There Once Were Stars Read online

  I have an overwhelming need to see what will happen to the Outsider. I know it’s human nature to be nosy, but have a deeper need to know what happens to him; ultimately I need to know if he was real. For some reason, seeing him inside the dome walls will be proof he exists.

  A crowd has already formed around the entrance doors, most likely drawn when the Order rushed outside. It’s common to see Order members go outside, on daily excursions to monitor the perimeter. You never know when an infected could show up. At least that’s what we’ve always been told. That, and without protective suits, no one can survive on the outside.

  “Nat,” a familiar voice yells.

  It’s Grandmother.

  “I thought you were spending this morning with your friends.” She states more than asks. Then her voice drops to a whisper, “Did I see you come out of the Outer Forest?”

  “I know,” I stammer, caught red-handed. I must not have been as careful as I thought. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re an adult now,” she warns, her eyes narrowing. “Try acting like one. Someone else could have seen you.”

  Someone else did, Grandmother, I want to say. If I told her who, she’d never believe me. She’d call me foolish and silly. Or worse, she’d believe me and report me herself so I would get sent back to the Learning Institute. Not the part the practical education side, either. The other side, from where sometimes screams could be heard while we sat in classes. No—there are things I may want to say to her, but it’s time I learned to choose my words carefully. The irony is, she’d be proud of this adult decision.

  The lights above the entrance doors to the dome began to blink. Those at the front of the crowd push back in an attempt to avoid any exposure to the outside air. Everyone knows what we’ve been taught. The outside is dangerous.

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Grandmother says, moving with the crowd as they push past us.

  I stretch up on my toes, trying to see. Order members enter the dome to the decontamination area. Each member removes his or her helmet as they stand between the two entrances, one to the outside, and one to the dome. Scans run across their bodies, looking for any indication of radiation. Their shiny, white uniforms reflect the red beams. Suddenly the green lights turn on, and the doors to the inside of the dome slide open. How could he be from the outside and not be contaminated?

  The racket of the crowd hushes as the Outsider steps inside. He looks around, smiling at everyone, nodding and saying hello, but no one answers. I push ahead of the others to get a better look, but no one budges, so I give up and push through the back of the crowd, while eager residents move forward. I escape the crowd and run down the street, trying to find a place I can push through to get a closer look. Others see me and catch on; soon I’m running ahead of a new crowd.

  We follow the Order past the Apartment District, through the main shopping areas, all the way to the Axis where the crowds have grown as thick as they were at the entrance. Here, the Director and the Delegates keep office as the elected heads of state for this dome and its people—the city of Dome 1618.

  As the Outsider disappears into the Axis, people break out into many different discussions. I choose not to participate; I’m more interested in listening to what everyone has to say. Mom always told me, you can get more truths from observing than simply drawing conclusions.

  “He must be part of the rebels.” I recognize Missus Sharp from the bakery near our apartment talking with a small group of her aged counterparts. “They sneak out, you know. Through some secret passage under the Axis.”

  “Shush, Muriel.” Missus Marx, from the clothing shop across the street, whispers. “You can’t keep the peace with talks like that. Everyone will think you’re crazy, and before you know it, someone will have to put posters of your face around town.”

  “No one can go outside the domes,” Grandmother speaks up. “They’d be killed by radiation.”

  The ladies are silent. They know not to challenge Grandmother, who lost both sons to the outside radiation. I, however, do not have the full respect and tact that they do, and forget my recent decision to watch my words.

  “Then how did he survive on the outside?” I ask.

  Both Missus Sharp and Missus Marx drop their jaws at the same time, but lean in close to hear Grandmother’s response.

  “He obviously has on protective gear of some sort,” she says, flaring her nostrils as she narrows her eyes in my direction. “This is probably a test run; why else would they allow so many innocent people to be exposed?”

  “Perhaps they are going to open the Expedition program again,” Missus Sharp says, her eyes lighting up.

  “That’s enough,” Grandmother hisses. “Talk like that will get you reported as a rebel.”

  Grandmother’s words are more threatening than they are warning. Poor Missus Sharp’s cheeks flush until her ears turn red, before she scurries off after Missus Marx who has already disappeared into the crowd.

  I look up at an electronic banner hanging on the side of the Axis. It shows a smiling picture of the Director sitting at a table with the Delegates. Below them, written on the table are the words: Peace. Love. Order. Dome. The ridiculous propaganda popped up after our current Director was elected ten years ago, and to my mother’s surprise, it performed as it was intended to. The telescreens spread the word and soon people repeated it everywhere in the dome and my mother would grumble about it in the privacy of our apartment.

  The dome was never meant to be a permanent residence for its inhabitants. Mom said that was why long ago a Director created a science team for expeditions to test soil and find viable living alternatives outside the dome. Both my parents were selected as expedition scientists, the most sought after position in the Axis. It was truly an honor for them. But sometimes reaching for the best comes with a price. It was radiation outside that killed my parents while they were out on expedition. That same radiation keeps us locked up to this day.

  The giant clock on the front of the Axis reads three o’clock. Oh, no! My shift starts in thirty minutes, and I still need to change, get signed in, and report to my station. I run home and root through my dresser, trying to find the maintenance worker garb I was given my last day at the Learning Institute. Finally, the beige button-up shirt and black pants appear, right where I left them, pressed and ready.

  As I change, I realize something is missing and I feel my chest. My locket! My head spins, as my skin tingles, and a cold sweat breaks across my brow. In all the excitement this morning I must have dropped it. But if someone finds it there, I would have no way to deny I broke the rules. Grandmother would be furious, and I would receive a warning, if I’m lucky.

  There’s no time for me to go back for it; I can’t be late for work. Three lates lead to a warning. I’ll have to slip out tonight to find it. Even if Grandmother forbids me to return to the clearing, when I tell her about the locket she’ll have to let me. She knows the ramifications of my actions as well as I do.

  I make it back to the Axis in time to start my first job. As I pass through the front doors I can’t help but think of the Outsider again. Where did they take him and will I ever see him again?

  CHAPTER 3

  The inside of the Axis is crisp, with sleek lines and a simple layout, lacking the wear and tear of the buildings outside. Its cold resemblance to the Learning Institute gives me pause, except here telescreens line the walls from floor to ceiling, displaying the spinning logo of the Director’s motto: Three horizontal lines on top of one another, surrounded by an oval. Peace. Love. Order. Dome.

  This is the only place in the dome where technology is allowed and used, aside from the screens on the streets. There are other government buildings like the Learning Institute and the Hall of Records that have access to computers, but they’re used sparingly. In the Axis, technology is in abundance. It’s the central nervous system that keeps the dome operational.

  The one thing missing is the presence
of blue-collar workers; they’re apparent in every other area of the dome, since they reside in the apartment districts, shop in the business districts, and even work behind the Axis in the agricultural district. Inside the Axis, even the secretary at the front desk is refined, with her clean, pressed suit and perfectly placed hair. I suddenly feel self-conscious in my maintenance uniform. Where are the other cleaners?

  “Name,” she commands, as I approach her desk.

  “Natalia Greyes.” My voice echoes off the walls.

  “Smile for the camera.”

  Before I can react, a flash blinds my eyes, leaving spots where the secretary once stood. I blink until she comes back into view.

  “Approved,” the secretary says, pushing a button. A small ID card with my name and picture spits out of a slot facing me on the backside of her desk. “Take the elevator to Basement Level 1. The head of Maintenance is expecting you.”

  I stand in front of the elevators, watching my hand shake as I press the down button. I’ve seen pictures of elevators on computers, but have never actually ridden in one. Ding. The doors slide apart, and I walk into the rectangular box, where a long line of numbers light up along the opposite wall: 100 all the way down to B2. If the lobby is that spectacular, what did the higher floors look like? I reluctantly press B1.

  B1 is lit by long fluorescent lights beaming from the ceiling, shining on the long narrow hall that leads me to the head of Maintenance—a short, curly-haired, round woman. She must be close to seventy, which means she’s nearing the end of her time of being beneficial to the dome. On her seventieth birthday she will say goodbye to the dome, and participate in the Last Banquet, a monthly event where the Director invites those at the end of their time to a ceremony to celebrate their life. Jak, my friend with a passion for politics, has preached on the importance as to why this ceremony was created in the last decade along with other population controls, like reproduction limits, to help sustain the life of those in the dome.

  “Okay.” The woman offers a warm smile that makes me feel comfortable right away. “I am Mrs. Watson. And you are … ” she pauses as I hand over my ID card. “Natalia Greyes?” I nod in agreement. “Like the scientists Greyes?” Her eyes bulge. I’ve seen that look before.

  “Yes,” I murmur. Everyone knows who my parents were; their project was imperative to our survival. Had they succeeded, there would have been no laws on life expectancy or reproduction and people would be living free, outside.

  “A shame about what happened,” Mrs. Watson says, shaking her head. I can’t do anything but nod. “Anyway, our job here is not complicated, but it is timed. Keep on top of things, and you’ll be fine. I am giving you floors two, three, and four.”

  “The Director’s office?” I ask, surprised. In all the one hundred upper floors of the Axis, every kid learns the Director’s office is located on the second floor. Who wouldn’t want to know where the most powerful person in the dome worked?

  “No, not the Director’s office,” she says, her face hardening. “I handle that personally. But the Delegate’s offices and other rooms on those floors are fine to enter.”

  I take my assigned cart and ride the elevator up to Floor 4, where I meet up with three other workers. They’re focused on the monotonous work of polishing, washing, and sweeping; there’s no time for chitchat. One of the workers points to the office across from her, so I park my cart in front of the door labelled Minister of Agriculture, and mimic her actions, wiping the glass on the wall. It is tedious work.

  “No, no.” A dark-haired woman on my team tsks at me as she looks over my shoulder. “You need to polish in a circular motion.” She grabs the rag from my hand and starts to vigorously wipe the glass. I watch her intently, the others not fazed by the interruption.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as she hands the rag back to me.

  She doesn’t reply. This job wasn’t my first pick. It’s going to be a long two weeks until my next assignment.

  My coworker continuously corrects my work, hovering over my shoulder like Grandmother would. Every sharp-tongued direction makes me wince, but I keep my mouth shut as we move down to Floor 3, which is a large boardroom. By the time we finish there, she nods in approval, labelling me the window washer, and finally returns to her own cart.

  Floor 2 is similar to Floor 4, in that the hallways are lined with offices. I make my way toward the end of the hall, focusing on office door windows. As I reach the end of the corridor, I pause in front of the one door I’m not allowed to enter. Director is etched in gold across its glass. No one told me not to clean the outside of the office.

  I spray the glass and reach up to polish it with my cloth, but as I press against the window, the door opens. I freeze. Did I do that? No, the last person to use it must have been careless. I reach out to click the door shut, but voices come from the office, and a chill sends goosebumps down my arms when I hear the words “—clearing in the Outer Forest.”

  “We need to send a Horticultural team in tonight, sir,” a man’s voice comes through the opening. “My team reports that the Outsider was looking at something in the dome. Apparently, there’s a clearing there.”

  “What do we care about a clearing, Samson?” the Director’s voice demands. I recognize it from the announcements that come across the monitors throughout each day.

  “Well, for one,” the man whom the Director called Samson speaks up again, “in the clearing there is an old rotting tree.” The Director grunts in disapproval and Samson’s voice speeds up. “It was obviously overlooked during cleanup because it is at the outermost ring and faces the exterior of the dome.”

  “I don’t like excuses, Samson,” the Director grumbles. “We need all the space we have for healthy trees, to ensure oxygen levels stay premium. An oversight by Horticultural is a detriment to all. What else is there?”

  “There’s evidence someone has been in the clearing, sir.”

  My heart slams against my ribs, and a searing pain rips across my chest. Grandmother’s warnings flash through my head like a flashback on fast forward.

  “Someone was in the Outer Forest? Betker, your department’s job is to uphold the law. Are you telling me someone has been sneaking around the Outer Forest and you had no idea?”

  Another voice speaks up, dry with an edge of irritation. “Apparently so, sir,” Betker replies.

  “Does the Outsider know this person?” the Director asks.

  “He is not talking yet,” Betker says, regaining confidence in his voice. “But my men have their ways. We’ll get information out of him.”

  “I don’t like it. Someone hiding in the Outer Forest, and then a stranger found on the outside. It smells awfully like conspiracy to me. Why else would an Outsider risk coming so close to the dome? It’s those damn rebels, I know it!”

  “He had nothing on him to identify where he came from, sir,” Betker says.

  “He is secured, correct?”

  “Yes,” Betker says. “Locked up tight on B2.”

  “Below the generator!” the Director cries out.

  “It’s not a concern, sir. He only carried a few personal things on him: a photo, a key, and some food. We, of course, confiscated the food.”

  “I decide what’s of concern around here.” I jump as a fist bangs on the desk inside. “I want him moved. Get him off B2 and up to the higher floors where he can be monitored better. Let’s find out what he’s up to and who his contacts are.”

  “Yes, sir, right away.”

  “I want this situation rectified,” the Director demands. “And find me the person who was in the Outer Forest.”

  I grab my bucket and move to another window. A tall man with red hair exits the Director’s office, pausing when he notices the door was not closed. I keep my focus on the glass in front of me and hold my breath until he proceeds past me, making his way down the hallway to the elevator.

  The Director and the other gentleman never appear, and soon my gr
oup finishes Floor 2. I can’t wait to get out of this building and back to the clearing. I have to beat the Order and destroy any evidence of my being there.

  When we get to B1, the carts are parked and the others hustle out of the office as quickly as they can. I hold back to ask Mrs. Watson one question that is eating at me.

  “What else is down here?” I recall Samson mentioning the Outsider was on B2.

  “What do you mean?”

  “In the elevator I saw buttons for B1, and B2,” I explain. “I never thought about what was underneath the Axis before. I’m curious. They didn’t teach us about that at the Learning Institute.”

  “No,” Mrs. Watson agrees. “It definitely would not be discussed there. You see, sometimes we pretend terrible things don’t exist. ”

  My eyes widen at her vague reference. She notices and corrects herself. “Ah, don’t mind me, Natalia. I’m an old woman spouting off random thoughts. You, too, may be the same way when you are nearing the end of your usefulness in the dome. What was it you asked? Oh yes, under the Axis. Well, on B1 is us of course. The other side of this hallway is the generator. It’s what keeps the Axis powered. Without that, everything shuts down, the computers, the banners, even the air purification system.”

  “And what about B2?” I ask.

  “I’m not aware of a B2,” she states uncomfortably.

  I laugh a little. “There’s a button for it in the elevator.”

  “Of course there is, but listen to me, Natalia,” she says in a hushed voice. “You do not want to know about B2. You do not want to visit B2. And you certainly do not ever talk about B2. Understand me? Unspeakable sounds come from down there, horrible things that would haunt your innocent, young, dreams. Just forget about it and pretend it doesn’t exist.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, moving toward the door. Panic swells in my chest, sending a painful shudder across my skin.

  “Good night, Natalia,” she calls out after me.