Brightly Burning(3)
I pointedly didn’t mention all those who had been left behind. It was possible for human beings to survive an ice age; history indicated as much. But the percentage would be paltry; the casualties high. I tried not to think about all who had perished, though it was hundreds of years ago.
The students set to writing—?it would be a class with a lot of downtime. I decided to seek out Arden, lest she be left too long to her own thoughts. I found her huddled in the back, crying over a potted plant.
“I don’t understand,” she sniffled, her voice hoarse.
“I know.” I crouched down to her level, laying a comforting hand on her back. “It’s not fair.”
“But I watered it and everything!” Arden gestured at the plant, which, now that I considered it, was looking a bit droopy.
“If I can’t figure out how to make it grow, I’ll never get to be a farmer, and what if they stick me with something awful, like engineering?” she let out in a string of breathless words, then snapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Stella, I didn’t think—”
“It’s okay. Engineering isn’t all that bad, but I know it’s not for everyone.” It was barely for me, but I’d take it over farming, personally. Arden, however, came from a long line of farmers—?everyone on the Stalwart did—?and I understood her angst. Everyone had to pull their weight on board, and working the fields was one of the more stable, fulfilling jobs.
“Did you put it under the sunlamp?” I asked. She nodded in the affirmative. “Okay, then how much did you water it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you can water a plant too much, effectively drowning it,” I said gently.
Arden’s face fell. “I used my water rations to give it more. I thought it would help.”
“Oh, Arden.” I sighed. “Drinking your daily water ration is very important. You’ll get dehydrated.” Especially with all the tears she’d be expending over the coming weeks and months. “Come with me.” I directed her to the front of the room and out into the corridor, where I unzipped a stealth pocket in my skirt and handed her my half-drunk day’s rations. She greedily sucked it down, offering me her first smile of the day.
“Listen,” I began, and her reaction was immediate—?she obviously did not want to talk about her mother. So I veered into safer territory. “You’re really bright, Arden, one of my best students. I’m sure you’d make a fine farmer, but it’s not so bad if you end up doing something else. What don’t you like about engineering?”
“It’s dirty,” she said, eyeing my less-than-pristine hands, then lingering on my face. Great, I must have a smudge on my face. And George didn’t say anything. Jerk. “And,” Arden continued, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I really, really don’t like the dark.”
“It’s actually not that dark down there,” I reassured her. “But you shouldn’t be afraid of the dark, either. Think of it this way—?the dark helps us to better see the stars, so it can’t be all bad. Don’t you like the stars?”
Arden nodded, glancing over at a large recessed window, through which distant stars could only just be seen. I wandered over, knowing Arden would follow, leaning so close to the thick glass that my breath fogged it up. I cupped my hands on either side of my face to block the haze of light from behind, squinting out at the myriad heavenly bodies.
“After I lost my mum and dad, I started talking to the stars,” I said. “Someone told me that when we die, we are released out there, turned into something burning and brilliant. I don’t know if it’s true, but it brings me comfort. Maybe you can talk to the stars too. They’re excellent listeners.”
“Thanks, Stella,” Arden whispered, leaning heavily against my side. And then she turned and was gone.
The ship shuddered, and I found myself careening backwards, landing hard on my tailbone as all the lights blinked out, leaving the ship in darkness.
Chapter Two
I blinked against the pitch-black, spots of color dancing across my vision, smarting from the pain radiating through my backside.
“Arden?” I called out, feeling blindly with my fingers across the cool surface of the floor and wall, hoping to find her warm body.
“Stella, I’m scared.”
She sounded close. I rose to a crawl, moving toward the sound of her voice until I bumped into what felt like her side. Feeling for her arm, then her hand, I intertwined our fingers.
“Arden, we’re going to stand up now, and I’ll lead you back to the classroom. It’s just a blackout, and there’s an emergency light inside. Then I’m going to go fix this.” All I heard in return was a soft whimper, but she stood up all the same.
As we gingerly crossed through the hatch door to the classroom, I said in my calmest, most commanding voice, “Everyone stay where you are and don’t panic.” I was surprised to find my voice shaky. I needed to maintain my grip so I wouldn’t scare them.
This was not an ordinary blackout—?that much was clear to me; that shudder preceding lights-out signaled some sort of engine failure, and the lack of emergency lights or any call over the intercom for my services told me we were looking at auxiliary system failure as well. I made quick steps to my desk from memory, and rustled through the large bottom desk drawer for the emergency lantern. As soon as it sprang to life, illuminating the front of the room in a dull orange light, a sigh cascaded from front row to back.