Dove Arising (30 page)

“I’m glad you’re speaking honestly. I’d love to see you do that more.”

I’ve gotten that advice from her before, but this is the first time I want to follow it. During these weeks without me, she must have thought hard about how to share her opinion without putting me on the defensive.

“Someday—and I know it might not be soon—when you want to say something, start it with a whisper, grow it louder. Remember that, even as you get older.”

Suddenly, I’m scared—she’s talking about the rest of my life. “Stop.”

She opens her mouth, takes a breath; I prepare to hear her reasons for telling me these things. When she shakes her head and parentheses form around her mouth, I exhale in disappointment.

“I’m sorry, my girl, I don’t mean to lecture you. But everything I’ll ever tell you, I should tell you now. Just in case I—”

“What’s ‘everything’?” I don’t want to hear the worst.

“Only one more sentence, something I wish I’d said more often.” Mom throws her hands up as if surrendering. I reach mine out and hold them, feeling the creases in her calloused skin, lines formed by decades of typing, gesturing, caressing.

“I love you, sweetie.”

Isn’t it odd how those words can frighten fear itself out of a room? I suppose I came here today, ignorant and confused and not knowing my purpose, to say them back to her.

When Cygnus arrives home from Primary, he pokes his head into Mom’s room and gives me a thumbs-up, his mouth spreading into a disproportionately large smile. He tiptoes back into the living room and hunches over the HeRP, whose screen is now so populated with icons that fitting them on there must have been akin to playing handscreen Tetris.

We hear Anka greet Cygnus some fifteen minutes later. She stayed after class to run about with her friends in the gymnasium, just like she always did before Umbriel and I walked her home.
Umbriel.
If Anka’s here, then he is too.

I hug Mom with care. After leaving her side, I wave back at her and shuffle into the living room. Two dark eyes fix upon me with fright, and another two with resentment.

“So you’re back.” Umbriel places Anka’s knapsack on the ground and advances toward me.

I thought so hard about what I’d say to him—
I lost control, forgot who I was. Stress was no excuse for how I treated you and everyone else, so I’m sorry. Just ask Mom—she’ll tell you I’m remembering how to be good again
. But now nothing comes out.

“Umbriel! Thanks for sending Anka home—oh.” Mom has risen and inched in our direction; she’s leaning against the wall nearest her room. Recognizing that there’s a standoff, she changes her tone. “Maybe you should head to Agriculture, Umbriel. Doesn’t your shift start soon?”

“Don’t go,” I say. I should have taken the initiative, sought him out earlier. But I can be the first to say—

“Sorry,” we sputter together, as if we’d planned to synchronize it.

Umbriel has thought hard about his speech beforehand, judging by its fluidity. “I’m so sorry about getting mad at you. Catching crooks is your job, just like gardening is my job, right? Even if it involves mean looks and too much electricity, you’re still Phaet. But you know that. You came home.”

“It took a while,” Cygnus mutters.

“So?” Anka nudges his shoulder. “Stop bugging Phaet.”

“Your sister’s right,” Mom says. “We don’t have much time to be together.”

“Right, you four need Theta time. I should get going.” Umbriel checks the clock on his handscreen and backs toward the door. “But it’s great having you back, Phaet.”

The happiness in his eyes numbs the sting of what transpired in the Atrium. Our friendship was grazed, scraped on the surface, but it’s grown back thicker.

“Everything okay?” I ask, following him.

“Between us? Things were always okay.”

It’s not true, but it’s soothing to hear. Now that he’s forgiven me, I’m closer to forgiving myself.

“Thanks,” I sigh.

Umbriel hugs me as if nothing has changed. I’m glad he found me here. At this point in our companionship, we’d be senseless to face tomorrow without each other’s goodwill.

As he leaves, Mom stumbles to the sofa. Cygnus holds her arm, lowering her incrementally into a seated position.

“You three, all here again.” Mom folds Anka into her free arm, so that my siblings flank her on either side. Her eyes, aglow with affection, invite me to join them.

I cross the room, push our side table closer to the couch, and sit on its rigid surface to face Mom. Her hand finds mine atop my knee.

“Before Phaet and I went away,” she begins, “I thought that if only your dad were with us, this home would be complete.”

Cygnus, Anka, and I start at the mention of Dad. Mom’s actions in years past have made him virtually taboo—we never thought she’d be the first to break the silence.

“The last time he was here, you three were so little. He’d lie on his back and use his shins to float you up like a bird, Phaet. Remember?”

Nod. The memories are vague, tender sensations rather than colorful images.

“And Cygnus, he’d peel bananas for you because you couldn’t split the skin. Anka—he constructed a secret language with you, all vowels.”

My brother scrunches his eyes, embarrassed. Anka laughs, flushing pink. Watching them, I’m so happy that my mouth muscles grow sore from smiling.

“Do I wish my Atlas could see you three now, grown tall and magnificent? Yes, every day.” No frown-parentheses surround Mom’s mouth. Admitting her longing for him, at last, has freed her. “It’s so hard, now, to gather just the four of us in one place. This is precious. This is enough. Whoever’s around you, in the present, is all you need.”

More beautiful advice
, I think as Mom pulls us into a hug. Advice I’m not sure is true.

Tomorrow, when Mom goes to Law and I descend to Earth, it’ll be put to the test.

33

EVERY DAY, IT’S GOTTEN HARDER TO EMERGE from the dreamless cavity where my mind retreats when I sleep. My first thought when I wake has been,
That buzzing in my hand means I need to get up now,
and my second:
Mom’s trial is in x number of days
. The shock got severe when
x
equaled three. Then
x
equaled two. Then one.

Today, the countdown ends.

At 16:47, I begin walking toward the hangar; I had meant to leave at 16:30 for our 16:57 launch, but triple-checking my clothes and equipment took longer than expected. I stub my toe twice and make a wrong turn, which eats up another minute while I correct my mistake. When I finally arrive in the hangar, my team and three-person ground crew await me at our assigned destroyer. Wes yawns, squeezing his bloodshot eyes shut. My guess is that he hasn’t slept much, preparing for the mission.

Fearful of betraying my state of mind, I open the hatch with my thumbprint and nod at my team to climb into the ship. As Io passes me, I hear the evening news blaring from her handscreen; I doubt she even knows it’s playing. She’ll have to shut off the program soon, or at least mute it.

After Orion and Nash enter the hatch, I gesture for Wes to go next. As he passes me, he wraps one arm around my shoulders, sending an obvious shudder through them. Months have passed since I’ve gotten a hug from him, and I wasn’t expecting one now, given what he’s seen me do under pressure.

“We’re going to do a fine job, Phaet. There’s no one else I’d rather have as flight leader.”

From the look on his face, he’d like to elaborate, but mere minutes remain until takeoff. I wonder what else he’s been meaning to say. Maybe after spending so many hours training with me, a girl who once couldn’t imagine firing a laser into living flesh, he understands that I’m not the Beater I must have seemed in the Atrium. I nod at him.

After I hoist myself into the ship, the ground crew closes the hatch. As I oversee the final systems check, I can’t stop thinking about Mom’s trial, which will start three minutes after liftoff.

We strap ourselves into the seats I assigned weeks ago, test the audio system, and check the fit of our flight gloves, which are impervious to temperature, light, and sound. Orion sits in the pilot’s seat, flipping switches and reading measurements. Wes takes right wingtip, Nash takes left, and Io sits as copilot. We lift off smoothly, as expected.

To maximize security and efficiency, our flight path will hug the lunar surface until we reach the point closest to Pacifia’s current location. For now, we coast past familiar pits and peaks; the acceleration downward due to gravity is still 1.62 meters per second squared. When it drops to zero, and we’re on autopilot toward Earth, I might literally get sick.

My teammates concentrate on their respective tasks, except for Io, who’s technically backup for Orion. She’s muted her handscreen, probably a result of someone’s prodding, but her glove’s off and she’s still tuned in. The news shows an advertisement for a newly developed fruit—the round, khaki-colored, and stringy Celerorange.

As I open my mouth to scold her, the commercial fizzles out. We haven’t traveled far enough to lose the signal; there must be a malfunction. Intrigued, I slip off my glove and turn on the evening news on my own handscreen, adjusting the volume to a low setting. In my lifetime, there has never been a glitch on a broadcast.

Yet instead of the usual new discoveries and production statistics, I see a bleak, tiny room stuffed with three people sitting on stools, their backs to one another, their knees all but scraping the walls. A panel above their heads reads
LAW CHAMBER 144
.
Why in the universe would Journalism film the inside of—

Law Chamber 144. I recognize Atlas Phi and another Law worker who must be leading the prosecution. And Mom, skeletal and slumped over on the third stool. Magnetic rings lock her ankles to the front legs. She and Atlas wear transparent lie-detecting glasses; their heart rates, hormone readings, and eye movements appear in real time, wrapping around the room at the bottom of the 360-degree wall screens.

My mother’s trial—on the evening news. I’m short of breath, as if I’ve become asthmatic or the ship has sprung a leak. Such hearings are confidential. Mom wasn’t even
arrested
directly; the authorities had her moved to Medical, presumably to keep the situation low-key. Broadcasting her trial now contradicts all the secrecy that has come before. How could the Committee allow this?

Of course—they didn’t allow it.

Mom
wanted people to see the event. Cygnus must be helping her. He’d do anything for her—especially if it meant taking on a hacking challenge. I squeeze my hands into fists, furious with my mother and with myself. Why didn’t I predict this?

Now her humiliation will be visible to everybody on the base. Why, in the months since her abduction, couldn’t she think of better retribution against the Committee for her ordeal in Penitentiary? Everyone the authorities think is involved will follow Mom into jail, including Cygnus, if they catch him. And the Phis . . . does Atlas know? What will happen to him, to Umbriel?

I numbly watch my handscreen as we climb the eastern wall of the Copernicus Crater and edge out onto the greater Oceanus Procellarum. Shining trails of ejecta, products of the impact that formed the crater, whizz by as we pick up speed. I see them only in my peripheral vision. We’re approaching the breakaway point too soon—only minutes remain before we abandon the lunar surface altogether.

My teeth begin to chatter, and I realize I’ve been shaking since I first glimpsed the broadcast.

“Phaet, are you . . .” Wes leans over to get a good view of my handscreen.

Now he knows what he brought Mom by carting her off to Medical all those weeks ago. He sucks air in through his teeth, trying to stay calm for both of us.

Above the indicators, the Committee flickers into view, shadowy and faceless. Mom’s expression doesn’t change, but Atlas jumps back against the wall.
He doesn’t know he’s being filmed
, I realize, my heart taking off like a frightened baby bird’s.

I doubt even Mom expected the Committee to serve as jurors—a random batch of nine Law workers usually does the job. My optimism yesterday was misguided. Mom’s alleged crime must have been more disruptive than I imagined if the Committee took time out of their “busy, busy schedule” to pass judgment.