Chapter 5

MANDY

Old-fashioned music from Earth blares from the speakers as Tasha and I arrange balls of dough on the baking sheets. Despite the seriousness of our conversation earlier and our scary encounter with Chief Kameer, my mood is lighter. We sing along to the music as we work, and we both keep sneaking bites of the sweet dough.

Just a few weeks ago, we would’ve never had enough credits to purchase supplies to make cookies. But ever since Doctor Zahhn started helping Tasha, we’ve been able to spend our credits on things other than her medical care.

It’s a relief we’re no longer scrounging by, though I suppose once I marry Ned, I’ll never have to worry about money again. He's one of the wealthiest Founders on the worldship.

A thought comes to me, one that causes my stomach to sink. If my parents and sister find themselves struggling to survive on 58-Z, will he willingly help them? Will he offer them galactic credits, medication, or food if they need it? Or will I have to help them in secret?

I try not to think about how my job embarrasses him, though I still hope he’ll have a change of heart and allow me to continue working with my mother. Ugh. Allow me . I cringe at my own choice of words.

But at least Ned isn’t a savage, rutting Darrvason, to borrow a phrase my father used recently while discussing the aliens’ barbaric custom of physical copulation for the purposes of procreation.

Unlike my people, Darrvasons don’t use fertility labs to achieve pregnancy. Humankind started using the hormone suppression shots, outlawed the act of physical congress, and began using fertility labs decades ago, all in an effort to keep the population from growing too rapidly and to maintain a healthy environment. A worldship with limited resources isn’t exactly equipped to handle unsanctioned pregnancies, venereal diseases, and other issues that might arise due to antiquated procreation methods.

I try to convince myself that I only imagined Ned staring at my breasts earlier today. Surely he’s still receiving hormone suppression shots and he won’t try to instigate any dangerous, archaic bedroom activities.

The doorbell chimes, drawing me from my thoughts, and I share a look with Tasha. “I wonder who that might be,” she says with a sudden worried gleam in her blue eyes. The same eyes as our mother.

“I’m sure it’s just one of our friends stopping by for a visit.” I put on a happy face, though I can’t shake the abrupt sense of foreboding that descends. It’s been a weird fucking day. Selection Day. I don’t know who’s at the door, but I don’t believe they’re here for a good reason. Yet I must go see who it is.

I scurry to the entryway, glance in the peephole, and open the door. Ned’s grandsons, the same two who retrieved him from the salon, are standing in the corridor. They look like they’ve been crying.

“Um, hello, George and Barret. Can I help you with something?” Maybe I’m imagining their dour expressions. Perhaps they’re only here to retrieve Ned’s cane.

Barret clears his throat. “We came to inform you that our grandfather is dead. He woke up and went for a walk, insisting he wanted to go alone, and a short while later he was discovered in a Deck Twenty-Two alcove. We’re not sure what happened yet, but it was probably a heart attack or a stroke.”

“Oh, my God. I-I’m so sorry for your loss. How… how shocking.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m stunned to my core. Especially after Ned’s pronouncement that the males in his family usually live past one hundred. It would seem he’d broken the mold.

When Tasha gasps behind me, I know she’s heard the news, but I don’t turn around. I stare awkwardly at Ned’s grandsons, uncertain if I ought to invite them in or perhaps offer them hugs.

I can’t claim to have harbored tender feelings for their grandfather, but I’d never wished the elderly man dead. He’d made me nervous on occasion and I hadn’t liked his apparent disdain for non-Founders, but I’d been grateful to him for agreeing to marry me, grateful to him for helping me escape marriage to a scary Darrvason male.

Tasha appears at my side, and I glance over to see she’s holding Ned’s cane. She passes it to George, who looks as though he’s about to burst into tears. My heart goes out to him. To both of them.

“There you go,” Tasha says. “God, I’m so sorry, guys. Your grandfather was a wonderful man who was much-loved on the Jansonna by all who knew him, and I know Mandy was looking forward to marrying him and joining your family.” My clever sister places a hand on my back, making a show of offering me comfort.

I lower my head, trying my best to appear in the throes of grief, then peek back up at George and Barret. “Would you like to come in and sit for a while? We’re making cookies and the first batch will be done any minute now.” I’m relieved when they politely decline, bid us goodbye, and head down the corridor.

Tasha shuts the door, and we stand silently in the entryway, staring at each other in disbelief. “Am I a terrible person,” she eventually asks, “for being happy that you no longer have to marry that old man?” She clutches me and a sort of crazed smile plays over her features. “You’re free, Mandy! You’re free! You won’t have to marry an old man who looks down on you and wants to make you quit your job. You won’t have to marry a Darrvason either. You’re free, sis!”

She’s right. I’m free. But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s still not right. The foreboding from earlier remains.

“Hey, are you okay?” She releases me and steps back. “Oh, honey, are you… sad?”

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “No, I’m not sad, though I feel guilty that I’m not sad. Yes, Ned looked down on me, he looked down on all of us, but I don’t think he was evil. He wielded his power over Captain Warren to keep me off the list, and I am very grateful for his help. I suppose I’m a bit overwhelmed by the news and I’m not sure how to take it, though I won’t lie—there’s a huge part of me that’s relieved I won’t be marrying Ned in a week. Please don’t tell anyone I said that though.”

Tasha gives me a gentle look, then mimics zipping her lips. “Your secrets are safe with me, and it’s perfectly understandable that you’re overwhelmed and unsure how to feel about the situation. As you know, I wasn’t heartbroken when Allen died two weeks ago,” she says, referring to the elderly Founder to whom she had been engaged, “but I still felt a tiny bit sad since he was a rather nice man, much nicer than Ned if it’s not too bold of me to point out. But he was ninety-five and I’m pretty sure he was starting to display signs of dementia. I’m glad he passed peacefully in his sleep. It sounds like Ned died quickly too, whatever it was that happened to him.”

“Thanks for understanding. Yeah, I guess it’s good they both died quickly rather than enduring a…” I almost say ‘rather than enduring a long, drawn-out illness’ but stop myself just in time. I don’t want to remind Tasha of the illness that stole too many years of her life, so I clear my throat and give her a comforting smile. “Well, we’re both free now.” And in just a month, we will arrive on 58-Z and embark upon a different kind of life. A life outside the confines of the worldship. I pray we’ll live under less restrictions after we disembark the Jansonna for good. Excitement churns within me as I consider the future.

“Yes, both of us, free.” Tasha grins and gestures for me to follow her back to the kitchen.

We resume our work on the cookies, even though they won’t be going to the original intended recipient. Though perhaps later I’ll drop off a tray to Ned’s family. I decide that’s exactly what I’ll do, and Tasha agrees it’s a thoughtful gesture.

As we continue listening to music and baking the last of the cookies, my relief grows and grows. I’m not relieved Ned is dead, simply relieved I won’t have to marry him. I can keep working with my mother at the salon on Deck Twenty. I won’t have to break her heart and leave the profession I enjoy. After we reach 58-Z, we can run a salon out of the house we’ll eventually build.

For the first time since my engagement to Ned, I feel like I can finally breathe. I’m no longer weighed down with worry and impending doom.

Once the cookies finish cooling, I arrange a platter for Ned’s family, then Tasha and I sit at the table and enjoy a few cookies as we chat about our future on 58-Z.

“A real planet,” she says. “I wonder what it will be like to step onto solid ground for the first time. I wonder if we’ll be able to feel the planet spinning. Dad says we won’t because of gravity, but it’s not like he’s set foot on a planet before either.” She blows on her tea and takes a careful sip.

“Do you think there are any humans left on Earth?” I reach for another cookie. “Maybe the Frexorlians didn’t annihilate all those who were left behind.” I’m referring, of course, to the time when, many decades ago, a race of powerful aliens known as the Frexorlians ordered all of humanity to evacuate Earth. Planet-thieving bastards . That’s what my father calls the Frexorlians, never mind that he himself has never called Earth home. Neither has my mother. Both my parents were born on the Jansonna .

“It’s certainly fun to think about,” Tasha says. “Maybe some of the humans who were left behind went into hiding and survived long enough to procreate. There might be a secret society of our people living in a cave somewhere on Earth, or in an underground bunker.”

“I like to pretend that the Jansonna doesn’t truly house the last of humanity,” I admit. “It’s a comfort to think that perhaps there’s another civilization of humans somewhere in the universe, whether on Earth or another planet or even an outpost.”

Tasha holds my gaze and smiles. “I believe there must be. Not only that, but they’re thriving, and their numbers are greater than ours.” Her expression turns mischievous. “And they aren’t under the leadership of a corrupt asshole known as Captain Warren.”

I chuckle, then take a sip of tea. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that, Tasha. I’m serious. People have been thrown in the brig for far less.” My smile fades as I think about my friends and acquaintances who’ve spent time in the brig over the years for what I would consider minor offenses. Like staying out after curfew, consuming alcohol, watching banned movies, reading forbidden books, and listening to music deemed too carnal or rebellious.

“I know, I know.” For the second time this afternoon, she pretends to zip her lips. Then a faraway look falls over her, and she regards me a bit warily, as though she’s trying to decide whether to tell me something.

“Spill it,” I say. “Whatever it is, spill it.”

“Can you keep a secret, Mandy?”

“You know I can.” I pretend to zip my lips, copying her favorite mannerism with my own dramatic flair, which makes her laugh.

“After Allen died, I knew I needed to do something to make sure I wasn’t on the list of two thousand.” Her face grows red, and she casts a nervous glance around our quarters even though no one else is home.

“What did you do?” I hold my breath, awaiting her answer while praying it wasn’t anything too terrible.

“I spoke with Allen’s oldest grandson, Frederick, and he offered to help me. In exchange for him using his family’s influence to keep me off the list, I met him in an alcove a few times and we kissed. That’s it. Just some kissing.”

Utterly shocked, I stare at her in silence for a long moment. I want to scold her for doing something so dangerous—if they’d gotten caught by morality officers, they would’ve likely been arrested and dragged to the brig—but I can’t quite scold her when her scandalous actions kept her safe from the Darrvasons. “Just kissing? You swear?”

“Just kissing.”

“And the deal is done? You won’t have to meet Frederick in an alcove again?” I start making plans to visit Frederick’s quarters and give him a piece of my mind, but my sister is quick to assure me that all is well.

“Chill out, would you?” She chuckles. “Yes, the deal is done. We won’t be meeting anymore, and no one else knows about it.”

Relief fills me, and I nod. “Okay, I will try to stay chill about this, but you must promise you’ll never do something so dangerous again. Not without coming to me first, okay?”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, okay, I promise.”

Just as we finish cleaning up the kitchen, Mom and Dad return, and we prepare an early dinner ourselves rather than go to the mess hall. After dinner, Mom accompanies me to Ned’s family’s quarters. We deliver the cookies and offer our condolences. Then we hurry back home, not wanting to be caught in the corridors after curfew.

Neither of my parents seems upset about Ned’s passing, though Mom put on a good show when we delivered the cookies, and I trust my father will do the same if he runs into any of Ned’s family members in the proceeding days.

Just as the four of us settle down to watch a movie, the doorbell rings. How strange. It’s after curfew. No one ought to be stopping by at this time of night.

We all exchange worried looks, and my father is quick to stand up. He walks to the entryway and calls out, “Who is it?” at the top of his lungs.

“Morality officers. Open up.”

My stomach flips. Morality officers.

Oh, God. Tasha . I think about the deal she made with Frederick, and judging by how pale she’s gone, I know she’s thinking about it too.

Dad slides the door open a crack. “What is this about?”

Five morality officers push into the entryway and shut the door behind them, nudging my father aside in the process. To my surprise, they’re all women. There aren’t many female morality or security officers on the Jansonna , as the current command structure is sexist as hell, so I find it unusual that five female morality officers would be working in the same contingent. I rise to my feet, and Tasha and Mom do the same.

“Just a minute!” Dad says. “You have no right to barge in here. We are all law-abiding citizens.”

A woman with short dark hair clears her throat. “Please keep your voice down, sir. It’s after curfew. Shouting, playing loud music, or causing a disturbance after curfew is a violation. If you give us trouble, we’ll take you into custody as well. But it’s not you we’re here for.” She glances between my sister and me. “Mandy Benton, please step forward.”

Me? I’m both relieved and surprised they call my name instead of Tasha’s, but I’m also scared as hell. No one wants a visit from morality officers.

Mom gasps and grabs my arm. “Sweetheart, do you know what this is about?” she asks in a hushed voice.

“No idea.” Well, maybe I have an idea, but it’s not a violation I thought would ever come back to haunt me. Like many young people aboard the Jansonna , I’ve visited illegal bars now and then, including Leona’s Speakeasy. Sure, that means I’ve snuck out after curfew on occasion and consumed alcohol illegally, but it’s been a few months since I’ve visited any bars. After one of the more recent rebel attacks, during which many patrons of Leona’s Speakeasy were implicated, I decided to reinvent myself as a squeaky-clean law-abiding citizen.

Shit. What if the authorities knew about my visits to the bars all this time? What if my engagement to Ned was the only thing keeping me safe? It’s certainly possible.

I step forward. “I’m Mandy Benton.”

Within seconds, all five morality officers have me surrounded, though it’s a relief to see they aren’t carrying blasters. Morality officers are usually dispatched to deal with suspected fornicators, unsanctioned pregnancies, individuals in possession of obscene or banned materials, and sometimes curfew breakers. Unlike security officers, they typically don’t carry blasters. Though I note the leader of the group has an electrified wand affixed to her belt. A painful weapon, or so I’ve heard, but not a deadly one.

“Mandy Benton. You must come with us.” Two of the women grasp my arms, though their hold isn’t very tight. I can’t be sure, but most of them appear uncertain. Apologetic. As though they don’t want to detain me but have no choice.

My curiosity over my supposed crimes increases as one of them quickly scans my palm to verify my identity. I want to ask what I’ve done, but I can’t find my voice. My father, on the other hand, has no difficulty peppering the morality officers with questions.

“ Why are you taking her?” Dad steps in front of the group, blocking our path. “What is my daughter being accused of? I demand answers. Please ,” he adds in a more polite tone. At least he’s no longer shouting, but I really hope he moves out of the way soon. I don’t want him taken into custody along with me.

“We aren’t at liberty to discuss the reason for your daughter’s detention, sir. Please step aside.” The leader fingers the wand at her hip, but thankfully, my father finally steps aside.

My mother’s quiet sobs break my heart. I hear Tasha trying to console her, but I don’t turn around to look. I can’t look. I can’t bear to see Mom’s worry, and guilt ravages me that my stupidity might’ve caused this. How many times did I visit the illegal bars over the years? Twenty? Thirty? Not very many, but apparently enough to gain the notice of the authorities. Or maybe somebody snitched and offered my name in hopes of receiving preferential treatment after their own arrest.

Am I being arrested?

I wait, expecting to hear the words, but they never come.

Maybe they just want to question me.

“Could I please change first?” I ask with a glance at my flannel pajamas. I’m also wearing thick fuzzy socks and bedroom slippers. I’m not outfitted in anything revealing, but I would feel better, less vulnerable, if I could change into real clothes before being tossed in the brig or taken to a judge for a hearing.

“Sorry, miss. There’s not enough time.”

“I’ll make sure you have legal representation,” Dad calls just as we reach the door. “Don’t say anything until I get a lawyer for you, Mandy. Keep your mouth shut, do you hear me?”

I don’t have the best relationship with my father, but his promise to get me legal representation is a comfort, and I’m touched that he’s trying to protect me.

“Please come this way, Miss Benton.” The morality officers escort me toward the nearest elevator.

My mouth goes dry. “Are you taking me to the brig?”

The officers exchange awkward looks, and again I think they appear apologetic.

“You’re not going to the brig,” the leader finally says. “Now, please, no more talking. It’s after curfew and we must try to remain quiet.”

The six of us board the elevator, and though I was just told I wasn’t headed for the brig, I still expect the elevator to descend to the depths of the worldship. I’m unable to suppress a gasp when the elevator goes up, all the way to Deck Twenty-One, a floor reserved exclusively for Founders and their descendants.

My trepidation mounts and I can’t help but tremble. I feel sick with worry.

What the hell is going on?