Phoebe North - Starbreak

“Well, then they’re not going to have room for us, are they?” a young man demanded. They were all talking now, one voice bubbling over another like water in a stove pot. But Mara Stone only watched me. Finally she gave her head a slow shake. I was losing them, losing it all. If I wanted them to listen, I’d have to be more convincing than this. As I’d seen Mordecai do, I gripped the podium with both hands—as much to stop my hands from shaking as anything else. I drew in a breath, opened my mouth to speak—

And the whole auditorium went pitch black.

How long was it before anyone spoke? It felt like a lifetime during which the only thing I could hear was my pulse in my ears and the shallow, wheezy effort of my lungs. But it couldn’t have been more than ten seconds, maybe twenty. At last someone cried out—a child, maybe Ettie? I couldn’t see my nose in front of me, much less the people who now jostled and cried in the auditorium seats.

“Everybody stay calm!” Mordecai bellowed. Then I felt the pressure of his hand between my shoulder blades. But it didn’t do a thing to calm my fear—or the fears of the crowd. Their voices roared up, louder and louder in the face of the darkness.

What’s wrong? Are you all right?

My words stormed back, furious as a blizzard. This is wrong, it’s all wrong! I can’t just wait for the ship to fall apart while we stand around and make speeches.

Vadix hesitated, unsure of how to respond. But I wasn’t. I shrugged away Mordecai’s hand, turning to him in the darkness.

“I need to go talk to Silvan,” I growled.

It was as if my voice had some magical effect on the wall sconces—on Silvan’s hand, poised over the controls in the command center. The lights woke to life, greeted by a smattering of applause. My feeble eyes fell on Mara Stone. She shook her head again, rose to her feet, and then rushed out of the double doors at the back of the room.

“Citizens!” called Mordecai, but he was hardly able to fan back their grumbling now . “Citizens! That will be all for tonight! Go, be with your families. We’ll call on you—”

But most of them had already risen to their feet, yammering to one another as they flooded toward the auditorium door.

Mordecai turned to me, the frown deep on his forehead. “The people need to be reassured, Terra.”

I still faced out toward the auditorium, watching as the crowd funneled through the double doors. Both of my hands still gripped the podium. But it couldn’t shield me from what came next. Facing Silvan Rafferty, facing my guilt.

“I’m no Captain Wolff,” I said, speaking through gritted teeth. “I need to take action—to speak to Silvan and see that we’re secure on this ship. I don’t need to waste my time making speeches.”

“You’ll have to face your fears eventually. The people need a strong leader. Someone who can offer comfort. Inspiration.”

I swiveled to face my old teacher. His expression was a strange one, a muddle of regret and fear. Not fear for himself, I think—but for what came next. A future that was strange, new. A future led by someone too weak to manage. But he had chosen me, and I was doing my best. I lifted my chin.

“Is this why you chose me, so you could tell me what to do? I’m not Aleksandra either, Mordecai. I’m no figurehead. If you’re going to follow me,” I said, “then you need to listen to me too.”

Mordecai drew in a breath, then let it out. At last he squared his stubble-scattered jaw.

“Very well, Giveret Fineberg,” he said. I stood straighter at the name. Even Mordecai knew I’d changed. I was an adult now, not the frightened girl I’d once been. “What do you propose we do?”

By then we were alone—or nearly. Ronen had hung back by the stage, looking as if he wished he were anywhere but here, trapped between our tempers.

“I propose that I go speak to Silvan immediately,” I said. Then, when Mordecai turned toward the door, I put a hand on his shoulder. “I propose that you and Ronen escort me to the lift. I still need your help, Teacher. Just not for this.”

I indicated the abandoned auditorium with a flash of my hand. Mordecai looked out too, sighing.

“If you’re going to lead,” he said, “you’ll have to learn to face a crowd someday .”

Overhead the lights flickered. I bit my lip, gave a nod. He was right. I’d have to confront my fears eventually, if I was going to be a leader, if I was going to learn to stand up for my people.

But not today—not yet. I had bigger fish to fry first.

“Silvan’s waiting,” I said as I started toward the auditorium doors.

They walked with me, but only as far as the lift that sat in the pavilion at the center of the ship’s bow. It was a short walk, hardly anything more than a stroll down the narrow alleyway that sat between the school and the library, and out, across the broken cobblestones. I knew I’d travel the rest of the way alone. For one thing this wasn’t their battle—not my sweet, dopey brother’s, and not my old teacher’s, either. Mordecai might have taught Silvan for more than a decade, wrestling with his temper, trying to reign his teasing in. But he knew very little of what had passed between the two of us over those tumultuous weeks.

At the lift Mordecai pressed his fingers to his heart. My brother watched him, his expression something between a smile and a perplexed frown. He put a hand on my shoulder.

“Be safe, Sister,” he said. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

I nodded quickly as I stepped into the lift. The glass door shivered shut behind me, sealing the dome out of my reach. I pressed the button, and then leaned back against the rail. Waiting.

Why did he tell you to be safe? Vadix asked. He had a guest. Two, in fact—a partnered Xollu pair of lower-ranking senators who had deigned to hear his case. But he’d slipped away into the kitchen, bright even in moonlight, just so that he could speak to me.

Because Silvan is powerful. And— I paused. I was going to say “dangerous,” but that wasn’t quite right. He’d never been like his father, plotting and sneering and cruel. Nor even like Aleksandra Wolff—no bloodthirsty streak ran through him .

Silvan. Like Koen Maxwell, you cared for him once too? Vadix asked, his approach so delicate as the lift rose up and up that I couldn’t help but smile.

In a way. He was a comfort to me after my father died. He cared for me, but it wasn’t love. It was . . . something else.

Surely, he wouldn’t harm you, then?

Any semblance of a smile fell. The door dinged open. I stared down the long, dark hall that led to the captain’s stateroom, thinking of Silvan. I remembered his plush lips, and the way he’d pouted them when his father had denied him something—when his father had treated him like the boy he truly was. Sometimes he’d rage against the man, ranting and throwing up his hands. Other times he’d channeled his anger into his lust as he pressed me down against the rotting leaves. I blushed to think about it, how I’d taken his kisses, his heat, and never even gave it a second thought. Back then I’d hardly had to worry about Silvan’s temper. He never seemed particularly angry at me .

But back then he hadn’t been on a fool’s quest to return to Earth. He hadn’t had the loyalty of his father’s people behind him. And I hadn’t been the girl who killed his father.

I suppose we’ll see, I told Vadix as I took the first lonely steps down that echoing hallway.

The stateroom was packed full of people. It was a wonder that the room could fit them all—crowded on cots and in corners, whole families gathered on the polished marble floor. They still wore their uniforms, their rank cords. It was clear that they expected the rebellion to be over soon. Zehava herself—shining in the glass overhead—would seem like nothing more than a bad dream. When the Asherah was en route to Earth, they would travel down to the dome, this whole ordeal only a memory, take up their old houses, their old jobs, and continue living in the manner they’d become accustomed to.