Starglass

people here on the ship who felt as odd and ill fitting as I did. I could understand how someone could get caught up in that. But not Koen.

“I thought you wanted to be normal.”

“I do,” he said. “Of course I do. But . . .”

“But what?” I asked.

“But when it comes down to it, I don’t think I ever will be.”

I didn’t know what to say. By then Pepper had settled in on Koen’s lap. Koen’s big hand rested between the cat’s shoulder blades. His knuckles were bony, and blue veins lined his skinny wrists. Despite their size, they were fragile, delicate-looking hands. When I reached out and finally put my dirty, work-hard hand on top of his, our hands presented a strange contrast. Koen didn’t turn his hand over, didn’t take my fingers in his, squeezing them tight. But he also didn’t draw his hand away.

“That’s okay,” I said gently. “I don’t think I’ll ever be normal either.”

* * *

Two days later we entered the edge of the orbit of Eps Eridani, our new sun. The captain decreed it would be a feast day like the harvest, even though the weather was cold and the times were lean. We were excused from our duties and given extra rations, and the little kids all wore their best winter clothes—fur coats and velvet dresses and ribbons in their hair.

I didn’t have anything nice of my own, only a green knit dress that had once been Momma’s. It was too big, but I tried to look presentable, rolling the sleeves up around my elbows, knotting one of her old scarves around my narrow waist. It felt strange to be wearing something other than my lab coat and trousers—I almost didn’t feel like me. But when Abba peered in and saw me staring at myself in my bedroom mirror, a smile lit up his weathered face.

It seemed I was becoming my mother in more ways than one.

The two of us went to Koen’s quarters for an early supper. Koen’s dad made an orange-colored curry and dry, flat loaves of bread that were so different from what we ate in our own household that it was hard to believe they were made from the same species of wheat. But I forced a smile as I chewed and washed it down with a big gulp of my rationed wine. Not that anyone was paying much attention to me anyway.

Koen’s parents spent the whole meal fighting. I might have had the good manners to refrain from commenting on the food, but Koen’s mother apparently didn’t.

“I can’t believe we wasted our protein rations on this,” she said, tossing her napkin down over her nearly full plate. Koen’s eyes widened in horror.

“Well, then you should have spent all morning in the galley!”

“Don’t even start with me! You know I was busy with Stella!”

Koen’s sister was dressed in layers of navy velvet. Her dark hair had been curled into spirals. As her parents argued, she looked somehow pleased, a wicked smile curling up the pretty bow of her mouth. Koen buried his face in his hands. I thought he might start crying, but instead he just stayed there like that, frozen through the rest of the meal.

The only gap in the Maxwells’ argument came during dessert. After Koen’s mother slammed a plate of steaming pie down in front of her husband, she spat, “There! You serve it!” and then collapsed in her chair again. Before her husband had a chance to respond, my father rapped the tines of his fork against his cup.

“I’d like to make a toast,” he said.

Five pairs of eyes swiveled over to him. I think we’d all forgotten he was there. My father lifted himself solemnly to his feet. I watched as Koen’s mom looked to her husband, shrugged. Reaching for our cups, we all stood.

“To my daughter,” my father said. His voice was rough at the edges, a little sloppy. I wondered how much he’d had to drink that day even before this glass. “And to Koen, as they join our families together. To the promise of their lives ahead. To life, and to Zehava. L’chaim.”

Everyone clinked glasses. I only sucked in my cheeks. Then I felt my dad set his hand between my shoulder blades. I could feel the pressure of his wide fingers on my spine as he leaned in close.

“Your mother would be so proud of you,” he said.

I gasped down the last mouthful of bitter white wine and said, “L’chaim.”

* * *

We all gathered in the field beneath the clock tower. The grass was blue with frost and seemed to glitter with a thousand diamonds even in the evening’s fading light. Everyone was bundled up in their heavy coats and hats and gloves. Though I’d layered myself as best I could, I could still feel the cold straight through my wool stockings. This was why I hated wearing dresses.

“You’ll feel better when we get the heater going,” Koen assured me, hefting the electric device.

“We could have sat with your family,” I said, looking wistfully at the children who huddled around the heaters, warming their hands against the heating elements. We’d left his parents to bicker at the starboard edge of the field. Koen turned to me, one side of his mouth edging up.

“And we could have sat with yours,” he replied. He was right—I hadn’t given a second thought to dropping my father off with Ronen and Hannah and little Alyana not far from the clock tower. Abba had settled among them, his wrinkled face drawn and serious. I winced at the thought.

“Good point,” I said. But the wind still cut through the weave of my dress. I clutched my hands around my shoulders, rubbing them for warmth. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“I told Van and his wife that we’d sit with them.”

At that, I stopped where we stood. Koen glanced over at me, his tangled hair falling into his eyes.

“What?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked, dropping my voice to nothing more than a murmur. “After all, you said that Van’s not the sort of person you want to make angry, and I still haven’t asked Mara about the foxglove, and—”

“Terra!” Koen reached out and took my hand in his. Even through his nubby mittens his fingers felt like ice. “I didn’t mean Van. He’s fine. I meant the people he reports to.”

I thought about the way Van had looked at us in the alleyway, how his green-glass eyes had sliced into me.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. You’re one of us now.”

I felt a sudden flood of warmth from within. I found myself pulled across the field, my hand firmly in Koen’s. We finally reached Van’s little family. And I found myself smiling, too, despite my reservations. Van’s wife, Nina, grinned up at me.

“Hello, Terra,” she said. She was tugging a knit cap over her baby’s red hair. They shared the same round cheeks, but little else. Her black hair cascaded down her shoulders. “Joyous Orbit Day.”

“Joyous Orbit Day,” I returned. For a moment I hovered uncertainly over their little gathering. Koen put the heater down beside theirs and fiddled with the dials.

“Have a seat,” Van said, gesturing with a pointed finger to the frozen ground. I bit the inside of my cheek, but then I pushed my worries away. I was a rebel now—one of them. I sat down beside Koen and let the heater’s glowing coils blow hot breath over me. I showed a shy smile to Nina and Van. They squinted back at me as if my presence among their family was nothing of note.

“You found us,” Van said, turning to Koen, who let out a laugh as he settled in beside me.

“Of course I did.” He reached out his arms and gathered Van’s son in them. It was clear they knew each other well. Koen began to sing “Tsen Brider,” folding down the baby’s fat fingers. The toddler did his best to sing along. He managed to pick up the rhythm of the song, even if his words came out in little more than an incomprehensible babble.

“We should be able to see Eps Eridani F at any minute now,” Van said. Though he seemed to be speaking to all of us, it was Koen he was looking at, watching as the talmid cuddled the baby boy. But soon he glanced up. The dome lights began to flicker off. Overhead, through the honeycomb girders, we could see the sparkling expanse of space. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Koen pass the baby back to Nina. But my gaze was firmly fixed to the glass above. I’d never seen a planet among all those stars