Starglass

to find the foxglove. I rose quickly and headed past Mara’s desk to the steel door in the rear of the lab.

The door had a panel beside it, just like the ones that were used to lock each lab in the science complex. There was a chance that it wasn’t calibrated to my touch—that the door would remain closed to me. In that case, I’d just have to return to my desk and my work. But I had to try. I pressed my hand against it, holding my breath as the light blinked to life beneath my fingers. To my relief, the door slid away, welcoming me in.

I stepped through. If the lab had been silent without Mara, then this space was practically airless. But it was a huge, echoing sort of airlessness—like the library, but sleeker. Rows and rows of white metal shelves spread out before me beneath dangling blue lights. As I walked beneath the lights, I peered down the aisles. There had to be a thousand metal drawers, each labeled in tiny script and closed. It wasn’t until I stumbled across a computer terminal at the far end of an aisle that I had any idea where I was going.

Common foxglove. Digitalis purpurea. I hunted for the correct keys, slowly pecking out the name. After a moment the display lit up. Aisle D11, shelf 14, box C. I hustled across the herbarium, my lab coat streaming behind me.

In the lab everything was always in disarray. But perhaps one of Mara’s predecessors had labeled the shelves here. After all, the placards were yellowed with age, the paper curling. It would explain why the right shelf was so easy to find. Or maybe it was fate that pushed me down the correct aisle. I wondered if after this I’d finally be accepted by Van, by the Children of Abel. I ran my finger over the label, thinking of it. Then I pulled the drawer open.

White fog billowed out, a breath of cold that was icy enough that it burned my skin. I snatched my hands away. As the fog cleared I leaned in, looking down. The plants grew out of a layer of fortified agarose. Their gnarled roots twisted through the jelly. The leaves, jade green, shook as I pulled my hand away. The bells shook too. They weren’t all the striking violet I’d expected. A few were pale purple or snowy white. They looked delicate, lovely. Like something Momma would have plucked to put in a vase on our galley table.

“Foxglove, eh?”

I jumped, slamming the drawer shut. There behind me stood Mara Stone, sipping at her coffee. She arched her eyebrow, studying me.

“I—” I began, fumbling for some excuse. But Mara lifted her hand, cutting me off. She stepped past me and opened the drawer again. Together we peered in.

“A pretty flower,” she told me. “Useful, too. If it weren’t, we’d have only seeds in the gene banks. Every couple of years the doctors ask us for a few new plants. They’re useful medicine. Good for patients with heart problems. It’s an antiarrhythmic agent.”

“Is it?” I asked, staring down. My hands shook at my sides. I was sure that if I looked at Mara, then she would see my duplicity.

“Mm-hmm,” she said. “Risky, though.”

“Why?”

From the corner of my gaze I saw Mara look down the slope of her crooked nose at me. She fixed her hand against the drawer, slammed it shut.

“Because it’s a poison. Difficult to regulate. Difficult to dose. Dead man’s bells, they called it on Earth.”

I stared at Mara, trying to keep my gaze even. But I couldn’t. My mouth fell wordlessly open.

“Abdominal pain. Hallucinations. Tremors. Massive cardiac arrest, if you get enough of it. Not a pleasant way to go.”

“Poison,” I said, but the word echoed back too late. “Foxglove is a poison?”

Mara shook her head at me. Then she started down between the aisles, gesturing for me to follow. For a moment I stared at the closed drawer. The label’s black letters seemed to burn themselves into my retinas. Digitalis purpurea. Poison. Poison.

As I went to join her, Mara clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Terra, dear,” she said. “You have so much to learn.”

* * *

That night I sat beside Koen again on the top floor of the library, surrounded by now-familiar faces. Van Hofstadter stood in front of the railing, lifting his hands high. He was orating right out of the copy of Momma’s book.

“?‘I must trust that my sacrifices will bring my children’s children closer to liberty,’?” he declared, his strong voice practically shaking the cobwebs from the low rafters. “?‘I must trust that someday my descendants will set foot on the Goldilocks planet, the place the Council has dubbed Zehava, not as prisoners of these glass ceilings, not as slaves to the ruling Council, but as free men and women!’?”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the gathered crowd. I watched Rebbe Davison stroke his chin with his index finger, mulling over the words. I watched Deklan Levitt pound his hand against one of the study desks.

“Hear, hear!”

The mood among the Children of Abel was electric that night, far brighter than the lights that flickered from the chandeliers overhead. But this time I didn’t feel the spark of passion inside me. At the end of it, when Van touched his hand to his heart and shouted out, “Liberty on Earth!” and the rest of them saluted and bellowed, “Liberty on Zehava!” I stayed silent, my hands pressed between my knees.

Koen didn’t notice. As the other citizens began filing down the stairs, he rushed to greet Van. I watched him clap the librarian on the arm, complimenting his impassioned speech—a speech stolen from my ancestor’s journal, of course. Van smiled easily. For a few fleeting moments they spoke to each other in low tones.

I sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, pulling a long thread of stuffing out of a crack in the leather. As Van and Koen came close, I pretended not to see them, instead focusing very, very closely on the ecru tuft of wool.

“Did you bring me the foxglove?” Van asked. I didn’t want to lie, so I only shrugged. It was a sullen, babyish gesture, I knew, but it felt safe—familiar. That is, until Koen spoke up, his kind voice pained.

“Terra! You promised!” He looked sad. He wanted so badly for me to be one of them, for me to be like him.

“I couldn’t get it,” I said. “Mara caught me in the herbarium.”

Van let out a throaty grumble. He lifted his hands, ready to chastise me. But I didn’t want to hear it. I stood, swiftly pushing past him.

“Terra!” Koen called. I stopped at the top of the narrow stairwell, my hand lingering on the banister. But when I turned, I didn’t look at Koen. Instead I looked Van Hofstadter directly in the eye.

“You didn’t tell me foxglove was a poison.”

“What did you think we wanted it for? Think the Children of Abel are going to start a community garden?” The corner of his full mouth ticked up. It was a self-satisfied sort of smile. “You’re a botanist. I figured you would know.”

“Well, I didn’t. I’m not going to help you poison anyone.”

Van stalked forward. His nostrils flared. “Do you think the Council deserves our mercy?” he demanded. “You saw what they did that night to Benjamin!”

I could almost still hear the librarian’s final gurgle of breath, could almost see the wild-eyed look, animal and afraid, that had crossed his face as the dagger had slid across his throat.

“These are not nice people, Terra,” Van said. And it was true. I remembered the sudden explosion of blood down Mar Jacobi’s shirtfront and the way he’d fallen forward, collapsing on the metal grate.

“I can’t,” I said at last. “I would help you if I could, but I can’t. Mara Stone will never let me get away with it.”

“If our leaders find out that you’ve failed us . . .,” Van began.

But he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Lay off her!”

Koen had shouldered his way between Van and me. He threw an arm over my back. I smelled sweat on him, cedar, the lanolin stink of his sweater. I could feel his heart pounding beneath my arm.

“If our leaders find out,” he said, “they can deal with it.”

“Koen,” Van said, his forehead furrowing in confusion. But the young clock keeper just went on.

“Terra will be my wife soon. And if they trust me, they can trust her.” High blossoms of color exploded