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Her voice trails off. She does not have to finish.
“But . . . ”
My full attention is on Steela. I can tell by the way she’s shaking that what she’s trying to say is vitally important to her. The nurse yawns.
“But I can remember that happening before. When I was pregnant with me daughter—”
“Didn’t happen,” the nurse interjects. “Lots of the grays have been saying the same. Just getting the past mixed up with the present. ”
Steela bristles. “Don’t tell me what I do and do not remember!”
“Classic delusional case, brought on by age,” the nurse states in a matter of fact way. “Come with me. ”
She steps out from behind the desk and reaches for Steela’s arm. Steela holds on to me tighter and refuses to move.
“Where are you taking her?” I ask.
“Fourth floor. ”
My mind is racing. I need to relieve Harley from guard duty; I need to focus more on solving the mystery of the killer. But Steela’s fragile hands are shaking. I said I wouldn’t be the one to let her drown. I can afford enough time to be her buoy a little longer. Besides—I want desperately to know what is behind those locked doors.
“I’ll take her up there,” I offer. I can feel Steela sag with relief at the thought.
“I shouldn’t . . . ”
“I don’t mind. ”
“Let me call Doc. ” Her hand hovers near her ear-button.
“No, don’t bother. I’ve been up there before. We won’t get lost. ”
The nurse seems reluctant, but she nods. She watches us with beady eyes as we approach the elevator. She’s clearly expecting us to make a run for it, but I just push the call button and wait for the elevator.
“We can escape,” I mutter to Steela. “I know some back ways—I can get you out of here with no one noticing. ” I’m not even sure why I’m offering. If she needs medical attention, she needs the doctor. It’s just that all of her fire is gone, replaced with fear, and it’s killing me inside.
Steela shakes her head. “I can see myself standing up on that Great Room, pregnant with me daughter, looking at those stars. Can see it, clear as clear. But it can’t have happened, could it? That nurse said lots of us were getting delusional. Maybe it is me age. I reckon I should see the doc. ”
The elevator doors slide open. I don’t let go of Steela’s arm until she’s safely inside with me. My finger hovers over the third floor button, hesitating for a moment before it slides up and presses the button for the fourth floor. My stomach drops as we start to rise. We are both silent.
The elevator bobs for a minute, then stills. The light indicates we’re on the fourth floor.
“Stay with me,” Steela whispers as the doors slide open.
62
ELDER
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE WAS NO PLAGUE?” I ASK, MY MIND racing. This is one of the few things all of us—me, the Feeders, the Shippers, all of us—were taught. It is the first lesson every child on the ship learns: We must work together, be diligent, or risk another Plague. It is such a part of our lives that we slap a med patch on if we even think we’re getting sick, and every sneeze is reported to Doc.
“There was no Plague. Sure, there’s been sickness on the ship—some of it quite damaging, honestly—but no widespread Plague. ”
“But the deaths . . . we’re still recovering from the death tolls from the Plague. We’re not even up to original numbers now, and the Plague was so long ago. ” I think of the empty trailers in the City, of how there is still growing room for us aboard the ship, even though the Plague was longer ago than any living memory. “You taught me about this. You told me three-fourths of the ship’s population died under the Plague. ” I cannot hide the note of accusation in my voice. But really, I should not have been surprised. The lightbulb stars in the room beyond are proof enough of that.
“There were deaths. But not from a Plague. ”
“What do you mean?” Roles are reversed now. Eldest is the calm one; I am the one bordering on panic. How much more of my life will I discover has been built on lies?
“Come on. ” Eldest sighs as if he’d rather not show me anything, but before he can change his mind, I jump up and follow him out of the Learning Center, across the Great Room, and down the hatch to the Shipper Level. His shoes tap unevenly on the tiled floor, making his limp more noticeable. He ignores both me and the Shippers who snap to attention.
