Starbreak (17 page)

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.”

“Died?” The frown grew deeper and deeper on Vadix’s lips. This was the wrong story to tell. Hadn’t I warned him that Mara was no diplomat? “Our cities were built to
keep
us from dying.”

“Yes, well,” Mara Stone said, unaffected by the offense that shone on his teeth. He leaned forward, bending his body toward her.

“Your people are often barbarous, are they not? Brandishing knives and sticks. Striking their own crèchemates down. They cannot be trusted to cool their tempers.”

He spoke to her, but I could tell that his words were meant for me. I’d killed—felled Mazdin in cold blood. Could I be trusted? I wanted to tell him that I could, but the words froze in my chest. Mara didn’t even seem to notice the laser intensity of his eyes as they narrowed upon me.

“Of course they can!” she snapped. “Now, don’t we have a meeting to attend?”

Vadix leaned back, watching as Mara fiddled with the lapels of her coat. His lips lifted wryly.

“Indeed we do,” he agreed, then started off toward the twisting central staircase.

“Aulsix aum elix tauziz!”

“Yes, my apologies. Senator Saida feels that it would be inappropriate to discuss the proliferation of Terran food animals on our planet before we have agreed to permit you to settle on Aur Evez.”

“We can adapt to a vegetarian diet, of course. But ideally we’re omnivores. And we’ve carried our flocks all this way. You can’t expect us to slaughter them after five hundred years of travel?”

“Taot?”

“Saoso elix zhosozazhi, saudd thosolo.”

“
Aikri thosoloezhi, aikri sore zhosozazhi. Tatoum
, Senator Sadex agrees that this is a delicate subject to raise, particularly in the presence of our esteemed Xollu senators. Perhaps we might turn the subject back to your likely environmental impact on this world.”

In the senate antechamber at the top of the Grand Senate building of Raza Ait, I sat with my head in my hands. Bringing Mara here was a mistake, just like I’d told Vadix it would be. But there was nothing I could do about it now except gaze out the glass wall beside me, down into the massive amphitheater that formed the main senate room below. I could see the junior senators coming and going in their silver robes, looking harried and distracted. But those seated among us were senior politicians, garbed in lengths of copper and gold. Little emotion showed on their alien faces; the “human problem,” as Vadix had called it as we sat down around the table, was one they hoped to resolve quickly, with little fuss.

Mara Stone, however, had other ideas.

“Your esteemed Xollu senators! Well, I’m sorry if their sensibilities are offended by the diversity of our diets. I know they’re plants, but they
must
consume something besides sunbeams and vapors.”

“You’d think that,” I murmured. Mara turned sharply toward me.

“What did you say,
Talmid
?”

I shrank back in my chair. I was no diplomat. I was hardly even a
scientist. But Mara had no patience for my doubts. She slammed the heel of her hand against the table.

“Spit it out! You’ve been here for days. Surely you’ve learned
something
. You’re not so dense.”

“The Ahadizhi are carnivorous,” I said softly. “But the Xollu don’t eat anything.”

“That’s absurd,” she said. She swung her gaze to look at Vadix. Nostrils flaring, she took in the sight of him—his height, the ease with which he moved. “Motile plants would have to have astronomical energy requirements.”

“You would know more about astronomy than we,” Vadix said coolly. “But it’s true. We may eat, but we rarely do. Instead we sleep.”

“Sleep?”

One by one the pairs bowed their heads.

“All the long winter,” he said. “Our bodies wrapped around our mates, we sleep. It is only our alliance with the Ahadizhi that protects us from the claws and teeth of beasts over the winter’s depths.”

“Winter?” I asked. “But it’s winter now, isn’t it?”

Mara waved her hand at me, not even deigning to meet my eyes. “We haven’t seen anything yet, girl. I’m sure by the time deep winter sets in, this city will be buried. Am I right?”

Vadix gazed down at his long fingers, clutched over the stone table. “
Tatoum.
Yes, this is correct.”

“Won’t be long now, will it?”

“Three passes of the moons before we sleep.”

“That’s, what, five weeks? Six? But what I don’t understand,” Mara began, leaning forward in her seat; she pointed a crooked finger at all the Ahadizhi who sat idle at the far end of the table, “is what
you
get out of this deal. You’re clearly intelligent. Don’t pretend like you don’t understand me. I know you do.”

One of them flashed Mara a view of his mouth, full of a thousand tiny blades.

“Tatoum,”
he agreed. She gave a nod.

“So what is it? Are you slaves? Do
they
call all the shots?” She jerked her thumb toward Vadix. For the first time his countenance faltered.

“No, no!” he protested. But the Ahadizhi gave a slow blink and smiled. He reminded me of a feline when he spoke, purring, complacent—but with hidden claws.

“No slaves,” he said, his tongue hissing against his many teeth. “Partners.”

Mara turned to Vadix. “Explain,” she said. Then she added, smiling:
“Taot?”

Vadix pressed his lips together in a frustrated line. It bothered him, I think, to have Mara pick up even the smallest pieces of his language. He didn’t want his place at the table superseded, not the slightest bit.

“Partners,” Vadix said, then hastily added: “In the service of the hunt, they have developed their arts. They had words first. Music and poetry. Art and writing. Their minds are not like ours. They are hidebound, well-planted in the land where they sprout. But we are curious. We study. We scheme. We are scientists. Scholars. Political strategists. They are hunters, builders, artists, musicians.”

I thought of Rebbe Davison, of what he’d told me about his plans with Aleksandra back when we’d first stumbled across her out in the wild. She was supposed to become the brawn behind the rebellion—Mordecai Davison, the brains. Apparently the aliens of Aur Evez had opted for a similar setup. Vadix went on.

“In exchange for their protection, we build them cities. And they fill them with music and color, and care for us during our long winter’s nap.”

“And it’s worked for you, hasn’t it?” Mara asked. She sat back in her chair, apparently satisfied by his explanation. “Almost too well. These streets are crowded.”

The corner of Vadix’s mouth twitched. It was as if Mara had stumbled into an old, old argument. But she didn’t seem to notice his reaction. She lifted a cutting hand, then let it fall.