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idea that he’d requested a talmid . Out in the audience Abba’s expression was flat, unreadable.
    But even my father glanced up at what transpired next. Captain Wolff reached into the basket and pulled out a scroll tied with a purple ribbon.
    “Silvan Rafferty,” she said, and then added, in a tickled tone, “captain.”
    Rebbe Davison, who had spent most of the ceremony nodding his silent approval from a chair in front, dropped his jaw.
    “You’re retiring?”
    His words cut through the confused murmurs of the crowd. Captain Wolff glowered at our teacher. Her lips drew back a touch, showing teeth.
    “This is Silvan’s moment,” she warned. And then she looked at her new talmid , taking in his tall, muscular figure and proud jaw. She reached forward, gripping his hand in one hand, touching his shoulder with the other.
    “Congratulations, Silvan,” she said. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw tears dot her eyelashes. The boy just gave a small, bored nod. There was no gratitude in the gesture, as if he’d been expecting thisall along. When he strolled over to where the rest of us stood, clutching the only purple-ribboned scroll in the whole basket in one proud fist, we all turned to stare. He was blushing faintly, red along the bridge of his nose and the tops of his ears, but that was the only indication he gave that he knew we were gawking at him.
    Beside me, Rachel looked like she’d just swallowed glass.
    “Silvan?” she whispered, and her hand groped out for mine. “Captain?”
    I knew what she was imagining. It was a possibility grander than she’d ever considered: Rachel, the captain’s wife.
    I began to picture it. Beautiful Rachel, her coarse curls pulled up, revealing her long, slender neck and the dark skin of her throat above a harvest-gold wedding dress. Silvan would wear his navy-blue uniform. Maybe they’d be married here, beneath the star-dotted sky, the way that the Council members’ children so often were.
    My best friend, married to the captain. That would make her a Council member.
    A lump began to rise in my throat. I could see it so clearly—the two of them kissing on their wedding day. Would I even be invited? Rachel might want me there, but I couldn’t be sure. Why would Silvan want the scrubby daughter of the clock keeper at his wedding? I was certain he didn’t remember that day in the dome. It had been so long ago and hadn’t meant anything, anyway. We were justkids. The thoughts swirled in my mind. I wasn’t listening to Captain Wolff’s long, droning list of names.
    Rachel tugged at my hand.
    “What?” I asked. My voice cut through silence. A few of my classmates tittered. When Rachel spoke, it was through laughter too.
    “Terra! That’s you!”
    “Oh!” I felt my cheeks grow hot. Everyone had turned to me, watching and waiting. I took clumsy steps toward the podium. I don’t even know what she said! I thought in a panic as I took the rolled paper in one hand and barely touched the captain’s fingers with the other. I noted the color of the bow. A blue thread. Blue. So much for art. A specialist position . . .
    “Congratulations,” the captain said. Her tone was droll as she snatched her hand away from mine. I guess I’d held on a moment too long. She wiped my sweat off her hand by pressing her fingers to her wool-wrapped hip. I watched, frozen at first. Then I hurried to slip in again beside Rachel. At the front of the room, the captain continued to call my classmates to her. But I tuned her out again, scrambling to peel away the seal with my nail.
    I scanned the lines of black calligraphy. The date was at the top. My name was inked below it. Then there was the captain’s name, and her title, and a long line of words— On this sacred day and so on and so forth. I skimmed to the bottom of the page.
    I couldn’t help but spit out the word that I found there.
    “Botanist?”
    It tasted bad on my tongue. Before I could turn to Rachel, to whisper to her