Nobody’s been here in years.
“Are you reluctant to answer our questions, Major?”
“Of course not. It’s a pleasure to assist you. I can see you’re hanging on my every word.”
“You seem uncooperative, Major. You’re a highly decorated soldier. Your conduct doesn’t match the favorable reports on your file.”
“I suppose appearances can be deceiving.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
LILAC
FOR A WHILE WE FORGET WHAT HAPPENED last night and explore the building, working together again. Seeing an intact structure, something man-made, is electrifying. I try to imagine what my home looks like, my city, the buildings that touch the clouds and the cars on the skyways, and my mind draws a blank. I think if I were to somehow transport myself there now, it’d be overwhelming.
There’ll be a generator inside this building, somewhere, and if we can get that working, I can get everything else working. Tarver insists there will be a communications system inside—though I’ve never been to a planet in any phase earlier than advanced settlement, he tells me that stations like this are common, and all alike.
Communications equipment would mean a way to send a signal. A way to get Tarver back to his family, where he belongs, even if I’m not so sure I want to rejoin the world anymore. And if there’s any justice or decency in the galaxy, he’ll get home in one piece.
I want so badly to tell him why I said the things I said when we first met. Why alienating people is one of my greatest talents. But to tell him would be to betray my father. To show Tarver just how monstrous I am. And so I bite my tongue, and try to ignore the way the truth is building inside me like water under pressure.
Let him hate me, and think I hate him back. It’s safer for both of us.
We don’t talk, but the silence is still easier than it has been. Neither of us asks why this place was abandoned, or what it was originally for. It’s large enough that it can’t just be to house monitoring equipment. It had to hold people at some point.
We haul on the doors, pry at the shutters over the windows, go so far as to attempt to bash our way in with a rock. The building is solid, despite its neglect, and sealed up tightly. We discover a shed not far away with a broken-down hovercraft inside. A quick look tells me it was probably broken even at the time this place was occupied. We poke around under the hood for a little, checking out the hopelessly gummed-up plugs and leads, then Tarver moves on to inventory the rest of the shed, leaving me to examine the circuitry.
He gives me a running commentary on what he finds: rusted tools, lengths of rope, cans of oil and glue, tanks of fuel in the back. Paint cans and a shovel in the corner. Drills and saws with plugs. This place once had electricity, then, which confirms my guess that there’s a generator somewhere.
I wonder if some part of my brain will always look at things, now, and try to think of how they might be useful. If they’re worth their weight, being carried from a wreck. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll always think of ways rope or oil or rusty hammers could save someone’s life.
When I finally pry the circuit board’s cover off to find half the circuits missing, it takes me only a few moments to realize the entire thing is useless. I slam the hood of the hovercraft down, and when Tarver looks at me, he sees the frustration in my face and doesn’t ask. We head back out into the clearing, circling the building again, this time armed with tools. We set to work attacking the shutters, prying, trying to find a weak spot.
“At least you’re human after all,” Tarver says lightly. I’m still nursing the wounds from his rejection as I glance at him, expecting it to be a jab. He glances back, trying half a smile, and I realize it’s an olive branch instead. “We’ve finally found circuits you can’t fix.”
He looks so tired, so weary, despite his weak attempt to bridge the gulf between us. I suppose I would be too, if I were him.
I sigh, rubbing a hand across my eyes. “I wish I knew more. If I did, maybe I could fix it.”
“I still don’t understand how you know any of this. Your father’s the engineering genius, not you. I mean—you’re not the sort of person who would’ve studied circuitry and physics in school. I mean—oh, screw it.”
So much for the olive branch. Despite the temptation to leave him tripping over his words, I can’t take credit for what I know. “When I was a little girl, after my mother died, I wanted nothing more than to be just like my father. Even then I knew I was everything he had, so I wanted to be…worthy of that, I guess. I asked someone to teach me.” I swallow, feeling Tarver’s eyes on me, knowing he can sense the tension in my voice.
“Who?”
“A boy named Simon.”
Tarver’s eyes go back to the shutter he’s working on, focused, not looking at me. “You’ve mentioned him before. Who is he?”
My throat tightens. How can I tell Tarver, of all people, about the monstrous parts of my past? Why give him another reason to push me away? And yet, maybe he deserves to know why I said the things I said aboard the Icarus.
And maybe I deserve to relive it.
“If I tell you, will you just listen to me? Don’t interrupt, don’t say anything, just—let me get through this. Can you do that?”
His demeanor changes subtly, but he stays where he is, crowbar dangling at his side. “Okay.”
I take a few deep breaths, like a diver about to jump.
“Simon was a boy who grew up near our summerhouse on Nirvana.” I can’t look at him while I’m speaking. I don’t want to see the moment when realization hits.
“His family wasn’t as well connected as mine, but whose is? He was absolutely brilliant, and not just in the subjects we were expected to learn. He’s the one who taught me everything I know about electricity and physics. My father turned a blind eye to the time we spent together because he thought it was harmless, that I was too young to form any real attachment. I was fourteen then, but I loved him.” I run my fingers along the edge of the screwdriver, fingertips learning its planes, the sculpted plastic handle. “The night before he turned sixteen he asked if we could stop hiding, and be a real couple. He said he was going to go to my father in the morning now that he was an adult, and ask for a position within the company. To earn the right to be with me.”
Simon’s sandy-blond hair and green eyes flash in front of me, my heart constricting even now. Just keep talking. Get through it.
“I said yes. When I woke I practically flew downstairs in anticipation, but when I got there it was like nothing had changed. My father said he hadn’t seen him—he didn’t even look away from the news screen. I went to his house, and found his parents devastated. All gentlemen’s sons are in the reserves—you know that. As a matter of honor, I suppose, though it’s never tested. It’s all for show.”
My eyes sting and the red and yellow handle of the screwdriver blurs. Not yet. Hold it together. I turn the tool over and over in my hands.
“Simon had been called to active duty. I went to the recruiting station, but due to some clerical oversight, he was shipped out to the front lines with a bunch of soldiers who’d been training for a year. By the time I got through all the red tape and found out where he was, he was already dead.” And I should have known better.
Tarver keeps true to his word, not speaking, not even moving. But I feel his eyes on me, and I know he’s listening. I swallow, suddenly uncertain. Will he understand why I’m telling him this story that no one in the galaxy knows, outside of my father and me?
“I live a life of utter privilege. I know that. I accept that.” My voice cracks a little and I lick my lips. “But nothing’s free. It comes with a price. I accept that, too. My father has expectations about where I’ll spend my time, the company I’ll keep, the connections I’ll make to advance his interests. He always says that our name was hard won, and required sacrifice and work to maintain—but that if protected, it was all I’d ever need to get anywhere in this world. But sometimes—sometimes I slip.”
I force myself to glance at him. He’s standing where he was, his face shut down, as impassive and unreadable as I’ve ever seen it. I crumble a little, despite my resolve. This isn’t just about how he sees me; that ship rocketed away long ago.
It’s about how he thinks I see him.
“In the salon, when I dropped my glove, do you really think I didn’t know who you were?” My fingers close around the handle of the screwdriver like it’s a lifeline. “You were a hero, all over the news vids. I knew who your family was, that you were a scholarship case, all of it. I knew exactly who you were. I just—forgot, for a few seconds, who I was. Because I wanted to talk to you. Because you didn’t look at me like I was Lilac LaRoux.
“So yes, I was cruel afterward. I’m cruel because it’s the fastest way to get a man to lose interest, and trust me, I’ve learned how. My father taught me well.” I swallow, making sure my tone is even. He’d be proud. “Tarver, you have to understand that everyone who approaches me—everyone—wants something. Men are after my money. Women are after my status. And men will suffer a lot for a rich girl’s attentions, but not that level of humiliation. I’ve had to learn to use it over the years. And maybe I’m cruel because it’s easy, and because it’s something…something I can be good at.”
He’s still standing there, motionless. I’ve run out of things to say, and fall silent. My hand twitches, like it wants to throw the screwdriver at him. Anything to get him to move, speak. Say something. He stands there like he’s been hit in the head with the canteen, staring at me, square-jawed and silent.
I toss the screwdriver down. “I’ll find us a place for the night.”
I can feel his eyes on me as I retrieve the pack of supplies and make my way back toward the stream.
The stream is cloudy where we crossed it earlier, so I follow it, looking for a place to refill the canteen and wash a little. A thread of an idea nags at me, but I push it away, my mind roiling.
Why, why, did I tell him? Why should he be interested in the sad saga of the poor little rich girl who had her boyfriend taken away? It’ll be a great story for him when he ships out, something to laugh about with his platoon. I can just imagine him describing how this lunatic rich girl tried to jump him because of her daddy issues. Something twists uneasily inside me. Tarver isn’t the type of person to share the story. But still, he must think me so self-involved. He’s seen dozens of his friends blown to smithereens on the front lines, and I’m crying because a boy I once knew got sent away to war.
Still, now he knows. What my father is. What I am. That I’m responsible for the death of a boy whose only crime was falling in love. Now he knows how toxic I am.
I’m so tangled in my thoughts that I almost don’t notice the cave. The entrance is narrow, barely wide enough for Tarver’s shoulders. The source of the stream must be within it, but I can’t hear any bubbling, only the light trickle of water cascading down the rock. I rummage in the pack for the flashlight, climb onto the wet rocks, and ease my shoulders through.