Phoebe North - Starbreak

“Just using him for his body’s pleasures, then? Not my style, girl, though I guess he is handsome enough.”

Now I was sure of it—Vadix was listening in, his delicate chin angled toward the sound of our voices, his earslits open wide. But Mara didn’t notice. She only jabbed her elbow into my ribs, then prattled on.

“The point remains—Giveret Wolff has risked too much in leaving the ship. I wouldn’t be surprised if Rafferty goes through with his plan and takes off for Earth again.”

“It’s ridiculous,” I mumbled hazily, though my eyes were still on Vadix. Watching. Listening. “Earth is dead.”

The train arrived then, streaming up on its rail, as silent as a whisper. The copper cars shone like chips of gelt in the sunlight. We waited as the reams of Ahadizhi boarded—then a steady trickle of Xollu, walking skittishly on their narrow feet. At last we stepped inside. Vadix grabbed a metal vine that hung from the ceiling, then indicated an empty bench of seats against the wall. Mara and I pressed into them, our shoulders touching. It wasn’t until the door slid shut behind us that she replied.

“It will be a thousand years since the asteroid’s strike by the time we return,” she said. “Chances are, the effects will still be widespread. But Rafferty isn’t looking to science anymore. I believe he’s been exploring notions of faith.”

Faith? Silvan? I didn’t know what to say to that. I clutched my hands between my knees and stared down at them as the train pulled away from the station.

The journey was brief. The world outside was a stream of copper and violet and white. Vadix stood above us, his body swaying as the train car streamed along its rail. His gaze, of course, was fathomless, incomprehensible, as always. But I couldn’t ignore the way my knees just graced the green curtains of his embroidered robes. I wondered if he could feel the heat of my body from below. The only thing I felt was the familiar pull, urging me to reach up, to wrap my fingers around his and to feel the metal handle, cool, beneath both of our palms. But I didn’t, couldn’t. We were too different—strangers.

Vadix was silent, but that wasn’t the case for the Ahadizhi who packed our train car. They couldn’t keep their eyes off us; they licked their lips, bared their teeth, regarded us like a meal fit for supper. And they spoke, in low, whistling tones. One word, repeated over and over again, like a song:

“Hu-man. Hyuu-man. Hu-man.”

The news of the crashed shuttles must have traveled quickly through the city. I should have expected that—up in the ship, where the walls towered around us, where we were trapped like flies under glass, news traveled quickly too. Maybe in some respects we were more like these aliens than we were different.

“Human. Huuu-man.”

But as the train bucked and lurched, another word joined the first. A single syllable, a long whisper of sound. The Ahadizhi voices grew brighter, clearer. Undeniable. The way they looked at Vadix was undeniable too.

“Lousk,” they said. “ Lousk. Hu-man. Lousk. ”

“What does that mean?” Mara demanded, nose wrinkling in offense. Mara didn’t like whispers or secrets—everything about her could be plainly read on her face. Vadix stared at her, carefully considering. But before he could answer, the train pulled to a stop, and the door shivered open. He inclined his head toward the bright space outside. I couldn’t be sure, but I think I saw a wisp of relief there. He didn’t have to answer her.

“Come,” he said, “we have reached the Grand Senate.”

He walked outside without another word. Our Ahadizhi guard waited for us to rise, her prod held between both hands. Mara shrugged her narrow shoulders and pulled herself to her feet.

But before I could follow her, our guard put a bright hand against my arm.

“Lousk. Lousk,” she said, and then added a single, improbable word of Asheran: “Alone.”

I stared at her. She only gave me a smile, too wide and toothy for me to bear. I nodded uncertainly back, and then hustled out the open train car door.

In school we’d learned about the great buildings that had been lost when we left the Earth. The Flavian Amphitheater and the Pyramids of Giza; the Dome of the Rock and the Western Wall. But the images in our textbook had been small, drawn by some ancestor who had never seen the building firsthand. Maybe the Sydney Opera House had looked more imposing in person, but I could never get a sense of its scale on paper. All those fanning, curved walls meant nothing to me. The sight of them left my heart cold.

That wasn’t the case with the Grand Senate of Aur Evez.

It was located in the center of the city, where the cupola was highest overhead. A stone pavilion spilled out of it like water over the brim of a cup. Under the feet of hundreds of aliens, the marble tiles sparkled in the growing daylight. The majesty of it didn’t hit you all at once; in fact, at first I didn’t even notice it. I thought it was a wall, or yet another housing structure up ahead. But then I saw the strange shape of the shadows cast by the structure’s heights—rippling on the ground beneath our feet—and gazed upward. And my breath was stolen from my chest.

The structure resembled a blossom—wide and round. Each level bloomed out from the one beneath it. Triangular windows peeked out of its walls, lending them a delicate translucency. The lowest level was open, revealing a shadowed space below. The warm air of day drifted in and out just as easily as the city’s inhabitants did. The Ahadizhi chattered and clicked laughter as they walked, hardly sparing a look at us.

But there were more Xollu here than I’d seen almost anywhere else in the city. Finely garbed in robes of every imaginable shade, they took stately steps, stopping now and then to speak to their mates. A few glanced curiously at Vadix. He only let out a whir of words in response.

“Vhahari vori!”

At first I wondered why his usually clear tenor had gone so gruff, and why he stepped even more quickly across the marble, rushing through the towering gates. But then I saw how the other Xollu glanced away as soon as he’d passed, speaking to each other behind their long fingers. I’d seen those looks before. Not here but on the ship, after Abba died. Everyone had felt so sorry for me that they almost couldn’t help it, pursing their lips, knitting up their brows. Apparently, the other Xollu felt sorry for Vadix, too. Their black eyes were full of pity. I could hear their whispered words on the wind.

Lousk. Lousk.

We stepped into the cool, shadowed space of the central hall. The marble changed to tile—a mosaic. There was the dark mouth of a cave, and before it, a pair of figures. They had come to greet a whole pack of Ahadizhi who spilled out from the purple forests in the distance.

“What is this?” Mara Stone asked, gesturing to the image beneath our toes. It seemed as though Vadix was worn thin, distracted. He touched his gaze to her, then looked away.

“It is the dawn of our people. We rise from caves and are discovered by the Ahadizhi. Together we build Raza Ait.”

“Ah!” Mara said. A smile lit her lips. “A Romulus and Remus story.”

“Rom-yu-less?” Vadix spoke the name carefully. Mara seemed relieved. I think she was glad to be able to instruct him. It was a familiar role for her; she wasn’t used to standing passively, to listening. But I cringed as she prattled on, her hands clamped proudly behind her back.

“Two brothers who founded one of Earth’s greatest cities. They were raised by a she-wolf. They argued over where they should build the city, and one of them died in the squabble.”