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Authors: S.K. Falls

Tags: #glimpsing stars, #s.k. falls, #world of shell and bone book 2, #world of shell and bone novella

Moon (Glimpsing Stars, 1.5) (3 page)

BOOK: Moon (Glimpsing Stars, 1.5)
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The
voice on the other end is mechanical, distant. “Name of Radical.”

I
open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I glance at my mother, who stands beside
me, her hand clamped on my shoulder. When she sees that I am having trouble
speaking, she squeezes harder, until pain brings the world back into focus. My
throat opens up again. “Neptune Stewart.”

“Crime.”

I
glance at my mother again. “A-attending a Radical meeting.”

“Noted.
Thank you for your service to New Amana.”

And
that’s it. When I replace the receiver, Mother laughs. “You’ll always remember
this moment fondly, my dear. One day it will gain you employment in BoTA.
You’ll do what they denied me.” She strokes my face. “You’ll make sure the
Stewart family name is something to be proud of, won’t you?”

I
nod and try to smile, but the smile stays hidden somewhere. My eyes fill with
tears and suddenly, my legs cannot hold my weight any longer. I sink to the
floor, a crumpled mass. I do not cry, I do not make a sound. I simply lie
there, wondering how it can hurt so much when I haven’t been physically
wounded.

A
shadow falls on me and then I feel the weight of Mother’s hand on my hair.
“Now, now,” she mutters. “You’ve done the right thing. This is for your own
good. I’d never lead you astray, dear, you know that. Don’t you?”

“Yes,
Mother.” I close my eyes and will the world away.

For
several days after, nothing happens, at least not in my corner of Ursa. The
streets are quiet...unnaturally so. The Nukehead children seem to have vanished
overnight, though I have not heard the Maintenance men clean them up, cart them
away to be gassed. A dark gray fog hangs close to the ground, suffocating me,
muffling the sound of my breath.

My
mother works and I go to school. In the evenings, we listen to the radio
broadcasts and eat our tasteless dinners. She doesn’t mention what I have done;
I don’t dare ask her what has happened to Neptune. Part of me is sure she’d
tell me, sure she’d say if Neptune had been taken. But the other part wonders
if perhaps this is exactly how she’d act after: as if she’d only ever had one
daughter to begin with.

The
fever in her eyes dims.

In
my mind, the Escorts taking Neptune to the gas chamber will be preceded by something
big, like an enormous acid rain shower. Or perhaps they will blare sirens
throughout the city like they do every third of June, to mourn the day New
Amana was destroyed in the War. Because surely my sister cannot slip away
quietly, unnoticed, even if she
does
have some terrorist leanings. We
share genetic material. Doesn’t that count for something? Surely I, the one who
guided death to her doorstep, would become aware of the end of her life.

I
have absolutely done the right thing. I tell myself this daily. Neptune might
not have been at a Rad meeting that day, but it was only a matter of time. With
her twisted ideas of feminism and her blatant disregard for the regime, she is
a walking target. If I didn’t report her, someone else would have. I have absolutely
done the right thing...

Haven’t
I?

I
do not sleep at night; I am afraid of my dreams.

Then
one day there is a knock at the door. Mother is working the night shift, and I
am alone. Terror strikes me to my core. Is it the Escorts, come to take
me
away instead? Perhaps there is no greater betrayal than betrayal of family. Or
perhaps they are able to see into my mind, to see that I do not completely
believe Neptune is a Radical, not the way Mother does. Perhaps we will both be
gassed, just as my mother had said. I stand there, staring at the door, frozen
in absolute, perfect fear, sweat beginning to collect on my brow.

Then
reason begins to trickle in. Escorts don’t knock. They come in uninvited. It is
part of their appearance—their way of saying:
Your life is not really yours.
It has been ours from the moment you took your first breath.

I
open the door.

Neptune
stands on the other side. I wonder if she is an apparition, like they used to
believe in a long time ago. I try to see if there is hate blazing in her eyes.

But
she smiles. “Can I come in or will you stand in the doorway all night?”

Is
she really here? My mind reels as I step aside and she comes striding in.

Did
they decide that my report didn’t have substance? I have never heard of the
government deciding against gassing a low-level worker—erring as they always do
on the side of caution—but perhaps Neptune has slipped through the cracks.
Maybe, somehow, the inconceivable has happened. Maybe the government has made a
mistake.

We
sit on the sofa, just like always. I continue to watch her, my mind racing with
conflicting thoughts, my heart pounding, the blood roaring through my ears. I must
tell her to leave. She can’t be seen here. What if they’re merely delayed in
picking her up? Will they suspect me of abetting a terrorist?

But
she’s my sister. She’s here, against all odds. Should I warn her? Should I tell
her what Mother and I have done? I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Neptune
slips off her boots and tucks her legs under her, the gesture familiar and
discordant with the tension I feel. She pulls a pack of cigarettes from her bag
and taps one out.

“I
cannot say how much of a relief it was to get cigarettes from le marché noir.
Last time I went, they didn’t have any.” She smiles as she lights it. “I know
they say these things are deadly, but at least I’ll die happy.”

I
cannot laugh at her joke.

“Oh.”
She reaches back into her bag. “I bought you something as well.” She brings her
hand out, fist closed. When she opens her fingers, two small round gemstones
shimmer in her palm.

One
is smooth and white, and the other bigger and bright blue. They have small pins
on their backs.

“They’re
called brooches,” she says when I continue to stare at them. “Women used to pin
them on their clothes as adornment. We can’t do that, of course, but I thought
we might keep them anyway. Maybe I’ll keep the moon and you could keep
Neptune?”

Her
hand hovers there in the air, and I can’t bring myself to look away. I knew
what the gemstones represented as soon as I saw them. Here is the evidence of
her innocence, as if the cigarettes were not enough. And more than that—here is
the evidence that my sister cares for me.

My
brain begins to scream in pure anguish. I have to tell her. I have to tell her
what’s happened so that she can run. Maybe there’s time for her to escape the
city like she’d meant to anyway. Maybe Neptune could leave Ursa behind once and
for all. She doesn’t have to go to the gas chamber. She could simply disappear.
That would be virtually the same thing, wouldn’t it?

“N-Neptune...”

She
looks at me, completely unaware of the agony I am in, and closes her hand
around the gemstones, waiting.

“You—you
said you were leaving Ursa.”

She
sighs and shakes her head, looking down at the cigarette in her free hand. “Oh,
Moon. I wish you wouldn’t worry about that. I did wonder whether or not to tell
you at all.” When she looks up at me, her eyes are bright and clear. “Yes, I am
leaving. But I do not know when or where I am going yet. And you cannot tell
anybody. Do you understand?”

Now
is the time. I have to tell her now. “You have to go. You can’t wait any longer.”

“What
do you mean?” Her eyes narrow. I wonder if knowledge is beginning to seep in,
quietly but surely.

I
open my mouth.

There
is a rustling at the door, like someone trying to open it.

Neptune
swivels her head in its direction, frowning. She sets the gemstones on the
table, under the educational leaflets Mother likes to browse. She steps on her
burning cigarette and puts it out before pushing the butt under the sofa. “Are
you expecting someone?”

I
can only stare at her, at her dark eyes, her long, thick braid. I begin to
memorize her face.

The
door swings open and they march in. Escorts, in their bright white uniforms
like exposed bone. I look back at Neptune. I am underwater, everything is slow,
I try to breathe but I can’t.

Neptune
still looks disoriented. She stares at the Escorts as if they are apparitions,
just as I’d looked at her minutes before when she was at the door. It seems as
though she’s wondering if this is a dream, just as I’m wondering if it is a
nightmare.

They
seize her by the arms, pull her to her feet. They don’t even let her put on her
boots. They drag her out, her bare feet scraping the floor, and all the while
she stares at me. She doesn’t say a word.

They
are there. And then they are gone.

It
is only a long time later that I realize I am standing in the middle of the room,
screaming her name at the closed door. I stop, put one hand on my sore, swollen
throat. I walk stiffly to the sofa, let my knees buckle. The house is quiet, so
quiet. Somewhere in the distance a siren squalls like a broken child. I pick up
the brooches Neptune left behind. I close my fingers around them, let the pins
sink into my palm.

By
the time Mother comes home early the next morning, I have thrown them away. I have
begun to forget.

City
of Ursa, New Amana

November
2078

I
sit back in my chair and watch Mercury approach. A gleeful expression dances in
her black eyes; a barely-suppressed smile plays on her lips.

“Have
you heard?” she says in a hurried whisper before she has even stopped moving.

This
is how most of Mercury’s conversations begin. She is the hub of all news passed
from classified environments to BoTA, where we work. I have only been here a year,
but already Mercury has found me. I do not know what she saw in my face that
told her I was a kindred spirit.

Mercury
and I celebrate when citizens are arrested or taken away to the Asylums. And
why shouldn’t we? The fewer people we have to compete with, the higher our
chance of survival. When fighting for each waking moment is a way of life,
emotions such as empathy and compassion cease to matter. Those who think
otherwise delude themselves. I can guarantee that their life spans are shorter
than those of people like Mercury and me.

“Who’ve
they caught?” I keep my tone nonchalant, but my heart races. I need it to be
her
—Vika
Cannon. It has to be.

Mercury
shakes her head, apparently reading my mind. After all this time, it’s no
secret—at least not one I keep from her—who I’ve been hoping will stumble. “No
one’s been picked up for the gas chambers yet.”

Hope
deflates, and I am suddenly angry. Why did I think for even a moment that
she
would’ve been arrested? Her mother is much too important for them to make such
a move without thoroughly investigating first. And that could take weeks, even
months. I glare at Mercury, bitter bile splashing the back of my throat. “What,
then? Out with it already.”

Mercury
flinches at my unkind tone, but I don’t apologize. “Vika Cannon is a Rad. She’s
on the run.”

I
stare at her, unable to believe what I’ve just heard.

In
our society, every waking moment is a struggle for life against death. Every
day of my life, I am faced with the harsh truth: There is a finite amount of
time before our resources run out. The War of the Nations—an enormous nuclear
war that changed the very topography of the earth—has left New Amana utterly
depleted. The poisoned oxygen we breathe, the meager food we eat, all of it is
running out, fast. Our only chance of survival is to board a ship to China. But
there are a finite number of ships, and a finite number of seats on those
ships. Not all of us will make it out.

It
is my duty to weed out every single person who does not belong so those of us
who escape can preserve our identity as New Amanian citizens. Once New Amana
has been cleaned of nuclear toxins and we’re allowed to return, we will be
tasked with an important job: rebuilding our great nation from the ground up.

From
the beginning, since I first spoke to her, I knew Vika Cannon did not belong. She
doesn’t personify New Amana’s virtues: loyalty and obedience. She is lazy. She
is strange. The only reason she isn’t dead yet is because of her mother’s
superior station. But I knew it was only a matter of time before that tenuous
saving grace frayed completely away.

I
glance at Vika’s empty chair. It is early in the day still, and I had expected
that she would be here later. I try to calm my pulse. “What do you mean she’s
‘on the run’?”

Seeming
mollified by my urgent tone, Mercury leans down to impart more information.  “She
joined a Rad group, pretended to be a guard, and was escorting children to the
Toronto Asylum. I suppose they meant to subvert the operation somehow. But the
government got advance information about it and stopped them—well, most of
them. Vika apparently got free and ran into the desert.” She shakes her head.
“And she’s
pregnant
. Can you believe it? What on earth could she have
been thinking?”

I
gaze past her toward Miss Adams’s, my boss’s, office. “I have no idea.” But I
have a good idea of what I must do next.

The
day passes in a hush, as if time is tiptoeing past. It feels as though all eyes
are on me, though I know this must be solely in my imagination. Vika’s chair
sits conspicuously empty, and yet no one mentions it. In fact, everyone acts as
though there is nothing out of the ordinary about a vacant seat, as if it is
not a voice over a loudspeaker screaming “Radical.” Perhaps they are afraid her
disobedient state of mind will rub off on them.

I,
for one, revel in the emptiness of her chair, in the evacuation of her space.
It is the sight of my freedom. It is the physical manifestation of a year of
waiting and watching and burning with the injustice of her being Matched simply
because she has an important mother.

BOOK: Moon (Glimpsing Stars, 1.5)
10.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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