I listen, but it still just sounds like noise. But a picture on one of the exhibit standees grabs my eye, and I tug at Jules’s sleeve. “Look—your dad.”
Neal starts reading aloud, covering up the fact that Jules has gone very quiet. “Though scientists were quick to recognize that the signal had an artificial structure that suggested intelligence, it took one of the world’s leading experts in mathematics and linguistics to decode the message. Dr. Elliott Addison, despite his later disgrace—um, never mind.” Neal’s quick to turn toward the next set of standees, conveniently coming between Jules and the rest of the summary of his father’s contribution to the International Alliance.
We stroll backward along the time line, until Neal lets out a bleat of excitement. “Oh,awesome, they’ve got a scale model of theCentauri ship!” Forgetting us entirely, he lurches forward to inspect the sprawling, bird’s-eye-view model of the ship.
The decision to leave Earth in search of an answer to the world’s overpopulation was what led to the formation of the International Alliance. We’re all taught about it in school: a series of meaningless dates and names to memorize, how various world leaders settled on an international charter of basic laws, the voting process, all of it. But here, looking at the ship that was built as a result of that global collaboration, all those old lessons come to life.
Neal’s in engineering heaven, inspecting a replica of one of the engines in cross section. My eyes linger on the model of the ship, on the star map of the Alpha Centauri star system, on a terrain map of the planet in orbit around Proxima Centauri that was to be humanity’s second home.
Jules is still quiet, and I know his mind’s on the one-paragraph description of his father, a man who changed history and is remembered only for the tirade that ended his career. I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. “You know, this exhibit is actually pretty cool.”
“Hmm?” Jules blinks and looks from me to the ship model. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”
“I mean it.” I move until I’m standing in front of a glass case containing a uniform from the Centauri mission. One leg of the uniform has been cut away, revealing a cross section of its complex structure, with different layers of insulating gel, armored fabric, and electronics. A masterpiece of design, from a time when all of humanity worked as one.
I can see myself in the glass, and when I stand on my toes it almost looks like my reflection is wearing the uniform. “I mean, in school we know how the story ends before we know anything else. We already know the mission fails, and everybody dies, and the IA sort of falls apart and turns into just another bureaucracy, and they’re just remembered for messing up and killing a bunch of people.”
Jules snorts. “What a legacy.”
“No, listen to me.” I tug his hand until he’s standing alongside me in front of the case. “When you know how the story ends you kind of don’t care about what happens. But look at all this, Jules. When you really look at the ship and the uniforms and the map and all of it … look at what we cando. When we stop fighting each other and look outside ourselves.”
I’m lost here, because the inspirational speeches are Jules’s territory, but thefeelingis there, and I’m desperate for him to see it. “I mean, did you know we could do this? People did all this. It’s incredible.”
“And history will remember them as a failure.” Jules’s gaze is remote. He’s not talking about the IA.
“Who gives a shit about history?” I abandon my attempt at speechifying, and turn to look at him, intent. “Right now, I’m sayingIthink it’s amazing.”
Jules glances at me, then does a double take, lips twitching. “You’re irresistible when you’re scowling.”
Beyond him is the long memorial wall, covered with the names of those who died in pursuit of the Centauri mission, but I keep him turned toward me. “I was trying to distract you by pointing out the noble appeal of all mankind looking toward the stars for a united common purpose greater than any we’d shared before, but I’ll settle for making out inappropriately in the middle of a public exhibit.”
Jules laughs in spite of himself, and reaches up to tweak a lock of my newly dyed red hair. He starts to speak, but something’s nagging at me, something off.
My eyes go past him again to that memorial wall, and for a long moment I don’t see anything. Then I catch a glimpse of something—Neal? But Neal’s still over at the engine, in the middle of a dozen eight-year-old school kids, pushing buttons and exclaiming when bits of the engine light up in response.
Not Neal. But someone tall. Two someones.
“Oh my God.” My voice is strangled and thin.
Jules, who’d been ducking his head toward mine, freezes. “What? You said we could make out, I was just—”
“No—look. They’re here.”
I ought to warn him not to stare, not to make our observation obvious, but I’m too floored. Jules turns, and I feel it when he spots them.
Dex and Atlanta, dressed not all that differently than we are, doing their best to blend in with the crowd. Atlanta’s examining the names on the memorial wall, evidently trying to look interested in the exhibit, and Dex is casually scanning the crowd.
His eyes swing our way without warning, and before I can try to pull Jules somewhere less obvious, his gaze halts on us.
For a long moment we stare at each other across the sea of tourists. Then he’s turning toward Atlanta. My heart seizes, and I scan the exits, certain I’m going to see them both charging our way when I look back. But instead, Atlanta’s turned away and is moving off, and Dex is coming toward us.
Jules’s hand is so tight around mine my bones creak, but I don’t mind—in this moment, it’s the only thing keeping my own fear in check.
Dex, with an air of studied casualness, meanders toward us and nods. “Pretty cool exhibit, huh?” He says “cool” the way our orphanage director used to say it, like she was trying to be young and hip.
Jules is staring at him, his face rigid—my mind is scrambling too, but I’m used to speaking when my ideas are still only half-formed.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper. “Did you leave us that tracker?”
