Phoebe North - Starbreak

“What’s it matter if it’s ours? It will be a good home for us—better than this creaky old ship!”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“This ‘creaky old ship’ might be our home, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make if our descendants can one day live to see Earth. Jerusalem. Israel. Zion—it was ours , Terra. Her deserts and the springs that pour from the rocks there, as clear as glass. Her mountains, green and dappled, and the sky, blue and endless overhead. The smell of pomegranate on the air in the summertime. All those sacred buildings we lost. Can you imagine?” He had to be quoting Rachel. These pretty words were not his own.

“They’re gone,” I said through clenched teeth. His gaze had gone hazy, like he was looking into the future and the past all at once. “The asteroid destroyed it all. Destroyed the whole planet, Silvan. Do you think a tiny piece of land would have been spared?”

“We were spared, weren’t we?” he asked. “I’ve asked the Council-loyal scientists what they think. Even had an audience with Mara Stone. The chances are slim, based on their projections. But it’s not impossible. There’s even a chance the asteroid missed Earth entirely. Our ancestors left before it happened, after all. All this wandering might have been for nothing. Worthless. A waste.”

I glanced toward the purple slip of land that floated in the glass. On that planet Vadix waited. His guests had left; he’d sunk into the circular sofa, sliding his eyelids shut. Tired. So tired. But he had work to do, still, and hours to go before he joined me in the dreamforests.

“It wasn’t for nothing, Silvan! We have a chance to achieve tikkun olam . Can’t you see?”

He watched me for a long moment, pressing those plush lips thin. “No,” he said. “I can’t. Why won’t you join us, Terra? We’d be happy to have you. Mara Stone will be retiring soon. We’ll need a botanist.”

“I don’t want to be your botanist.”

He looked wounded at my words, and more than a little puzzled, too. To Silvan there was no greater honor than to serve him, and no greater insult than to turn him down. But after a moment his expression brightened, as if a new thought had just occurred. “Is it because Rachel and I are to be wed? You don’t have to be alone. There are boys here among us—unmarried boys.”

I massaged my index fingers over my forehead. “I don’t need an unmarried boy. I’m working with their translator to negotiate—”

“Yes, yes,” Silvan said as he began to roll his eyes. “You’re going to negotiate an accord. I’ve heard all about it. It’s not happening, Terra. The aliens will never welcome us on their planet, and I’m not going to stick around to wait for them to prove it.”

“You don’t even know them.”

“I don’t have to. I know my people. We’ve survived these five hundred years by sticking together. It’s how we’ll survive the next five hundred. I’ve been warning them—” He broke off, setting his fingers down on one of the console switches as if to demonstrate. He flicked it up and down and up again. I thought of the lights flickering in the ship. Off and on and off. The darkness was nothing more than the stupid, thoughtless movements of this boy .

“And if they don’t listen?”

“They have no choice. I control the engines. The lights. The air. I’d rather they go willingly, but we belong together, Terra. It’s what my father worked his whole life for.”

“Your father.” I grimaced at the memory of Mazdin Rafferty, telling me I was worthless, telling me I was no threat to him. Telling me that, in the end, all rebels became obedient Asherati—or died.

But Silvan lifted his chin. His curls tumbled down his shoulders. He was beautiful, but young and proud and foolish, too.

“Abba understood the importance of keeping the people united. How you sometimes have to make hard choices to keep the ship running.”

Like killing my mother, I thought. In that moment I wanted to say it. I wanted to fling accusations at Silvan, to tell him the whole truth about what had transpired between his father and me. That night in the Raffertys’ quarters, my temper had flared more brightly than it ever had before. I’d thought it was a righteous anger, though as soon as I shoved the wine bottle, full of poison, back on the rack, the doubts began to grow within me.

“Your father,” I said again. Silvan peered curiously at me, blinking his dark lashes hard.

Killed him. I killed him, I thought. The words were threatening to spill past my lips. Perhaps if I told Silvan, the weight of the death would lift from my shoulders. Silvan could absolve me—set me free.

But I saw his fingers, how they caressed the dials. Silvan had a temper too. He could be selfish and spoiled, sullen, temperamental. And though I wished I could say with certainty that he wouldn’t do a single thing to harm me, in truth I didn’t feel so sure.

Terra, don’t, Vadix said at last. But he didn’t have to. My mouth was open, and I was already speaking.

“Your father was a great man,” was what I said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rachel let out a breath of relief. On the night before we landed, I’d told her bits and pieces of the truth—that I’d hurt Mazdin, that my hands had wrought shameful things—and she must have figured out the rest in the days since Mazdin’s death. And yet she hadn’t told Silvan, not one single word. My heart swelled at the sight of her. Rachel, my loyal friend. Holding my secrets in.

“Of course he was a great man,” Silvan said peevishly. He gave the controls one last flick, on and off, before standing straight. “No matter what the rebels say.”

That’s when I knew for certain that Silvan would never absolve me of my guilt. Not that he really could anyway. The only person who could ever forgive me was Mazdin, and he was gone, lost to the foxglove. Just like Momma.

“They don’t understand,” I said, swallowing hard. It hurt to even breathe, much less speak, as I heaped praise upon Silvan’s father. “Your father sacrificed so much for them, and they don’t understand at all. And they never will. We’re too different. Too much has happened for us to ever live in peace.”

His lips fell open. When he looked at me again, it was with sadness. “I wanted you to join us. I don’t mean the rebels. I mean you, Terra. I thought we could be friends. Even if—”

“I know.” Stepping closer, I reached out, taking his hand in mine. I needed to still it, to keep it away from the controls. “You were always good to me. But you have to let us go. We’re no good to you. You have Council men and women, and loyal commoners willing to follow you too. We’ll just get in the way of your father’s dreams. You can see them to fruition better without us. Take the ship and leave us here, and let us make our own mistakes on the planet.”

He hesitated, running his thumb over my knuckles. Such a familiar gesture. But then, as if he’d just remembered Rachel standing beside us, he snatched his hand away.

“The natives will have you?”

It was my own turn to hesitate. I sucked in a breath. “Not yet. But soon I hope.”

When Silvan turned toward the viewer, his black curls shone—as if the stars were trapped inside them. His gaze went dark as he watched the planet. The world spun silently, and he was thoughtful.

“Might go faster if I helped you. It’s what Abba would have wanted. Near the end he kept asking where you were, you know.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. At last Silvan filled the silence for me.

“He said it was cancer, just like the one that killed your mother. Isn’t that strange?”