Read Online The Silver Ship and the Sea by Brenda Cooper - Free Book Online

the urn of ashes at my belt, suddenly feeling twice bereft. Therese and Steven had conquered my first parents, yet I had cared for all of them. I didn’t understand the war, didn’t understand the Fremontian need to be “pure” human. Why not want to be stronger and faster like we were? New Making reminded me that Joseph and I were different, and made me ache sharply for my first parents, and for Chiaro, who cared for us while they fought for us.
    New Making ’s past affected the way people treated us now, fed into the dark undercurrents of the colony’s fear, and made many people watch the sky regularly. The future was harder to read than the present. Would the altered ever return for us? Even if my parents lived, would I recognize them now, twelve years later? Was the New Making merely a reminder, or would we figure out how to open her someday? How to pry loose her secrets? I imagined clues about who we were, all captive inside the unassailable silver shell of the ship.
    Did Jenna know how to get in?
    Joseph brought Legs next to me, and said, “It makes me feel like we lost something before we were old enough to know it.” His soft voice trailed off for a moment, and then he looked over at me and said, “I guess we’re no good at keeping parents, huh?” Tears filled his eyes, but didn’t spill down his cheeks.
    “It wasn’t our fault. Either time,” I said firmly. I put my hand on the little urn at my side, and Joseph did the same. My heart hurt for him. For me, too. I missed Therese and Steven. It had been such an uphill battle to get them to accept us that it never really registered when it wasn’t a fight anymore.
    Now we had to do it all over again.
    The thought struck me silent as we left spaceport.
    Tom rode ahead of us, scanning the grass for signs of paw-cat or hebra herds. Perhaps he would be a good guardian, but Nava? Nava would never have taken time to bring us out here.
    I shook my head to clear worries and breathed in the grass and the heat and the sun and the dust. My focus should be on Joseph. I started one of the songs Therese sang when she worked outside, one she’d written to celebrate the things she loved about Fremont; the huge blue flowers that adorned the twintrees every spring, the colorful birds with strong beaks and talons for clawing seeds free from near-elm, the pleasant shade of the bright green tent trees. By the time I reached the first chorus, Joseph joined with me, and as we neared the ocean we had worked through every song we knew, even some of the bawdy drinking songs we weren’t supposed to sing at our age. A fitting funeral procession.
    Tom turned in his saddle and smiled at us, although he didn’t join us singing. A sharp warm wind blew inland, carrying the scents and sounds of the sea. The rhythmic roll of waves accompanied the lyrics.
    Tom led us down the steep trail to the wide beaches. At the bottom, the hebras stamped their feet in the sand, uncomfortable with the change in footing. Joseph leaned forward and sent Legs galloping down the beach. I followed, Jinks falling farther behind with every step. The wind pulled my hair back and the waves filled my ears. Near the end of the crescent beach, Joseph pulled Legs to a stop and stared at the busy water, waiting for me to catch up.
    We urged the hebras into the edge of the surf together, close enough for Joseph and me to hold hands, until the water reached the hebras’ knees and they moved apart a little, uneasy as foamy breakers tickled their bellies. I loosened the urn from my belt and held it up to the sky, yelling into the white noise of the sea. “For you, Therese and Steven, for your care of us, your care of Artistos, of Fremont. We wish you good journey.”
    Joseph’s voice joined mine, strong and sure. “Thank you. We will miss you forever, and think of you always.”
    Both urns dangled over the water. The hebras danced under us, and the sun shone on the waves. As one, we uncorked the urns and turned them