Starglass

“If you’re a good girl, Terra,” he began. His voice sounded strained, pinched. “If you stay out of trouble and do your duty, and if you’re kind to Koen and treat him well, then I’m sure everything will be fine.”

There was a long silence. A lump was rising in my throat. I didn’t want to try to dislodge it. I thought doing that might break the spell.

“Koen’s my student,” my father went on. It was hard for me to hear his words over my thrumming heartbeat. “And you’re my daughter. I care about you both, very much.”

“I know,” I lied, my voice a hollow rattle in my chest.

“You need to be careful of who you get mixed up with. Both of you.”

“Okay.”

He lifted his hands off my shoulders. One of my own hands darted up, rubbing the warm, clammy spot where his fingers had been.

“Good,” my father said. Even though his plate was still half full, he started toward the stairwell. Then he paused at the bottom, grimacing. I couldn’t be sure if he was talking to me or to himself.

“I won’t lose you too,” he said.

“Lose me?” I asked. But by the time my words moved past my throat, my father had disappeared upstairs, Pepper padding up into the darkness behind him.

* * *

The next morning Mara was a whirlwind of fury. I watched from the doorway as she stomped from one end of the lab to the other, pulling books from their shelves, then tossing them over her shoulder. They spun, then landed on the ground, splayed open. Her heavy boots trampled right through a tray of seedlings, but she didn’t even seem to notice.

“Good morning?” I called as the door shivered shut behind me. Across the room the little woman let out a desperate laugh.

“I wouldn’t call it that!”

Mara’s forehead was a mess of wrinkles. She rubbed her hand over her brow as if her fingers could smooth them out.

“It’s not you, Terra. The probe didn’t come in yesterday. Or so the captain says.”

“I know,” I said. I hung back by the door, feeling more than a little afraid to come close. “My father told me. They’re sending out another one. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

She laughed again, but there was no humor there. “I’ll bet you a million gelt that that one goes out and doesn’t return either.”

“They pay you well.” I snorted. “But not that well.”

I expected Mara to laugh. It had happened before—well, not laughter. Not quite. But I’d gotten her to smile at me once or twice. Now, nothing. Silence crackled between us.

“I don’t have time for this, talmid,” she said at last. She riffled through the papers on her desk. “Take a sick day. Go home. You’re not wanted here.”

I started to turn toward the sliding door. But I stopped halfway, peering over my shoulder at the botanist.

“Diet,” I said, softly but clearly. I saw her angle her chin up at that, saw how she was listening. So I went on. “You had me read those cookbooks to demonstrate the variety of diet on Earth. It was nothing for them to have animal proteins in their recipes all the time. So obviously they weren’t just slaughtering their goats and chickens when they were old, like we do. And sugar—I had to look that one up, but cane sugar was in everything. We use honey. Because the bees do a double duty, helping us pollinate, too. It saves us field space for protein-rich vegetables. They had all sorts of stuff I’d never even heard of. Food was abundant for them. They could just go to the market and get whatever they wanted, whether or not it was in season. And they had no idea.”

Mara’s back still faced me, but her shoulders sagged a little. Like my words were softening her resolve.

“It’s like you were saying on my first day,” I continued, “about the fruit salad. As our botanist, you do a lot more than figure out what trees they should be planting down in the atrium. It’s diet and it’s balance, and you have to think about climate and soil and oxygen and what kind of wildlife we need to help carry the seeds. And the funny thing is that people who are cooking—most people—don’t even think about it. They don’t even realize how our food has changed since we left Earth, except for complaining that they can’t get anything besides potatoes down at the shops.”

From behind I watched as Mara’s shoulders shook. At first I had the terrifying thought that she might be crying. But then I heard her dry, hiccuped laughter.

“You’d think they were dying because I won’t give them the iceberg lettuce their parents fed them,” she said, finally turning to face me. “But what do they want from me? It’s nutritionally worthless.”

“I know,” I said. And I did. I’d heard Mara grousing about it enough times to be more than familiar. Mara cracked the slightest smile.

“You know, we still have access to all those crops. None are lost. Not even sugarcane. We have thousands of seeds in cold storage, not to mention cell samples, DNA. Our ancestors worked hard to preserve as much life as they could. Even plant life.”

“That’s why you’re so excited about the probe, isn’t it?”

She let out a soft grunt of agreement. “We have some idea about the climate. We know it’s a cold place, based on orbit and distance from Eps Eridani. But we don’t know the details. Soil composition. Air quality. Once we find those out, we can engineer cultivars we can plant on Zehava’s surface. It might be a chance to reinvigorate species that haven’t been seen for centuries. Or to invent whole new crops—better crops. Crops that can feed us and sustain us better on our new home than they ever did back on Earth.”

Talking like this, Mara seemed almost like a kid—not at all like the strange, brusque little woman I’d grown to know.

“I’ll tell you what, Terra,” she said, reaching her age-veined hands toward me. Hesitantly I placed my hands in hers. The gesture felt ill fitting, odd. “Come with me to the atrium. We’ll walk around. See if there’s anything this old fool can teach you about your vocation.”

It was the first time she’d offered to teach me anything. At last I’d done something right. “Okay,” I agreed, not even trying to hold back my smile in return.

* * *

In the silence we strolled along the lower paths, past the rivers and the fountains. What had once been a green, busy jungle had now given way to felled trees and scrubby bushes. Yellow grass swallowed the cobblestone. We walked down into the pastures. To my surprise, as we moved past a flock of scattered sheep, Mara let out a strange bleat of sound. She held her hand out to one. It ambled close, answering her.

“As a girl I wanted to be a shepherd,” she declared, not looking me in the eye. I frowned at her. This was the first thing I’d ever learned about Mara’s personal life.

“Always did like animals more than people,” she said. Her fingers massaged the creature’s black face. “They’re easier to talk to. Easier to understand.”

The sheep let out another belt of sound, then butted her head against Mara’s hand. It was a massive ewe, body swaddled in yellow wool. But Mara petted it like it was a kitten, running her nails over its knobby head.

“I wanted to be an artist,” I whispered. I hadn’t thought my words through—and hadn’t planned on sharing them either. I lifted my hand to my mouth, but it was too late. The words were already out, hanging there in the clammy air. But Mara only gave a laugh.

“I know,” she said. She gave the creature’s ear one last caress, then started out again across patchy fields. I followed. “The Council told me all about that little book of yours. I tried telling them that no fifteen-year-old would put together an amateur field guide, but I suppose they thought they were being clever, recommending you to me. They didn’t want to listen.”

Walking beside her, our hands almost touching, I felt a rash of heat go to my face. I couldn’t help but wonder what they’d said about my drawings. “You knew? And you still chose me?”

Laughter flickered in Mara’s eyes. We’d reached one of the pasture fences. She set her hand on the splintered wood. “Your scores were solid. Much better than any of your classmates. And your instructor said that you had . . . How did he put it? An unusual enthusiasm for any subject that interested you, at those rare times when he could get you interested. I thought we might make a good match. If you’ll pardon the expression, I didn’t