Page 7 of Bound by Stars

Weslie

Thirty-five days to Mars

Asha doesn’t seem to take a breath as we curve through the halls, until we drop ILSA off in my room to recharge. She checks the time on her comm. “Oh, we better hurry. They stop lunch service at three.”

With only twenty-six minutes until the food gets cut off and my stomach audibly growling, we hurry to the dining room, where her voice weaves into the noise of the crowd.

Shimmering silver damask-patterned walls illuminate the room full of circular tables.

A row of people shuffles along the back, picking brightly colored food from tiered trays. Luckily, Jupiter isn’t one of them.

I move to the back of the line like I’ve been caught by its gravitational pull. So much food. Without growing and picking and cleaning and cooking. No matter what else I find, this will forever be my favorite place on this ship.

Last night I hid in my room, afraid that if I even stepped out into the hall someone would realize I don’t belong here. Then I lost my nerve after I ran into Jupiter on my way to breakfast. The ache of hunger grows sharper.

Piled high with one of everything from every platter and tray, I carry two plates to an open table, carefully balancing the mountains of food.

By the time only a tiny pink cake remains on my second plate, Asha’s told me that she’s obsessed with twenty-first-century fashion and romance novels and why she chose the name Asha when she came out.

That her twin, Tar, builds small pet bots for fun, never brushes his hair, and talks in his sleep.

She has pointed out a dozen notable people whom my food-coma brain did not note, one unconfirmed secret love affair, and a pair of newlyweds whose hatred for each other seems to be a source of constant public entertainment.

“…and he takes every chance he gets to openly complain about taking his new wife’s name. Such archaic misogyny. She is from the more prominent family, after all.”

It’s amazing she doesn’t starve or suffocate through the endless stream of thoughts that flow out of her mouth.

Slouching lazily in my chair, I hold my stomach and watch porters carry away the last of the half-full trays. Never in my life have I been so fantastically full.

Asha stands. “Ready?”

“For a nap.” I breathe slowly around the oversize meal settling in my belly, eyelids heavy as I exhale.

She yanks me out of my cushioned chair. “Let’s go!”

I pathetically reach back for the last little cake on my plate as she drags me away from the table. At least I thought to stash a roll in my pocket mid-meal.

Asha tows me behind her with no sign of it being an obvious effort, walking and talking at hyper-speed.

Her tour starts by hauling me past the door to the stairs the porter guided me up when I first boarded and through unfamiliar winding hallways.

Her feet and mouth don’t slow as we pass crew only painted in giant black letters across the closed doors.

Her dad is the captain, a fact that prompts the history of her father’s career and the story of how her parents met, something to do with her mom’s Earth Experience Mission, but I’ve already zoned out.

We practically run by the door to the gym, then the pool. I barely catch a glimpse through the little round window in the door. Dark blue water reflecting overhead light. Toward the back of the ship, we head up a brightly lit staircase and loop through the escape pod bay.

This part I like. I don’t want to get trapped in one of these pods, but the walkway is cool, dark, quiet, and best of all—people-free.

Back in the white halls, she tows me through the maze of first-class living quarters halls and down the curving grand staircase depositing us back in front of the dining room. A completed loop.

Thank the universe.

I pause at the clock halfway down the stairs. Even at Asha-speed, the tour took nearly two hours. “Well, maybe I’ll head back to my room.”

“No way. I’ve saved the best parts for last.” She drags me down the rest of the steps, turning toward the center of the ship, the opposite direction we took on our last loop. At the end of a long hall, she pulls me through an oversize archway that opens to a world that almost feels like home.

On my left, eucalyptus trees stretch at least fifty feet high. Their woody scent mingles with the fresh sweetness of the tall pines to my right, nearly covering the sterile, artificial smell permeating the hallways of the ship.

I squeeze her arm and force her to pause on a green mosaic in the center of the massive room.

Aside from the four exits in each direction, I can’t see where the circular room ends.

Above the arched doorways, the wall seems to dissolve into sky.

Paths weave through thick foliage to picnic-perfect patches of grass in forested quadrants.

Ahead, birch and maple trees fill the other two sections, separated by species.

These Elysians have to group everything, people and trees alike.

I wonder if they even realize that’s not how they grow in nature.

My gaze darts up at the familiar song of a robin as an orange belly flies overhead. “Birds in space?”

“They do look real, don’t they? Projections. Like the ceiling.”

Beyond the branches, the ceiling glows white and soft gray, like an overcast day.

She grabs my arm and we’re off again. Through a wide corridor past another set of stairs and then starboard down another hall. She crashes through a set of doors, hauling me inside.

“And this …is my favorite room.” Asha’s eyes travel up dark wood shelves that stretch to the high ceiling.

I’m already out of breath from keeping up with her pace, but if I weren’t, this room would definitely steal the air from my lungs. “Incredible.”

Her grip on my forearm tightens. “Isn’t it?” she says through an awed breath.

A blue-haired woman with wide-framed glasses, not much older than us, raises her eyes from the front desk, face brightening. “Asha, I think I figured out the book you were describing yesterday.”

She releases me for the first time since lunch and skips over to the desk.

I wander into the stacks, pushing a rolling ladder along with me.

Turning down a quiet row, I scan the titles, brushing my hand along the tightly packed spines, but only swipe empty air.

The projection transforms into blocks of titles with instructions running across the shelf above them: Tap title. Scan palm to borrow.

Is anything on this ship real?

Drawing my hand back, I hold onto the shelf and lean to see the rows of illusions reaching up to the ceiling. I could swear I smell the musky-sweetness of old book pages.

Chair legs scrape against the floor at the end of the aisle.

Beyond the shelves, in front of a circular window full of stars, Jupiter is hunched over a heavy wood table, sketching with one of the pencils I helped him collect before class.

He rotates the loose paper in front of him and draws back to get a wider view, ruffling his hair with graphite-stained fingers.

She’s not a mystery. She’s an Earther. One minute he’s smiling at me for insulting him and the next he’s offering me up for judgment to his elitist friends. And now, he actually thinks I’m going to agree to work with him? Is he a walking contradiction or just that cruel?

“Are you finished looking?” Asha appears around the edge of the shelves.

I whip around, face instantly hot. “I wasn’t.”

She peers past me at Jupiter, fully absorbed in his drawing and unbothered by our exchange, and then she raises an eyebrow. “See anything you like?”

“Stop,” I say in my driest tone and move past her.

“Maybe I should…” She takes a slow step back down the aisle.

“No!” I snag the shoulder of her silver shirt and drag her around the corner with me as she breaks into a soft giggle.

As we exit the library, a tinkling bell rings overhead. If that’s an alarm, it doesn’t exactly inspire urgency.

“That’s the one-hour warning. We better dress for dinner.”

A laugh bursts out of me. That’s almost ridiculous enough to cheer me up from being assigned to babysit the Big Six prince.

Asha’s expression is serious. “They’re strict about evening wear on these ships.”

I glance down at my faded sweater and work pants, an old pair of Dad’s that hang precariously on my hips regardless of the electrical wire holding them up.

This morning, I’d considered putting on something from my provided wardrobe, but it was all brand new, stiff, and unnervingly delicate.

Even the thought of trying them on felt like giving up a piece of myself.

And I’m not going to let any of this—the ship, the people, the experience—change who I am.

But dinner. The food. The beautiful, delicious food…in a giant room of stuck-up Elysians with their judgmental stares. I remember how the other students stepped away from me outside class like “Earther” is a disease.

No. Better to avoid anything with a dress code.