Phoebe North - Starbreak

But I’ve thought a lot of those words in the year since. Turned them over and over in my mind, examining them. Because the truth is, Rachel was wrong. My life was hard, even then. And sure, I was lonely sometimes. Still am, on days when the winter feels endless, on the days when the storms are whiteout thick and the light feeble.

And yet I’m never, ever alone.

I’ve thought back on Rachel’s words and decided that the very fact of my being—the very fact of yours—is miracle enough for me. Of all the people who could have been hatched on that ship, all the genetic combinations that could have ever come to pass, mine was hardly likely. My ancestors could have just as easily perished on Earth, or on the journey over. I could have died in the shuttle crash, or on the long trek to Raza Ait. Dead, like Deklan Levitt, a beast horn through my chest.

And you? Well, we know how unlikely you were. Yet there you are, and here I am. We found each other, even though the odds were stacked against us. I’m here writing you this journal, these words.

It might not mean much to you. I know that, like Rachel, you have religion. I know there are times when you care for me despite and not because of my lack of belief.

But I thought it might be good to tell you, at least, that because of you, I believe in miracles. The miracle of our meeting, however unlikely it might have been. Because of you, I have faith—faith that I am loved.

Back then, though? Back then I wasn’t so certain. When the path ahead was dark, and we were so, so new . . .

We waited. The afternoon wore on with no sign of the men. We waited more. I could feel the sweat ring my armpits and stream in little rivers down my back. I sat beside Hannah by the fire pit’s edge, watching the coals shimmer, watching Ettie gather rocks and sticks from the outskirts of the camp and toss them in. Someone should have scolded her, telling her not to feed the meager flames. But no one did. We were all too spent.

Except for Aleksandra. She stood at the far end of the ring of stones, shouting into her radio.

“What do you mean, he has the life support systems? You were supposed to stop this from happening !” Her voice was filled with strange accents. I snapped my head up. Despite the heat of the day, my hands had gone cold.

“What’s Silvan done now?” I asked. But she furrowed her brow and turned her shoulder away.

“Don’t you worry about Silvan,” she said. “You had your chance to take care of him.”

In her hand the radio spat static and white noise. A garbled voice came stuttering from the speaker. “He’s threatening . . . Wishes to return to Earth . . .”

Beside me Hannah let out a low cough of laughter.

“Return to Earth. That’s an idea if I ever heard one. Our ancestors fled for a reason.”

I watched as Ettie flung another handful of packed dirt into the fire. The flames billowed, loosing sweet white smoke on the air. I thought of all the things we’d learned of Earth in school—how after the asteroid hit, the planet was plunged into an endless winter, the sky as black as night even in the middle of the afternoon. Crops would have died. Animals, too. Our planet had betrayed us. There was no way we could return to it now.

“I never thought it would come down to this,” Hannah said. “Choosing between a dead planet and a hostile one.”

Hostile. It certainly seemed true. Zehava’s frozen wilderness, with its strange living trees and bloodthirsty beasts, offered little sanctuary for my people. But still I wanted to believe that there was some hope left. Even if the aliens were strange, they were people, weren’t they? Speaking. Thinking. There had to be some way to reach them. I thought of the look on the boy’s face as I called his name. He didn’t seem angry. He seemed afraid .

At last the gates were thrown open. I jumped at the rush of sound—alien, not human. Reedy, buzzing voices let out incomprehensible shouts. The Asherati men were jostled and pushed by Ahadizhi, but they themselves were strangely silent as they streamed into the quarantine camp. Ettie raced toward Rebbe Davison. Her little fingers grabbed at the thick ropes that bound his wrists, twisting and pulling until he was free. The Xollu at the back of the crowd watched this development, their heads cocked to the side as if they were jotting down mental notes. I didn’t have to search the line of alien visitors to know that my boy wasn’t among them. My heart was too still; my breath too calm. I rose from the log and went to help the other crewmen free of their bindings.

“Thank you,” said the shuttle pilot, a middle-aged man by the name of Aben Hirsch. He rubbed his rope-worn wrists where the skin had turned pink beneath his thick arm hair.

“What did they do to you?” I whispered. He flashed a small, unsteady smile.

“No worse than Doctor Rafferty’s checkups. But their bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”

Doctor Rafferty. My own hands fell against my thighs, limp and helpless. As the aliens left the camp, the gate slamming behind them, I found Aleksandra Wolff. She watched me, her delicate lips curled. Then she shoved a lock of hair behind her ear and lifted the radio to her mouth.

“Tell them we’ll be returning soon,” she said, speaking into it. “Tell them that we don’t want any funny business until I’m back on the ship.”

More static. At last a cough of words: “Aye, ma’am.”

Aleksandra clipped her radio back onto her belt. She turned toward those of us who had gathered there, the men rubbing their wrists, the women squinting into the sun.

“My operatives have received word that Rafferty wants to return to Earth.”

There was a murmur of dismay. Rebbe Davison’s mouth fell open. “That’s impossible. We don’t have any fuel. And Earth is dead. The asteroid—”

“Fuel isn’t an issue,” Aleksandra said, looking away from her old friend. There was something cloistered, almost shamed about her expression. Her narrow mouth tightened as she glanced down at the dusty ground.

“Alex,” Rebbe Davison said sternly. He was using his teacher voice, the one that compelled you to obey even if you should know better. “What are you talking about?”

“It was a fail-safe,” she said, in the voice of a chastened little girl. “A secret. They couldn’t tell the citizens, my mother said. Not unless we wanted to be diverted from our journey.”

She lifted her head. Her voice hardened again, growing as chilly as the day outside the city’s walls. “A fail-safe, in case we arrived and the planet was uninhabitable. Or worse. In case it wasn’t there at all. Over the generations our captains told the people that we had impulse fuel enough for one trip, but that was a lie. We had enough for two. We could take off again if we needed. Take off for another planet. Take off for Earth.”

“You lied to me?” Rebbe Davison asked. He stood not far from Aleksandra, shaking his head over and over again. “You lied ?”

“Not me,” Aleksandra said. “It was the Council. It was Mother. I knew only because I overheard her telling that boy—”

“What boy?” Rebbe Davison prodded. Aleksandra’s lips tightened.

“Rafferty! Her new captain. Who else?”

“We can’t return to Earth,” Laurel said in a strange, dull voice. She’d been sapped of all passion, all energy. I wondered if this was one development too many for her. “It’s dead. We can’t—”

“Of course we can’t,” Aleksandra agreed. “And we can’t reach an accord with the natives, either. Which is why we need to break out of this camp, return to the ship, and settle on the southern continent. There are no cities there. It’s uninhabited. Which means it’s as good as ours.”