Starglass

There was an appreciative rumble of voices in the crowd. I glanced between Captain Wolff and Aleksandra. If it hadn’t been for the scar, I would have noted the family resemblance more readily. They had the same hawk nose, the same sharp features. The look was almost pretty on the younger woman. I wondered if Captain Wolff had been pretty once too, before the thresher did its work.

She looked only scary now—scarier as she reached in and lifted the first scroll. We all sucked in our breath as she read off the name that was sewn into the brown ribbon—

“Jamen Dowd. Granary worker.”

—and exhaled when we realized that we weren’t the one being summoned to the podium. We watched as Jamen marched forward, his hands balled at his hips. Once he’d been a soft, silly boy, but the years since his bar mitzvah had hardened him. When Captain Wolff stopped him before he could stamp off, a frown creased his wide mouth. Still, she took his hand and gave it a stout shake.

“Congratulations, Jamen,” she said.

Jamen lowered his unkempt eyebrows and stalked off.

Granary worker will fit him, I said to myself. Wouldn’t want him to have to talk to anybody. I scolded myself for the thought. Every assignment was important, no matter what my father always said. That’s what we’d learned in school.

But it was hard to be happy for Deklan Levitt, a rail-thin, weasel-faced boy who was told that he would be a plowman. Or happy for the families who would be assisted with deliveries down in the hatchery by Ada Wyeth, a notorious bully who always wore a vicious scowl.

But then Rachel’s name was called, and it was announced that she’d gotten the shop job she’d been hoping for. Her parents lifted their fists in the air, pumping them victoriously. My heart twisted in my chest. Sometimes it was hard to be friends with someone who always got whatever she wanted.

I tried to steady my smile as Captain Wolff moved on to the next name and Rachel slid into the line beside me.

“Koen Maxwell,” Captain Wolff said, holding a blue-ribboned scroll. Her inky eyes searched out a gangly chestnut-haired boy who was known for being good at math and not much else. She added, “Clock keeper.”

I bit the insides of my cheeks in surprise, keeping my smile tight. That was my father’s title. I’d no idea that he’d requested a talmid. Out in the audience Abba’s expression was flat, unreadable.

But even my father glanced up at what transpired next. Captain Wolff reached into the basket and pulled out a scroll tied with a purple ribbon.

“Silvan Rafferty,” she said, and then added, in a tickled tone, “captain.”

Rebbe Davison, who had spent most of the ceremony nodding his silent approval from a chair in front, dropped his jaw.

“You’re retiring?”

His words cut through the confused murmurs of the crowd. Captain Wolff glowered at our teacher. Her lips drew back a touch, showing teeth.

“This is Silvan’s moment,” she warned. And then she looked at her new talmid, taking in his tall, muscular figure and proud jaw. She reached forward, gripping his hand in one hand, touching his shoulder with the other.

“Congratulations, Silvan,” she said. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw tears dot her eyelashes. The boy just gave a small, bored nod. There was no gratitude in the gesture, as if he’d been expecting this all along. When he strolled over to where the rest of us stood, clutching the only purple-ribboned scroll in the whole basket in one proud fist, we all turned to stare. He was blushing faintly, red along the bridge of his nose and the tops of his ears, but that was the only indication he gave that he knew we were gawking at him.

Beside me, Rachel looked like she’d just swallowed glass.

“Silvan?” she whispered, and her hand groped out for mine. “Captain?”

I knew what she was imagining. It was a possibility grander than she’d ever considered: Rachel, the captain’s wife.

I began to picture it. Beautiful Rachel, her coarse curls pulled up, revealing her long, slender neck and the dark skin of her throat above a harvest-gold wedding dress. Silvan would wear his navy-blue uniform. Maybe they’d be married here, beneath the star-dotted sky, the way that the Council members’ children so often were.

My best friend, married to the captain. That would make her a Council member.

A lump began to rise in my throat. I could see it so clearly—the two of them kissing on their wedding day. Would I even be invited? Rachel might want me there, but I couldn’t be sure. Why would Silvan want the scrubby daughter of the clock keeper at his wedding? I was certain he didn’t remember that day in the dome. It had been so long ago and hadn’t meant anything, anyway. We were just kids. The thoughts swirled in my mind. I wasn’t listening to Captain Wolff’s long, droning list of names.

Rachel tugged at my hand.

“What?” I asked. My voice cut through silence. A few of my classmates tittered. When Rachel spoke, it was through laughter too.

“Terra! That’s you!”

“Oh!” I felt my cheeks grow hot. Everyone had turned to me, watching and waiting. I took clumsy steps toward the podium. I don’t even know what she said! I thought in a panic as I took the rolled paper in one hand and barely touched the captain’s fingers with the other. I noted the color of the bow. A blue thread. Blue. So much for art. A specialist position . . .

“Congratulations,” the captain said. Her tone was droll as she snatched her hand away from mine. I guess I’d held on a moment too long. She wiped my sweat off her hand by pressing her fingers to her wool-wrapped hip. I watched, frozen at first. Then I hurried to slip in again beside Rachel. At the front of the room, the captain continued to call my classmates to her. But I tuned her out again, scrambling to peel away the seal with my nail.

I scanned the lines of black calligraphy. The date was at the top. My name was inked below it. Then there was the captain’s name, and her title, and a long line of words—On this sacred day and so on and so forth. I skimmed to the bottom of the page.

I couldn’t help but spit out the word that I found there.

“Botanist?”

It tasted bad on my tongue. Before I could turn to Rachel, to whisper to her of my confusion, I heard a sibilant shhh of air rise up from the audience. I looked out across the jumble of smiling faces, searching for the source of the sound—until my eyes fixed on a familiar glower.

My father glared at me across the sea of heads. His jaw was set firmly, his lips pursed. I felt the searing burn of blood rise up across my cheeks and throat. Blushing furiously, I crumpled the paper into a ball in my fist.

* * *

“Stand up straight,” my father commanded before turning to Hannah’s father.

The ceremony was over. I held a plate of pickles and chopped liver out in front of me as if they could shield me from the horrors of small talk. My classmates all seemed to move easily through the crowd, laughing and chattering with one another. Even Rachel had drifted away, flirting with Silvan in the corner, leaving me here with my family—and sinking fast.

“We thought we’d all go down to the hatchery,” Hannah said. I could feel her pointed gaze upon me. “And visit your niece.”

The thought of being around all those wires and bio-conduits made my stomach flip-flop. “No, really, thank you,” I muttered in a low tone. “I promised Rachel’s parents I’d eat with them.”

“The Federmans are merchants,” my father said, pursing his lips as though the idea tasted bad. Beside him, my brother cast his eyes to the floor. He wasn’t much better than a merchant—only a carpenter. But the gold thread in his cord meant that we pretended he wasn’t. “But the Meyers are Council members. And you’re a specialist now, Terra. You shouldn’t—”

“I promised,” I said again, my words hotter this time. I could feel how Hannah’s family stared at me, waiting to see if I’d crack. I decided that I would spare them that. I shoved my plate into