Page 13 of Bound by Stars

Weslie

Thirty-one days to Mars

From the main staircase, the sounds of the dinner in progress are muffled behind the closed doors on the lower level. I tiptoe past the clock, listening for approaching porters or passengers.

The number plates display Thirty-one days, twelve hours to Mars.

The hand ticks directly over the seven and the chandelier dims a little more.

It’s so gradual that I didn’t notice until recently, but the lights in the public areas mimic daylight.

Soft and warm in the morning, bright in the afternoon, dim and purplish in the evening, and faint white in the night.

Finding the stairwell I climbed to first class the day I boarded, I descend the levels of the ship. At sublevel three, muddled voices and laughter bleed into the silence. I mash the door release and loud, happy noise explodes through the opening.

People move through the busy halls, dressed in patched clothing, as they talk, laugh, and gesture wildly.

There are no bots to assist them or porters standing by for orders.

I walk past a cafeteria, people filing in and out without formality.

At the back of the room, they line up, scanning their handprints in exchange for rations.

It’s a galaxy away from the first-class world, but it feels more like home.

“Excuse me, Ms. But are you supposed to be down here?” Someone taps my shoulder, speaking in a forced deep tone.

I twirl around on my heel. “I’m sorry, I…”

Reve holds his arms behind his back. The hint of a teasing smile glimmers in his stare.

My shoulders immediately relax. Even though the ship around us keeps hurtling toward Mars, I haven’t felt this close to Earth since my transport docked.

“Where’s ILSA?” He laughs, searching the hall behind me for the bot who is safely docked in my room where she can’t embarrass me.

“She’s become a total snob. Won’t venture below first class these days.”

A grin tugs at the edge of his mouth, and his eyes burrow through me. “Shame to hear she’s forgetting her roots.”

My face is hot, and I can barely speak around the lump in my throat. “I’ll pass on the disapproval.”

“See that you do.” He bites his lower lip. “So why are you down here slumming it with the Earther folk? Aren’t you supposed to be all dressed up at a fancy dinner?”

“Not really my thing.” I notice for the first time that his hat, pin, and vest are missing, replaced by a basic white T-shirt. “You’re not working?”

“Night off. Did you come down here to find me?”

“No, I…I was exploring.”

“Oh, then I’ll leave you to it.” He steps out of my way to let me pass.

I take two steps before I muster the courage to turn back. “I mean…if you’re not busy and want to hang out…”

Tucking his hands into his pockets, he smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’d like that.”

Through the rest of sublevel three, along nearly identical stark white halls, I can hardly pay attention. My mind scrambles for something, anything , to say.

Reve points out the different service rooms toward the back of the ship, stopping to greet other porters and workers finishing or starting their shifts.

That’s a cool computer setup.

Don’t be such a nerd, Weslie.

So what exactly do they keep in the supply closet?

Stop.

I stay a step behind him, rolling my shoulders, trying to shrug off the awkwardness.

In another featureless hall, he leads me past narrow doors marked with ascending painted numbers.

I almost manage an actual word when he opens a door to a set of bunks with hardly enough space to walk between.

But when he points out his disheveled bed at the top right, nothing intelligible makes it past my lips.

On sublevel two, he leads me to the mezzanine around the dimly lit community room.

The bass of electronic music pulses under my feet.

I lean over the railing that circles the round opening in the center of the room.

Below a crowd of people dance, while the others sit around tightly packed tables that line the perimeter, laughing and sloshing their drinks.

Reve rests his elbows on the railing next to me.

His arm grazes mine and sends a chill up my neck, blooming across my chest and shoulders.

“You’ve been abnormally quiet. Have you forgotten how to talk to normal people after hanging out with all those boring elites, or are you just fascinated into silence by my grand tour? ”

“Maybe a little of both.”

“Well, unfortunately, that’s it. Not much to see down here.

The rest of sublevel two and one are just pods and more crew quarters.

And I can’t take you below that without risking my job.

But it’s just cargo holds, more docking stations, and machinery down there.

Definitely not as exciting as first class. ”

I chew on my lip, scanning the room like I can find some excuse to stay. I’m not ready to be alone in my room again. And then it hits me. I tug on the back of his shirt and nod for him to follow. “My turn then.”

On our way up, he points out the first of two escape pod bays. One on each second-class floor. I mentally calculate the number of pods compared to first class. There have to be twice as many people down here. At least.

I peer over the railing, down the dark center of the stairwell. I can’t see the bottom. Like it goes on forever. “How many levels does the ship have?”

He brushes past me, climbing the next set of stairs. “Well, there’s the top level, where you and your fancy friends live.”

I glare back as he glances over his shoulder.

“Then, there’s the first-class entertainment level below that.”

Emerging on the lower first-class floor feels almost as strange as it did five days ago when I didn’t know if I were staying on the ship or being kicked off it.

There’s less noise behind the dining room doors, but still, no one is around to notice us or ask questions.

The hall feels wider, and the ceiling seems higher.

Compared to the sublevels, the space is excessive.

The molding, tile, carved dining room doors.

Overkill. They made it bigger and better up here in every way. Just because they could.

Reve lowers his voice. “Under this, you have sublevel one through three. All second class and crew. And then two cargo levels below that. I think that makes seven all together. It’s a huge ship.”

“No kidding.”

Halfway up the grand staircase, Reve stops next to the clock.

I pause mid-step. “You coming?”

“Not sure I should go all the way up.” He chews at his lower lip.

I shrug. “I’m pretty good at avoiding people up here.”

“As long as you’re watching out for me, Fleet.” He meets me at the top of the stairs and slides his fingers through mine.

A bit lightheaded, I lead him through the maze of hallways toward the back of the ship, near the escape pod bay. “It’s pretty abandoned back here most of the time.”

Halfway around the curved walkway, Reve releases my hand, gesturing wildly.

“And then this passenger today, god, she practically held me hostage for the entire afternoon…” The more annoyed he gets, the more aggressive his motions become.

“…and then it was too bright again. I must have reset her lighting fifty times only to end up back where we started.”

“These people.” I shake my head, staring out at distant stars through one of the thin windows.

“You know what I was thinking about out of nowhere today? Remember when we were, like, seven and it snowed?”

“Pretty easily. I haven’t seen snow on the ground since.”

“It stuck for like half a day, but you and Mei decided to try to save it by piling it into that bucket in your refrigerator. Then it melted and flooded your kitchen.”

“First off—I was six. You should have known better as my elder.”

“As if those extra two months offered me enough wisdom to stop you. And you definitely wouldn’t have listened if I tried.”

“And second, I didn’t have a strong grasp on volume and physics yet.”

“Your dad was so mad. He didn’t let us in your house for months. I bet you never bothered to let him know it was all your idea.”

“Self-preservation,” I say before taking a turn off memory lane. “Strange we haven’t managed to cross paths in the past few days.”

“Ah, well, I am supposed to be invisible. Part of the ship.”

“Must be nice.”

We come to the end of the pod bay hall, and I lead us left toward the living quarters.

“Not particularly, but I’m fine with it.”

“I feel like I’m walking around with a spotlight on me up here. They all watch me like they’re afraid I’ll pick their pockets.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you, Fleet.”

I glare at him sideways, and he nudges my shoulder.

“If you don’t want to stand out, you have to play their game.

Wear what you’re supposed to wear, go where you’re supposed to go, and speak when you’re supposed to speak.

We make them uncomfortable, so they want to forget where you came from.

Play along and they’ll believe you’re one of them in no time. ”

“But I’m not,” I say weakly.

Reve stops in front of me, taking my hand. “If I’ve ever known someone who could rise to the occasion, it’s you, Wes.” He draws closer, our faces inches apart. “Just promise me you won’t forget who you really are.”

Heat blooms in my face. I nod once, twisting my lips to hide my smile.

“You know, I’ve never seen the inside of the first-class quarters. Are they huge?”

I point down the hall, in the direction I’ve been leading us. “My room is…it’s…uh…” I gulp, but my throat might be swollen shut. My hand has gone rogue, unrhythmically waving my still-pointing index finger like it’s trying to do the talking.

“Hey, what are you two doing up here?” A porter with blond hair and thin lips marches toward us, staring under the inclined brim of her hat. “You aren’t allowed above your level. I’ll need identification from both of you.”

She holds out the paper-thin tablet toward Reve.

He releases my hand and raises his in surrender. “I’m the only one in the wrong place. It’s my night off and…”

“Identification.” She shoves the tablet closer to him, and he lays a palm on it. Her eyes move back and forth over the screen and her frown deepens. “Porter Moreno, you know you’re not permitted to be above second class without your uniform.”

“This is my floor. I’m in room 101. He’s with me.”

“We’ll see about that.” She thrusts the surface toward me.

I lay my hand on the glass.

The info on her screen seems to confirm my claim, and her face relaxes. “I’m so sorry about that, Ms. Fleet. I’m happy to assist you, so Porter Moreno can make his way back to the appropriate level.”

“I don’t need anything, we were just—”

“It’s fine, Wes. I should be going anyway.” With a tight smile, he winks at me and nods at the other porter as he leaves.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything, Ms. Fleet?”

Without a word, I walk in the opposite direction. When I get to my hall, my heart is still pounding. I clench my fists. The way she emphasized “appropriate level” repeats in my head. Appropriate level. What bullshit. My blood boils, rushing to my face.

ILSA comes to life, greeting me as I enter my unit, cross the room, and throw myself face down on the bed. “The ship is entering the communication dead zone in…nine hours and forty-seven minutes. Would you like to send any messages now?”

“No,” I say into my pillow.

“You appear to be distressed. Meditation is a good way of relieving stressful emotions.”

My responding groan turns to a scream muffled by the pillowy mattress. When I’ve pushed all the air out of my lungs, I lift my face. “You’re right, ILSA. That was very cathartic.”

“I do not believe you understand meditation, Weslie.”

I push off the bed and pace across the room.

There’s no difference between who I am here and who I was on Earth aside from where my room is located.

The other first-class passengers know it.

They wouldn’t all stare and whisper if I were one of them.

Reve is the only person on this ship who gets it and, what, we aren’t allowed to hang out because of my ticket?

The pair of white dots on ILSA’s face screen track me back and forth. “Walking is also good for stress relief.”

I stop mid-turn. “You’re right. Let’s get out of here.” I need more space, more floor to cover. I wish I could run through the orchards between Reve’s house and mine, feel the dust burning my lungs and the sun warm against my skin.

After commanding ILSA into silent mode, I take the long way, winding through the back of the ship and avoiding the dining hall at all costs. When we make it to the tall arched entryway to the arboretum, my shoulders relax. It’s not home, but it’s as close as I can get in space.

“They went this way!” A voice cuts through the trees, and ILSA and I slip off the walkway between slender, white-barked trunks as two porters cut through the center of the room and jog past without noticing us.

Are they looking for me and ILSA? I don’t remember dinner being a requirement, but I wouldn’t put it past these people. Better to stay off the path than risk getting escorted to my room again.

I slip between trees.

Tap, tap, tap.

Behind me, ILSA is pivoting, shifting, trying to find an angle to fit through. Running into the birch trunks over and over.

“Come this way,” I whisper, leading her toward a small clearing just off the main walkway, hidden just enough to give me a few minutes of peace.

Backing through the opening, I guide ILSA, making certain it’s wide enough for her to pass when my heel catches on something.

“Ouch!” a familiar voice quietly cries out.

ILSA’s tong-like hand clamps onto the front of my shirt, keeping me upright.

Behind me, Jupiter Dalloway is splayed in the grass like he owns it. Hell, he probably does.