Starglass

“But not you?” I asked.

“No, I’m more interested in our actual arrival.”

Silvan stepped closer. He stood only an arm’s length away, smelling like jasmine flowers and clean hair.

“Why?” I asked. Silvan’s mouth twitched up. He had a dimple—just one—in his left cheek.

“Because it’s our destiny to inherit an entire planet, Terra. It will all be ours. Doesn’t that interest you?”

“Sure. I guess. As much as anything interests me.” I spoke fast, all flustered. I didn’t want him to know about the drawings I had hidden in the sketchbook in my bag—about the things I’d learned from Mara. I didn’t want him to know how I’d changed, softened. So I spoke quickly. “Mara’s waiting for me.”

Silvan held his strong chin up. “Sure,” he replied. “Wouldn’t want to keep the botanist waiting.”

A sly smirk lurked behind Silvan’s eyelashes. I couldn’t stand to look at it any longer. I spun on my heel, rushing past him on the bridge and through the sliding doors.

Even when the doors closed behind me, I could practically feel him there, standing on the path with his hands on his hips. I jogged down the hall and, when I reached our door, pounded my palm against the panel.

I was greeted by the clatter of a clay pot striking the wall. Soil scattered across the floor. Then Mara’s terse voice came calling.

“Terra, is that you?”

“Who else?”

“You’re late,” she said. “As usual.” I heard another crash of terra-cotta, another shatter. I edged toward the rear of the lab.

She stopped throwing things for a moment and stooped over her desk, rubbing soil into her eyes with dirty hands.

“What’s going on?” From the sinking feeling in my stomach, I could have probably guessed the answer.

“The probe! The probe!” she cried, casting her head back. I was afraid for a moment that she’d throw something again, but instead she just clutched her hands in the air.

“Bad news?” I asked. “We won’t be able to land there? Stuck in our happy little prison forever?” I wanted to shudder at the words, but treating them like they were a joking matter somehow made them easier to say.

“No, Terra. No news. That’s the problem. There is no news. Again. Once again. They’ve lost the probe.”

I felt a stab of pain just above my gut, like someone had kicked their boot into my stomach. But I didn’t want Mara to see. So I just leafed through the papers on my worktable, looking distracted. Then a flash of realization went through me. I turned to Mara, my mouth tight.

“That explains why Silvan Rafferty was outside,” I said. “He was gloating over the specialists.”

“I’m sure.” Mara paused. She rubbed her hand over her forehead. “You know what they propose to do? Send a shuttle of specialists to study the surface.”

I sucked in a breath. “But if they destroyed two probes . . . They wouldn’t sacrifice a shuttle full of citizens for their plans?”

“Who knows what Wolff will do? She’s power hungry. She’d throw her own children to the wolves if it would secure her place. It was one thing to stand and watch while she diverted my work. But now . . .”

“What?” I prompted.

“People, Terra. People. She’s not just destroying machinery or work. She’s going to murder her own citizens.”

She was watching me closely. I could feel my defenses rising, like a second skin was lifting up over my own. “Well, we can’t do anything about it,” I said, speaking quickly. “Botanists aren’t joiners, right? It’s not my problem.” I turned toward my work desk, staring down at the sketches of adapted plants that were scattered over it. But I could feel Mara’s eyes on my back.

“She’s done it before.”

“Yes, I know,” I said, speaking in a rush as I turned. I was being messy, not watching my words. “Mar Jacobi. I was there. I saw him die.”

Something behind Mara’s gaze flickered. “They killed the librarian, then? What, was he threatening to incite the population with his books?”

I lifted my hand to my mouth, speaking through a net of fingers as if I hoped to catch my words and pull them back in. “Oh. Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry, girl,” she said. “I won’t go spilling your secrets, even if you do. But I didn’t mean the librarian.”

I thought back to the funerals my father had dragged me to over the years. All for older citizens. There was nothing out of the ordinary there. Old men and women had died in their sleep. Except for one. I dropped my hand. It fell against my hip like a deadweight.

“I hoped I’d never have to tell you this. I thought I could just teach you how to do good work and keep you out of this rebellion rubbish.”

“Tell me what?” I was still trying to pretend that I was very interested my own drawings—trying to pretend that I didn’t already know them by heart. I felt Mara come closer.

“Years ago I found a flower in the atrium. Buried beneath a hedge. I thought, ‘That’s odd. What’s that doing there?’ I knew that I hadn’t planted it. Digitalis purpurea. Foxglove. It shouldn’t have been there. I certainly hadn’t gone spreading it through the dome. Far too dangerous. And I’m the only one who has access to the herbarium. But the doctors, now, they have several of the plants.

“I realized—” Mara paused a moment to take an echoing breath, then began again: “I realized that a member of our senior medical staff must have planted it. A foxglove plant that wouldn’t be missed if he chose to utilize any of its parts. And I remembered something. A recent death. A very unusual death.”

I could feel the beat of my heart in my throat and against my tongue. I swallowed it.

“Four years ago,” she said. “This was four years ago.”

“That’s when Momma died.” My voice was suddenly childish and soft.

“Terra, most cancers were eradicated by the middle of the twenty-first century. A few remained on Earth —genetic strains, unavoidable, I suppose. But our ancestors were carefully screened for that before they were ever allowed to board. And it was effective. Oh, there have been early deaths now and then. The flu pandemic of my grandparents’ generation killed one-sixth of the Asherah’s adult population. But in five hundred years in space? Your mother was the very first cancer victim.”

I couldn’t look at her anymore. Instead I studied the pattern of scuff marks on the floor.

“I realized that it had to be a doctor who did it. A powerful doctor. Slipping bits of Digitalis purpurea into the pills your mother took every day. And there’s only one doctor who oversees those pills. Mazdin Rafferty. Head doctor and member of the High Council.”

I closed my eyes then, squeezing them hard. But Mara went on.

“I thought about that poor baker. The one who had come to me years before. A rebel, a member of the Children of Abel. And I thought I’d been right to turn away from them then. Who knows? Perhaps I was. Perhaps Mazdin Rafferty might have poisoned me if I’d joined her cause.”

“But, Mara,” I said, “I’m like you. I’m not a joiner. I . . .” Mara watched me closely. There was no escaping her gaze.

Mara let out a grunt. “If we don’t act, people will die. Innocent people. You might be my talmid, but you’re your mother’s daughter, too. It’s time you acted like it.”

She threw something at me. Something small and shining—something that she’d had ready, hidden in her coat pocket. I caught it. It was a bottle, made of old amber-colored glass.

“What is it?” I asked. Even through the foggy glass I could see that it was filled with white powder. There was no label on it—no skull and crossbones warning me away. But still the sight made me uneasy. Mara grimaced.

“I told you. Digitalis purpurea. Purple foxglove. Can you imagine? Your mother ate pills made out of it every day and never had any idea.”