“Terra!” he called, grinning. “You came!”
Somewhere in the distance, acres and acres away in the center of the atrium’s fields, bells struck the hour. The sound reached us even here. Van breezed by us and up the staircase.
“Follow me,” he called.
The three men whispered among themselves as we trudged upward. There was something that felt dangerous about the way they all looked at one another—furtive, desperate, hungry, proud. My hands felt cold inside my lab coat pockets.
We made our way up and up and up the narrow steps. On the top floor a skinny walkway bordered the book-lined walls, shouldered by a once-polished railing that had gathered a fur of dust. The rafters hung low overhead. Koen had to bend his neck to make his way beneath them. At first all I could see was his back—dark corduroy over slumped shoulders—and the dim chasm of books and shelves below. But then we followed Van around a wide shelf of books and found ourselves on a balcony that looked out over the entire library.
A small crowd waited for us there, draped over leather-stuffed chairs and leaning their weight against the precarious railing. There weren’t many citizens on the balcony that night—fifteen, perhaps twenty. Fewer than had been in my class at school. But there were a few familiar faces among them.
Sitting at a study desk, his hands folded in front of him, was Rebbe Davison. He smiled at me, then, swiftly, as if embarrassed, looked away. And there, stooped on a footstool, was Mar Schneider, our old neighbor who was always digging in his yard out front. His ancient eyes hardly seemed to notice me in the library’s feeble light. I even spotted a few of our old classmates sitting wedged together on one of the overstuffed sofas. Deklan Levitt, the gruff fieldworker. And his intended, Laurel Selberlicht, pressed beside him. She’d been the best shuttle pilot in our class and was now training to ferry us to Zehava. And she caught my eye as I looked out across the balcony, lifted her hand, and waved.
Koen and I sat down beside each other on the dingy carpet. His grin was glinting and white.
“Meet the Children of Abel,” he said.
Van pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He stood before the railing, his broad hands folded in front of him. The balcony was filled with whispers, hissed words. Koen leaned toward me again, his voice low.
“We’re only a single cell of a greater movement,” he said. “No cell knows who the other members are, except for the librarian. Van acts as a go-between, passing messages among all of us. Jacobi trained him for the job.”
The memory of the guard’s words echoed through my mind.
The names! Give them to me!
“Does the Council know he’s been trained to do Jacobi’s work?” I asked, leaning forward. Koen gave his head a sharp shake.
“Of course not. How would they?”
I thought of the way the knife’s blade looked as it drew across Jacobi’s throat. Then I glanced at Van. The skin of his own neck was very white under his ruddy stubble. He looked confident as he stood with his back against the railing, gazing out at us. I wouldn’t have been so self-assured if I had information that the Council wanted.
The sound of Van’s voice brought my consciousness slamming back into my body.
“What news do we have since our last meeting?” he asked. A woman who stood near the stairs shouted out to him, eager to have her voice heard.
“I’ve heard word that the Council destroyed the probes!” she said. “They’re claiming they were lost, but there’s been no evidence.” There was a fevered rush of agreement. Van lifted up his hands for silence.
“Our leadership is well aware that the Council destroyed the first exploratory probes. We’re working on a contingency plan should Wolff and her cohort follow through with the destruction or suppression of a second set of probe results.”
A wave of grumbles worked its way through the balcony. After a moment it died down again. I saw Rebbe Davison raise his hand.
“How many times do I have to tell you that this isn’t school, Mordecai?”
Laughter rippled all around him. At last Rebbe Davison stood, chuckling at himself. He held a heavy book.
“I’ve been researching the history of the ship’s contracts. The powers currently held by the Council were not in the contract signed by the original passengers. They only specified the Council ruling from departure to landing. But that was changed in our grandparents’ generation. Perverted by Wolff’s predecessor, I presume.”
Hearing my teacher speak so cavalierly of our leaders gave me an unexpected thrill. Goose bumps shivered their way down my arms. He opened up the book to a marked page and began to read.
“ ‘Article 10.2, revision C. For the continued safety and assurances of the population of the Asherah, the captain’s powers shall extend from the time of departure through landing and settlement of Epsilon Eridani S/2179 D, colloquially known as “Zehava,” until he or she, in wisdom and with the full consent of the Council, deems it prudent to relinquish said powers. Upon relinquishment the Council shall establish a representative democracy in accordance with article 19.0 and the intentions of the original signers of this great contract.’ ”
“ ‘Deems it prudent,’ ” Van said as Rebbe Davison slammed the book shut. Then Van repeated his sour words, louder this time. They echoed under the rafters, against the walls of books. “ ‘Deems it prudent’! For how long will we live like children because the Council says they know what’s best for us?”
All around me the men and women nodded, murmured words of assent. Mar Schneider even pumped his wrinkled old hand through the air. I felt something alien. My chest flooded with a wave of excitement. For the first time in my life, I wanted to nod, shout, pump my fist too.
“They picked our jobs for us! They choose where we live. And if we drag our feet too much, they’ll even choose who we love.”
“Yeah,” Koen said. I studied his features. His broad mouth was open, the corners lifted in breathless excitement.
Liberty on Earth . . . The words rattled around my brain. I could feel them against my tongue like some sort of honey treat.
For the very first time I understood what they truly meant.
“It’s even up to them if we live in the dome or walk free on Zehava,” I said, but too low. At first I didn’t think that anyone heard me over the jumble of agitated conversation. But Van’s sharp ears practically pricked up at the sound of my voice. He turned toward me.
“Terra Fineberg,” he said, smiling slyly. “What did you say?”
I felt my face flush. But I wasn’t afraid of Van. I lifted my chin, looking squarely at him. “Mara Stone told me that if the Council decides we can’t live on Zehava, then they’ll pilot the dome to the surface and we’ll continue to live inside it.”
There was a sudden frenzy of dismayed conversation.
“That can’t be!” cried Mar Schneider. Beside me, Koen’s mouth fell open in disbelief. But from the sofa in the corner, Laurel spoke up.
“It’s true,” she said. “They’ve given each of the pilots a course in dome flight. It’s the only possible answer. Why else would they destroy the probe results?”
Van stared. His lips were set firmly, taking it all in. “This is the first I’ve heard of it,” he said. He sounded as if he couldn’t quite believe that this news had passed him by. He beckoned us toward him. “Terra, Laurel, please come speak to me.” Then he looked out to the rest of the crowd.
“That’s all for tonight, folks.” He touched two fingers to his heart. “Liberty on Earth.”
A chorus of voices lifted toward him. I was surprised to find my own voice joining in. “Liberty on Zehava!”