, their color deepening from blue to violet. I should be going home but instead I find myself climbing the stairs. I get a few steps up when I realize Rondo isn’t following.
“Coming?”
“I don’t usually take the stairs.”
“You look ahead at your life and all you see is the elevator?” I mock, smiling.
He grins, shaking his head, and follows me up the steps.
At the top, we’re both slightly out of breath, he more than I.
“What happened to your grandmother?” he says without looking at me. I think about her all the time, but for years now my parents have pretended she never existed. To hear someone else mention her is almost like a burn.
“Lost in the field,” I say.
“They never found her.”
“No.”
“Man,” he says. “That’s really . . .”
I wait for him to say something generic like “sad.” But he never finishes the sentence, and the silence that follows is filled with hypothetical emotions. My grandmother’s loss hovers over my heart, and I want to get out from under it. I turn away, toward the doors that will take us out into the main dome of the Paw. Rondo doesn’t move.
“Where are you going?” he says, raising an eyebrow.
“Obvious answer,” I say, and the doors slide open in front of me.
Rondo pushes off the tree he leans on but still doesn’t follow.
I understand his hesitation. We all know we’re not supposed to leave the commune after dark. It’s not a law, but a generally accepted rule laid out by the Council that’s never broken. Ordinarily I wouldn’t break it, but it’s like some string has attached itself to me and pulls me onward. My father’s in the lab, my mother’s in her study, and my mind feels noisy. If we turn back now, the night and my time with Rondo is over. It would be like catching a glimpse of a new species only to let it wander away.
The main dome is silent. Everyone is either in their homes or, like my father, in the Zoo. The sun is gone from the sky, and the darkness of the trees is intimidating.
“So here we are,” says Rondo softly. He runs his fingers through the fronds of a large bush whose delicate leaves stretch gracefully outward like my hair when it’s freshly unbraided. “What are we doing?”
“Just looking.” I sigh. I close my eyes as we walk along the path through the dome and breathe in the smell of it. It’s not quite outdoors, but there are many more trees here than in the commune and the scent of the ogwe is comforting. With my eyes closed, I can imagine that I’m out of the compound and my brain quiets momentarily, enjoying the rich and varied smells of the plants. The claustrophobia melts away.
I open my eyes to find Rondo watching me, a faint smile on his lips.
“You’re kinda strange, aren’t you?” he says softly, and I think that, in his way, he’s calling me something precious. I reach out my hand to him and he takes it; and like a
spark erupting into blaze, I’m wondering what it would be like to kiss him. There’s no logic for where it started: the thought is just here. Maybe there is science to this but it feels like . . . art. I’m about to ask him if this is what he meant when he said there was more to the world than logic when his head snaps to the left, his eyes intense.
“Someone’s coming,” he says.
We’re already holding hands, and I yank on his to pull him behind the striped trunk of the nearest ogwe. We’re dead center in the main dome: if someone catches us here, there will be no excuses. I have no idea what the punishment would be, but I imagine it would jeopardize our internships in some way. We crouch behind the tree, barely breathing. I’m sharply aware of the feeling of Rondo’s hand in my hand. I squeeze it, hard, to make myself focus on the voices we hear and not his skin.
I hear at least three people, all speaking just above a whisper. They’re coming down the path from the main entrance. They will either pass us for the commune, when they will surely see us, or continue over to the lab doors, and we’ll go unnoticed. I pray they’re feeling studious.
The voices draw nearer, and Rondo presses his shoulder tightly against mine, trying to make us disappear. His arm feels hard through our skinsuits. I look at him in the dark and find his eyes already on my face. Focus, I tell myself as the voices loom nearer still. It’s easy to hold my breath while staring at Rondo.
“Don’t take all the credit,” one voice says. “I’ve been on this assignment a lot longer.”
The response is too soft to hear. The voices go away to our right, toward the labs. I’m on the side of the tree closest to them, and I force myself to break Rondo’s gaze to curl my neck around the trunk. I do it slowly, inching, peeking at the group of whisperers. At first I think they’re all whitecoats: a group of four walking slowly to the lab door, which is still guarded by gray-suited N’Terrans with buzzguns. But there’s something strange about one member of the walking group, the one in the center. He’s not wearing white, for one thing, but besides that, he’s tall—too tall. Much taller than anyone I’ve seen in N’Terra, and more muscular, his arms long and bare. I squint my eyes in the moonlight. Spots. He has spots on what must be his skinsuit, a complex pattern expanding over his body all the way up the back of his neck. I can’t see his face, and I don’t want to risk sticking my head farther out from the tree to catch a glimpse. My head is buzzing, but I can’t focus on the smell of ogwe to make it fade. The spotted man is nearing the doors of the lab.
“Do you see that . . . ?” I whisper to Rondo.
“What is it?” He’s on the other side of the tree, the angle and my body blocking his view.
But then the lab’s entrance slides open, and my father appears in the doorway, tall and broad and facing the spotted man head-on. He pauses for what seems a long moment, staring up at the man’s face, before he raises his arm, leveling his hand at the man’s chest. I only realize he holds a tranq gun when it fires, the zip unmistakable as the dart leaves the barrel. I clap my hand over my mouth to keep the sound that bubbles in my throat silent. Then the man with spots is lost in the shadows, his body falling sideways, caught by the whitecoats that surround him.
In the dim light, something slides from the falling man’s hand, dropping to the soil. The whitecoats don’t seem to notice: they carry him through the door, followed by the guards with buzzguns, leaving my father standing alone outside the entrance. He scans the dome, and then disappears into the Zoo.
CHAPTER 5
There’s something shining on the ground. It’s on the path where the man with spots had crumpled: a small thing, lit up and sparkling.
“You see that?” I whisper, nudging Rondo. All thoughts of kissing him have vaporized.
“I don’t see anything,” he says. He’s finally come around to my side of the tree trunk, too late to see the spotted man or my father. “It’s too dark.”
“He dropped something,” I breathe.
“Who did? Tell me what you saw.”
The door is unattended; the shining object lies there unseen.
“I’m going to get it,” I say, and leap out from behind the tree.
“Octavia, hold up!”
He snatches at my arm, but I wrench away and dash toward the lab door. I try to crouch as I run, making for an awkward pace, but if the door opens abruptly, I need to be as low to the ground as possible so I can drop if necessary.
I can see the object now that I’m closer. It’s not glowing: just shining, the moonlight through the dome gleaming down and reflecting off its surface. As I get nearer, I slow down, suddenly afraid. I have no idea what it is or what it might do. Rondo hisses my name from where he hides behind the tree, and it spurs me into action.
I trot the last few steps to the lab doors and seize the shining object. I don’t pause to inspect it. The door could open at any second, revealing buzzguns or my father. I hold the thing in my hand—round, an orb—and sprint back to the ogwe, Rondo’s face blending with the shadows and the bark. I’m positive that the sound of my breath combined with my footsteps is so loud it will signal the guards to return, and my ears strain for the mechanical sigh of the doors. I skid to a halt by the tree and throw myself behind its trunk. Rondo starts to admonish me.
“You really are a genius,” he snaps. “If the guards caught you, you’d never—”
But then we do hear the doors sigh open, my pulse freezing, and he falls silent. I press my finger to my lips, as much for him as for myself. I peek around the tree again, trying to imagine my skin melting into it, disappearing into the safety of its wood.
It’s not my father. It’s the two guards, back again from helping to carry the spotted man’s body. They hold their buzzguns across their chests, conversing in low tones. I strain my ears to hear what they might be saying, but they’re too far away. Behind the tree, my legs quiver from dwindling adrenaline and my palm sweats against the smooth, round object.
“We need to go,” Rondo whispers, tugging on my arm.
I turn slowly away. Part of me wants to march back up to the door and confront the guards, demand to know who that man was and why my father tranquilized him. But the thought of my father standing there in the shadows, tranq gun raised, sends a shiver up my spine. I don’t recognize the person he’s becoming. I follow Rondo through the trees, creeping slowly and avoiding branches and twigs.
The two sets of doors that lead back into the commune open for us with barely a whisper. We slide through, trying to be shadows. I don’t think either of us breathes until we are back in the commune on the hill, looking down at the white ’wams, some of their round windows still illuminated with soft gold lights. It’s beautiful, but looking out over the familiar scene leaves me with a heavy feeling in my chest. Somehow it all looks different, barely recognizable. I wonder if my mother would believe me if I told her what I’ve seen. Maybe she already knows.
“What did you find?” Rondo says softly. “By the doors?”
I’ve been clutching it so tightly, it’s as if it’s grown into my palm, become part of my skin. In the faint light of the moon, I slowly open my hand and look down.
It’s an egg. Or it seems to be an egg, cream-colored and smooth. I’d thought it was round, but it’s not quite: the sloping surface is slightly oblong. It catches moonlight and reflects it back out into the night with a hint of iridescence. Heavy, but small, taking up only the space of my palm.
Rondo reaches out to touch the egg-shaped object. He rests his fingers on its surface for only an instant before snatching his hand back, his gasp making me jump.
“It’s hot, Octavia!” he says. “How can you hold it like that?”
“No it’s not,” I say, surprised. I hold it in both hands, cupping it. I bring it up to my cheek and rub it against my skin. It feels warm and smooth, but not hot.
“It burned me,” he says.
“Oh please. It’s not that hot.”
He shrugs, rubbing his fingertips to soothe them.
/> “You saw it fall?”
I nod.
“From where?”
“There was a person,” I say, and I tell him what I saw: the tall spotted man, my father, and the tranquilizer.
“Tranquilizing a person?” he says, shaking his head. “Dr. Albatur had to have approved this. Your father’s on the Council—he wouldn’t do anything the Head didn’t authorize.”
“But who would Dr. Albatur want to tranquilize? I’ve never heard of anything like this happening before.”
“Things are changing,” he says.
I don’t respond. His words suddenly seem to apply to so much more than just what I saw. Now, even in the open air of the commune, claustrophobia grips me again, as if the roof of the dome is pressing down on me. Standing here looking down on the ’wams, I picture the rounded domes of N’Terra as a giant nest of eggs. Only I don’t know what species laid them or what beasts they contain. Usually not knowing something just drives me to find the answer. . . . Why does it now make me afraid?
“Hey,” Rondo says. He’s beside me, but his words seem to come from a long way away.
He’s staring at me in a strange way. His face is always so cool and impassive. Now he looks rumpled, as if just under his skin is something reaching for the moonlight.
“What?” I whisper when he says nothing.
Rondo takes a step closer to me. If I leaned forward we would bump heads. The egg thrums warmly in my palm. Rondo studies me with that tense expression. His lips move but I don’t hear anything.
“What?” I repeat.
He raises his hand, slowly. I think maybe he’s going to take my hand, but instead it rises to my face. He rests a single finger softly on my forehead before letting it trail down my cheek.
“You’re . . . ,” he says. He pulls his hand back, as if he’s changed his mind.
Am I leaning forward? Why am I leaning forward? I settle back onto my heels, but it’s as if I fight a magnetic field in doing so. There’s a ring around us I can’t see. I might crumple if I step outside it.
I think I say “what” again.
“Nothing,” he says. His eyes leave my face, sweep back over the commune below.
A Conspiracy of Stars Page 6
