City of Ursa, New Amana

November 2078

The moon is our planet’s only natural satellite. It is why my mother chose the name for me.

By the time of my birth, she was hoping for some sort of miracle. My older sister, Neptune, was already disappointing at five years old. She was born what Mother called a “pre-War thinker.” Neptune didn’t understand the concept of following orders—she was always questioning things, the way people did before the 2013 War of the Nations. Her questions, defiant, inappropriate, and ceaseless, set Mother on edge. Or so I am told. 

When I was born, Mother wanted something different. She wanted a child who’d be born obedient as she had been, a child who shared her love for New Amana and everything for which it stood.

Mother believes that women named after manufactured satellites are inferior. It might sound ludicrous, but she does have a point. After all, these satellites were put in the air by men when the world was in their charge, and look how that turned out. She’s always said she doesn’t understand why mothers would name their daughters after celestial objects created by the very people we now dominate—for their own wellbeing, and ours. According to her, they were just asking for their daughters to turn bad. A self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts.

Perhaps she thought naming me after Earth’s only natural satellite would make it so I’d never be tempted by the dissidents amongst us—the Radicals—to turn on my country. Or perhaps she hoped I’d be the one to fulfill what she’d once thought was her destiny—working for the Bureau of Transregional Affairs. Clearly, Neptune, even as a toddler, was not going to be what my mother had wanted. When I was born, my path through life was already carved out. All I had to do was fit myself into the groove and let go.

City of Ursa, New Amana

August 2072

My mother sips her tea, her small, shrewd eyes never leaving my sister’s form.  Neptune sits at the table with us and yet she’s apart somehow, not quite on the same plane. Her gaze is distracted, her tea forgotten. She doesn’t notice Mother’s attention. It seems to me her thoughts are turned inward, as if she is already planning her escape. She has only been here thirty minutes.

“And what are you doing today, Neptune?” Mother asks, her spoon clinking dully against the sides of her tin tea cup.

“Work.” My sister’s voice is steady, but she doesn’t meet my mother’s eye or mine. Her fingers flutter on the tabletop as she plays a silent melody.

This is how Neptune always is around our mother; fidgety, restless, unaware that I am there, too. But it doesn’t bother me much to be ignored this way. I’m used to my mother’s burning glare as she observes my every move, waiting to see if I will follow in Neptune’s subversive footsteps.

I am thirteen years old. I have five more years of this before I can move to my own government-assigned apartment, like Neptune did last year.

To be honest, I prefer not to be seen at all these days. The moments when Neptune visits, when Mother’s focus is on her and not on me, feel like a reprieve. It is as if a tight binding around my chest has been loosened, allowing me to finally breathe. Sometimes it makes me guilty, that I am thankful for Neptune’s suffering. But then I remind myself that she doesn’t live here any longer. She doesn’t have to endure the scrutiny as I do.

“Hmm.” Mother stops stirring, finally, and sets down her spoon. Picks up her cup. Takes a sip. The slurping thunders against my eardrums.

Neptune has never been able to please my mother—not that she’s ever made it a priority. As far back in my memory as I can remember they’ve been this way, always repelling each other, magnets with like poles. And while they’ve tossed barbs at each other, my mother trying to inch forward through Neptune’s defenses, I’ve stood outside, just beyond their awareness, watching and learning.

Neptune smiles at me, a tight-lipped thing that barely moves her mouth. “We just received uniforms at the factory that must be dyed purple. We mix the blue and red to do it. It’s fascinating to watch the colors merge to create the right shade.”

Mother makes a noise halfway between a snort and a sigh. “Dyeing uniforms—a ridiculous occupation. If you’d been smart enough to apply for a job at BoTA, like I told you, you’d actually be doing something useful with your life now.”

For unknown reasons, Neptune rejected the idea of working at the Bureau of Transregional Affairs—commonly called BoTA—outright when Mother suggested it last year. Mother never did forgive her. She says Neptune’s job at the factory is demeaning, a job for people with little to no intelligence.

I myself cannot understand why Neptune would choose to work in a place with no windows, where the din of machines must make it impossible to speak to another living person.  

Neptune darts a look at her. Her voice dripping venom, she says, “Perhaps there is more to a person than what they do for a job. Have you ever considered that?”

Mother glares, her hands clutching her tin cup tight. I wonder if she will leave fingerprints in the metal. “Is there more to you, then, Neptune? Do you do things our government doesn’t know about?”

They stare at each other across the table. I know what Mother is thinking. She believes Neptune is likely a dissident, that she purposely chose a job where the government would have no reason to keep close account of her activities. Mother’s become more and more convinced of this in the last year, after Neptune moved into her own apartment. I do not agree with her speculations. I think Neptune is simply tired—very tired—of following rules. But you never know. That’s the most important thing I’ve learned in school. People often aren’t who you think they are. Everyone wears masks.

Once, not too long after she began work at the factory, Neptune came over to keep me company when Mother was working a night shift. We sat on the sofa, speaking of nothing much, until she turned to me with a suppressed shine in her dark eyes.

“Can I ask you a question?” she’d asked, her hands folded tightly together.

That shine and her energy made me nervous. Neptune’s questions were always difficult to answer and even harder to consider, verging as they almost always did on Rad territory. But I was curious, so I nodded.

“Do you believe the regime really is feminist? That they really do work for the good of every female in New Amana?”

In spite of expecting something outrageous, I was startled to even be asked such a question—I couldn’t formulate a response. I opened my mouth and closed it again. I was afraid someone would walk past the apartment and hear us; I was afraid the Escorts would come bursting in, sensing the disobedient thoughts hovering over our building. They’d drag us off to the gas chamber, snuff our terrorist lives out without a thought. Or perhaps just as bad, what if Mother came home and overheard?

Finally, I said, “Of course. Of course I do.”

Neptune leaned back and lit a cigarette, a relic from years long past. She got them from le marché noir, the black market, and smoked whenever Mother wasn’t home. It was another thing Mother would point to as evidence of Neptune’s Radical leanings. “I’ve been hearing things from the other workers at the factory. Some of the women there say there was a time when true feminism was about asking questions, about challenging the people in power when they undermined women’s freedoms.” She blew out blue smoke, obscuring her face for a moment. “There was a time when a woman’s worth wasn’t dependent on the children she produced.”

I shook my head slowly. “But...but the rules are made for our benefit. The regime would never ask us to follow an order that might hamper New Amana’s progress. Healthy children are how we’ll repopulate our nation.”

“And have you never considered that being gassed might be too harsh a punishment for being unable to produce one? Or perhaps that each woman should be allowed to decide for herself whether or not she wants to be a mother at all?” Neptune’s face was hard, her eyes glittering with something I’d never seen in her before.

I couldn’t quite grasp what she was saying or why she was saying it. It was as though she’d forgotten everything we’d been taught from when we were old enough to understand: that all good citizens strive to do what’s best for the collective, not for the individual. Had she learned nothing from the mistakes of the men who came before us? “You can’t...be serious.” I managed the words falteringly, unable to think of what else to say.

Neptune reached forward and grasped my hand. “You could come with me one day, meet some of the women I work with. There are other ideas out there, Moon. Other ways of living. We don’t have to believe everything they’ve told us.”

I pulled my hand out of hers, feeling sick and feverish. I didn’t know what had come over my sister or why she was saying things that could get us both killed. But before I could respond, we heard Mother’s key in the door, and Neptune rushed to put out and hide her cigarette. We never did finish our discussion; Neptune never mentioned it to me again. To be honest, I was quite thankful. The thought of meeting other women who share Neptune’s wild ideas scared me.

Now, at the table, the tension between Mother and Neptune is so thick I feel it pressing down on my shoulders. Finally, Neptune smirks and looks away. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t defend herself against Mother’s insinuation.

She pushes back her chair. “I need to use the washroom before I go. Excuse me.”

Mother’s hard gaze follows her as she walks out.

When my sister has disappeared from view, Mother turns to me, her small brown eyes fevered and bright. Her thin hand clamps down on mine with surprising force.

“She’s a Radical. I feel it in my bones.” A glob of saliva flies from her mouth and lands on my arm, warm and wet, and I cannot hide my shudder of revulsion. She does not notice. “We must find out for sure so we can report her. For the good of our country, Moon. For New Amana.”

I know why Neptune doesn’t visit us very often. She is only here today because it is my mother’s birthday, and I asked her to come. My mother’s fever, her hunger to uncover Neptune’s supposed lies is like a thick cloud that makes breathing difficult. It suffocates even me; I cannot imagine how it is for Neptune.

Many years ago, Mother was denied entry into her choice of career with BoTA because they said she lacked initiative and the required passion for her country’s future success. So, instead, she was assigned to be a Maintenance custodian.

She loathes her job, spending time looking after a group of brutish Maintenance men. She’s told me before that she’d much rather be in a quiet office, typing up reports on machines amongst other women. Mother says she lacked the requisite number of reports of suspected Radicals that BoTA employees are supposed to have under their belts before they are granted employment. I imagine she is making up for lost time now, reporting all those she should’ve reported when it would’ve made a difference. And the one person she is burning to report most of all is her eldest daughter.

It was as though something inside Mother, some last thread of patience, began to wear thin when Neptune refused to even consider joining BoTA. With every passing day that my sister goes to her factory job and my mother goes to her joyless one, that thread wears thinner and thinner. It’s as if Mother thinks Neptune intentionally disrespected her by choosing not to apply for the position she’d wanted so badly all those years ago.  Mother sees Neptune’s disobedience as an attack on her. And she hungers to retaliate.

My mother’s hand clamps harder and an electric bolt of pain sears my nerves. I realize she is still waiting for an answer, so I nod, though I have forgotten her question. It doesn’t matter; when Neptune is here, the only thing we discuss is unearthing her treachery. Right now, I need Mother to stop touching me, to stop burning me with her gaze.

“I’ll check on Neptune.” I push my chair back and hurry into the back of the apartment.

My sister is at the washbasin, staring into her own eyes in the mirror. Neptune and I could not have looked more unalike if we’d been birthed by two different mothers. It is funny to me that though everyone in New Amana is some shade of brown with dark hair and eyes, we can all look so different.

Neptune clearly carries more North American genes in her than I do. She is tall and thin, her skin pale, her eyes wide and dark. Her hair, more brown than black, falls to her waist in a thick braid. I, on the other hand, am small and sturdy, my ink black hair cut short to just under my ears. My eyes are small, like Mother’s, closed off and clouded. My mother says I’d be a good secret-keeper; the perfect person to work in BoTA with all of its classified information.

Neptune sees me in the mirror and turns around, a small smile on her face. “Did she send you to check on me? See if I was sneaking out the window to a Rad meeting?”

My heart pounds at the expression on her face. It is angry and shuttered. “M-mother just wants...” I trail off, unsure how to continue. Because I know exactly what my mother wants, and it seems Neptune does, too. What would be the point of lying?

Neptune steps closer to me; so close her perpetual scent of fabric dye burns my nose. It has seeped into her skin over the past year; if we cut her, she will bleed all the colors of New Amana. “Mother wants to be sure her womb didn’t produce a Radical. She’s obsessed with proving those who refused her entry into BoTA wrong. She wants nothing more than to show she’s New Amana’s finest patriot, and she doesn’t care if she has to sell her own daughter down the river to do it.”

I shake my head, but I don’t argue. We can both see the truth clearly. Mother thinks Neptune is the enemy. I can’t blame her, not completely. Neptune does have ideas that go completely against what we’ve been taught, and she doesn’t do much to hide them or her disdain for Mother. “Why don’t you just make more of an effort?” I say quietly so Mother won’t hear me. “Show her she’s wrong about you.”

Neptune stares at me for a long moment and then she laughs. “I think we’re well beyond that, don’t you? There’s nothing I can say now to convince her otherwise.” She glances toward the doorway, and then, leaning toward me, she says in a whisper, “I’m leaving New Amana.”

I feel myself tremble deep inside, in the fibers of my muscle and the marrow of my bone, though I don’t show it outwardly. I’m not sure what to say to this. If Neptune leaves, I won’t see her ever again. And perhaps worse than that, it will prove to people—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that she is a dissident. Why else would one choose to leave?

But if she stays, Mother will never stop prodding her, she will never stop examining her behavior for signs of terrorism. With the two of them, it is as if I’m constantly straddling a fault line, just waiting for the earthquake that will change the terrain of my world forever.

I care for my mother, though I know she has a kernel of something fiery and bitter inside of her, something that tells her that she, personally, solely, is responsible for weeding out terrorism in our midst. But I also care for my sister, because I have never known life without her. She has always been Neptune the grown-up, the one with the exciting life and outrageous ideas. I’ve always marveled at her—off on her own to school and then to work at the garment factory, with her important job of dyeing uniforms for everyone to wear. I imagine her standing over a big vat of every color the eye can see: Violets and crimsons and indigos mixing together, pouring out, painting the world vivid as she stands watch.

“What...what do you mean? Where will you go?” I swallow, hard. Thirteen is much too old to cry.

But she shakes her head, a small smile hovering over her lips. “Knowledge is dangerous. Isn’t that what they say?”

We hear Mother moving in the kitchen and Neptune stiffens. “I must go.”

“Already?” I ask, my heart still pounding from the news she’s given me. Neptune’s leaving...for good. When will she go? How will she get there? Doesn’t she care that she’ll never see me or Mother again? Doesn’t she care that she’ll be disobeying the regime, that she’ll be gassed if they catch her? But of course, I can’t risk asking her any of those questions right now. Not with Mother in the house. So I push those thoughts aside. They will have to wait.

I stare at my sister. I haven’t seen her in weeks, haven’t had anything to distract me after I come home from school. Mother and I sit in silence or listen to the radio broadcast until the lights come on, and then we eat supper. After that we clean up and go to bed. I lie sleepless for hours until dreams claim me. Then I wake and we start over.

When Neptune visits on the nights my mother works, she tells me stories of the work she does, of the new people in her life. Now that she’s made this trip, she won’t be back for days. She says this place feels like a prison.  The time stretches out before me like a deep, dark tunnel—no end in sight.

“I’m in desperate need of a cigarette and I know I can’t tell her that.” She points her chin toward the wall, on the other side of which is the kitchen.

“When will you return?”

“I can’t be sure, Moon.” She sighs, and then, a bit awkwardly, smoothes a strand of hair off my forehead. “It won’t be too long. All right?”

“All right.” I try to smile and then step out of the washroom, making my way back to the kitchen.

A minute later, Neptune joins me. “Happy birthday, Mother. I’m off to the factory. We’re working extended hours today.” Her face is smooth; there is no hint of a lie there at all. If she were a Rad, she’d be a good one, I realize.

My mother doesn’t look up from her tea. “Farewell.”

Neptune glances at me, a message in her eyes—I’ll be back soon. And then she’s gone.

Mother lifts her head slowly and turns to me when the door has shut behind Neptune. “Do you know where she’s going?”

Heat flashes to my face. I am not like my sister; I am not good at lying to Mother. “Sh-she told you. She’s going to the factor—”

“Ah.” Mother smiles. Her teeth are yellow in the morning light. “But that isn’t what I asked, is it?”

This is what I mean when I say I am not good at lying to her. Somehow, she always sees through my words to the meaning buried under them. She chips away until it is plain to see the truth. “She didn’t tell me w-where she’s going, exactly.” At least that was the truth.

“But she isn’t going to the factory, is she?”

I glance down at the table, trying not to picture Neptune’s wide brown eyes as I shake my head in answer. Perhaps if I don’t look at Mother while I do it, it won’t be as big a betrayal. Perhaps.

There is a harsh scraping sound, and then my mother is standing, her hand outstretched. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to witness something important. Oh yes, indeed.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her hungry, desperate eyes. Though she is speaking to me, it doesn’t seem like she sees me at all. Her eyes gaze past my shoulder, out the window that overlooks the sprawling, gray city. I wonder who she does see—is it a younger version of herself?

When we walk outside, flecks of fallout speckle the air like a million black insects: My lungs are being damaged irrevocably with every breath I take. The acid rain stings as it pelts down on my skin, the sun gone behind a cover of smog and colorless clouds. People in New Amana don’t bother using umbrellas to protect themselves anymore. We found out quickly that any material we used only tattered under constant assault from the acid. Now the stinging of our skin is just one more thing we accept as our lot.

Mother clutches my hand tightly in hers. She is pinching my fingers together, and I am much too old for her to hold my hand, but I don’t say anything. Because across the street, at the bus station with its cracked shelter, I see Neptune waiting. My mother must spot her at the same time; the pressure on my hand increases.

We stay there in the alley next to our apartment building, waiting amongst the genetically-mutated, homeless Nukehead children until the bus has come, picked up its passengers, and started back down the street. Then we hurry across the street and wait in the shelter for the next bus.

The sound of the acid rain drumming on the plastic shelter roof is incredibly loud. Mother and I do not speak. Her eyes are on the road, anticipating the arrival of the bus that will take us where Neptune’s going.

I wonder what she is thinking as we wait. I wonder what she’s seeing as she looks down the road. I wonder what I am doing, here with her. I wonder if I should tell her no; if I should insist that we go back to our apartment. But I know she would never listen to me. Besides, I don’t have a chance to say anything. The next bus arrives, and we climb aboard.

There aren’t many vehicles on the road; citizens aren’t allowed to drive personal vehicles. I keep silent track of every starving Nukehead we pass; their limbs like dry twigs, their stomachs bloated. Some are blind, most have grotesque mutations—ears where mouths should be, too many fingers or not nearly enough. Today all of them, even the blind ones, seem to be looking straight at me.

As we travel on, civilization begins to peter out. The buildings we encounter, hugging cracked sidewalks, have long since been abandoned. The empty windows with their absent panes are like hungry mouths, opening wide. I hold my breath as we drive past.

Finally, we arrive at the checkpoint. We will soon pass into the outskirts of the city of Ursa, and to do this, everyone on board must be accounted for. In line directly in front of us is Neptune’s bus.

I glance at my mother as we take our place behind it. Her hair drips acid raindrops onto her face. She appears not to notice, her eyes trained on the bus before us like she can see past the metal to the inside where her oldest daughter sits nestled away. The water runs down her skin, streaking it a virulent red. Right now, pain is nothing; discomfort does not exist. She is in the thrill of the chase. She is almost to her prize.

“Mother.” I have spoken without meaning to.

She looks at me, as if she has only now remembered that I am here, and a brief smile flashes across her face. “We’re almost there,” she mutters, patting my knee. “Almost there, don’t you worry.” I wonder if she is speaking to me or herself.

Our bus is cleared shortly after Neptune’s and we swallow mile after mile, chasing after her. Every now and then a pack of scavenging dogs, the ridges of their ribcages undulating like mountains and valleys, dart between the spindly shrubbery, glaring at our noisy intrusion.

Ambivalence picks and tears at me; I want to tell Mother that Neptune is merely going to le marché noir. On the other hand, I know Neptune is not completely innocent; I think perhaps my mother has a point. I am losing my mind, trying to see things from both my sister’s way and the way I have been taught to view things: with suspicion.

We trundle to our stop. When we disembark, I’m amazed Neptune doesn’t see us only a few yards away from her. But she keeps her head down, walking across the street with purpose. She disappears down a small alley that reeks of mold and urine. Going to le marché noir, just like she’d said.

Mother clasps my hand again, crushing it in hers. “There,” she says, her voice just a hiss of pleasure. “There, it is as I thought. That alley leads to a Radical meeting place.”

I look up at her, and I see the madness gleaming in her eyes. I try to pull my hand out of hers, but she holds on tight, refusing to let go. “That’s also the way to le marché noir,” I say in a burst of bravado. My knees are shaking with the effort of speaking to Mother this way. “Perhaps that’s where Neptune is headed.”

My mother turns her too-bright gaze on me, an unpleasant smile twisting her mouth. “Do you dare side with a Rad instead of your mother? Shall I report both daughters instead of just one?” She lets go of my hand and moves her fingers to my chin; she pinches it tight. “You’re not too young for the gas chamber.” Her breath is vile and acrid, but I can’t turn away.

That familiar tremble begins deep inside me. I recognize it for what it is this time: an internal earthquake. I am on dangerous ground. I can see past the madness, and there is no hint of an empty threat. She means it. My mother will report me just as easily as she’d report Neptune. I try to imagine a small chamber, noxious fumes pouring out of holes in the ground and ceiling, filling up my lungs, incinerating them. The quaking inside me gets stronger. “N-no. You’re right. Of course you’re right.”

“Good.” Mother lets go of my chin and strokes my cheek gently, but the fire still simmers in her eyes. “Then you shall be the one to report her.”

She watches me carefully for a reaction, so I control every muscle in my face. I make sure my expressions are locked up tight. “Yes, Mother.”

The regime has made it nearly effortless for the common people, like me and Mother, to report a suspected Radical. And yet, it is the most difficult thing I have ever had to do.

Back at the apartment, Mother points to the telephone on the corner table. We haven’t even taken off our boots. “Let’s do our duty,” she says. I wonder if she knows she is smiling.

I pick up the receiver. It must weigh a thousand pounds. My hand trembles as I bring it to my ear. I watch in disbelief as my finger pushes the button that will engage the reporting line.

The voice on the other end is mechanical, distant. “Name of Radical.”

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I glance at my mother, who stands beside me, her hand clamped on my shoulder. When she sees that I am having trouble speaking, she squeezes harder, until pain brings the world back into focus. My throat opens up again. “Neptune Stewart.”

“Crime.”

I glance at my mother again. “A-attending a Radical meeting.”

“Noted. Thank you for your service to New Amana.”

And that’s it. When I replace the receiver, Mother laughs. “You’ll always remember this moment fondly, my dear. One day it will gain you employment in BoTA. You’ll do what they denied me.” She strokes my face. “You’ll make sure the Stewart family name is something to be proud of, won’t you?”

I nod and try to smile, but the smile stays hidden somewhere. My eyes fill with tears and suddenly, my legs cannot hold my weight any longer. I sink to the floor, a crumpled mass. I do not cry, I do not make a sound. I simply lie there, wondering how it can hurt so much when I haven’t been physically wounded.

A shadow falls on me and then I feel the weight of Mother’s hand on my hair. “Now, now,” she mutters. “You’ve done the right thing. This is for your own good. I’d never lead you astray, dear, you know that. Don’t you?”

“Yes, Mother.” I close my eyes and will the world away.

For several days after, nothing happens, at least not in my corner of Ursa. The streets are quiet...unnaturally so. The Nukehead children seem to have vanished overnight, though I have not heard the Maintenance men clean them up, cart them away to be gassed. A dark gray fog hangs close to the ground, suffocating me, muffling the sound of my breath.

My mother works and I go to school. In the evenings, we listen to the radio broadcasts and eat our tasteless dinners. She doesn’t mention what I have done; I don’t dare ask her what has happened to Neptune. Part of me is sure she’d tell me, sure she’d say if Neptune had been taken. But the other part wonders if perhaps this is exactly how she’d act after: as if she’d only ever had one daughter to begin with.

The fever in her eyes dims.

In my mind, the Escorts taking Neptune to the gas chamber will be preceded by something big, like an enormous acid rain shower. Or perhaps they will blare sirens throughout the city like they do every third of June, to mourn the day New Amana was destroyed in the War. Because surely my sister cannot slip away quietly, unnoticed, even if she does have some terrorist leanings. We share genetic material. Doesn’t that count for something? Surely I, the one who guided death to her doorstep, would become aware of the end of her life.

I have absolutely done the right thing. I tell myself this daily. Neptune might not have been at a Rad meeting that day, but it was only a matter of time. With her twisted ideas of feminism and her blatant disregard for the regime, she is a walking target. If I didn’t report her, someone else would have. I have absolutely done the right thing...

Haven’t I?

I do not sleep at night; I am afraid of my dreams.

Then one day there is a knock at the door. Mother is working the night shift, and I am alone. Terror strikes me to my core. Is it the Escorts, come to take me away instead? Perhaps there is no greater betrayal than betrayal of family. Or perhaps they are able to see into my mind, to see that I do not completely believe Neptune is a Radical, not the way Mother does. Perhaps we will both be gassed, just as my mother had said. I stand there, staring at the door, frozen in absolute, perfect fear, sweat beginning to collect on my brow.

Then reason begins to trickle in. Escorts don’t knock. They come in uninvited. It is part of their appearance—their way of saying: Your life is not really yours. It has been ours from the moment you took your first breath.

I open the door.

Neptune stands on the other side. I wonder if she is an apparition, like they used to believe in a long time ago. I try to see if there is hate blazing in her eyes.

But she smiles. “Can I come in or will you stand in the doorway all night?”

Is she really here? My mind reels as I step aside and she comes striding in.

Did they decide that my report didn’t have substance? I have never heard of the government deciding against gassing a low-level worker—erring as they always do on the side of caution—but perhaps Neptune has slipped through the cracks. Maybe, somehow, the inconceivable has happened. Maybe the government has made a mistake.

We sit on the sofa, just like always. I continue to watch her, my mind racing with conflicting thoughts, my heart pounding, the blood roaring through my ears. I must tell her to leave. She can’t be seen here. What if they’re merely delayed in picking her up? Will they suspect me of abetting a terrorist?

But she’s my sister. She’s here, against all odds. Should I warn her? Should I tell her what Mother and I have done? I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Neptune slips off her boots and tucks her legs under her, the gesture familiar and discordant with the tension I feel. She pulls a pack of cigarettes from her bag and taps one out.

“I cannot say how much of a relief it was to get cigarettes from le marché noir. Last time I went, they didn’t have any.” She smiles as she lights it. “I know they say these things are deadly, but at least I’ll die happy.”

I cannot laugh at her joke.

“Oh.” She reaches back into her bag. “I bought you something as well.” She brings her hand out, fist closed. When she opens her fingers, two small round gemstones shimmer in her palm.

One is smooth and white, and the other bigger and bright blue. They have small pins on their backs.

“They’re called brooches,” she says when I continue to stare at them. “Women used to pin them on their clothes as adornment. We can’t do that, of course, but I thought we might keep them anyway. Maybe I’ll keep the moon and you could keep Neptune?”

Her hand hovers there in the air, and I can’t bring myself to look away. I knew what the gemstones represented as soon as I saw them. Here is the evidence of her innocence, as if the cigarettes were not enough. And more than that—here is the evidence that my sister cares for me.

My brain begins to scream in pure anguish. I have to tell her. I have to tell her what’s happened so that she can run. Maybe there’s time for her to escape the city like she’d meant to anyway. Maybe Neptune could leave Ursa behind once and for all. She doesn’t have to go to the gas chamber. She could simply disappear. That would be virtually the same thing, wouldn’t it?

“N-Neptune...”

She looks at me, completely unaware of the agony I am in, and closes her hand around the gemstones, waiting.

“You—you said you were leaving Ursa.”

She sighs and shakes her head, looking down at the cigarette in her free hand. “Oh, Moon. I wish you wouldn’t worry about that. I did wonder whether or not to tell you at all.” When she looks up at me, her eyes are bright and clear. “Yes, I am leaving. But I do not know when or where I am going yet. And you cannot tell anybody. Do you understand?”

Now is the time. I have to tell her now. “You have to go. You can’t wait any longer.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes narrow. I wonder if knowledge is beginning to seep in, quietly but surely.

I open my mouth.

There is a rustling at the door, like someone trying to open it.

Neptune swivels her head in its direction, frowning. She sets the gemstones on the table, under the educational leaflets Mother likes to browse. She steps on her burning cigarette and puts it out before pushing the butt under the sofa. “Are you expecting someone?”

I can only stare at her, at her dark eyes, her long, thick braid. I begin to memorize her face.

The door swings open and they march in. Escorts, in their bright white uniforms like exposed bone. I look back at Neptune. I am underwater, everything is slow, I try to breathe but I can’t.

Neptune still looks disoriented. She stares at the Escorts as if they are apparitions, just as I’d looked at her minutes before when she was at the door. It seems as though she’s wondering if this is a dream, just as I’m wondering if it is a nightmare.

They seize her by the arms, pull her to her feet. They don’t even let her put on her boots. They drag her out, her bare feet scraping the floor, and all the while she stares at me. She doesn’t say a word.

They are there. And then they are gone.

It is only a long time later that I realize I am standing in the middle of the room, screaming her name at the closed door. I stop, put one hand on my sore, swollen throat. I walk stiffly to the sofa, let my knees buckle. The house is quiet, so quiet. Somewhere in the distance a siren squalls like a broken child. I pick up the brooches Neptune left behind. I close my fingers around them, let the pins sink into my palm.

By the time Mother comes home early the next morning, I have thrown them away. I have begun to forget.

City of Ursa, New Amana

November 2078

I sit back in my chair and watch Mercury approach. A gleeful expression dances in her black eyes; a barely-suppressed smile plays on her lips.

“Have you heard?” she says in a hurried whisper before she has even stopped moving.

This is how most of Mercury’s conversations begin. She is the hub of all news passed from classified environments to BoTA, where we work. I have only been here a year, but already Mercury has found me. I do not know what she saw in my face that told her I was a kindred spirit.

Mercury and I celebrate when citizens are arrested or taken away to the Asylums. And why shouldn’t we? The fewer people we have to compete with, the higher our chance of survival. When fighting for each waking moment is a way of life, emotions such as empathy and compassion cease to matter. Those who think otherwise delude themselves. I can guarantee that their life spans are shorter than those of people like Mercury and me.

“Who’ve they caught?” I keep my tone nonchalant, but my heart races. I need it to be her—Vika Cannon. It has to be.

Mercury shakes her head, apparently reading my mind. After all this time, it’s no secret—at least not one I keep from her—who I’ve been hoping will stumble. “No one’s been picked up for the gas chambers yet.”

Hope deflates, and I am suddenly angry. Why did I think for even a moment that she would’ve been arrested? Her mother is much too important for them to make such a move without thoroughly investigating first. And that could take weeks, even months. I glare at Mercury, bitter bile splashing the back of my throat. “What, then? Out with it already.”

Mercury flinches at my unkind tone, but I don’t apologize. “Vika Cannon is a Rad. She’s on the run.”

I stare at her, unable to believe what I’ve just heard.

In our society, every waking moment is a struggle for life against death. Every day of my life, I am faced with the harsh truth: There is a finite amount of time before our resources run out. The War of the Nations—an enormous nuclear war that changed the very topography of the earth—has left New Amana utterly depleted. The poisoned oxygen we breathe, the meager food we eat, all of it is running out, fast. Our only chance of survival is to board a ship to China. But there are a finite number of ships, and a finite number of seats on those ships. Not all of us will make it out.

It is my duty to weed out every single person who does not belong so those of us who escape can preserve our identity as New Amanian citizens. Once New Amana has been cleaned of nuclear toxins and we’re allowed to return, we will be tasked with an important job: rebuilding our great nation from the ground up.

From the beginning, since I first spoke to her, I knew Vika Cannon did not belong. She doesn’t personify New Amana’s virtues: loyalty and obedience. She is lazy. She is strange. The only reason she isn’t dead yet is because of her mother’s superior station. But I knew it was only a matter of time before that tenuous saving grace frayed completely away.

I glance at Vika’s empty chair. It is early in the day still, and I had expected that she would be here later. I try to calm my pulse. “What do you mean she’s ‘on the run’?”

Seeming mollified by my urgent tone, Mercury leans down to impart more information.  “She joined a Rad group, pretended to be a guard, and was escorting children to the Toronto Asylum. I suppose they meant to subvert the operation somehow. But the government got advance information about it and stopped them—well, most of them. Vika apparently got free and ran into the desert.” She shakes her head. “And she’s pregnant. Can you believe it? What on earth could she have been thinking?”

I gaze past her toward Miss Adams’s, my boss’s, office. “I have no idea.” But I have a good idea of what I must do next.

The day passes in a hush, as if time is tiptoeing past. It feels as though all eyes are on me, though I know this must be solely in my imagination. Vika’s chair sits conspicuously empty, and yet no one mentions it. In fact, everyone acts as though there is nothing out of the ordinary about a vacant seat, as if it is not a voice over a loudspeaker screaming “Radical.” Perhaps they are afraid her disobedient state of mind will rub off on them.

I, for one, revel in the emptiness of her chair, in the evacuation of her space. It is the sight of my freedom. It is the physical manifestation of a year of waiting and watching and burning with the injustice of her being Matched simply because she has an important mother.

After work, I hurry out with the rest of the crowd. I hop on the bus, my mind teeming with what I will say, how I will approach this.

I let myself into Miss Adams’s apartment with the master key and wait in darkness for what seems like an eternity. Unsanctioned free time is not productive. I cannot stop my mind from reeling with unbridled optimism as I consider what Mercury has told me. After an entire year of waiting for one slip, one opportunity, could it really be that this is finally it? My chance?

Though I cannot be sure, I have an idea that the government chooses one person from each department to emigrate. It’s clear that everyone expects Vika to be the chosen one in ours. Her mother is powerful, she is Matched, and now she is pregnant. Pregnancy is a woman’s most coveted condition. Every healthy woman in New Amana is expected to produce healthy progeny in three tries. If they fail, they are gassed. If they succeed they receive, as a reward, a seat on a ship to China.

What could have happened to make Vika throw her only opportunity for freedom away? I shake my head, try to clear it. It doesn’t matter what caused her to act this way. What matters is that I act quickly to claim her seat on the ship. It must be me.

Finally, when every muscle is trembling with the need for action, when every nerve is screaming at me to do something, I hear Miss Adams’s key in the door and she steps in. Anxiety begins to churn deep inside me. Just the scent of her—a tinny, dark thing—is enough to make me perspire. But I force myself to stand and face her.

Miss Adams’s teeth gleam in the dark as she smiles. “Ah. I thought you’d hear the news. Not much stays secret from Mercury.” She comes forward and lights a candle on the table. Then she trails her gaze up and down my body.

Miss Adams is old enough to be my mother. Her chin-length black hair is threaded through with strands of gray, and her pale brown skin is like crepe paper. When she smiles, a dimple appears on her cheek like a punctuation mark. I do not love her. I do not even like her. When I think of her vast and almost insatiable needs, all I can conjure up is a deep sense of revulsion. But I need her in order to survive. I need her if I am to escape on a ship.

And so I do what I do. I’m not ashamed of it; I don’t know a single person in my boots, with intelligence as shrewd as mine, who wouldn’t indulge in any activity—bar none—to ensure their survival. So while my mouth is kissing and licking and tasting, while my body is doing what it must, my mind is elsewhere.

I dream of the future, of plentiful food, of air with healthy levels of oxygen. I will be leaving soon; my time has come. I must play my hand carefully now if Vika’s mistake is to be my step up and over the wall.

Once Miss Adams is sated for the moment, we get dressed in the near dark without speaking. Then she offers me a cup of tea and we sit on the sofa. She waits in silence; she knows why I am here.

“Vika Cannon is missing.” The words from my mouth sound like they are being spoken in a tunnel; just an echo and a far away meaning. I cannot believe they are the truth as it now stands.

But I watch in absolute wonder as Miss Adams nods, stirring her tea. Yes. Yes, she is missing. Vika really has run away.

“She was with a group of Rads.”

She nods again and sips, her dimple appearing like a magic trick.

My heart speeds up. I am so close. I can taste the salt of the sea; I can smell the tides. “Were they all captured?”

“No.”

“But you must want them. For information.”

Miss Adams cocks her head to one side, just slightly. “We do. Vika Cannon’s group has been under surveillance for a while. We have cause to believe a significant number of them have escaped to a refugee camp near the port.”

My hands tremble as I clutch the tin cup to me, hardly daring to hope. “Let me help. I know her. I worked with her for over a year, sat right beside her that entire time. I could be a great asset to your efforts.”

She looks me over, considering. Then she sets her tea cup down. A small, thin smile plays across her lips. “We are putting together a special team to find the camp...”

I stop breathing as I wait for her to finish.

“I do think you’d be a good fit, Moon.”

I exhale in a rush, smiling at her as she stands. When she walks to a small storage cupboard in the hallway, my smile begins to fade. I know what she keeps in there.

She returns, holding in her hand an electric prod. It is used to subdue children in the Asylums. But here, in her apartment, it is used for other purposes.

“I think you’d be a good fit for the new team...but I might need a little convincing,” she says, walking slowly forward. “Why don’t you undress for me?”

I do as she asks. I transpose Vika Cannon’s face with Miss Adams’s and take comfort in the knowledge that it’s only a matter of time before I exact my revenge. For everything I have had to endure to ensure my safe passage, I vow: Vika Cannon will pay.

Afterward, I shiver as I make my way to the bus stop in the acid rain. Electrocution has that effect on me—my body tremors for hours afterward. But it’s worth it, absolutely. I’d do it over again, many, many times without pause for what Miss Adams has offered me tonight.

I have been assigned the lead position on the team that will track Vika Cannon’s, and the other Rads’, whereabouts; the team that will put an end to at least one refugee camp. All of those abhorrent relics of society—Nukeheads and Défectueux—who should’ve been killed a long time ago, saved by deluded ingénues: the Radicals and their helpers.

The Rads and their pathetic underlings don’t understand the basic concept of survival. Because of some twisted sense of righteousness, they doom hundreds of us, healthy citizens, to a death we should not have to face. The refugees eat food that could’ve gone to healthy citizens; they sneak on to the ships and escape to China, souring our relationship with the Chinese government, making life more difficult for the legitimate émigrés who go there. But now I can stop them.

And if—when—I am successful, when Vika Cannon is dead, I will be guaranteed a spot on a ship to China. This is everything my mother had wanted for herself and for me, her only faithful daughter.

I stand shivering in the bus shelter but inside, my blood sparks as if the prod has electrified it somehow. Before I travel to find Vika Cannon, there is one loose end I must tie up. It has been a long time coming.

I climb aboard a bus, letting its vibrations lull me as I ride into the gray heart of Ursa. The bus pulls up opposite my mother’s apartment building. Clusters of Nukehead children idle in the alleys, peeking out at me like crabs, only to scuttle away into the darkness when I glare at them.

I ascend the steep stone steps to Mother’s apartment and knock on her door. When she answers, her hair is wild, her eyes are mad. Her uniform is rumpled and stained; it’s clear she hasn’t washed it or changed in a few days. I wonder what she’s been telling the people at work. Surely she hasn’t been going in in this condition; she would’ve been reported by now.

She grasps my arm and pulls me in, locking the door after us. I do not know why she bothers; everyone has a master key they can use to gain access to any apartment at any time.

“Is there any more news? Do they have a spot on a ship for me?” Mother asks, her eyes darting around my face. There is no stillness about her anymore—every muscle twitches, even when it is supposed to be at rest. Her apartment has not been cleaned in some time; there is food spoiling somewhere. I can smell it. When I leave here, it will cling to me for days.

“Yes.” I peel her fingers off me, one by one, and step aside.  “It’s why I’m here. You have to be ready. Wash up.”

Her face breaks into a smile, her small eyes almost disappearing into folds of sallow skin. Her hands ball into fists and she hurries off to the washroom.

My mother thinks that, because I work at BoTA, I will one day bring her a magic ticket to the ships. She does not realize that there are other considerations. Considerations she happens to be failing. It is apparent with a single glance at her that she is not fit to emigrate.

My throat constricts as I remember her eager face, her fevered eyes as she’d promised me that the day we spied on Neptune would be one I’d remember forever. I remember her shining pride the day I was accepted into BoTA. I push those thoughts away, imagining a box deep inside my chest into which I dump them and turn a key. These are thoughts that must never be revisited. Today is the day I bid goodbye to them all.

I wait a moment to make sure my mother is fully engaged, and then I stride to the telephone. It is the same one I’d used to call the information line about Neptune five years ago. My mother had stood eagerly beside me then, her hand clamped on my skin, infusing me with her strength and sureness.

I push the button and wait.

“Name of dissident.”

“This is Moon Stewart of BoTA requesting an emergency arrest for Venus Stewart.”

“Certainly, Miss Stewart. Her crime?”

“Insanity.”

“Noted. The Escorts are on their way. Thank you for your service to New Amana.”

I put the phone gently back in its cradle and sit on the sofa to wait.

Did you enjoy this companion novella to the Glimpsing Stars series? Be sure to subscribe to my mailing list so you can be the first to know when Land of Masks and Moonlight, the sequel to World of Shell and Bone, is released! And if you have a moment, would you please leave a review? Reviews are gold to authors—we always appreciate an honest one.