The Seas of Distant Stars. Francesca G. Varela
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Against the distant hump of the neighboring island, the swimmer dissolved. First he was there, a bare speck against the churning Waters, and then he was gone. The screams dissipated into muttering. Waves sloppily crested over the rocky shores. They sounded brittle, shattering ceaselessly.
“He’s out of the sight line now,” Leera said. “May the Gods watch him carefully.”
No one said anything back, they just swallowed, or adjusted themselves slightly, or shifted their weight, so Leera continued. “This is the worst part. That place between the islands. No one can see him from that side, and no one can see him from this side, so no one would know if he sunk. He would be completely alone, just slipping down into the belly of the Waters. Completely alone—”
“Oh Leera,” Grandmother Surla said. “No Deeyan has drowned in here for more than three-hundred years.”
“I know, but you just never know when it might happen again.”
“Really, Leera? Swimmers twice a year or so, and you’re still not over this nervous habit?” Uncle Sonlo raised his thin, black eyebrows.
“It’s because she saw her friend almost drown,” Grandmother Surla said. “At the Water Festival, many, many years ago. Roslg Boea. She was practicing for the rite of passage, and she lost her strength halfway through. Thank the all-watching Gods it was only a practice swim. There was a boat not too far from her. They saved her.”
“Why was she practicing at the Water Festival anyway?” Uncle Sonlo laughed.
“So no one would be paying attention,” Leera said.
“With all those boats in the Waters?” Uncle Sonlo shook his head. “Wait, so, what happened, though? Why didn’t she make it?”
“She was just a weak girl. Weak-bodied,” Grandmother Surla said. “Almost as weak as the aliens.”
“Surla.” Leera’s wide eyes fastened to her mother’s strict face. “Most people say ‘exchangers’ these days. You know that.” She glanced down at Agapanthus.
“Why are they ‘exchangers’ if we don’t send anyone over there? What’s the exchange?” Sonlo asked.
“We get their children, and they get honored on the Water Planet when they go back,” Pittick said. “We get them, they get respect.”
After listening to the adults for so long, Agapanthus had the sudden urge to jump into the crooked shoreline of the Waters. Not to test herself; just to swim; just to enjoy the cool brush of the breeze against her wet cheeks. Despite her tiredness, she seriously considered throwing off her clothes into a homely, dusty pile, and bowing gracefully—as gracefully as she could—into the blackness.
“I say we go ahead and eat,” Akinan said loudly. “It’s going to be a while.” He walked off into the crowd.
“I won’t argue with that,” Uncle Sonlo said.
“I’m going to stay and watch.” Leera clasped her hands in front of her stomach. “Aga, go tell Tayzaya and Imari it’s time for the meal.”
Agapanthus stared at her foster-mother, who watched her with unblinking fierceness. Leera really was beautiful; wide-statured, with wide cheeks and a high forehead and thin features. She seemed more skin than anything. Leera was like the edge of a cliff—red, solid, but ready to crumble.
Another wave of exhaustion came over Agapanthus. It felt like she had been asked to rise from the dead. To journey down the hill, into the quavering, warm-moist conglomeration of bodies, to fetch Great-Aunt Tayzaya and Aunt Imari, then to leap wide strides back to the cafeteria? Just getting to the cafeteria sounded impossible.
“But—” Agapanthus began.
“It’s okay, I’ll go,” Pittick said quickly. He lifted Agapanthus by the underarms, bringing her to her feet. His hands felt dry, scratchy from work. Agapanthus laughed.
“Go on with Surla.” Pittick stepped away. “Go on, get a head start. We’ll catch up.”
“Oh yes, you’ll catch up no problem,” Grandmother Surla said. She exhaled, and her eyelids clamped down roughly. They began walking. “You know, Agapanthus, I used to be fast, and strong. I was a good swimmer. I could hold my breath until I reached the bottom of the Waters. Not the deep water, but the shallows. Now look at me. I’m no faster than an alien.” She shook with muted laughter. “Sorry—‘exchanger’.”
The cafeteria was one of the few buildings on the island without the two-winged design. Instead, it was a large rectangle borne of the usual black stone. One room to butcher and prepare the food, and an open hall with skin-draped floors. Half the island sat there at the prescribed daily meal time. The room smelled like food already; metallic, blood-like.
Grandmother Surla and Agapanthus lined up at one of the two doorways where the preparers handed out stone bowls. The lines already stretched the length of the room, even though much of the crowd remained near the Waters.
In front of them stood a girl whose eyes were very far apart. Agapanthus often saw her running in the higher cliffs with some of the other children. They had spoken once, at one of the festivals—the Marriage Festival? Or was it the Water Festival? It was so long ago, Agapanthus could barely remember. The girl had come up to her, asked her something about why Agapanthus looked different. Agapanthus couldn’t remember what she’d said back. Had she pointed out the other exchangers in the crowd? Had she shuffled away without answering? Every festival and meeting and mealtime since then, Agapanthus had avoided this girl. What was her name, again? She reminded Agapanthus of one of the herded inner-island creatures, whose black-mirror eyes sat very far back on their heads.
“Looks like there’s not much, today, huh?” the girl turned and whispered hoarsely. Her smile revealed two missing teeth on both sides of her mouth.
“I can’t really tell from back here,” Agapanthus said. She glanced back at the entrance to look for Pittick and the others.
“The bowls are basically empty!” the girl said. She patted her thick mound of a stomach.
Agapanthus nodded, smiling gently. She didn’t know what to say.
“You hate me, don’t you?” the girl asked in a dull, flat tone.
“What?”
“We don’t run into each other that much, and it’s not like the island’s that big. You hide from me.”
“No. I just don’t look for you. I don’t even know you.” Agapanthus swallowed. “What was your name, again?”
“Geleria Serenop. You’re Agapanthus Caracynth.”
“How did you know that?”
“I have a better memory than you.” She held her flabby chin higher. Her red skin shone ashily under the lights. “But it’s not your fault. All Deeyans have better memories than your kind.”
Agapanthus held her breath. She nodded, her eyes to the floor. The smell of food, of heaps of raw animal flesh in the doorway beyond, disintegrating into the floor—blobby, flopping, dead—it made her suddenly uneasy. She licked her lips again and tilted her head to the side. She knew she had to say something back.
“Well at least I’m not fat.” Agpanthus paused as Geleria’s mouth tightened into a pinched circle. Yes. That was the right thing to say. “How did you get so chubby if we’re all eating the same amount? You must have something wrong with you to be so different from everyone else. Look around, who else is fat?”
Geleria glanced hurriedly across the room; at the seated figures, those waiting in line, the servers. Most people were squat, wide, and hefty, but toned. And the other children were usually thinnest of all.
“It’s still better than being a scrawny alien,” Geleria said. “A scrawny experiment-subject. I’d rather be dead than be one of you.”
“You