Phoebe North: Starbreak

“I’ve been packing,” he said, turning to a basket full of clothes beside him. I glanced down. There they were, those corduroy uniforms, each shoulder marked by a blue rank cord.

“For what?” I asked. I braced myself for bad news, that Abba, my strange, temperamental father, would take off with Silvan for the Earth again. But he only shook his head, letting out a chuckle that went on just a beat too long.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t it?”

My father nodded his bald head. He lifted his index fingers, glancing between them. “It seems to me that there are two options. Zehava or death.”

That’s when I realized that he didn’t know . He didn’t remember dying up in those rafters—hung from the frayed piece of rope that was still knotted through ancient wood. I studied his features—the feather of hair surrounding his bald head, the single silver eyebrow hair that gnarled up out of the black ones, the pores along the side of his face, all ruddy from shaving. All these details that I had forgotten, the tiny markers that had once proved that he was a living, breathing man.

His eyelashes shivered. I wondered what would happen if I told him the truth, that he was dead, gone already. Would he be upset? Would he vanish, like smoke? In my dream my father had packed for a trip—seven pairs of identical trousers, identically folded, small scraps of paper, a pressed flower that had once been Momma’s. He didn’t want to die. Tonight he wanted to come with me, to finally achieve tikkun olam.

“I guess it’s Zehava, then,” I said, and pressed a kiss into his forehead. My father leaned into my lips’ touch. I got a strong whiff of him. Wine and cedar boards. Dust.

I woke with my body sopped with sweat, the sheets tangled around my torso.

“Vadix!” I called, out loud, until I heard my voice echo against the blackness and clamped a hand over my mouth. Afraid of waking the baby, I spoke silently instead.

Vadix, where are you? A pause, too long, so I added in a panic: Are you all right?

I waited a long time for him to answer. I pulled myself upright, feeling my heart pound right through my nightshirt. Touching a hand to my throat, I listened to myself breathe. What if he was gone? I thought of the inviting darkness of the funerary fields, the desire that urged him to join Velsa. But I shook that thought away. He was alive somewhere down there in the city. His compulsion to join Velsa wasn’t just a memory but a real, present wish, that indelible part of himself that never would be washed away.

Vadix! I chided, more firmly this time, and I felt his awareness slam into mine, hard. I closed my eyes against the dark, saw the gray fingers of light come dawning in the glass over Raza Ait. The whole city was like a bud, gently unfurling in the spring.

He stood on the senate steps, his shadow dim and long out in front of him. He was tired, so very tired; he hadn’t slept a single wink that night. That’s why we hadn’t roamed together through the forests. He’d never even gone to bed, much less succumbed to dreams.

And yet somehow, inexplicably, he was happy. I felt his mouth stretch from earslit to earslit, the air cold against the dozens of tiny blades that were his teeth. The emotion that filled his chest wasn’t heaviness or dread, or even his old, familiar friend solitude. It was something else, some small, giddy sliver of hope.

I have a gift for you, he said. He watched Xarki peek out over the shadows of the tallest buildings at the city’s edge. In the morning the skyline looked jagged and full. Even though it was still dark in Ronen’s guest bedroom, I found myself squinting, resisting the sun’s beams.

A gift?

I sat straighter in bed, kicking the blankets back. There was only one thing I wanted. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I wanted him , too, thousands of nights with him, time to grow old, to have our first fight, to sleep beside him as humanity put down roots on Aur Evez. But barring that? The only thing I really wanted was a home. A small patch of land all my own.

They’ve agreed to let us stay? I asked. But Vadix pulled back, smoothing his lips.

No. They’ve agreed to let you speak to the senate. A hearing. First thing tomorrow morning.

The senate. I’d only glimpsed it through the antechamber glass—rows upon rows of gold-robed Xollu, hundreds of Ahadizhi all talking at once. Me? Speak to them ? I’d hardly been able to speak to my own people.

I—I can’t!

I will be with you, he said gently. They have agreed to let me translate for you. After what happened with Aleksandra, they will not hear anyone else. But I vouched for you. I told them of your character.

I grabbed my blankets in both fists, tugging at the soft fabric. This wasn’t what I’d expected, not at all. Vadix didn’t even try to hide his disappointment.

I did this for you! Your people! Your future and your safety. You will be the first animal to ever speak in the senate room. The first! I know your words will move them. He paused, feeling the warmth of the sun as it began to crown the sky overhead. They have done much to move me.

Even in the cool dark of the empty room, I felt my cheeks heat. Thank you, I said. I felt something rumble back in response. A tiny crackle of something—laughter.

Do not thank me yet, zeze. We have much work to do still.

Though I would be the only human allowed in the senate room, Vadix suggested I bring a team of advisers with me to Raza Ait. For me the choice was easy. That morning I’d board a shuttle with Mara Stone and with Mordecai. My teachers, who had taught me more in my years on the ship than anyone else. I couldn’t imagine departing again without them. We planned to travel alone, the three of us and a shuttle pilot. Vadix assured me that we needed no guards, and besides, they were occupied that morning. With their sonic rifles in hand, they gathered the children who roamed the streets of the ship and herded them toward their homes—accomplishing in a few hours what the Council had failed to do in days.

But we were surprised that morning when we went to board our shuttle and found someone waiting for us. Standing tall in white wool, the rank cord vibrant against his shoulder, was Silvan Rafferty.

“What are you doing here?” Mara demanded, her craggy voice hard. Silvan only put his hands on his hips.

“The peace you’re brokering concerns us, too. We need to divide the ship’s resources fairly. The Asherati need a say.”

It was the first time I realized that, after this, we would no longer be Asherati. We’d be something else—Zehavans. Colonists. Different. New. I put my hand on Mara’s shoulder and pulled her gently away.

“He’s right,” I said. “He’s their leader, and they deserve a voice too. He can come.”

“Are you sure, Terra?” Rebbe Davison asked. I looked at Silvan, at the proud, firm set of his jaw. And nodded.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

On the long journey over we tried to prepare him for what he’d find in Raza Ait. We told him about the copper city, domed against the impending winter. We told him about the beasts that roamed the mountainous wilds. Mara explained how the plants there were different from ours: motile rather than grounded; purple, not green. Silvan nodded. He seemed to understand. But for some reason he had trouble with the idea of the people there.

“Talking plants,” he said, snorting through the glass of his flight suit helmet. “It makes no sense. It has to be a joke. It just has to be.”

“It’s no joke,” Mara said peevishly. “And you’d better not go saying that around our hosts. Until they decide we can stay, we’re going to be guests on this planet, you know. We need to act graciously.”