Starglass

30

In our gold wedding dresses we walked through the dome together. The fields were crowded with drunken teenagers who had all filched their families’ wine rations. But I don’t think anyone cared. Everybody was joyful, exuberant. The air was busy with wild energy.

Overhead, Zehava gleamed and twinkled. We were fixed into orbit now. For the first time we could see the shapes of her continents, mostly frozen and white in a sea of turquoise. There was one larger landmass on the planet’s northern side, joined to the smaller southern continent by a narrow bridge of land. There, near the equator, the planet gleamed violet. The color was so familiar—the same shade as the tangled vines that spread through my dreams at night. The same color as the hands that had pressed, hot and wild, against my pale skin. I found myself staring up at it, speechless.

“Are you okay?” Rachel asked. I forced a smile.

“Sure,” I said. “It’s just amazing, isn’t it? The universe and all.”

“It is. You know, the Torah says—”

“Torah.” I rolled my eyes. “What is it with you and this book?”

Rachel’s cheeks darkened. She smoothed down the fabric of her dress.

“It made me feel good to read it,” she said. “Not just because it explained the lights. Did you know that once, people didn’t work one day a week? Not just work, but they didn’t do anything. Write or draw or turn on the lights. Because that was the day that the universe was done being created.”

“All of the universe? Created in a day?” I tried not to grin at the idea of it. We’d been traveling through the stars for too long for me to believe something as absurd as that.

“Well, the Torah says six days,” she said, the smile on her lips tentative. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a metaphor. It makes me feel good to think that there’s a plan behind it all. A force driving us, just like the engines once drove us. Someone watching down over us, you know?”

I glanced at the purple-scattered continents overhead and let out a sigh. Looking at those white-capped mountains and blue seas, it was almost enough to make me a believer. Almost. But I’d seen too much in my life to have faith that there was someone watching down over me. I was alone, and always would be.

“C’mon,” Rachel said. She took my hands in hers. “We’re getting married on the same day. Just as we arrive on Zehava. That has to be a sign that there’s a greater plan, right?”

I grinned. “Silvan’s greater plan, maybe. Anyway, I just can’t believe I won’t be at your wedding.”

“And I won’t be at yours,” she said sadly. I gave a shrug.

“Honestly? I never really thought about that. I thought about what it would be like when you got married. But not me.”

“Really?” Rachel seemed genuinely surprised. “But we always talked about it.”

“Just talk. Don’t get me wrong. I always hoped I might find my bashert. But on a ship this small, what were the chances of someone loving me? I thought marriage was something that happened to other girls. Girls like you.”

Rachel stood there, the wide pleats of her dress spread around her like flower petals. She cradled my hands in hers as she spoke. “Terra, you have to stop this. You’re my friend. My brilliant friend.” She paused, her bright smile growing fond. “Do you remember the day we met?”

“We sat next to each other in school,” I said. But to be honest, that was all I could remember. Everything before my mother’s death was hazy.

“Yeah. But that wasn’t the whole story. It was the first day of class. And the other girls were making fun of me. My mother had dressed me in a ridiculous outfit, all blues and greens. That would be the style the next season, but that year it was all earth tones. They called me a fish.

“You turned around and glared at them. You were so angry. You told them to shut up, that I was beautiful. And then you reached down and grabbed my hand and held my pinkie so tight, I thought it might fall off. And I sat there thinking that if this smart, brave girl thought I was pretty, then I must not be so bad. We were always friends after that.”

I couldn’t help it. I crushed Rachel in a hug. She smelled like honey and violets.

“If you think I’m smart and brave . . .,” I said, pulling away. My voice was tight with tears. “Then I must not be so bad.”

“No,” she agreed, holding me at arm’s length. “You’re not. You’re so courageous, Terra. I’ve always thought that. I might not agree with the choices you make. But I don’t doubt for a second that you can do anything you set your mind to.”

We stood there for a moment, grinning at each other in the shadow of the clock tower. Then the bells began to chime. As the crashing sound washed over us, Rachel leaned in, shouting her words.

“I guess we should go get married,” she said. I laughed, finally letting go.

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

* * *

The lift doors slid open, revealing the polished floor of the captain’s stateroom beneath dozens of well- dressed feet. I drew in a breath and stepped inside. My own shoes were a pair of silk flats that I’d bought especially for the day. Without my boots my calves felt naked beneath my dress; every step felt precarious, like I was walking on ice.

I searched for familiar faces. Ronen was there, looking awkward as he clutched Alyana to his chest. He stood with Mara and her family. I noticed that Apollo had dressed well for the occasion, in a dark tunic threaded with gold. He and his sister and his father, too, all beamed at me as I neared. But Mara only arched an eyebrow.

“You’ve cleaned yourself up,” she noted. I felt myself flush and crossed my arms over my chest. Goose bumps prickled my bare clavicles.

“You haven’t.”

She wore her lab coat and muddy shoes. I noted the trail of dirt across the marble.

“My work is never done,” she said, and, taking a long draw of her wine, she gestured up at Zehava. White clouds swirled over the landmasses overhead. “Did you notice? Purple vegetation. Perhaps their plants absorb retinal rather than chlorophyll, as Terran plants once did.”

“Terran! Like you, Terra!” my brother barked, then let out a laugh at his own joke. Mara’s children looked uncomfortable, shifting in their dress shoes.

“Yes,” I said impatiently, “like me.” A flood of red washed over my brother’s face.

“Sorry,” he said, chuckling as he jiggled his daughter. “I just never realized.”

I watched him for a moment. I felt something, an alien twinge of sympathy. So I flashed him a smile. He grinned.

“By the way,” he said. “You look great.”

I felt myself blush furiously. “Thank you,” I said, leaning into my brother, “for the dress.”

Ronen gave a proud nod. “It’s what Abba would have wanted.”

I beamed at him. Then I heard the distant tolling of bells. “I should go find Silvan,” I said, and slipped away through the crowd.

He stood at the front of the room alone, sipping wine. It was odd to see him in a dark color for once. His navy-blue uniform brought out the blue hues in his glossy curls. His shoulders were squared, proud as he gazed up at Zehava. I tried to swallow down the strange emotion that had begun to crest inside me—a small, instinctual joy at the sight of him.

“You look stunning,” he said, bending down to press his lips to my neck. His family watched us from the edge of the crowd. I felt myself blush even hotter at the touch of his mouth. He said, “And you wore lilies. My favorite.”

“Mara wasn’t happy about it,” I admitted. And then I forced my voice to sound haughty. “But she’s only a specialist. And I’m practically a Council member now. It’s my wedding. I’ll wear my husband’s favorite flowers if I want.”

He laughed at that, at my lie. And then he handed me his glass. I took a gulp of wine so big that it seared my throat.