Free Stardawn by Phoebe North

39th Day of Spring, 22 Years Till Landing
    Benjamin,
    You don’t believe that I saw? I was on a tree on the dome’s main deck. One of those maples out by the granary storage. It has branches that are laid out almost like a ladder, wide spokes that are easy to climb. I found it years ago, when Eitan turned sixteen and things got bad between him and Tateh. I couldn’t stand it in our quarters, like the walls were suddenly much too close for the four of us. Anyway, even though Eitan’s gone now, off to a home of his own, I still go out to my tree when the nights are long and lonely, tuck myself in against the rough trunk, close my eyes, and let myself drift. Out in space, the stars are always sparkling, always moving. I can imagine how our ship might look as it streaks through the night sky, a capsule of silver and glass, a bright speck in a world of darkness. The future feels big, then, and full of possibility. And I don’t feel nearly so small.
    But it’s hard to relax when the sound of boys fighting pulls you from your rest. It was Tuesday, but then, you know that—don’t you? You were the one who smacked your fists into his middle over and over again as your friends pinned back his arms. It’s a wonder the captain’s guards didn’t see you. From my place in the maple tree’s heart, I could see them—winding down the pasture paths, idle, chatting. They didn’t see what I did, the way Mazdin winced as you pummeled him.
    Maybe I should have called out to them, as I scrambled down from the tree, waving my arms like a madwoman. But I didn’t want to get you in trouble, Benny. I remember who you used to be, when we were young and our families still friendly. You were always so shy when we saw you for festival days, your head in a book. It didn’t matter that you were more than two years older than me—your brown skin still turned almost purple when I teased you. Tateh said you had a kind heart; Eitan snorted at that, like you should have been ashamed of it. But when you recited the festival benedictions, your black eyes went sharp. I always knew that there was an intelligence behind your shy smile.
    So I think you might know better. Beating up a younger boy! And you, a man—nearly nineteen! There’s nothing he could have done to deserve that. You should be ashamed, Benny, truly ashamed. What happened to the boy who used to feed Laika table scraps? That boy is gone, I guess. But if you think I’m happy about that, you’ve got another think coming.
    Alyana

41st Day of Spring, 22 Years Till Landing
    Benjamin,
    I saw you today, out by the granaries on the port side of the ship. At first I wasn’t sure it was you. It could have been any educator, with that flash of white on your shoulder, dressed all in black as you wound your way around the pines. But then I saw the strange, slumped set of your shoulders—the way you tucked a curl behind your ear as you stopped at every tree to crane your head up. Searching, searching.
    Were you looking for me? If you wanted to talk, you could have just written me back. Look, I’m sorry I got angry about Mazdin. I’m sorry if my letter was unkind. Momme says that I have her temper. I don’t know if that’s true. When she and Tateh fight—which isn’t often—she always ends up throwing something. A fistful of dried pasta. A chair. Her precious tools, which Eitan and I were never even allowed to touch when we were little. Tateh usually just looks surprised, his eyebrows knitting up until they nearly meet. But after, Momme always holds her face in her hands, ashamed.
    “I keep saying I’m not going to do that anymore,” she’ll say, groaning into her palms, and then Tateh laughs at her.
    I’m not like that. I’ve never thrown a vase—never even slammed a door. But I do lose track of my own tongue sometimes. My pen, too, I guess. They get away from me, swept up in a tide of emotion. The things that I’ve called Momme! Embarrassing. But she understands.
    So I hope