by Jameyanne Fuller
Jameyanne Fuller is a law student by day, writer by night. Sometimes she sleeps. She was a finalist in the 2014 and 2015 Dell Award, and her short fiction has appeared in Abyss and Apex and Cast of Wonders. In the rare moments when she isn’t studying or writing, Jameyanne can be found reading, playing the clarinet, or plotting world domination with her superheroine seeing-eye dog, Mopsy. She blogs at www.jameyannefuller.com and tweets @JameyanneFuller. She is currently planning a novel about Amèlie and Zoe’s adventures as space pirates for good.
The Grand Three-Ring Railroad slowed as it coiled into Saturnalia’s airlock. Amèlie crouched under the galley counter. In the main compartment, music and chatter burbled, dice rattled, and Jupiter’s tail thumped the wall.
Amèlie felt for the barrel of Earthen olive oil. She found the tap with one hand and pulled the empty bottles from behind the barrel with the other. She’d been repairing and programming other passengers' tech for months, trading for synthetic olive oil. Master couldn’t tell the difference, and real Earthen olive oil was valuable. Valuable enough to pay for the surgery.
Now oil slid, silent as silk, into the empty bottle. Her wristband buzzed when it was full. She sealed it, stowed it in her pack, and filled the next.
She was sealing the sixth bottle when Jupiter woofed. Master was coming. Amèlie shoved the bottle into her pack and stuffed it behind the barrel, out of sight, she hoped.
"Move it, Jupiter," Master snapped. Jupiter's paws scrabbled at the floor. A thump. Amèlie winced.
She held her right wrist up to the oven. "Thirty seconds remain on timer," the wristband said. "Twenty-seven seconds."
Amèlie opened a cabinet above her head and felt along the row of canisters as her wristband read the labels. She took down sugar, cinnamon, cardamom, and ginger. The galley door slid open. Jupiter darted in and hid behind her legs. He wasn’t a real dog, but he was Amèlie’s only friend.
"What’s taking so long?" Master hissed. “We’re hungry.”
"Almost done," Amèlie whispered. The timer pinged and the tray of sizzling scallion cakes slid from the oven onto the counter. Amèlie focused on measuring out the spices. She was quivering. It was ten times worse when she couldn't see the slap coming.
She turned on the cake duster and stood statue-still as it ground and blended the spices, then sifted them over the cakes. “They should have been ready ten minutes ago." Master slapped her face, hard enough to send her spinning to the floor. Jupiter barked, but Master had already grabbed the tray and stomped out.
Amèlie sat up, holding her cheek. “Jupiter?” He crawled to her. She ran her hands over his sides, feeling for breaks in his delicate silicon ribs. This time he was fine.
The train sped up. The airlock had pressurized. They were descending into Saturnalia Station. Amèlie seized her pack and stuffed her clothes and tools around the half dozen bottles of olive oil. She brushed her hand one last time over her inventions, the duster, the talking measuring cup, the all-purpose kitchen sensor. It gave her a pang to leave them, but she couldn’t carry anything else. So she slung her pack onto her shoulders and slipped into the corridor, Jupiter at her heels.
Amèlie put six train cars between them and Master before joining the line at a door. She could see artificial daylight through a window, but nothing else. The light shimmered with bright flashes of color and shifting shadows. Amèlie squinched her eyes shut.
She’d always known she could go blind. There was a cure, but Master wouldn’t pay for expensive eye surgery. In the last months, the darkness had crept into the corners of her eyes. And just two mornings ago, she had woken to find the center of her vision obscured by a shifting curtain of glittering darkness, a film she could barely see through. Knowing she would go blind was very different from actually going blind. She did not want to be trapped in the dark.
Amèlie pulled out her sunglasses and swapped them for her regular glasses. She hated sunglasses—the dark tint and lack of magnification cut back her already bad vision—but they made the darkness less distracting.
Jupiter leaned his head against her thigh, and she scratched his soft, half-pointy, half-floppy ears. He was meant to be a cross between a Labrador and German shepherd, with huge feet, a small head, and an erect tail. Master had wanted a guard dog. Unfortunately for Master, Amèlie had programmed Jupiter, and while Jupiter's bite still came with fifty thousand volts of electricity, he was loyal only to Amèlie.
Escape the train, Amèlie told herself. Find a doctor. Get cured. Get off the rings. Easy as pie.
There was a bump as the train lowered onto the tracks. The door hissed open, and Amèlie and Jupiter jumped down onto the platform.
Amèlie followed the crowd along the platform. Someone ahead wore a helpfully visible scarlet jacket, and she followed it into the terminal.
Sounds echoed brightly all around Amèlie. Shoes clicked. Wheels rumbled. A train whistle blew—not the Grand Three-Ring, which would stay in Saturnalia for days. People chatted. Vendors shouted about food and news chips. Amèlie smelled fried food, metal, bleach, and the tang of body odor mixed with perfume and hair spray.
As she walked, the sensors on Amèlie’s belt and wristbands detected obstacles, and the wristbands vibrated in different places around her wrists, guiding her around them. She gripped the straps of her bag so her wristbands were in a good position to read the signs.
"McDonalds at two o'clock. Saturn’s first McDonalds! Solar flare fries and rocket fuel soda for forty-nine centisolars. Top Tech at nine o'clock. All the chips you can dream of. Restrooms at twelve thirty." Amèlie flicked her left thumb across her right wristband to target the bathroom.
Inside, she set her bag on the counter, listening for sounds of anyone else. She ought to do this in a stall, but the bathroom seemed empty, and the idea of cutting out her ID chip next to a toilet made her skin crawl.
Amèlie removed her left wristband then swabbed her wrist with an alcohol wipe and cleaned the paring knife from the galley. She rested her hand palm up on the counter and laid the knife across her wrist. She could feel the small ID chip under the blade. She pressed down. The tip pierced her skin.
"Not like that!" a girl cried. "You'll chop your hand off!"
Amèlie whirled, heart hammering. The bathroom wasn't empty after all.
The girl was a head shorter than her. She had puffy, dark hair—brown or black, Amèlie wasn't sure—and her skin was several shades darker than Amèlie's warm brown. Amèlie guessed she was a year or two younger than her, ten or eleven. She held a bright pink board under her arm. Jupiter growled.
"Unless you're trying to chop your hand off," the girl said.
Amèlie gaped.
"Didn't think so. Here." She took the knife, ran the water, and held Amèlie's wrist over the sink. Then she positioned the knife along the side of Amèlie's wrist, to the left of the veins. "I'm Zoe," she said. Then she cut. Amèlie yelped but held still. "Don't worry," Zoe said. "I've done this three times, and I only ended up in the hospital once." She was doing something that pinched. "What's your name?"
"Am—” She stopped. Even without an ID to track her, she had to be careful. She remembered stories her father had told her, about slaves in the American south centuries ago, following the north star to freedom. "I’m Polaris.”
"That's an Earthling star, right? Are you an Earthling?"
"Stars don't belong to just one planet, you know. But yes, I'm Earthen."
"Wow! How'd you get all the way out here? Why are you running away? Here you go!" There was a tugging sensation on Amèlie's wrist, and Zoe set the chip and knife on the counter. She held Amèlie's wrist under the water. "You're ID-free, Polaris."
With her free hand, Amèlie pulled the first aid kit from her backpack. Zoe took it and cleaned and bandaged the wound.
"Thanks." Amèlie decided to answer Zoe's questions. "I need an eye doctor. If they specialize in retinas, that's even better."
Zoe laughed. "My dad's a retina doctor."
"Really?" Could it be this simple? "That's luckier than lightspeed! Would you take me to see him? It's important."
"Sure." Zoe didn’t sound sure. "But why cut out your ID?"
"It's… complicated.” That was stupid. "It's—I'm not coming back to the train."
"You were on the Three-Ring?" Zoe sounded impressed. "Daddy says it's all drinking and drugs and parties, and they just go round and round Saturn."
"That's pretty much it." Amèlie fastened her wristband over the bandage.
“So where will you go?"
"I don't know."
"If I take you to see my father, can I come with you?"
"Um…”
The door opened. Amèlie saw a neon vest. The knife and Amèlie's bloody ID chip were still on the edge of the sink. "Don't move," the woman in the vest said, steps echoing as she strode forward. Jupiter leaped between them, snarling.
Amèlie grabbed her backpack. Zoe seized her hand.
"Stop!"
Zoe towed Amèlie towards the back of the bathroom. Amèlie made out a glowing red splotch. Zoe forced open a door.
"Jupiter, come!" Amèlie screamed. She heard him scramble after them. The moment he was outside, Zoe slammed the door, and they ran.
It wasn't cold out, but it was snowing, and the pavement was slick beneath their feet. Zoe led her around a corner and pulled her behind something hulking and stinking—a dumpster. Amèlie rubbed her eyes.
"What's wrong with your eyes?"
"Well, I'm seeing pink snow."
Zoe laughed. "It is pink, silly."
Amèlie put her sunglasses back on. "I thought the colonies copied Earth. On Earth, snow’s white."
"This is Saturnalia. White snow’s boring. Mmmm. Pomegranate lemonade."
Amèlie opened her mouth, letting the fat flakes settle on her tongue. They were sweet and sour at the same time.
"So why do you need an eye doctor?"
Amèlie bit her lip. Zoe was a stranger. But she couldn't expect Zoe to help without any explanation. "I have—it’s called retinitis pigmentosa. There's a cure, but my parents couldn’t afford it and then— Anyway, I'm—I'm going blind. I've never been able to see well, but now it's happening so quickly and—" She was speaking faster and faster, her voice rising. She stopped. "I don't want to be in the dark," she whispered. "I like seeing, even if it's only a little. I like colors." Jupiter thrust his head under her arm.
Zoe was silent for a moment. Amèlie waited. "Why run away?" Zoe finally asked. "Why cut out your ID?"
It wasn’t the pity Amèlie had expected. It startled the truth from her. "Master wouldn't pay for a doctor."
"Master?"
"I'm—I was indentured." As Amèlie understood it, most people in the solar system disapproved of indentures, but skyrocketing debt after the transition from credit cards to ID chips a century ago had made it necessary.
Zoe stood. "Can you carry your dog? It’ll be faster if we use my hoverboard. Put these on your shoes." Zoe gave her two rubber and metal contraptions. Amèlie fumbled with them for a moment before understanding the shape: metal soles, probably magnetic, with rubber straps that fit around her toe and heel. She put them on and lifted Jupiter into her arms. Then she got on the hoverboard behind Zoe. It hummed. She tried to shift her feet but couldn't. The magnets on her shoes held her in place.
The hoverboard lifted. Amèlie tightened her grip on Jupiter and seized Zoe's shirt with one hand as they zoomed forward and swerved around a corner into a brighter, louder street. Everything was a blur of pink snow and bright lights. They sped up. Zoe whooped as they swooped under a brightly flashing sign even Amèlie could see. They rose rapidly then dropped as something massive flew at them. Amèlie shrieked. Her stomach shot up and wrapped around her ears.
Zoe was laughing. Jupiter was barking furiously in Amèlie's arms. Snow whipped her cheeks, and the warm air blew back her braids. And Amèlie laughed, too. A weight disappeared from her shoulders. She was free. Zoe did a loop-the-loop, and Amèlie laughed and screamed at the same time. She was free!
They zipped around another corner at breakneck speed. A fountain splashed below them. Zoe dove towards the sound.
“Don’t you dare!" Amèlie screamed.
Zoe pulled the hoverboard up and they soared over the fountain.
Finally they slowed. Shadows of high walls rose on both sides. It was quieter. They took a few more turns, descending until the hoverboard's wheels touched ground and they glided to a stop. Amèlie staggered off the board, a smile stretching her cheeks. Her feet tingled. She set Jupiter down, and he cowered against her legs, whimpering. Amèlie pulled the magnets from her shoes and gave them to Zoe.
"Come on. It's upstairs."
Amèlie tapped her left wristband four times quickly so it would guide her to follow Zoe. She walked forward, and when her wristband vibrated, she turned, found the first step, and began climbing. Jupiter scampered behind her.
"We're all the way at the top," Zoe said. "But Daddy won't let me land on the roof, and the fire escape’s for emergencies only." Her voice became mocking.
"Isn't there an elevator?" Amèlie asked as they climbed the third flight of stairs.
"Only in buildings with more than ten floors, unless you can’t walk. It's for energy conservation and public health."
"How tall is your building?"
"Nine floors."
"You know, I can't climb stairs because I’m blind." Amèlie was so out-of-breath her sarcasm was lost.
"You're doing fine."
"Yeah, but you'd be surprised what people believe."
“Now you tell me."
They had breath only for climbing after that. Amèlie's thigh muscles screamed with every step. Finally, they reached the top.
"Here we are." Zoe’s voice was suddenly gloomy.
"You're sure your father won't mind…?"
"Mind? He'll be thrilled."
There was a beep, then hydraulics hissed. "Welcome home, Zoe," said a bright, automated female voice.
Amèlie and Jupiter followed Zoe inside. Their footsteps echoed off the wood floor.
Someone came down a set of stairs towards them. "Another one, Zoe?" a man asked. He sounded exhausted and exasperated.
"Daddy, this is Polaris. She has retinitis pigmentosa. She needs help, and I know you've always wanted to see someone whose retinal deterioration has progressed." She sounded too formal, nothing like the girl Amèlie met in the station.
"Really? Excellent. Let's take a look and see what we can do." Zoe's father crossed the room and placed a big hand on Amèlie's shoulder, ushering her forward. Amèlie stumbled over her own feet.
"I'm Dr. Song,” Zoe’s father said. “What's the best way for me to help you?"
"I can just follow you," Amèlie said. "My wristbands will vibrate to guide me." She held up her right arm to show him.
"Incredible. Come right this way. I apologize for what I said earlier. Ever since my wife died, Zoe has been bringing home… strays."
Amèlie was suddenly conscious of the fraying cuffs of her faded jeans and her too-small, patched jacket. And Zoe still stood behind her, alone. "Jupiter," she murmured, "stay with Zoe." Jupiter whined. "Stay."
"Tell me," Dr. Song continued, "where did you purchase those wristbands? How do they work?" He moved ahead, and Amèlie followed.
“I designed them myself."
"Incredible. We're coming up on some stairs. Have you invented anything else?"
Amèlie’s cheeks burned. “Some talking kitchen tools. I made a universal chip that reads screens and controls, too. I have other ideas, but I could never—” She shut up.
“Tell me, how much vision do you have?"
"I can see light and shadows and colors in the center of my vision," Amèlie said. "Or I could three days ago." At the top of the stairs they turned left.
"You're young for it to be so advanced,” he said. “You’re eleven? Twelve? And, forgive me, your accent… Are you Earthen?"
"I’m twelve, and yes. I’m from Paris. My mother was French; my father was American. I came to Saturn's rings when I was nine."
"With your parents?" Amèlie imagined his eyebrows rising. She pictured him with bushy eyebrows. "But if they could afford the trip from Earth—”
Amèlie interrupted. "They couldn’t afford the surgery. I was on a government waiting list before…." Before Mamman had died in that accident, and her father had gambled everything. Before he’d gambled her.
"Here we are," Zoe's father said, ignoring her trailing silence. He took her elbow and steered her into his office. Wood became tile beneath her feet. He led her to the exam chair. Amèlie set down her bag and sat. A beep—sensors taking her measurements—and the chair rose to the perfect height for the doctor to examine her.
"There's an ID scanner in the armrest to send me your medical records."
"I, uh…" She had no ID now. Could he see the bandage under her wristband? She usually assumed people could see everything—it was safer—but he’d asked her to scan her ID, so maybe he couldn’t. She tucked her hand under her thigh. "They aren't on my ID. The doctor my parents got didn't have the tech to upload records to IDs."
"I see," he said slowly. Amèlie winced. “Tell me, when were you diagnosed?"
"I was five. I couldn’t see the screens in the front of the classroom."
"And when did your vision start deteriorating?"
"A few months ago. It was just in the corners of my eyes. First the outside corners went dark, then the inside corners. I lost my vision in my left eye faster than my right. It’s totally dark now except the center. I can still see some out of the inside corner of my right eye. And the rest of the edges of my vision on the right side are more gray and shifty than black. Except now it's like there's a dark, sort of shimmery screen over everything."
"Hmmm. When you have RP, the cells in your retinas die. That’s probably what’s happening here. But it’s so fast. I wonder if your space travel…" He trailed off then said, "I want to do a complete examination of your eyes, Polaris, so we know exactly what we're dealing with."
He tested Amèlie's vision. How many fingers was he holding up? Could she identify the colors of lights he held before her eyes? Could she tell what was in the picture on his tablet? Read the text on the chart on the wall? On the card a foot from her face? On the card pressed against her nose?
Next, he gave her numbing drops and checked her eye pressure. Amèlie watched the blue light at the tip of his machine press against each of her eyes.
He held a cold, wet, buzzing device against her closed eyelids to take an ultrasound. He couldn’t do more advanced scans here at home, he said, but he would take her into the hospital for further tests before they tried anything major.
Then he tilted the chair back, slid plastic rings into her eye sockets to hold her lids open, poured water into her eyes, and stuck a small camera into the water. Amèlie could see the camera’s shadow, and she fought not to jerk or cry out. A whimper escaped her.
"You're doing great, Polaris," Dr. Song said.
Finally, it was over. Amèlie had a pounding headache and felt sick to her stomach. She hugged herself, trembling, and waited as Dr. Song read the scans.
"Incredible," he murmured. "Just incredible." Amèlie squirmed. She felt like she was under a microscope. She hated it. "I've never seen anything like this. Polaris, could I incorporate these scans into my research?"
"Sure, but… can we fix it?"
"Of course." He drummed his fingers against something hard—his desk or his tablet. "We have two options. A retinal transplant is cheaper, but less reliable. Your body could reject the transplant, and then you’d be totally blind. Or there’s the stem cell surgery. We would harvest some of your own stem cells and inject them into your eyes." Amèlie nearly gagged. "Your stem cells would create new, undamaged cells to build up your rods and cones and restore your vision. But…"
"But…?"
"There isn't any research on the surgery’s effectiveness against advanced RP since its early years. Today everyone has surgery as soon as they're diagnosed. And the surgery has developed significantly, so the original research on advanced RP patients isn’t valid."
"I don’t understand. I thought the surgery was a cure."
"Normally it is a cure, but for such an advanced case, there are still risks. The deterioration in your retinas could be so advanced the stem cells might have no effect. Your body could reject the new retinal cells. Your brain could have developed such that even if we restore your sight, you won't recognize what you see. And we cannot quantify the possibility of success with any certainty."
"So, the surgery might not work, and I could lose all my vision? But if we don't do it, I'll still lose all my vision?"
"Exactly."
She wanted to try. She didn’t want to be in the dark. But she couldn’t shake the feeling he cared more about the science of her eyes than fixing them.
"There's also the matter of payment. Without an ID…"
"I have six bottles of real Earthen olive oil. You can have them all." Her voice climbed in desperation. He could report her. They’d send her back to Master.
"I'm afraid even that won’t cover the cost. But, if you want, you could work as my research assistant to pay for the surgery. We could document your results over the next few years. And I could give you a good education and scope for your inventing talents."
"So I would work for you," Amèlie said, voice small and flat, "to pay for the surgery." She remembered laughing as she and Zoe swooped through the city on Zoe's hoverboard, flying free at last. She hadn't escaped Master to become someone else's servant. But to have some vision back—any vision back. To not be trapped in the dark. Wouldn't that be worth it?
"What do you think?"
A war raged in her head. In her heart. "I—I don't know." She rubbed her eyes. "I just—I don't know."
"It's a big decision. Think it over. We can talk about it later."
"So," Zoe said, “are you gonna do it?”
"Don't know." They were on the floor of Zoe’s room, wrestling with Jupiter for a ball. "It’s complicated." Amèlie got the ball away from Jupiter and tossed it in Zoe's direction. Jupiter woofed as he lunged for it, and Zoe giggled. "My parents couldn't afford the surgery," Amèlie said. "Mamman worked three jobs. She saved everything. She’d almost saved enough. But my father tried to win the rest by gambling. Only he lost, and he kept losing. He gambled all Mamman's savings, and he lost everything. And then—then there was a hovercab accident, and Mamman was dead. My father’s gambling only got worse after that. He gambled everything we had. And then he indentured me to pay his debts. He said he'd get the money back and come for me. Of course he didn't. He just kept gambling, and now he’s working off his debts in some asteroid mine. Master brought me to the Rings, and ever since I've been trapped on that train, cooking and cleaning and going blind. My father calls, on my birthday. Sometimes."
Zoe was silent for a moment. "He could still come for you."
"He won’t," Amèlie said dully. “His whole life is gambling, like he can’t stop."
"So that's why you ran away," Zoe said.
"Master wouldn't let me see a doctor, and I know my rights." Amèlie sighed. Jupiter nudged her knee with the ball. Amèlie took it and tossed it from hand to hand. "If I took your father's offer, it would be my choice, not anyone else's, but… My vision going is scary, but I've been adjusting all my life, and the surgery might not work. I could be a slave for years for nothing." Amèlie leaned against Jupiter. "It might not be so bad here. He said he’ll teach me and let me invent things."
"And you'd get to stay with me, Polaris," Zoe said.
"It's Amèlie," she said. "My name is Amèlie."
“Amèlie,” Zoe said. “That’s pretty.”
“So why do you keep running away?" Amèlie thought she knew the answer.
"It's stupid," Zoe said. "When Mama died, Daddy buried himself in his research. He forgot about me. I thought, maybe he'd remember if I'm gone, but he didn't. The first time I cut out my ID, when I wound up in the hospital, all he said was that I interrupted his research. I don't get what's so important. It's not like Mama died because her retina detached. So then I thought, maybe I should just go for myself, make my own life. If he doesn't need me… I know it's stupid."
"It’s not stupid," Amèlie said. "I get it." If she stayed, she and Zoe could be friends. Zoe wouldn't be so alone. But Zoe's father would probably spend more time with Amèlie, and Zoe would be more alone than ever. The more she thought about it, the more confusing everything became. She wanted to get her vision back. She wanted to be friends with Zoe. She wanted to be free. Why couldn't she have all of it?
Downstairs, a bell rang. Zoe and Amèlie went out onto the landing in time to hear Zoe's father say, "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Dr. Song," Master said. A shudder ripped through Amèlie. She couldn't breathe.
"Amèlie, what's wrong?" Zoe whispered.
Amèlie flung herself back into Zoe's room and snatched up her bag. Zoe followed her. "I have to go," Amèlie said wildly. "I'm not going back with him. I won't. Jupiter, come. You said there's a fire escape? How did he even find me?"
"I bet he's checking all the eye doctors in the city," Zoe said.
It was too much to hope Zoe's father wouldn't tell Master she was there. "You can come if you want, but I have to go now."
"I'm coming." Zoe was already rummaging through her drawers and throwing things onto her bed. "Hold out your hands," she said. Amèlie did, and a backpack flopped into her arms. "Can you pack the stuff on the bed? I'll grab my hoverboard. We can go to the port and take my father’s ship."
"What's its range?" Amèlie asked, feeling around on the bed. She found rumpled clothes, a plastic box of media chips, and a stuffed sphere with felt bands that after a moment she recognized as a snuggly Saturn. She stuffed it all into Zoe's bag.
"It can get us to Ganymede or Triton, and we can trade for a long-range ship. Or we could go somewhere else on the rings and find a different doctor."
Amèlie bit her lip. She didn't know what she wanted to do. All she wanted right now was to get away before Master could take her back.
Zoe pushed the shoe magnets into Amèlie's hands. "Put these on. We're going to go downstairs to the living room. There's a balcony where we can take off."
Amèlie fitted the magnets over her shoes then lifted her bag onto her shoulders. "Jupiter, come but be quiet," she said.
They crept onto the dark landing. Voices climbed the stairs.
"Can you hear better than everybody else because you can't see?" Zoe whispered.
"Not if you're talking to me," Amèlie hissed.
"I'm looking for a girl," Master was saying. "Little thing. Twelve-years-old. Dark skin. Black hair, usually in braids. She's almost blind, and she ran away. We're trying to find her before she gets hurt."
"A blind girl?" Zoe's father said. Amèlie crossed her fingers, hoping against hope he would say she wasn't there. But no. "As it happens my daughter brought a blind girl home from the station this afternoon." He raised his voice. "Zoe-bear, can you and Polaris come down here?"
"Coming," Zoe called back. To Amèlie, she whispered, "Run. Down the stairs take a left. Go." They pounded down the stairs, wheeled around a corner, and dashed down a hall, the metal soles of their shoes clacking against the floor. Amèlie's heart pounded in her throat.
"Zoe? What are you doing?"
"Nothing, Daddy. We're coming." They reached the end of the hall.
There was a beep, and the same bright voice that had greeted them at the door said, "I'm sorry, Zoe, your father has not granted you permission to enter the living room at this time."
"Zoe!"
"Your parents lock the living room?" Amèlie whispered.
"Since Mama died. But I know the override code."
A click. Several beeps.
Sweat slithered down Amèlie's spine.
"Permission granted," the computer said. The door slid open.
Footsteps pounded on the stairs.
Zoe seized Amèlie's wrist and yanked her through the door. Jupiter bounded after them. Zoe slammed the door, and her fingers thumped against a screen.
A moment later, the computer said, "I'm sorry, Dr. Song, Zoe has not granted you permission."
Amèlie and Zoe tore across the room.
“Look out!" Zoe cried.
Amèlie's shins struck something. She toppled forward. Something shattered. Glass cut her hands and knees, shredding her jeans.
The door slid open. Zoe wasn't the only one with the code. Amèlie made out two shadows in the doorway.
One shadow crossed to Amèlie, and hands pulled her to her feet. "Polaris, are you all right?" It was Zoe's father.
Amèlie pulled free and stumbled back, tears spilling down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around herself, holding her bleeding hands against her ribs.
"Zoe, my bag," Zoe's father said. “Now.” Zoe ran from the room.
Amèlie could not look at the other shadow, still in the doorway. Terror slunk up her back and coiled around her neck. It was a feeling she'd had ever since her father handed her off to Master. She hadn't realized she was always so scared until she wasn't. Being free, even for just these few hours, she hadn't been afraid. She had felt strong. And now it was gone.
Amèlie took another step back, but Zoe's father caught her shoulder and ushered her into a chair. "Let me help you," he said, not unkindly. He pulled Amèlie’s hand away from her side. "There's glass in these cuts. We need to get it out." When Zoe returned, he set to work plucking out the glass and cleaning and bandaging her cuts. Amèlie waited.
Zoe's father had tended her hands and was inspecting her knees when Master finally spoke. "I was going to get you the surgery, Amèlie."
Amèlie decided she liked feeling strong, like being free. Liked it more than seeing. "You could have fooled me," she spat. "When I asked, you said no."
"I've reconsidered. I’ll pay for the surgery. We’ll add it onto your indenture."
"I'm not going back with you!" Amèlie leapt to her feet. Her knees throbbed. "You can't make me!"
"Polaris—Amèlie?—sit, please." Zoe's father pushed Amèlie back down. "Mr. Rolent, I’ll buy her indenture, if you're willing. I said she could work as my research assistant to pay for the surgery. Before I knew the situation, of course. I’d give her a good education and cultivate her inventing talent, and she’d have a friend in my daughter."
Master considered. "I admit I could have done a better job caring for the girl. I did promise her father I would look after her. But I never wanted to be a parent. I accept your offer, Dr. Song."
And so it was decided. Zoe's father finished tending Amèlie's knees, and he and Master discussed the price of her indenture. She would get the surgery, and she would work off the rest of her father's debts and now her own as Dr. Song's assistant. It wouldn't be so bad. She wouldn't be trapped on the train. She and Zoe could be friends. She could learn to invent new things. And if the surgery worked, she would see again.
But if the surgery didn't work, she would be in the dark, suddenly and permanently. Did she really want to risk everything on a surgery that would cost her years and might not work? Was it really worth it?
If she was honest, it wasn't about her vision anymore. It was about her freedom.
"What do you want to do, Amèlie?" Zoe’s father asked. "Pay off the surgery by working for Mr. Rolent or for me?"
Amèlie breathed in, out. Stood. Reached back for the chair and guided herself behind it, placing the chair between her and Master. "What if I don't want the surgery?"
"But that's what this little rebellion was all about, wasn't it?" Amèlie heard the sneer in Master's voice.
"It might not work," Amèlie said. "What if I don't want to do it?"
"Then you work for me for the rest of your indenture," Master snarled.
"Or you work for me," Zoe's father said, "I’ll still buy your indenture. But really, while there are risks, I’m confident it will be successful, even if we can’t restore all your vision. And if you don't go through with the surgery, you will go blind."
"So, what do you choose?" Master asked.
"Zoe?" Amèlie asked.
"Yep," Zoe said beside her.
Amèlie found Zoe's elbow. “I won’t work for anyone anymore," she said.
Zoe moved. There was a thunk and a skidding sound—wheels on wood—as she stepped on the end of her hoverboard, flipping it up into her hand.
"No!" Master yelled.
Zoe spun, Amèlie clinging to her arm, and they raced for the balcony. She felt the air change as they made it outside. Then someone grabbed her bag, yanking her back.
"You’re not getting away again!" Master shouted.
Amèlie kicked back and twisted from his hold. "Jupiter! Zap!"
Jupiter snarled. A thump. Master screamed. Amèlie saw the blue-white flash as fifty thousand volts of electricity shot from Jupiter's teeth into Master. He hit the ground so hard the balcony shook.
"Jupiter!" Amèlie held out her arms, and he vaulted into them. He rubbed his head against her cheek. Then Amèlie found the hoverboard with her toe and stepped on. The board hummed to life and her feet stuck fast. And then they were flying.
After a few moments, Zoe said, "That was incredible."
Amèlie didn't feel incredible. "They could still come after us.”
"They won't. Trust me. They won't." Zoe's voice broke. It occurred to Amèlie that Zoe wanted her father to come after them. She hadn't removed her ID.
They turned sharply, rose through the air then dropped again.
"Where do you want to go?" Zoe asked. "We can do anything we want. We could be space pirates. For good, of course.”
Amèlie laughed, but she remembered real sunlight on honey-colored stone and rolling green hills. Real, sweet wind blowing back her hair. Real snow on her tongue. She remembered feeling safe and strong and brave and free. "Earth," she said. "I want to go home. I want to see it, one more time, before—before I can't anymore."
"I'm sorry," Zoe said, "about… the surgery."
"It's all right." Amèlie was surprised to realize she meant it. It was all right. "I've been losing vision for years. I’ll figure it out. I'll miss it, but I'd rather be free."
In the twilight outside the bright city center, Amèlie could ignore her encroaching darkness. She looked up at the purplish sky. Bright spots winked and flashed across her vision. She imagined they were stars. She focused on one shimmering dot, and pretended it was Polaris, the north star. The star that led slaves to freedom centuries ago. The star that burned still, through the darkness, guiding Amèlie home.