\nONE\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen I clocked into my execution shift this afternoon, I was thinking about how happy I was.\n<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019d had a fantastic morning. Woke up to a double ration of scrambled eggs seasoned with real planet-grown moon pepper, a reward for six months of exceptional service. Ran into Neve and Simon at breakfast and let them each take a few bites, making them promise in return that they\u2019d score me some real coffee the next time they went down from orbit. Then we spent a few leisurely hours together, playing cards. When I got to my desk at one, there was a note from Darius tucked beneath my lunch rations, thanking me for covering his last morning shift when he was hungover, inviting me to the ship\u2019s bar tonight so he could buy me a drink.\n<\/p>\n
\nThree days before my twenty-fifth birthday, I was feeling like I\u2019d finally found a life I loved.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe shift started easily enough. I double-checked all my entries from yesterday for spelling errors and translation mistakes. There were three entries: one propagandist from Planet Eight and two revolutionary soldiers from Planet Two.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe Planet Two revolutionaries, Erit and Tirit, were the most interesting. They\u2019d chosen to use their time with me to justify their actions. They explained how their land had changed since the Silver Empire\u2019s companies had come to grow cash crops there: with the forests of their childhood cleared, the rivers had flooded their banks and changed course, the rich soil had thinned to dust and eroded away, the rains had grown infrequent until drought choked their village last winter and claimed a dozen lives. Reading the testimonies over now, I still shivered at the visceral images they\u2019d evoked. What an addition to the archives.\n<\/p>\n
\nWith everything proofread, I encrypted the files and sent them to storage. I wrote up a little report recommending that imperial companies on Planet Two investigate their farming practices for possible areas of improvement. Then I sat back and gazed out my office\u2019s little window, where Planet Nineteen was visible below us.\n<\/p>\n
\nI like Planet Nineteen. It\u2019s a small planet, temperate, not over-industrialized, and the Moonbeam has been orbiting it for nearly a year now without any large-scale conflict. That\u2019s a long time for a military enforcement ship. But who\u2019s going to trouble us here? All the Silver Empire wants from Planet Nineteen is access to their mountain springs, where we\u2019ve discovered some volatile bacteria that turns water into highly combustible jet fuel when heated. And all they want are some basic assurances about trade rights. It hasn\u2019t been hard keeping the few malcontents in line.\n<\/p>\n
\nSo I was surprised when I checked my updated list of the condemned and saw someone from Planet Nineteen had been added. Usually other ships bring prisoners to us from far away. This was our first home-grown rebel.\n<\/p>\n
\nI checked the condemned\u2019s file. Stranger and stranger; it was a ninety-six-year-old woman. X377 was her designation. She\u2019d been labeled no danger of violence, so what had she done to warrant execution?\n<\/p>\n
\nNaturally I was thrilled when I received her request to speak with me. I approved it right away. The door to the tunnel that led from the brig slid open, awaiting her arrival.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen she appeared, she was even smaller than I\u2019d expected. A bent woman beneath a grubby blue robe, face swathed in wrinkles. She stumbled on her last step into the room, and I stood to catch her arm before she fell. I steadied her, shocked at how light she was.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe looked up at me. Her eyes were clear and dark as the sky. Her teeth gleamed when she smiled. \u201cThank you, dear.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe spoke the Planet Nineteen common language, Tseren, so I followed suit. \u201cWould you like some food? Water?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThank you.\u201d Her smile widened. \u201cMy, you wear our tongue well.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt\u2019s my job.\u201d I pressed a button and a glass of water appeared, then a soft bread roll. She took the bread, but didn\u2019t touch the water.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAthara.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI reached for a pen and paper. I always record my interviews longhand; it feels less clinical that way. \u201cWell, Athara, you can talk to me about anything here. You can make any confessions, share any regrets, or give justifications for your actions. Everything you say is faithfully recorded, but nothing can be used as evidence against you or anyone else. The records won\u2019t be released for seventy-five years. So, this is your chance to share your story with future generations.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe swallowed the last bite of bread, dark eyes glowing. \u201cI haven\u2019t come to share anything with future generations.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI raised my eyebrows.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019ve come to deliver a prophecy.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI almost dropped my pen with excitement. I\u2019d heard there were old religious orders in the mountains of Planet Nineteen that claimed to see the future, but they were secretive, and I hardly ever went planetside anyway; I\u2019d never thought I would get a chance to meet one.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019re a prophetess?\u201d I breathed. \u201cA real one?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe nodded, and suddenly it all made sense. No danger of violence, because the danger that religious orders posed to the Silver Empire didn\u2019t come from violence. It came from words. From what they could cause the rest of their planets to believe.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGo on,\u201d I said eagerly. \u201cWhat\u2019s your prophecy for the archives?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNot for the archives, Tyren. For you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThat\u2019s when my skin prickled and turned cold. When my pen, which had felt hot in my fingers, itching to write, seemed to freeze over the paper. I stared at her, openmouthed; I couldn\u2019t bring myself to ask how she knew my name.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe drew closer, still with the same smile on her face. My mind wandered back to the button on my touchpad, which I was supposed to press if a prisoner got rowdy. It would re-magnetize their cuffs, forcing them together and restraining the prisoner until enforcement arrived. Part of the excellence of my six months of service had been that I\u2019d never needed to use it; I always managed to calm and placate the condemned in my care. But now, though Athara was calm, her steps slow, I felt the urge to press it and stop her coming any closer. I might have, if I wasn\u2019t frozen.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI have come,\u201d Athara said, \u201cto tell you how you will die.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nGoosebumps rose on my arms, crept up my neck, prickled over my scalp.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI was condemned because I foresaw the Silver Empire crumbling,\u201d she said. \u201cI saw the fate of eventual ruin befalling every other member of this starship. But you, Tyren, are destined for a different death.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe took another step toward me, and suddenly despite her stature, with her standing and me sitting, it felt like she was towering over me.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou will die with molten silver poured into your eyes,\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n
\nI can\u2019t even begin to explain my reaction. Thinking back on it now, surely she was playing some kind of mind game with me. Trying to frighten me with the same death she\u2019ll be facing in two days. How do I even really know she\u2019s a prophetess? Do I even believe in prophecies? But at that moment, my eyes locked on hers, I swear I felt dread seep straight down to my marrow. I swear my heart started frantically thumping, expanding through my chest and up my throat, like it was fighting to unfreeze my blood.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt will be a slow death,\u201d she said. \u201cOf course, you\u2019ll go blind first. Then the silver will melt your skin and fuse with it. If any runs down your throat, it may choke you before you burn to death.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cStop,\u201d I whispered. I was picturing it.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBut otherwise it\u2019s likely the steam that will kill you. Though you know all this already, I suppose; you\u2019re probably quite familiar with the procedure.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo,\u201d I said, a little louder. \u201cStop it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m almost finished.\u201d She leaned toward me. I leaned away, hand fumbling backward for the button that would restrain her.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m warning you,\u201d I said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou, Tyren of Zyrr, will die laughing.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nMy hand hovered over the button. My breath was coming fast and shallow. Athara stood perfectly still.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d I said.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe stepped back. \u201cMy prophecy is delivered. If you would be so kind as to return me to my cell.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThere was a moment where I wanted to question her further. To ignore the last of my professional ethics, to not accept her request for dismissal, to turn this interview into an interrogation. I was desperate for her to tell me more. Silver in my eyes, skin burning, laughing. The picture made no sense. And I still had no idea how she knew my name or where I was from. She hadn\u2019t even said Planet Five; she\u2019d said Zyrr, and how did an old religious recluse from this backwater planet know Planet Five\u2019s geography?\n<\/p>\n
\nBut I got hold of myself. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter in my chair. \u201cWell\u2026 thank you, Athara. Like I said, your final testimony will be faithfully recorded.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m sure it will.\u201d She smiled her widest smile yet. \u201cI\u2019m sure.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe door back to the brig slid open. She turned and stepped onto it, sure-footed this time. I stared after her as she made her slow, careful way down the passage.\n<\/p>\n
\n<\/p>\n
\nSo. How could I go back to my good mood after that?\n<\/p>\n
\nI typed up a sparing report, translating Athara\u2019s words from Tseren to Solar Common. I tried not to dwell on the question of whether recording a prophecy of me being executed as a traitor was a bad idea; no one\u2019s supposed to read these archives except the ones who encrypt them. Not that someone with sufficient authority would be refused if they went snooping around, but why should they? And why should it matter anyway? Everyone knows I\u2019m a loyal servant to the Silver Empire.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe rest of my shift passed by without any visits. Those uneventful hours are usually serene, a time to watch the stars spin by outside my window and daydream, but today the hours crept by like slugs. I would have killed for a distraction. Instead, I couldn\u2019t take my mind off Athara\u2019s face.\n<\/p>\n
\nDinner was soup with synthetic beef, another of my favorites, and I could barely taste it. I downed it too fast, burning my tongue. Neve and Simon joined me, chatting about their afternoon going planetside; I couldn\u2019t keep my attention on what they said. By the time I reached the bar to join Darius for that drink, the world felt wrongly shaped, out of tune.\n<\/p>\n
\nDarius was already seated at the smooth gray bar surface when I arrived, guarding the stool beside him from the influx of off-shift ship workers, and his face lit up when he saw me. Darius is a round-faced, round-bellied guy whose uniform is always a little rumpled. Just looking at him is enough to get most people to like him. As I hurried over to claim the stool, I tried to shake off my discomfort and focus on him.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTyren, man, how are you?\u201d he said, slapping me on the back. \u201cI already ordered us the special. Chocolate mint beer.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHey, Darius.\u201d I grabbed a handful of crackers from a bowl in the center of the bar. They tasted like glue.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow was the shift?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOh, crazy as usual. What\u2019d you do today?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWent down to the climate simulator. And, man, I found a couple of rats down there. Big fat Planet Nineteen rats, nibbling on the flowers. We\u2019ve been orbiting this place for too long.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHey, don\u2019t say that,\u201d I said. \u201cI like Planet Nineteen.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDon\u2019t get me wrong, they\u2019re a fascinating culture, plenty to study,\u201d he said, taking our beers from the bartender and passing mine to me. \u201cAnd it\u2019s nice to have a quiet place to do our work. But this ship\u2019s going to go native if we stay here another year.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cLike you wouldn\u2019t be going planetside every day if the captain would approve your research project.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat\u2019s work!\u201d He held up his hands.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYeah, and you like their lemon bread.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWell, sure, but \u2013\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAnd the coffee, and the spices, and the silk\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m not made of stone!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI laughed and lifted my beer; we toasted.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe drink went down smooth and blurred the edges of the world. I watched Darius talk about Planet Nineteen rats and cakes and culture and I thought again about how lucky I was, to have coworkers I liked this much, people to drink and laugh with at the end of a well-paid work day, muscles not screaming, eyes not leaden with exhaustion.\n<\/p>\n
\nI thought about my teenage years doing grunt work on the silver mines of Planet Five. Three billion miles from that system\u2019s sun, clad in a cheap, flimsy temp suit that only kept you warm if you never stopped shivering, not daring to stand still for more than five seconds over a fourteen-hour shift for fear of losing fingers and toes. Living for two hundred and fifty milliliters of thin oatmeal at dawn and dusk. And now here I was, living like this. I had so much to be grateful for.\n<\/p>\n
\nBut the thought didn\u2019t sink in. I drained the rest of my beer too quickly.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWant another one?\u201d asked Darius. \u201cIt was good, right?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSure, yeah.\u201d I didn\u2019t remember what it tasted like.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSo, what are you up to tonight?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI considered it. \u201cWant to do a round of combat training? If I lose I\u2019ll buy you back these drinks.\u201d Darius and I don\u2019t really need combat training, being the Moonbeam\u2019s resident academics, but training is practically a social activity here.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cLove to, man,\u201d said Darius, \u201cbut I have to work at nine.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI took my second chocolate-mint beer from the bartender. \u201cHmm. Isn\u2019t there a holo-show down on the lower levels tonight? Maybe I\u2019ll go to that.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat show closed a week ago.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d I blinked. \u201cHow did I miss it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. What were you doing last week?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI couldn\u2019t remember. I took a long gulp of the beer, trying to quell an inexplicable rising panic. My heart was thundering in my throat again, like it had before with Athara. Was I supposed to have seen that show? No, but I\u2019d vaguely wanted to, had made a mental note to get to it before it closed. What had I been doing every evening instead? Just getting drinks and going to bed?\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThey\u2019ll have another holo-show up within six months,\u201d said Darius, shrugging. \u201cIf you want to see it, let\u2019s make a plan with Neve and Simon.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSure,\u201d I said, rubbing the back of my neck, pressing hard on the first vertebra of my spine to try and calm myself down. \u201cSure.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou all right?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI stared down at the bar and took a deep breath. \u201cYeah, yeah. I\u2019m fine.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nIt felt like only minutes later that the eight fifty-five shift-change bell sounded, and Darius had to go.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nI went down to the combat training room myself for a little while. I was the only one there, a spot of light in the cavernous dark training room. I got a personal record with the stun blaster; I cheered, but the cheer sounded hollow in the emptiness. For a moment, with the sound still echoing off the back walls, I imagined how I might look to someone outside the Moonbeam, how depressing I\u2019d seem practicing combat alone in the dark.\n<\/p>\n
\nI don\u2019t know why I\u2019m talking like this. Writing it all down, I sound insane. How did Athara manage to screw with my head this badly? Today should have been a great day. It was a great day. I got a personal record in combat training, I saw my friends, I got those moon-pepper eggs as a reward for excellent service. And I made a never-before-seen addition to the archives. A real live prophecy from Planet Nineteen. And I\u2019m looking ahead to eight or nine hours of sleep, if I want it.\n<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019m happy.\n<\/p>\n
\nTWO\n<\/p>\n
\nI had the nightmare last night. I haven\u2019t had it in years, but I should have known it would come back after yesterday. Shit, I forgot how it sends my whole body into fight-or-flight, even when I\u2019m awake, even when I\u2019ve spent hours repeating to myself it\u2019s not real.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen I took my first job for the Silver Empire on Planet Five, I learned about the traitor\u2019s punishment right away. And almost immediately after I learned, I started having a recurring nightmare, twice or three times a week, of it happening to me. I couldn\u2019t believe how lifelike the dream was; I would wake up still feeling the ropes around my wrists, tightening as I thrashed back and forth, and the squealing, skin-dissolving burn of the silver in my eye sockets, turning my eyes to runny white yolks dribbling down blackened cheeks, and the steam choking out my ability to scream, to breathe, so my lungs burned for air even as I prayed to die.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen I started moving up the ranks on Planet Five, when I started to get glowing reviews from my supervisors, the dream receded. During my years studying history and archival science on Planet One, I got a voucher to see a therapist, who gave me advice on how to manage it. She explained I was experiencing a disorder called displaced empathy, my mind trying ill-advisedly to empathize with the Silver Empire\u2019s enemies. The cure was as simple as doing daily reality checks, reminding myself that I was a friend to the empire, that the traitor\u2019s punishment had nothing to do with me. It worked; by the time I started this job, I could face five to six people sentenced to silver execution in a single shift without batting an eye.\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd it was a relief to know the disorder had a name. Before, I used to wake up from each dream worried it had a darker significance, worried I was having subversive thoughts. I told my therapist about that, and she cautioned me never to let my mind go down that road. I\u2019m a loyal servant to the empire, and I can be sure of that.\n<\/p>\n
\nBut last night the dream came back. I woke at three in the morning, sweat burning on my neck. I wanted to throw open a window and gulp in the freezing air of Planet Five, but I couldn\u2019t, of course. I pressed the button to open my bedroom window onto the climate simulator \u2013 quite the privilege, that window \u2013 but it just sent a mild breeze in. I lay flat on my back and tried to calm my racing heart with the therapist\u2019s grounding exercises.\n<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019m safe, I thought. I\u2019m safe. The Silver Empire is my home.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt didn\u2019t work as well as it usually does.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nAt my next shift, I got two new testimonies. The first was stone-faced, spitting his last confession at me despite all my attempts to ingratiate myself and get him talking. The second, though, I could tell would be the worst kind the minute I opened the door for him.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe flung himself to his knees immediately. His eyes were bloodshot, his face white.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cPlease,\u201d he said, \u201cplease, you\u2019re the only one they\u2019ll let me talk to. I\u2019m innocent.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI wrote his appearance down slowly on my notepad. Reluctantly, I noted down the accent with which he spoke Solar Common, which marked him inescapably as Zyrri. But I didn\u2019t dredge up my mother tongue to reply; he\u2019d begun the conversation in Solar Common, so I\u2019d continue it. \u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cFinn, sir, I\u2019m Finn.\u201d He rose and scrambled toward me, then knelt again by the foot of my chair. \u201cWill you listen? I\u2019m no threat to the empire, I swear. I was only trying to protect my friend. I didn\u2019t know he was smuggling imperial goods. I would never put the Silver Empire at risk.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2026\u201d I wrung my fingers together, hesitating to write down what he said. \u201cYou know I\u2019m just an archivist, right? What you tell me, it doesn\u2019t go anywhere. It doesn\u2019t change your sentence.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe looked up at me, face twisted, uncomprehending.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt\u2019s for historians,\u201d I said helplessly.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBut\u2026 but you can talk to the captain, can\u2019t you?\u201d He held his arms out to me, pleading. \u201cYou can tell him what I said.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat\u2019s not\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019ll do whatever work you want. I\u2019ll go back to Planet Five and work in the mines for the rest of my life. Put me on half-rations, I don\u2019t care, just not the silver, please, please!\u201d He lurched forward and grabbed the hem of my pants. His hands were shaking badly. He hiccupped as if smothering tears.\n<\/p>\n
\nMy stomach churned again. I didn\u2019t remember what I\u2019d eaten for lunch, but suddenly I felt like I\u2019d eaten far too much; it felt dangerous to open my mouth. Displaced empathy was rearing its head again.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cListen,\u201d I said desperately. \u201cDon\u2019t \u2013 don\u2019t come any closer.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe stilled. His eyes rose slowly, a growing, frightening look of recognition in them. Too late, I realized I\u2019d let my own accent slip through. His mouth formed around a Zyrri phrase. \u201cMy brother, you can\u2019t let them \u2013\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGet off!\u201d I kicked him. I\u2019d never gotten physical with a prisoner before, not ever. He stumbled back, and I managed to mash the button that snapped his cuffs together. He cried out and tried to wrench them apart. I put my face in my hands.\n<\/p>\n
\nWithin sixty seconds, two guards had emerged from the tunnel and dragged him backward, struggling, sobbing.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe door shut and left me in silence.\n<\/p>\n
\nI held my head in my hands for a long time. I was trying to calm my rioting thoughts, to banish the image of his panicked expression. It was nothing I hadn\u2019t seen before. Usually I kept calm, usually I could talk them down, usually I didn\u2019t remember their faces at all once they\u2019d left. But his eyes wouldn\u2019t leave me any more than Athara\u2019s eyes.\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd then the eyes of those others, the dozens I\u2019d watched plead with me for their lives over the past six months, came back to me one after another. Perfectly preserved; a nightmare parade. All those eyes filled with molten silver. Then, finally, my own.\n<\/p>\n
\nI spun around in my chair and vomited.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe captain\u2019s voice came in over the intercom. \u201cTyren, are you there?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI hauled myself up, trembling, and pressed the button. My voice was weak. \u201cHey, boss.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI noticed you use the restraint button. What happened? Are you all right?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2026\u201d I shook myself. I tried to dredge up the words I\u2019m fine. But then, unexpectedly, nausea rose up in me again, and I had to lean away from the intercom to be sick.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIs that you?\u201d The captain sounded shocked.\n<\/p>\n
\nI made an inarticulate affirmative noise.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI think you\u2019d better take the rest of the day off. I\u2019ll call Darius to cover your shift.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI didn\u2019t have the strength to argue. One of the ship nurses came and ushered me out, took me to a sick bay and gave me a fizzy drink for my stomach. Another little luxury. Back in the mines on Planet Five, if you were too sick to finish a shift, you had to go back to your bunk and sleep it off without dinner.\n<\/p>\n
\nBut I felt the nausea passing the second I was out of that room. Half an hour later I was discharged from the sick bay, and I found myself facing a free afternoon.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe reality checks hadn\u2019t worked, but my therapist had recommended plenty of other treatments too. I took a trip down to the climate simulator.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe climate simulator is like nowhere I\u2019ve ever really lived. A warm garden with a perpetual soft breeze, an idyllic blue sky dotted with pure-white clouds, a smooth carpet of grass, bunches of flowers in every color imaginable. It feels like a taste of paradise. I lay there basking in synthetic sunlight, which felt warm and real on my skin, and I tried to think soothing thoughts.\n<\/p>\n
\nI thought about my mother. The soft, coal-scented folds of her skirt, where I used to warm myself late in the evenings when I was little. Her hand smoothing back the hair from my forehead, melting away clusters of snowflakes. Her arms around my waist, holding me up to the window to watch the sun rise over the tundra.\n<\/p>\n
\nI tried to imagine her saying you\u2019re safe, Tyren, I won\u2019t let anything hurt you. But the more I pictured her, the more the memory of her death loomed over everything else. The way her cheeks had hollowed, her skin sagged, her lips turned gray. How she refused to eat by the end. She always said the fish in the lake didn\u2019t taste the same since the mines had sprung up on the other side.\n<\/p>\n
\nMy therapist told me never to think about that. She said it would lead to self-blame, but I knew it might lead somewhere else, too, to the blind resentment I\u2019d felt at fourteen, to the fury that had almost driven me out of my mind, that had almost made me try to\n<\/p>\n
\nI shouldn\u2019t even write that down.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe climate simulator wasn\u2019t working. I thought about going to the gym for some exercise, but I didn\u2019t feel motivated enough; I paced fast through the ship\u2019s halls instead. It pushed my heart rate higher, but it was still more soothing than sitting still.\n<\/p>\n
\nI visited the training room, then the cavernous empty space where they\u2019d put on the holo-show until last week, and finally the cafeteria. Neve and Simon were there playing cards.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHey, Tyren!\u201d Simon called. \u201cYou\u2019re not at work today?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNah,\u201d I said, standing in the doorway.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWell, want to come planetside with us? We just got our latest assignment. Some religious fanatics are spreading the word about that prophetess we took aboard.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIf we get rid of them quick, we can stop by a marketplace before we come back,\u201d said Neve. \u201cGet some of that coffee you wanted.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI stared at them for too long. They looked back at me, waiting. I thought about accompanying them, like I had dozens of times before, and staying inside the transport while they dealt with the fanatics. They\u2019d shoot some and leave the rest bloody and beaten, thoroughly warned. Then we could ride together to a marketplace for coffee.\n<\/p>\n
\nSuddenly the nightmare vision returned, and their faces were looming over me, lit in shifting orange as though by flame, grinning maniacal grins.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNah,\u201d I said, and raced away.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nThere was only one place I was positive I shouldn\u2019t go to make myself feel better. So, naturally, it was where I ended up.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cCaptain,\u201d I said through the intercom. I stood over the desk in my office, Darius seated beside me.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTyren?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cListen, I need to talk to prisoner X377 again.\u201d I searched my mind for a good reason. \u201cI\u2026 when I encrypted her testimony this morning, I already wasn\u2019t feeling well. I just realized there are some pretty big gaps in the translation. We spoke in Tseren, you know, Planet Nineteen\u2019s language, so I had to translate.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAll right.\u201d The captain sounded bemused, like he always did when I brought up something academic, but he wasn\u2019t suspicious. \u201cI\u2019m giving you access to her cell now. It\u2019s cell 12.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe door to the brig slid open. I stared down it, and goosebumps rose on my arms again.\n<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019d never been down the prisoners\u2019 corridor before. It was cramped and smelled acidic. My shoes made no noise on the floor; the whole place dampened sound. I took quick, purposeful steps. The ceiling seemed to lean down close to me, like it was watching my progress. The temperature increased by degrees the farther along I went. Somewhere ahead of me, silver was being boiled even now. I shuddered and clutched my arms around myself. By the time I reached cell 12, a windowless bunker-like room, I was fighting to keep my breathing steady.\n<\/p>\n
\nAthara lay on a foam pallet on the floor, eyes serenely shut. She looked far more relaxed than I\u2019d felt in the climate simulator.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGet up,\u201d I snapped.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe opened her eyes. Still smiling, she replied in flawless Solar Common. \u201cSo, we\u2019ve abandoned civility, have we?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou did something to me yesterday.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOh, really?\u201d She sat up and rested her chin on one hand.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDon\u2019t play games with me. I can make your last days alive a lot more miserable than they already are.\u201d I hardly knew what I was saying. I didn\u2019t even know if it was true; I\u2019d never even thought to wonder if I had the authority to hurt prisoners. That wasn\u2019t supposed to be my job.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTyren of Zyrr, from one traitor to another, let\u2019s not waste each other\u2019s time,\u201d Athara said.\n<\/p>\n
\nMy fists clenched. \u201cI am not a traitor!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNow, now, there\u2019s no need to get defensive.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhy are you doing this? What has the empire ever done to you, anyway? We treat Planet Nineteen well. We\u2019ve given you modern technology. All we want is the bacteria in your mountain springs, which you don\u2019t even use \u2013\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWho says we don\u2019t use them?\u201d said Athara. \u201cThose springs are sacred.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nIf I\u2019d been in my right mind I would have asked what she meant. It sounded like an opportunity to learn more about the religious beliefs of Planet Nineteen. But I wasn\u2019t thinking of the archives or the history books; I was shaking with fear. \u201cSo what? Planet Five had sacred places, before the mines. The religions survived without them. Yours will, too.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t doubt it.\u201d Her teeth gleamed.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2026 you should be a lot more afraid of me.\u201d I tried to put some of the authority of the Silver Empire into my tone.\n<\/p>\n
\nHer tone was mild. \u201cBut you aren\u2019t going to hurt me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cReally?\u201d I folded my arms. \u201cYou can predict that, now, too?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes.\u201d She stood, leaning against the wall for balance; her eyes never left my face. \u201cYou\u2019re going to try to help me escape.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI laughed. It sounded brittle and forced. My fingers dug into the skin of my arms. \u201cYou\u2019re crazy.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have to do it before noon tomorrow,\u201d she said. \u201cThat\u2019s when I face the silver.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI stared at her. She stared right back, utterly calm, unshakable. Then, with nightmare vision, I saw her tied to the machine, knees cemented to the ground, arms spread, head tipped back as though in prayer, the white-hot silver steaming as it poured into her eyes. And her glowing with some terrifying inner light.\n<\/p>\n
\nI forced myself back, around, toward the door.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019ll be waiting,\u201d Athara called after me.\n<\/p>\n
\nThat word, waiting, followed me down the corridor. It followed me through the ship, echoing off every surface. I didn\u2019t stop hearing it at dinner, when Neve and Simon and Darius and I all sat together, Neve and Simon sharing out the delicacies they\u2019d picked up from a Planet Nineteen market, Darius gushing about Planet Nineteen\u2019s pastry-making methods, which were the most intricate he\u2019d ever seen. My head ached by evening; Darius invited me for a round of combat training, but I declined. I came straight back to bed.\n<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019m afraid to fall asleep. I know what I\u2019ll dream about. Shit, I need to go back to that therapist, I need to figure out what\u2019s wrong with me. When I was a teenager I would have killed for this much sleep, this many friends, this much ease; why can\u2019t I enjoy it? Why the hell can\u2019t I just be happy?\n<\/p>\n
\nTHREE\n<\/p>\n
\nIt\u2019s ten in the morning; today\u2019s the day Athara will die. At three, when I woke up in a burning sweat again, I finally thought of something to calm me down. So I spent the morning down in archival storage.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt\u2019s the most beautiful place on the ship. Massive towering shelves, temperature-controlled and softly lit, housing over twenty million distinct hard drives. Each drive contains the equivalent of a ten-volume encyclopedia, on topics ranging from the Silver Empire\u2019s military history to culinary practices on Planet Twelve. Technology changes fast, but these files are built to last for centuries.\n<\/p>\n
\nI found the Planet Nineteen section, which has been growing the fastest. I found a file marked Prophets and pulled it out. When I gave my credentials, it pulled up two holographic image windows and a wall of text, explaining everything we knew about the planet\u2019s elusive mountain religion.\n<\/p>\n
\nI spent hours down there, sitting in an armchair with the hard drive on my lap, reading. I learned how, when the Silver Empire first made contact with Planet Nineteen, its inhabitants said their prophets had foretold the arrival of men from the sky. When the imperial scouts asked if they could meet these prophets, they\u2019d been rebuffed; apparently, no one should go to the prophets uninvited. They had to wait for the prophets to come to them.\n<\/p>\n
\nSome explorers tried to forge their own way up the mountains. The journey was harrowing, beset with winds and snow and false trails, but eventually they found a set of caves that were watered by springs and lit by luminous bacteria. That was the bacteria they\u2019d later learn was good for combustible jet fuel. They stayed there for a few days before deciding to retrace their steps. They journeyed back down, staying a few nights in a village. Then, one morning, they woke to the news that a prophet had arrived; an old man, bent, clad in a blue robe. He went straight up to the scouts, laid his hands on their shoulders, and informed them that the water they\u2019d drunk from the mountain springs would sicken and kill them. It did, not even twenty-four hours later.\n<\/p>\n
\nI learned that prophets on Planet Nineteen often came down from the mountains to predict trouble. Athara herself was mentioned a couple of times; she predicted a bad harvest one year and warned a dozen villages to save up their grain, then, during a year of plenty, she warned them about a parasite they\u2019d need to guard against. Among some village elders, she was considered a kind of harvest spirit, providing guidance against starvation.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe was a kind woman, I learned. She made toys for children out of acorns and sticks. She accepted invitations into people\u2019s homes and at their tables. No one could have foreseen this gentle soul would one day descend the mountain foretelling a bloody revolt.\n<\/p>\n
\nReading through all of it, I remembered why I do this work. If not for the historians of the Silver Empire, how could a library like this exist? How could such a massive collection of knowledge, spanning nineteen planets and seven solar systems, reaching centuries into the past and maybe thousands of years into the future, ever have been compiled?\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd these libraries help the planets. Like how I heard Erit and Tirit\u2019s stories from Planet Two and recommended an investigation into the farming there. Athara\u2019s prophecies, dangerous as they are, can be helpful too in this form. They can remind the Silver Empire to be open-minded and concerned with their people\u2019s welfare. To not overlook the rich history and culture of a planet like Planet Nineteen, just because they\u2019re small and easily conquered.\n<\/p>\n
\nIn fact, Athara is a compelling enough character that I\u2019m thinking about writing a biography of her. It has all the bestseller potential a budding young academic could wish for. The setting, a brand-new planet most people in the empire have never seen; the subject, a mysterious religious order that claims to see the future; the protagonist, a kindly, eccentric, courageous old woman who dies at the end. I\u2019d have to anonymize everything to keep from compromising the secrecy of her final testimony, but that\u2019s easy. This kind of project could really help make the empire a better place, more compassionate, more understanding.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt could help me, too, if it takes off. It could set me on a path to acclaim and fortune. And isn\u2019t that worth celebrating too? That a nobody like me from the bare tundras of Planet Five has come this far, and might become the author of an interplanetary bestseller? The power of the Silver Empire makes that kind of thing possible.\n<\/p>\n
\nSo, sure, the empire destroys. It levels forests, it poisons lakes, sometimes it kills kind and gentle people. But you have to weigh that against all the good it does. You can\u2019t just blindly hate it. You can\u2019t try to fight it either; anyway, you\u2019d never win against it in a million years. But if you embrace it, if you let it change you, you have the chance to\n<\/p>\n
\nFuck\u2019s sake, I sound so stupid.\n<\/p>\n
\nFOUR\n<\/p>\n
\nI went to go get her out.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt was forty-five minutes before the scheduled time of her execution. It should have been harder to get in there. But the captain didn\u2019t suspect a thing; I spouted off more crap about testimony I needed from her, and he gave me clearance right away. I strode down the hall, sweating bullets, sure I could feel the heat of the silver from where I stood.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen I flung open the door, Athara was already on her feet.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cShall we go?\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n
\nI grabbed her wrists and tapped out a combination on her cuffs. They fell away; her wrinkled skin was red beneath them.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cCome on,\u201d I gasped.\n<\/p>\n
\nOn the other side of the brig from my office were the more unsightly rooms, the rooms where interrogations took place, where people like Neve and Simon did their dirtiest work. As we hurried past, I caught glimpses through thick windows: rooms with floors covered in frost, blood laced stark and red through it. In one, I saw someone slumped in the corner, head hanging so low it looked detached from the rest of him. No way of telling if he was dead or alive.\n<\/p>\n
\nHow many prisoners came to me after having been in those rooms? Were they cleaned up and fed just to look more presentable for me? I\u2019ve never let myself think about that before. Then again, maybe I wouldn\u2019t have noticed blood in their hair or around their eyes, if they told me an interesting enough story.\n<\/p>\n
\nLosing Athara\u2019s cuffs bought us a little time without detection. We made it to the end of the corridor without being stopped. But when we reached the door that would lead to the rest of the ship, when I tapped in my credentials and then pulled Athara through, our luck ran out.\n<\/p>\n
\nHer left foot had hardly touched the ground on the other side when an alarm started to blare. Red lights flickered above us.\n<\/p>\n
\nI grabbed her wrist. \u201cThey\u2019re coming!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nAthara pulled away. \u201cNo need to drag me, dear, I can walk.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nAn intercom located just beyond the door crackled to life. The captain\u2019s voice came through, confused. \u201cTyren? What are you doing with X377?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMore translation work,\u201d I said, and dashed away, Athara on my heels.\n<\/p>\n
\nWe ran through empty halls until we reached the exit wing. I knew the route to the exit pods from my times going planetside with Neve and Simon. The system of clearances had always been a mindless chore; typing in my credentials at one lock, a second, then a third. Sometimes if I hadn\u2019t been cleared to go, I just snuck in behind Neve, and if an alarm sounded, she disabled it. Now, when I was met with the first locked door, my credentials didn\u2019t go through, and I was faced with unforgiving steel.\n<\/p>\n
\nAnother intercom came alive. The captain\u2019s voice again, this time tight, somewhere between anger and panic. \u201cTyren, I\u2019m sorry, but you need to explain yourself before I let you go anywhere.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cLook,\u201d I said desperately. \u201cWe don\u2019t need to kill this prisoner. She\u2019s just an old woman.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019re not really trying to help her escape?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSuddenly, Darius\u2019s voice came over the intercom too. He spoke slowly, like he was trying to calm down someone waving a gun around. \u201cTyren, man, what are you doing this for?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDarius,\u201d I said, \u201cyou\u2019re an academic, too, right? Isn\u2019t it our job to have open minds? Athara\u2019s gift for seeing the future is real. Why should we kill her just for predicting something we don\u2019t want to hear?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cListen, Tyren, I think this is the displaced empathy talking. We can get you some help, okay, just \u2013\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nBut I was done listening. Sweat dripped down my forehead, into my eyes, and the dream was coming back to me; my heart was beating hard again, and it made me reckless. I braced myself and swung my elbow hard into the intercom machine. It crunched, sparked, then went dead.\n<\/p>\n
\nI turned back to the door, racked my brains, and started entering Simon\u2019s credentials. I\u2019d seen him type in the alphanumeric code a hundred times.\n<\/p>\n
\nRunning footsteps sounded behind me. I punched in the final number, and the first lock slid open, but I\u2019d no sooner shoved Athara through it than a second alarm started blaring, louder, outlining the doorway in red.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTyren!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI turned. Neve and Simon were charging toward me, blasters out and pointed.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHand us the prisoner,\u201d Neve said.\n<\/p>\n
\nNeve was completely transformed from the friendly, smiling off-duty soldier I\u2019d had dinner with last night. Her voice and eyes were cold as stone. I stood in the doorway, stopping the doors from sliding shut behind Athara; I spread my arms, thoughts racing, trying to come up with something to say.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGuys,\u201d I said. \u201cListen. I\u2019m your friend.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHand her over,\u201d said Simon.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cShe\u2019s not a threat, all right? And neither am I. You know me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI said to hand her over.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI looked from him to Neve and back again. Not a single crack in their coldness. I tried to think of something to say that would remind them of our friendship, of the fact that, just yesterday, they\u2019d been inviting me to blow off my duties and go planetside with them. But the only pleas that occurred to me were superficial. What had the three of us ever done together, besides play cards and talk about food? I didn\u2019t even know what planets Neve and Simon were from. I didn\u2019t know what had driven them to work for the empire.\n<\/p>\n
\nAll I really knew was that they\u2019d been trained to respond to anything subversive with violence. I\u2019d known that, and let them do it, the whole time we\u2019d been friends.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIf you won\u2019t hand her over,\u201d said Neve, \u201cone of us is going to shoot.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe was serious. Her blaster was pointed right at my chest.\n<\/p>\n
\nFor a moment I thought we were finished. I was seconds from lowering my hands and stepping aside.\n<\/p>\n
\nBut then it returned to me again, stronger than ever, the vision of the nightmare I\u2019d had since I was a teenager. The dream that I\u2019d been told indicated disordered thinking. And Athara\u2019s prediction, which must have affected me, really, because it had brought back into focus what I\u2019d always known; because it had caused my whole carefully built facade to crumble.\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd I knew that getting shot wasn\u2019t how I was going to die.\n<\/p>\n
\nMy raging heartbeat started back up like a drum. I lunged at Simon, tackled him to the floor. Neve\u2019s blaster went off. Pain slashed through the side of my head, but it wasn\u2019t a direct hit. Simon\u2019s head crashed against the ground. I drove a knee into his gut, heard him wheeze, then slammed my fist into his temple; he slumped.\n<\/p>\n
\nNeve\u2019s hands were on me in an instant. Her arm wrapped around my throat, pulling me back away from Simon. The world went fuzzy, like I\u2019d had too many chocolate mint beers; wetness dripped down the back of my right ear. I struggled, thrashed.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIf you\u2019re not a friend to the Silver Empire,\u201d Neve hissed, \u201cthen you\u2019re not my friend.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI shouted numbers and letters, hoping I sounded pain-addled, praying she wouldn\u2019t look behind her. Spots of black and red crowded to the left and right of my vision. I elbowed Neve in the stomach, but weakly; she didn\u2019t even flinch.\n<\/p>\n
\nThere was the sound of a locked door opening. Neve swung around; Athara was striding toward the final door.\n<\/p>\n
\nNeve released me and leveled her gun at Athara. I flung myself at her again, and her shot went wild; the blaster clattered to the ground. Athara reached the door and started tapping in the same number without hesitation. My knees buckled. The ship spun around me like a drunken top. But the blaster resolved itself right below me, inches from my hands; I snatched it up and spun, taking a wild shot back at Neve.\n<\/p>\n
\nPersonal best in combat training. The blast went into her hip. She stumbled, collapsed backward. Then I was flat on my back, and all I could see was the bright metal ceiling, still spinning, spinning, spinning.\n<\/p>\n
\nSeconds or minutes might have passed before I felt soft hands on my shoulders.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cCome on,\u201d said Athara.\n<\/p>\n
\nI craned my neck until I could see her face. She was steady, calm, urging me upward.\n<\/p>\n
\nMy tongue felt too thick for my mouth. \u201cYou\u2026 you have to go. More are coming.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m taking you,\u201d she said, and pulled me to my knees, then, shakily, my feet.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo,\u201d I tried to object. \u201cNo.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nBut the whole world was too far away to fight, like I was staring through a telescope at the happenings on a distant planet\u2019s surface. She pulled me down the hall, past one opened door and another and a third, ignoring the screaming alarms.\n<\/p>\n
\nRunning footsteps sounded from behind.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAthara,\u201d I pleaded.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHush, dear. I\u2019ve lived a long life. I\u2019ve already seen how it ends.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThen we were in the pod bay. Athara\u2019s hands were uncompromising as she pushed me into the nearest escape pod. She punched the button to start it up, and it oriented itself toward the release doors.\n<\/p>\n
\nFive more guards appeared in the blazing red doorway.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAthara!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGo to the mountains,\u201d she said. Her smile was back, warmer than I\u2019d ever seen it. \u201cThe prophets can teach you how to drink from the springs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAt the right dose, the bacteria lets us see the future.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nAs always, I wanted to ask her more \u2013 I had the sense she\u2019d just told me something monumentally important, something I hadn\u2019t understood, something that changed everything \u2013 but I didn\u2019t get the chance. She snapped the pod\u2019s door shut and backed away from me. Three of the guards advanced toward her with blasters raised; the other two sprinted forward to grab her by either arm.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe didn\u2019t try to fight. Between them, she looked impossibly frail. A ninety-six-year-old woman without potential for violence.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe pod started humming, and the seat shook beneath me. It lifted off the ground and began to slide forward. But I didn\u2019t look where it was taking me; my head was turned back, watching Athara be dragged away.\n<\/p>\n
\nSomehow, despite the growing roar of my pod, despite the rushing in my ears that warned me I was seconds from losing consciousness, I heard, as well as saw, the final image of Athara before the doors shut.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe was laughing. Teeth still gleaming in the red light like her mouth was full of blood. The sound of that laugh was as huge and deadly as an avalanche.\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd then at last I understood, so clearly and so instantaneously it was like remembering. It was like sliding back into the dream, feeling the same agony, the same death, but finally knowing what it meant. Finally hearing, over the squeal of molten metal on skin, the sound of my own laughter answering back.\n<\/p>\n
\nMy pod was ejected out into space, on a velocity to take it to Planet Nineteen\u2019s surface. Through the thick slitted windows I saw the night sky racing by outside; the green dot of Planet Nineteen expanded in front of me, swelling out into great rolling plains, cornfields, lakes, majestic mountains. Behind, the Moonbeam receded. I turned my head to watch it grow smaller.\n<\/p>\n
\nJust when the clock on my dashboard said twelve o\u2019 clock, the second the boiling silver would have made contact with Athara\u2019s skin, and just before darkness crowded out my vision entirely, I saw the explosions start.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nI started writing this so I could try to control what was happening to me. But I\u2019m finishing it now so you can read it.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen I woke up on the planet\u2019s surface, the sun was setting and the inferno of the Moonbeam was just visible above the horizon. It looked so small from here, like a comet, a celestial indicator of good or bad fortune here below. I spent all of today trekking toward the mountains.\n<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019m staying the night in a village in the foothills. The people here have been good to me; they appreciate someone who speaks Tseren well. I told them my story, but they still cautioned me against going into the mountains alone. They said the prophets are probably already looking for me anyway. So I\u2019ll wait for them.\n<\/p>\n
\nAs far as I know, I\u2019m the only survivor of the Moonbeam. That bacteria water is combustible, all right. I wonder how long it takes, living in these mountains, to grow strong enough that you can drink from the sacred springs. I wonder how long it takes for it to be running so thick in your blood that exposure to intense heat will turn you into a weapon deadlier than a starship. Maybe it\u2019ll be years, decades even. Maybe I\u2019ll only be ready for my own death when I\u2019ve lived to be as old as Athara.\n<\/p>\n
\nHow will I spend my time in the interim? Living in caves, eking out a meager living from the mountain, shivering through icy storms and fending off animal attacks, maybe. Or maybe the prophets have a thriving city up there and I\u2019ll live better than ever, eggs and pepper and coffee every morning, no longer at the mercy of my captain\u2019s good moods. Either way, I\u2019ll stay with them. I\u2019ll learn the ways of Planet Nineteen, and I\u2019ll call it Tsere, like it was called before the Silver Empire came. I\u2019ll help the people of the villages with their crops and illnesses. I\u2019ll make toys for children. I\u2019ll tell them stories about a faraway planet covered with snow, a planet I\u2019ve never before allowed myself to mourn.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen another starship appears from the Silver Empire, ready to build a new world by turning the old one into stories, I\u2019ll encourage the people to resist. I\u2019ll recall Athara\u2019s prophecy, that the whole massive apparatus of the empire will one day crumble, and I\u2019ll tell them that we can be the generation to bring that future about.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen they capture me and I face the silver, the empire will offer me the chance to give a final testimony, perfectly recorded and sealed away, released after seventy-five years. But I won\u2019t tell them anything. This story here, this is my testimony, and I\u2019m not sealing it away. I\u2019m going to find a way to broadcast it to the whole universe. Not a biography, but a battlecry. I am Tyren of Zyrr, and I\u2019ve been a fool and a traitor and a heartless hypocrite. I saw the horrors the Silver Empire visited on eighteen other planets and let myself believe it didn\u2019t matter. But as the universe is my witness, I won\u2019t let that number become nineteen. This planet will be the beginning of the Empire\u2019s end.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt\u2019s my twenty-fifth birthday today. Today my real life is beginning.\n<\/p>\n
Phoebe Barr is a library worker and environmental organizer writing from Boston, MA. Her writing has appeared on Terrain.org and in magazined Prompted and Ethereal Nightmares. <\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
ONE When I clocked into my execution shift this afternoon, I was thinking about how happy I was. I\u2019d had a fantastic morning. Woke up to a double ration of scrambled eggs seasoned with real planet-grown moon pepper, a reward for six months of exceptional service. Ran into Neve and Simon at breakfast and let …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":108131,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20191],"tags":[20193],"class_list":["post-140863","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-55-spring-2025","tag-the-colored-lens-55-spring-2025","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140863","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/108131"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=140863"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140863\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":140864,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140863\/revisions\/140864"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=140863"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=140863"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=140863"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}