You’re sure you don’t know who it was? Rondo types, and I glance down as surreptitiously as possible to respond. Dr. Espada is lecturing, but he’s unexpectedly called on a few people and I don’t want to be caught unaware.
You keep asking me that, I write. I couldn’t see him well enough.
We talk about the spotted man, but we haven’t talked about Rondo touching my face. I’ve started a message at least three times broaching the subject: What were you going to say to me in the commune? But the moonlight had been a thing that wrapped that part of the night in secrecy. Speaking of it now seems to be breaking some unspoken pact.
“English, what do you think?” Dr. Espada asks. At the sound of my name I jerk my head up from my slate.
“Sir?” I say.
He pauses by the three-dimensional projection that is floating at the front of class. He gives me a quizzical look, unused to not having an immediate answer from me. But rather than asking me again, he continues with the lecture. Embarrassment flares in my cheeks, and I close the text box from Rondo. Stars. I can’t catch a break.
“Learning what we can from animals on Faloiv about how they are able to eat on this planet is extremely important for our continued survival, and not just for identifying plants for our diet. Knowing how different plants interact with different animals’ digestive systems can teach us how we can in turn interact with those animals.”
“Interact,” Jaquot says in that annoying brazen voice. Every time I think he’s not that bad, I hear him speak and detest him all over again. “We don’t really need to interact with them to use them, right? We just need to control their abilities. Not have a conversation.”
Dr. Espada looks uncomfortable.
“Well, there are those on the Council who would agree, yes,” he says.
“The only ones who matter,” says a guy in the back. Probably Julian, Dr. Maver’s son, the only other person in the Greenhouse who has a parent on the Council. I know for a fact that Maver voted for Dr. Albatur—my mother had some choice words about him behind closed doors. Dr. Espada ignores him and continues.
“By knowing where an organism fits in its ecosystem and what tools it uses to survive, we do have the option of simply . . . controlling that organism. But that should not be the ultimate goal.”
“What should it be, then?” Yaya’s voice rings out from the back of the Greenhouse. I almost turn to look at her—she usually saves her questions for after class so she can have a one-on-one with Dr. Espada. I can’t help but wonder if she’s seized on my blankness from a moment before, seeing her opportunity to advance herself. Internships haven’t even begun and she’s already trying to outshine me.
Dr. Espada spreads his arms wide, as if he was hoping someone asked this, and I’m annoyed that it had to be Yaya.
“Understanding,” he says. “Rather than seeking to dominate, we should seek to understand.”
Jaquot laughs.
“My dad says the only understanding we need is how to take control out of the hands of the Faloii,” he says.
“Hear, hear,” Julian calls from the back. He never used to talk in class—if it wasn’t for his father being on the Council I doubt he’d have a future in the Zoo at all. Albatur’s election has made him bold.
Something crosses Dr. Espada’s features: anger, maybe. Or perhaps another shadow: fear. Something about the expression makes me squint. It’s like looking at one of the digital renderings of an indigenous mammal, searching for clues hidden in the skin.
“Dr. Espada,” I say. Part of me wants to ask a question just to redeem myself, but as soon as I begin to speak I realize it’s a thing that’s been waiting on my tongue. Now I’m not sure if I even want to know the answer. To retract now would make me look foolish, so I press on. “Have we seen the Faloii since our landing?”
Dr. Espada’s head tilts ever so slightly, his lips parting and then closing almost imperceptibly.
“The Faloii? No.” He turns to flip off the projector. “Now it’s time to discuss internships,” he says, and any follow-up question I might have had is lost in the buzz of the class, eagerly turning to one another to make bets and wish luck.
“Earlier this week,” Dr. Espada says, raising his voice above the din, “I asked each of you to send me a message with your preference of internship compound assignment. I have considered each of your requests and weighed them against previous exam scores for aptitude, along with other factors. I will call you up one by one and we will confer briefly about your placement. No appeals.”
He moves behind his desk and takes his seat, propping up his slate and looking over his spectacles at the first name.
“Yanella Axba,” he says, and Yaya flows down the aisle with her head held high like he’d called her first out of preference and not alphabetical necessity. I watch the back of her head and Dr. Espada’s mouth intently, trying to read his lips and her posture to learn where she’s been placed. I can’t tell, but when she pivots to return to her desk, a rare smile has crept across her features. She buries it quickly as she makes her way back up the aisle, her eyes unreadable. The girl can conjure an impressive mask.
“Someone’s excited,” Alma says under her breath after Yaya has passed. But her own eagerness is like the first subtle lurch of the ground before an earthquake: she’s tapping her foot, jiggling her leg, her face creased in a studious frown. The same small tremors are happening all over the room as Dr. Espada moves through the alphabet: we all know that where we’re placed might change the course of our lives. So when Dr. Espada eventually calls out “Octavia English,” I get up slowly. The claustrophobia I’ve felt in the varying domes of N’Terra crawls back into my skin. I’m suddenly not sure what I want my life to be, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for an internship to tell me.
I sit down in front of Dr. Espada’s desk, where he’s placed a chair. He sits with his hands clasped, studying his slate propped up before him.
“Octavia,” he says. He doesn’t look up. Never have I found him intimidating until now. His long face is usually smiling, even in some small, subtle way. Now his expression is serious and elongates his bones, making him seem older and more somber. “You requested to be placed in the Avian Compound for your internship.”
I had. I’d debated over the decision but in the end, composing the message on my slate at home on the night I’d seen the spotted man, I realized that the trail I’d been following to become my mother had blurred. I needed to be away from the Paw, away from my parents and their secrets.
“May I ask why you requested to be placed in the Avian Compound?” Dr. Espada says.
I’m not prepared for him to ask this—everyone else had been at his desk for barely a blink.
“I find birds . . . fascinating,” I choke out. I’ve never had to finesse my answers to cover for ignorance, so I falter while searching for the words. “Learning about new species is, um, valuable for the future of N’Terra.”
Dr. Espada looks at me a second longer, his expression gentle. It ruffles me, that look.
“What happened to following in your mother’s footprints? Your grandmother’s pursuits? How mammals use plants? In your last paper you said you wanted to learn how we, as mammals, might learn more in that area. Functional nutrition.”
I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. How can I tell him that all my plans seem inane now, born of childishness that has withered more every morning? That a creeping anxiety has taken over the way I feel about N’Terra, a feeling I can’t fully explain? I shake my head, not able to answer.
“I’m afraid I must deny your request.” He sighs when he realizes I have no response, rearranging the layers of his fingers on top of one another. He breaks my gaze now, studies the screen of his slate, which shines in his glasses. “Your skills in studying mammals will benefit you in the Mammalian Compound. No matter what area of focus you pursue.”
“Fine,” I say, and rise from the chair. Anger balloons to take the place of whatever sorrow had nestled into my heart. It’s almost a relief to be angry, to replace the feeling of wilting that has planted itself in my life since my grandmother’s death. I turn away from him and begin to return to my desk, but suddenly I spin back. I keep my voice down—my peers, especially Yaya, are probably already curious about why I’ve been up here so long—but my soft voice doesn’t disguise my irritation: “Is there any other reason you’re keeping me in the Paw?” I’m thinking of my mother’s whispered voice in her den, and it feeds the flame of my anger. I glare at him across his desk.
“Any other reason?” he says. He doesn’t seem fazed by my flare of temper—he almost seems relieved somehow, like his initial instructions of “no appeals” had been a test he was hoping I’d pass.
“Yes. You mentioned ‘other factors’ when you were talking to the class earlier, didn’t you?”
Dr. Espada holds my eyes with his. It’s uncomfortable, his gaze boring into me for such a long moment. I find myself holding my breath, afraid of what he might say.
“There are always other factors.” His voice is soft but heavy with words he doesn’t speak out loud. Then he raises his voice, calls to the class, “Alma Entra.”
He’s dismissed me. The bluntness of his answer is like an abrupt splash of cold water extinguishing the flame of my anger. I return to my desk, defeat like a toxin that spreads through my blood, avoiding Alma’s eyes as she makes her way up front. She’s so eager to learn about her placement she doesn’t even notice my expression. I sit down quickly and stare ahead, grateful that I’m in the front row so no one can look back and see my face.
“Octavia,” Rondo says quietly from behind me. I ignore him. He doesn’t try again, but a moment later I hear the tapping of his fingers drumming out their gentle cadence. I can’t explain it, but I know he’s doing it for me. I close my eyes and focus on the slow, steady sound, trying to convince my racing heart to match it.
Alma is back in her seat next to me a moment later, vibrating with excitement.
“The Paw!” she squeals, she and her hair both bobbing. “Thank the stars. I’m going to be the next head of the Mammalian Compound. I can feel it. This. Will be. Amazing.”
I smile and nod, trying to control the constricting feeling in my throat.
“Octavia?” she says, cocking her head at me. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you excited?”
Her face suddenly becomes grave, her eyes rounding with concern as her excitement drains.
“Oh damn,” she says, her hand flying to her mouth. “Did he . . . did he put you in the Fin?”
I stare at her blankly for a half second. She stares back, her eyebrows angled high on her forehead, her mouth slightly open and ready to offer consolation. And I burst out laughing. Behind me, the drumming stops.
“Wh-what’s so funny?” she says.
I can’t even speak: the laughter comes in gusts like a cloud bank fleeing before a storm. My life suddenly seems terribly strange and uncertain, but the fact that the worst thing Alma can imagine is my being placed in the Aquatic Compound for my internship is so absurd that I can’t contain myself.
“Nothing, nothing,” I wheeze, trying to get a hold of myself. Maybe I’ll explain everything to her at some point. For now I can only allay her immediate worry. “No, I’m not in the Fin. I’m in the Paw, with you.”
She shrieks, causing a few of our classmates to glare in our direction, and I allow myself to smile back, pushing my doubts out of my mind for a moment, along with the look on Dr. Espada’s face when he said, There are always other factors. I think of the egg I found in the main dome with Rondo, now hidden carefully in my room. If I’m going to be in the Paw for my internship, I can at least try to learn more about the strange object and whatever secrets hide in its beautiful shell.
“Experientia docet,” Alma goes on, her hands flapping like two quick-bodied birds.
“Um . . . what?”
“It means ‘Experience is the best teacher’!” she squeals, babbling on in her glee. “It’s just an old tongue—Dr. Espada told me scientists from the Origin Planet used it to name stuff. I come across it a lot when I’m studying old comparative files. We’re going to see so many incredible things, O. Can we go into the Zoo whenever we want? I’m never going to leave, I swear to stars.”
She goes on. I listen and join in every now and then, hoping her excitement will infect me.
“Rondo Okadigbo,” Dr. Espada calls. Rondo walks to the front of class and is only at the desk for a second or two before he returns to his seat, expressionless. He doesn’t attempt to catch my eye, just sits. Alma has finally calmed down and turned her attention to the assignment Dr. Espada beamed out to our slates to keep us busy while he calls up the rest of the class one by one, distributing everyone’s fate. I pull my slate close to me, but instead of opening the assignment I open my messages. I type: So?
Paw.
I crinkle my eyebrows. He said that if he had to pick a concentration he’d prefer it to be birds. I wonder if he’s upset.
Sorry, I respond. I know you wanted the Beak.
I requested the Paw, he writes.
Wait, what?
I requested the Paw, he types again. I turn around to glare at him, causing Alma to look at me with a raised eyebrow before returning her eyes to her slate.
Yeah, you said that, I type. Why? I thought you said you’d study birds if you had to choose?
I knew he’d put you in the Paw, he types.
I read it twice and then a third time.
What do you mean?
You know.
I know what?
But he doesn’t respond, and I get sick of waiting for an answer. I turn to the assignment Dr. Espada has sent out, but by the time I open it and force myself to concentrate Dr. Espada is rising from his desk. Everyone has been called.
“Well, class,” Dr. Espada says, sounding tired, “that wraps us up for today. You have your assignments. You might have noticed that the text each of you has pertains to the compound to which you’ve been assigned.”
Alma nods and a flare of shame shoots through me. I didn’t notice. I haven’t even started reading yet, lost in my own thoughts. I really need to get my head together.
“This will be your last day in the Greenhouse for a while,” he continues, and I think his voice sounds strained. “As of now, I’m not sure if you’ll be returning to formal education post-internship. Dr. Albatur is working on developing a new structure. But the assignment that you have now will be due the day after tomorrow, when you report to your internship. I’m giving you tomorrow off to make preparations for your new course of study. If your internship is in a compound other than the one you live in, you will be relocated for the duration within the next few days. Are there any questions?”
Alma shoots me a pointed look, and that I do have the energy to smile about. We’re going to be living in the same compound soon, at least for a while.
Everyone rises from their desks, chattering. Even those who weren’t assigned to the compound they’d hoped for—myself included—are carried along in the swell of everyone else’s enthusiasm.
“You know you’re going to be my host, right? A week ago we didn’t think we would see the inside of the Zoo for years. A week ago I didn’t think I’d see the inside of another compound for years. You may not be as excited because your dad has taken you to other compounds, but this is a big deal for the rest of us. Not only are we going to . . .”
She goes on and on, and I respond between her pauses with one or two words, enough to give the impression that I’m as excited as she is—I don’t want to ruin this for her. We gather our things, and I look around for Rondo. He’s gone, already outside, the classroom empty behind me, glowing slightly green as always from the tint of the windows. Dr. Espada remains, standing idly by his desk. Alma is still talking animatedly, but behind her voice my ears start ringing. Or at least, I think it’s my ears. I hear noise in my head, a buzzing. I stick a finger in my ear and wiggle it as we approach the door to leave the classroom.
Something makes me turn back before I walk through the doorway: something like an itch inside my head. I’m surprised to find Dr. Espada staring at me pointedly, his eyes almost angry in their intensity. I pause, thinking there’s something else he wants to say, a lecture he’s been saving for the end of class. Alma continues on, unaware. Dr. Espada says only one word.
“Listen,” he says, his eyes piercing through his spectacles, and then turns away.
Confused, I go on standing in the doorway for a moment, the buzz in my head quieting, until Alma turns back, halfway down the hall, calling for me. I slowly follow her toward the outdoors, where the sun settles low into the horizon, birds flying straight across its girth, oblivious to its heat.