A Girl Called Ari

  A Girl Called Ari

  By P. J. Sky

  For Katherine

  Copyright © 2020 by P. J. Sky

  All rights reserved. No part of this book my be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  A Girl Called Ari is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  First edition

  Cover artwork by AutumnSky.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Special Thanks

  Chapter 1

  Later, once she’d returned to the walled city, with its cold comforts of air conditioning and an endless supply of syntho, Starla Corinth found herself increasingly drawn back to the surrounding wasteland, and the pale-eyed girl she knew as Ari. The events that lead to the intersection of their lives, for under ordinary circumstances they never would have met, were never entirely resolved, but for Starla they appeared to begin the night of her 18th birthday. She’d been late for a party she’d no wish to attend, and in the descending elevator, she’d fidgeted with the straps of her dress. With his latest adjustments, it was almost as if the couturier intended her to suffocate. The blue velvet hugged her slender frame, but most striking were her deep blue eyes which shone like storm-flecked sapphires.

  The elevator slowed and came to rest on the ninety-second floor. On the other side of the mirrored doors, Starla heard the hubbub of a party already underway. She inspected her eyeshadow, and in the golden light, her long eyelashes sparkled.

  Starla, she told herself, you look perfect.

  She’d lied; her nose was too angular, her jaw too like her father’s.

  She wasn’t sure when she’d first started talking to herself, but now it came naturally, she’d spent so long alone.

  As the elevator doors slid open, the applause struck Starla like an aerial assault. On a platform, raised high above the crowds, waited her father; a red tuxedo, a mop of silver hair, a hooked nose that looked like it had once been broken but left slightly deformed. His smile was warm, easy, and impossible to read. Like the city perimeter, his face was a wall. As mayor of the city, Titus Corinth stood at the centre of his world, above his subjects, in a hall full of bright lights and polished chromium.

  As she stepped from the elevator, someone clutched her arm. Alarmed, she tried to pull away. The grip tightened. Starla’s heart quickened. She looked at the young man in the light blue uniform, someone from the praetorian guard. Sandy blonde hair and wide, brown eyes. The eyes looked scared. There was something familiar about him, she’d seen him somewhere before. He’d been watching her from afar. He leaned in and spoke, his voice almost a whisper.

  “Miss Corinth, you’re in danger.”

  Starla wrenched her arm free and fell backwards into the throng. Hands caught her. The applause had stopped, replaced by calls and shouts. More guards appeared, pushing the crowds back, clearing a path to the stage. Shaken, Starla straightened her dress and scanned the faces in the crowd. Sandy blonde hair and wide, brown eyes. The face was gone. Now, there were too many uniforms, and too many confused faces.

  “Please please,” said her father from the stage. “There has been some confusion. Let my daughter through.”

  Starla looked up to her father who still stood on the platform, his hand reached out to her. He hadn’t moved. In his face, could she recognise any form of concern? If he had any, he didn’t show it. And now more than ever, Starla wanted to leave the party. She remembered the words.

  Danger.

  She looked again at the faces around her. They were waiting for her to react. But how could she react? How should she react? The other guards, ever present in their light blue uniforms, stood motionless between her and the crowd. But they didn’t look at the crowd, they looked at her.

  Catching her breath, her heart still racing, Starla approached the stage. Behind her, the crowds filled her path like a closing jaw.

  Her fathers smile widened. “So, without further delay, let me present the first daughter of our blessed community.”

  Mounting the steps, she took his hand. This physical contact with her father was rare. His hand was large, cold and oddly angular, and a shiver ran down her spine. She remembered the hand clasping her arm.

  Danger.

  Her father leaned forward. “I’m sorry my dear, I’m not sure what that was about.”

  Her father returned his attention to the audience. “We must thank you all for gracing us with your presence on this most special of days. My friends, it does us both great honour to have you here tonight.”

  Starla’s heart still galloped and she fought the urge to pull her hand free.

  “Today is important,” her father continued. “Today we come together and celebrate. However… my daughter’s birthday is not all we celebrate. For at these times we also celebrate ourselves and our city. This humble beacon of civilisation. This place of hope, of purpose, of community and of citizenship.”

  As her father continued this familiar speech, Starla thought again of the face of the guard. She thought of the soft, grey rings beneath his eyes.

  “Here, we each form part of something much greater than ourselves. And we make a choice, to live in this place, and to live by our rules, our laws, and to practice our way of life.” Her father paused. When he continued, his voice was lower. “No one more than I understands just how precious and delicate that is. Leadership is a heavy burden, and one I do not take lightly.”

  Briefly, he glanced at Starla, and when she caught his eye she shuddered. It was dark and calculated and, just for a moment, she felt like prey.

  Again, she remembered those wide, brown eyes.

  His voice fell lower still. “I would do absolutely anything to protect this city and our way of life.”

  His words were followed by a hot, airless silence.

  Danger.

  A tray floated above the audience, upon which stood two flutes of synthesised blue champagne. Against the thin stem, Starla’s fingers trembled.

  I just want this to be over, she thought. I want to be away from these people and these lights and from my father. I want to be far away from here.

  The mayor raised his glass. “And so I propose a toast, to my beautiful daughter Starla, and, to the city.”

  ∆∆∆

  The balcony that overlooked the city was quiet and almost deserted, the sounds of the city muted in the great bowl of the starry sky. The glowing buildings stretched out all around, jagged skyscrapers caught in a web of neon monorail. Far below, Bath and Parsons Street thronged with people, vehicles, and yellow light. But, beyond the luminous structures, the world fell abruptly into darkness. Occasionally, beyond the wa
ll, flickers of orange moved in the inky blackness.

  Starla took a gulp of the blue champagne. The sweet liquid burnt the back of her throat. She remembered the words of the young guardsman. It had happened so quickly. Now, it was almost as if it hadn’t happened at all. At the edge of the balcony, she leant over the railing. The wind stung her face and she turned her head against it. She let the cool air fill her lungs and the tremble in her hands slowed.

  Danger.

  It was probably nothing. Who can touch me here? But what had my father meant back there…

  Looking upwards, her eyes caught the glint of Velle Stella.

  Do I take Velle Stella’s name, or does it take mine?

  As a thousand disparate pinpricks moved slowly across the dark sky, just one remained tethered. Faintly blue, the star that never moved.

  Velle. To wish.

  I wish I could escape this place. I wish I could be normal, and live a normal life. That’s the real danger, to spend my whole life in this tower, wondering about such remote things as stars, while everyone around me either grovels at my feet or wants to stab me in the back. If I’m in danger, I’d rather confront it head on, instead of this slow death at the top of this tower.

  She let her eyes fall to the darkness.

  What lies beyond the wall?

  She’d often asked this question, it had a certain self-destructive thrill. The ultimate escape. Public information films told of a barbarous land populated by cannibalistic mutants hell bent on the destruction of themselves and the city. A noxious wasteland that stretched as far as the eye could see. Therefore, there was the wall, a protective rampart between civilisation and the savage. Only here in the city was anyone truly safe.

  Starla imagined lush forests, rolling fields and snow-capped mountains, like the ancient landscape paintings in the city archives, peeking out from behind the portraits of long dead kings and queens. Many of these paintings included walled cities like her own. However, these images didn’t fit the harsh, toxic reality portrayed in the films. Poison, disease, if you were lucky and not first found by the mutants. For good reason, no one could enter the city from the outside, and those who chose to leave could never return. The ultimate penalty and punishment was exile.

  Her father leant against the railing. “You know my dear, for a moment I had wondered if you were going to join us.”

  Starla stiffened. “I wasn’t going to miss it, was I?” She glanced sideways at her father. “How could I?”

  The mayor smiled, but the smile only reinforced their mutual divide. So often, he was politician rather than father.

  “My dear, you know you mean much more to me than you think. And don’t think I don’t notice your little attempts to provoke me. But, I think you’ll find you and I are far more alike than you think.”

  Starla looked back at the luminous buildings. “I have to say, I don’t see it.”

  But she did. He was distant, difficult, and cold, yet each day she wondered if she was becoming more like him. She would sit at her dressing table, studying her features, searching for likeness. She had her father’s forthright cheekbones, her father’s triangular jaw. She wondered from whom she’d gained her eyes. She’d never known her mother.

  I am my father’s daughter, and he leads this city. He commands power. Perhaps, with every passing day, I’m becoming more like him. Perhaps this is my fate.

  Danger.

  For a moment, Starla’s heartbeat quickened.

  “Well, you will my dear, in time… Tell me, have you given any more thought to our little discussion?”

  Starla’s grip on the rail tightened.

  “No,” she said. “I haven’t.”

  “Well my dear, keep it in mind. You must understand, all this is so much bigger than you or I. Sometimes, you must place your own feelings aside for a greater purpose.”

  “And what purpose is that?”

  “The city, of course. The transition of power…”

  “Well, I’ve not thought about it.”

  She glanced at her father and, just briefly, she glimpsed something in his eyes. It was almost as if he was scared. His request gave her power. It was only a moment, and then it was gone. The wind caught her hair and she turned away and shuddered.

  Her father continued. “We must secure a lasting future for the city.”

  “It’s my choice, Father.”

  Her father sighed. “Well, if you won’t think about it…” He trailed off and they both stood in silence.

  If I accept this, thought Starla, I’ll never be free. But he can’t force me, not this time. Yet, at the back of her mind, doubt niggled. Can he make me do this? So little of my life is mine to choose.

  A tall young man approached.

  “Ahh,” said her father, “Master Panache.”

  Starla rolled her eyes. Of course it was.

  “Well my dear, I will leave you in the capable hands of Mr. Panache.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and Starla stiffened. Quietly he added, “Try to enjoy your evening. And please, think about what I’ve said.”

  He left them and Max sidled alongside.

  “Hell of a speech.”

  Starla sighed. “You reckon?”

  Max leaned across the railing and spat over the side of the building. He righted himself and gave Starla a sideways grin. Starla had known Max all her life. A little older and slight taller, he was the closest thing she had to a brother. He was the son of Agrippa Panache, her father’s closest ally, and biggest rival. His father’s position as praetor made Agrippa Panache the second most important person in the city.

  Max said, “I liked the dancing.”

  Starla raised her eyebrow. “The dancing?”

  “Sure, when I woke this morning, I didn’t expect to see our city’s leader shake his hips like that.” Max rolled his hips in a little dance.

  The right corner of Starla’s lip curled slightly upwards.

  “Ahh, she smiled.” Max grinned. “I saw that Starla. You can’t take that back.”

  Starla caught herself and straightened her lip.

  Max was handsome in a way, with a solid, round jawbone and two prominent cheekbones. Along with his fresh, pale skin, illuminated now in the multi-coloured lights, his face managed to look both sturdy and fragile, as if he’d evolved to match the many spindle-like structures of the city. Above his large, flat forehead was a head of wavy blonde hair, always slightly unkempt.

  Max leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. You know, I know what your father wants. He wants the same thing mine does. But, all this stuff about marriage, it’s not for me. So to hell with what our parents say.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” said Max. He leaned out across the city and cried; “To hell with you all.” He turned back, still grinning. “They don’t get to decide how we live our lives. They’re not the future.”

  “And tell me, what is?”

  “We are, Starla, you and I. And we can do with it what we want.”

  “I should warn you Max, you’re in danger of sounding like a politician.”

  Max shrugged. “I hope not. I don’t want to end up sounding like my father. Fact is our parents don’t really care about us. We’re just pawns in their game. All they care about is the city, and now they’re scared.”

  For a moment, Max’s thoughts sounded frighteningly like Starla’s own.

  “Scared?”

  Max nodded. “They’re scared because they know this city won’t be theirs forever. Times will change, and they won’t be able to control it. But, enough about the city…” He pushed forward his glass and let it touch Starla’s. In the city lights, his green eyes sparkled. “You only turn eighteen once. So happy birthday. And to many more, hopefully not quite like this one.”

  Starla sipped and eyed Max suspiciously. He averted her gaze and looked back across the city. His busy fingers toyed with the stem of his wine glass.

  A tray floated towards them con
taining a carefully constructed tower of syntho cubes in purple and blue, each one a perfect mouthful of synthesised goodness. Out of habit, Starla took one, though she wasn’t hungry.

  Whatever he says, thought Starla, he’s playing a game. I know Max too well. But whatever his game is, I won’t be the prize.

  She bit into the delicately sweet syntho cube. She barely had to chew it.

  Max reached up and undid the top button of his shirt. He caught Starla’s eye again and grinned. “Good?”

  Starla nodded.

  “Ahh, I prefer the mauve.”

  Starla swallowed and felt slightly dizzy again.

  The balcony doors opened and Liviana Panache, Max’s sister, glided through them. She gave Starla a tight-lipped smile and, in return, Starla considered how Liviana would look tripping over her voluminous pink ball gown. So heavily made up, below a shock of luminous pink hair, Liviana’s face looked like it had been cast from plastic. Chin thrust forward, eyes narrowed, her white lips formed a small, impish right angle.

  “Starla, my dear.”

  “Liviana,” Starla replied. “I’m so glad that you could join us.”

  Liviana pushed alongside Starla and nudged her with her elbow. “Seeing you in that dress again, you know I think it does work after all.”

  Inwardly, Starla cringed, and fought the urge to push Liviana over the balcony railing. “Well, Liviana, I’ll take that as a compliment.” Starla felt certain this close proximity was deliberate, as if Liviana knew it made her uncomfortable.

  “That’s what I love about you Starla, you’re so like your father. If you take to something, you stick right with it, no matter what anyone else thinks.”

  “And who cares what anyone else thinks?” said Max. He winked at Starla. “Starla, tonight you look lovely.”

  Starla rolled her eyes. Liviana was harmless enough. She wished she’d just go away and leave her alone on the balcony.

  Alone with Max though? The thought caught her off-guard.

  Liviana’s eyes widened. “Brother dear, I didn’t say she didn’t look lovely.”

  “Well,” said Starla. “Let me be the first to congratulate you on your choice of dress this evening.”