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“You’re losing focus,” Eldest says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “This is all beside the point. The point is, that girl is going to cause trouble. ”
“Well, what are you going to do about it?” I ask, sinking back to the floor.
Eldest appraises me. “You’ll be the next Eldest. What would you do about it?”
“Nothing. ” I tilt my chin up at him. “She’s not hurting anything. She’ll be fine. ”
“An Eldest can never do ‘nothing. ’ ” Eldest is wearing this smug little smile on his face that makes me want to just punch him. Before I can think of anything snappy to say back to him, Eldest holds a finger up to me and turns away, pressing his wi-com button.
“Mm-hm,” he says to whoever has linked to him. “I see. Yes, of course. ”
He turns back to me. “I’m going to the Shipper Level. Stay here and read more about the leaders of Sol-Earth. I’ve left a floppy for you in the Learning Center. ”
“But—” Eldest is on the Shipper Level these days far more than he used to be. “Is everything okay?”
Eldest gives me an appraising look. Weighing whether or not I’m worthy of hearing his thoughts, sharing his problems. And I see it there, in the hunch of his shoulders, the uneasy way he carries his leg, the one he limps on. He can feel the weight of the ship on him, just like I can. No—he feels it more. He’s carried the weight longer than me, and he’s carried it not just for himself, but the Elder before me who died and couldn’t take over.
For just a moment, I see Amy through his eyes: as a problem.
“We need to have a talk when we get back. ” Eldest’s tone now is serious, uncomfortable. He shifts on his feet, but does not head toward the hatch.
“What about?”
“The Season is coming soon. . . . ”
“Oh. ” I knew about the Season already. While I was living on the Feeder Level, it was easy to learn about what happened between a male and a female. I saw it with the cows when I lived on the ranch; with the goats on the farm; with the sheep near the fields. I’d have been stupid not to notice what the animals did. Several of the women who kept me during my time on the Feeder Level explained reproduction to me. At the time, it seemed a bit uncomfortable and gross, but they all assured me that when my Season came, I’d be ready, and a woman from Harley’s gen would have a second Season with me. Since meeting Amy, I think I know what they mean about being ready.
“During the Season, you will see, er. . . ” Eldest voice trails off.
“I know what the Season is,” I say. I am as uncomfortable as he. It was bad enough to learn about mating from a matronly farmer, worse yet to hear about it from Eldest.
“Still, we should talk—” This time, Eldest is interrupted by his wi-com. He presses the button and says something softly, so I don’t hear it.
“Hey,” I say. “HEY. ”
He raises one finger, telling me to give him a second, and mumbles more into his wi-com.
“Quit ignoring me,” I say loudly.
Eldest sighs and disconnects the wi-com. “I’ve got to go. ”
“Aren’t you going to tell me what that was all about?”
Eldest heaves a sigh, as if I’m a child pestering him.
“Look,” I say, “I’m getting sick of secrets. ”
“Fine,” Eldest says, already walking to the hatch with his uneven gait. “You study; we’ll talk when I get back. ” Before I can protest, he’s gone.
The med patch has worked its wonders: My headache is mostly gone. I don’t like the idea of how easy it would be for Eldest to do that again, though. Maybe I should keep some med patches with me.
My first thought is to go to the Hospital, where all the meds for the ship are stored. Doc keeps them locked up, but if Orion can get extra mental meds, it shouldn’t be that hard for me to get some med patches. But, then again, that’s what got me in trouble in the first place. Then I think about Eldest’s chamber. I know he stores extra med supplies there.
But to do that would mean sneaking into Eldest’s room, breaking the unspoken law of privacy.
I may have tested the door handles on the fourth floor of the Hospital (okay, fine, I broke in), but I’ve never gone into someone’s private space without permission first.
But then I remember Orion’s advice. With Eldest, to get what I want, I’ll have to be sneaky.
I tell myself as I stand and walk toward Eldest’s chamber that I am only going to turn the knob, not even push the door open, but even as I mentally relay these words, I recognize that I am lying to myself so I don’t lose my courage.
My hand trembles as I reach for the knob.
“Com link: Harley,” chirps the pleasant female voice of my wi-com.
“Hey, Harley,” I say, hoping the quaver on my voice doesn’t carry through the wi-coms.
“What was wrong with you earlier?”
“I’ll tell you later. ”
“Who’s the new girl? Where’d she come from? I thought Doc already ID’d all the loons. ”
“I’m busy, Harley. ”
Harley crows with laughter. “Busy! Ha! You just want to keep her to yourself!”
That’s too close to the truth, so I disconnect the link.
Eldest’s door stands in front of me, mockingly.
This time, my hand doesn’t shake. The door swings open. Although there’s an old-fashioned Sol-Earth lock built into the door, Eldest has—luckily—forgotten to lock it.
I look around. This is not what I expected. Eldest is something of a slob. Like me. I smile. Stepping over a pile of dirty clothes, I make my way to the neatest area of the room—the desk. There are only three things on the top: a small, dark plastic bottle like the kind Doc uses for meds, a large glass bottle filled with clear liquid, and a box. A box that I recognize: the one that Eldest came to fetch the other day, just before I opened the ceiling and revealed a canopy of false stars. This is the box I was trying to look at then—this is the box that I had thought held all the answers to my leadership.
I rip the top of the box off expecting. . . something brilly at least. But all that’s inside is a scale model made of resin that resembles an engine, but it’s more cylindrical than the ones the tractors use on the Feeder Level. The replica is fascinating in its level of detail. When I push a button on the side, the engine breaks in half, exposing its insides. I poke at the pieces. From my studies, I’d guess this is a lead-cooled fast reactor, the same kind of engine Godspeed uses. But if so, this is the closest I’ve ever been to the heart of the ship I will one day lead.
I snap the engine closed, perhaps more forcefully than I should have.
This is just one more secret Eldest is keeping from me.
I examine the bottles on the desk. The big one is filled with liquid that smells like fumes—the drink some of the Shippers make. Eldest has never let me taste it. When I sip it, though, I nearly spew the stuff all over Eldest’s unmade bed. The back of my throat burns, and all the little hairs in my nose shrivel. When it hits my stomach, I gag.
The small bottle contains twenty or so mental meds.
Well, now I know why Doc and Eldest didn’t let me step down from being Elder after I started taking the Inhibitor pills. Eldest is as crazy as I am! I crush the bottle against my hand. Eldest knew how upset I was when Doc made me stay in the Ward for the year. I used to fight so hard against taking the pills.
Why wouldn’t he just admit that he was on mental meds, too?
I hate his secrets and lies.
I slam the door behind me and head to my own room for a drink of water—an old Feeder wives’ remedy for nerves.
Good thing, too—a moment later, Eldest bursts through the hatch, calling for me.
“Come with me,” he says. “We’ve got a situation. ”
19
AMY
EVERYTHING ABOUT THE ROOM I HAVE BEEN GIVEN BY THE doctor is an odd mixture of personal and industrial. The colors ar
e bland—gray and white—but someone has stenciled in a peeling green ivy chain around the doorframe and hand painted a vine of flowers along the baseboards. The attached bathroom is cold and decorated with plain white tile and chrome, but the towels smell of lemons and lavender.
The best way to clear my head of all these disturbing thoughts is to take the hottest shower I can stand. I peel off the clothes the doctor gave me earlier. They are shades of brown, a pale taupe tunic and chocolate pants. I think they are homemade. Although the stitches are even and clean, they’re not machine made. The cloth is smooth and not itchy, but there are tiny pricks and flaws in the fabric that imply craftsmanship, not manufacturing. It’s so weird. I kind of expected space suits and shiny material. The weekend before we were frozen, Mom and Daddy and I stayed up all night watching ancient sci-fi movies—Star Trek and Star Wars and Star-something else. I envisioned everyone wearing uniforms or with crazy hair or something, but I’m wearing stuff that could have been made for a Renaissance fair.
It takes me a moment to figure out the shower. There are buttons, not knobs, and more steam than water pours from small mesh squares embedded in the walls of the shower stall. Two bars of soap line a tiny shelf near the top of the shower. There are no shampoo or conditioner bottles, but the round bar of soap lathers in my hair when I test it.
I mash buttons, trying to figure out how to get real water—the steam’s not rinsing the suds from my hair. Suddenly, I hit the right one, and a jet of cold water shoots out of a nozzle near my face. I sputter, and for one horrible moment, the shower reminds me of when Ed and Hassan filled the glass box with cryo liquid before I was frozen. I have to remind myself I’m not drowning, I don’t have to breathe in the liquid, I won’t be frozen again. It happened centuries ago, but the memory is still fresh to me. My knees wobble. I have to lean against the warm tile for several minutes, breathing deeply, before I can stand on my own again.
When I leave the shower, I stand in the room, a towel wrapped around my body, my hair dripping. It feels very quiet and alone. I think back to the boy who was here when I woke up, Elder, and I’m surprised to realize that I actually miss him. Now that he’s gone, this room makes me feel like a trespasser.
I wrap the towel tighter around me. Nothing here is personal, other than the ivy decorating the baseboards in chipping green paint. No books, no TV. There is a desk, and on it is a floppy piece of plastic about the size and thickness of a legal-size sheet of paper. When I was on the yearbook staff in high school, I took the drama club picture. They all posed with these things called color gels—really thin pieces of plastic they could attach to the stage lights to change the color. This piece of plastic on the desk is just like the color gels, but clear, and when I touch it, a screen flashes on, requesting my ID. This is a computer?
On the opposite wall is a shelf and, to the right of it, the door. Beside the door, where a light switch should be, is a small metal square inset with a bar. I push it. Nothing happens, but the bar spins in place.
“Identity unknown. ” A tinny female voice emanates throughout the room. “Voice command. ”