Brightly Burning(8)

“Oh, Stella,” Faith piped up, “you left dinner early, so you didn’t see you had a message notification on the scroll.”

That just figured. It was likely my third and final job rejection. I’d check it later. Tonight I would have fun. But first I had to go sit next to Karlson, who, despite my turning him down for “something more,” I was fairly certain still thought this was a date. He stood up from his chair when I approached, nervously complimenting me. Then he offered me more secret alcohol, which I didn’t turn down.

Soon Captain Karlson took the stage, introducing Representative Engle and someone named Mason. We knew the drill. Every year, to mark the anniversary of the Kebbler virus outbreak, our elected representative and some other random government wonk from the Olympus came over, delivered some pretty speeches, let us dance, and then no one spoke about it for the next year.

Engle’s speech was pedestrian, a recounting of the history, peppered with personal anecdotes about how he’d felt watching the Stalwart’s population perish from afar. He affected anguish, but you couldn’t miss his sense of relief that he’d been spared, having been safely ensconced aboard the Olympus. Everyone clapped politely, but no tears were shed. Then Mason spoke. He was middle-aged, balding, with an unremarkable face, not unlike the parade of bureaucrats I’d seen at the last five memorials. But the man knew how to give a speech.

“Life in space is harsh: life in exile,” he began. “Yet we have survived. Persevered. Six years ago, we faced unspeakable tragedy. Many lives—?too many lives—?were lost to the Kebbler virus. Every ship suffered losses, but none more than the Stalwart.”

“Liar,” Karlson hissed under his breath. Then he leaned over and whispered into my ear. “None of the private ships lost anyone, and no one on the Olympus died.” I pretended to clear my throat and told him to stop. His uncle, the captain, was glaring at us. Mason continued, oblivious.

“You lost thirty percent of your population. More than three hundred people. Your pain was, and is, immense. But we banded together as a fleet, stopped the virus in its tracks. Survival through unity.”

“Survival through unity,” the crowd echoed back instinctively. Karlson laughed. I smacked him on the thigh. His response was to pass me the flask. Mason didn’t seem to be close to finishing, so I took a sip or three. It was hard to forget how many the Stalwart had lost. I hadn’t known any of them, as George and I had been imported to the Stalwart as part of the Orphan Transfer Program after the outbreak had been contained. But every year as I sat through the speeches, I remembered the panic and grief. Behind us, I was sure George was thinking of his parents.

Finally, a good twenty minutes later, Mason wrapped up with: “We forge forward, together, but we must never forget.”

The room erupted into applause. Karlson took a long drag of drink.

“You’re the one who wanted to come to this thing,” I said, snatching the flask away so he would take a break.

“My uncle made me.” He leaned into me, body warm against mine. “That Mason guy is here for an inspection. He wants to ground us, which I’m all for, but the captain insists on playing nice and begging for a few more years’ reprieve.”

“Maybe your uncle is right,” I said.

“You’re my date. You should agree with me.” He pouted, a bit drunk.

“We’re here as friends, remember? And if I was your date? I wouldn’t agree with you just to make you feel better.”

I was rewarded with a smile. “That’s why I like you, Stella.”

His earnestness made my cheeks burn, and thankfully someone shooed us from our chairs so they could clear them away. Date or friends, it would feel good to dance.

He handed off the top-secret bottle to me, since I had several well-placed pockets to store it in. Suddenly I was very popular. The girls were perfunctorily nice on a good day, but never much beyond that. Tonight, we were thick as thieves, dancing en masse on the makeshift dance floor by the stage. Boys whose names I barely knew—?several years older than me, and a few younger as well—?tucked up close, warm hands on my waist and hot breath in my ear, paying me exaggerated compliments to curry favor. I was an easy target, and shared with everyone.

Then there was Karlson, who at some point insisted I call him Jon. He oscillated between staying true to his word that we were just here as friends, leaving me to dance for hours with everyone else, and being stubbornly possessive. Toward the end of the night, both of us more than a little drunk, he was all hands, and thankfully recently showered for once. He kept “whispering” in my ear. Only with the booming bass and driving beats, he had to shout for me to hear.

“I heard you’re trying to get out of this hunk of metal,” he said, close against my eardrum as we held court at the center of the dance floor.

“Probably won’t happen,” I answered. “I’m stuck here!”

“You should go with me, then. Down to Earth. My uncle may want to keep everyone up here, but I’ve almost talked him into letting me lead a scouting party.”

“That’s a death sentence,” I said. “It’s still too cold.”

“It’s better than dying up here. You know this ship is rotting from the inside.” He got very close to my ear. “We could start fresh down there, eke out a good life.”