I press my lips into a straight line.Undecided, I want to say—but I can’t even lie to Haven, who I’ve known forever, who would absolutely forgive me once all of this ends. How does anyone expect me to lie to our entire station, if I can’t breathe this one small dishonest word?
When she meets my eyes again, the look on her face is sheer terror.
“Whoa, Haven—are you okay?”
Her irises are unearthly green in this light, shade upon shadow. “I don’t want to die, Linds. I don’t—” Her voice catches, and she shakes her head. “I want tolive. I want to do great things,begreat. Don’t you want that, too? Don’t you think ourparentswould want that—wouldn’t they want us to continue their legacy?” She presses her lips into a tight line, blinks up at the recessed spotlights in the ceiling to clear the shine in her eyes. “Don’t do this to us.”
If we burn out there’ll really be nothing left of them, she doesn’t have to say.No one who remembers them. No legacy left behind.
It’s enough to shake me. Enough to make my almost-lie—undecided—true. Because she’s right, none of our parents would wish us dead. They’d be heartbroken to see what’s happened here, what’s happening. The thought of letting my mother down, ofwhat if the truth is just another mistake, is crushing.
But I’m resolved to tell the truth, not just to the station, but to myself.
No one who remembers them, no legacy left behind: those are lies, if I really break them down. Even if I die for this choice—possible self-sacrifice, me for my people—a legacy of integrity is the greatest thing I could offer. It’s certainly preferable to a life propped up by fear and lies. Sooner or later, that life would collapse.
I smooth my hair down, adjust the pins. “No one wants to die, Haven.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but it’s 10:01 and I have nothing left to say that she’ll want to hear. I open the balcony doors, step out to face the room.
The noise dies down as soon as they see me: a half-here-half-not ghost with dark circles under her eyes, who ran her heart out in the middle of the night, who trusts no one but herself—and even then, only barely. Lindley Hamilton, a girl who’s closer to falling apart than they might’ve guessed before this moment.
I look from face to face, take in the souls behind their eyes: Akello Regulus. Story Lutheborough, who helped me just yesterday before Haven collapsed. Yuki and Grace, Mikko and Dash, Siena Lawson. Eight-year-old River, standing arms crossed next to Leo. Evi and Elise. Natalin. Heath and Zesi, at the back of the room. So many, many others. There are seventy-eight of us in total, down from our original number of eighty-five station-born. The crowd looks thinner for it.
Someone in this room poisoned at least six of the seven who are gone.
Someone in this room is about to witness, firsthand, my refusal to bow to their threats.
I hold my head high. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it all the way, with as much confidence as my mother would have shown.
“I’ve called you here today,” I begin, my clear voice echoingfrom even the farthest wall, “because you deserve to know the truth. I wanted to”—I cut myself off before the wordapologizeslips out, not because I don’t mean it, but because it could undermine their impression of my leadership—“let you all know that the recent deaths on our station are not, in fact, due to viral mutation.”
I take a deep breath, resist the urge to glance at Haven, who’s beside me on the balcony. If I were to look, I’d see a silent struggle, no doubt: public support masking private panic.
“The deaths were... intentional. To be clear, someone has gone out of their way to make them look as if the virus is spreading, when in fact, that is not the case.”
For one brief second, my words hang in the air—and then there’s an explosion of whispers as they go from zero to full-volumefast.
“Are you trying to tell us someonekilledthem?” Akello’s deep, resonant voice cuts through the noise from the far end of the front row.
“That is exactly—” I begin, but cut myself off. My voice alone isn’t enough to overpower them. I wait it out for half a minute before trying once more, and again: I’m not enough.
And then, from the back of the crowd: “EVERYONE STOP TALKING!”
Heath.
I meet eyes with him as their voices die down, hope he hears my silentthank youloud and clear. A pinprick beam of hopepierces right through me: maybe I can trust him. If he’s trying to help me get the truth out, even though it means it puts him at risk, too—
Maybe.
“Yes,” I say, shifting my attention to Akello. “That is exactly what I’m trying to tell you.” The noise starts to swell again, but I quell it at once: “I’m telling you this so you’ll know how to protect yourselves. What to watch for, and—and whatisn’ta factor.” I take a deep breath. Screw it: an apology can’t possibly undermine my own leadership more than my mistakes have. If anything, maybe it cansaveit.
“I’m deeply sorry I’ve kept this information from you,” I go on. “It’s reached a tipping point now where it is no longer in anyone’s best interests to keep the truth private.”Except for those of us who are now explicit targets thanks to this confession, my conscience fires back. I shove it down. “There is currently no need for quarantine, no obvious resurgence of viral threat to your health—full disclosure, though, we are keeping a close eye out for a possible strain brought over fromNautilus, but haven’t seen any actual worrisome symptoms at this point. What I ask of you is this: be wary of your beverages. Don’t take your eyes off your drinks, not for one second. Don’t allow anyone to get a drinkforyou, or food, for that matter.” Probably good to add that in. With everyone aware of the threat, a smart killer would look for a less obvious approach. Telling people to keep a close eye on their drinksandfood drastically reduces the likelihood ofanyone ingesting belladonna—to pretty much zero, I’d guess.
“Mostly,” I say as I scan the room, taking in as many faces as I can, “keep your eyes open. If you see anything suspicious, you’re under strict orders to report it to me at once. And if youdosee something suspicious, take immediate action by yelling ‘Fire!’—you’ll draw more attention that way.” It’s a trick my mother taught me when I was young. I’ve never had to use it, neverseenanyone have to use it. There’s a first for everything, I guess.
“I’d open the floor up for questions, but I’m sorry to say I don’t have the answers you want just yet. Stay on guard, be vigilant. Don’t panic. I’ll report more when I can.” As soon as the words are out, I give a deep nod and retreat through the balcony doors, out into the quiet corridor.
Haven follows.
