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“Wee-urd axe-scent,” he mocks. I stick my tongue out at him, but I’m laughing, too.
A few raindrops fall on the statue’s head, and they snake down his face like tears, leaving behind dark trails. I squint. The face is not as detailed as I’d expect. In fact, it looks weatherworn.
“How long ago was the Plague?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” Elder says, strolling away from the statue. “I’d have to look it up. Why were you surprised we have rain?”
“Well. . . ” I drawl the word out, emphasizing the accent Elder says I have. His smile broadens. “It’s just that—it’s not rain. Why make it look like it? You could just water the plants yourselves with sprinklers. ”
Elder shrugs. “It’s in the ship’s original design. ” He pauses, then mutters to himself, “Biological Research. . . ”
“What?”
“I saw some old plans of the ship at the Recorder Hall. Originally, the Feeder Level was labeled ‘Biological Research. ’ I didn’t think of it at the time, but. . . Eldest engineers the weather patterns. To emulate different conditions that Centauri-Earth may have. He changes the pattern every five or so years. Last time. . . last time the rain was scheduled to fall only once a month. The scientists had to help the farmers develop different irrigation methods. And. . . ” He’s thinking now; he’s practically forgotten I’m there, listening. “When I was a kid, it used to rain a lot. I helped dig a drainage ditch. The sheep pastures kept flooding. Eldest has us change the soil sometimes, too, adding or taking away different minerals. ”
He looks up at me now, but he doesn’t really see me. “The Feeder Level really is biological research—researching conditions of what Centauri-Earth might be like. There are records in the Recorder Hall of all the different methods we’ve come up with out of necessity. No. . . not necessity. It’s what Eldest does. It’s part of Eldest’s job. . . . ”
“That means it’s part of your job, too, right?” I say. “You’re the next Eldest. ” I want to ask, Why didn’t he teach you all this? But it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing I should say aloud. Elder can see the question in my face, though. He turns down the path toward the pond, but I can tell he doesn’t have an answer for my unspoken question. He’s just got more questions, too.
I follow him down the path. Hydrangeas with big, blossoming heads spill out onto the walkway.
The rain picks up. It has a steady, methodical way of falling, but it’s close enough to real rain that I tip my head back and let the water splash on my closed eyelids and pretend.
“This whole Eldest thing. . . I don’t see how it works. ”
“Why not?”
We stop near a pond about the size of the swimming pool in my high school. A man and woman, laughing in the rain, collapse on a bench further down the path.
“He’s not a peaceful man. He must scare everyone into obeying him. ” I don’t want to admit that he’s got me scared, too, but I think Elder can guess it.
“Eldest is a great leader. I don’t always agree with him, or his methods, but they work. You can’t deny that. ”
“That old man’s a dictator—that’s how it works,” I mutter. I catch Elder smirking. “What?”
“I like how you call him an old man. Most people around here worship at his feet. ”
“He seemed like a jerk to me. More than a jerk. He was pretty much King Asshole to me. I mean, I know he’s your leader and all, but he did want to basically kill me. ”
“Maybe he wouldn’t really throw you out of the hatch. ”
“Really?”
Elder stares at the flowers at our feet. “He might have. Yes. He probably would have. ”
I kick at the big orangey-red flowers, like tiger lilies, that line the edge of the pool.
The couple on the bench are really going at it. The man’s got one hand up the woman’s shirt, another hand down her pants. Elder follows my gaze and stares at the couple.
“Eldest said that the Season would start soon. ”
“This is the Season? People don’t act like that in public. ” At least, they didn’t used to. Is this what happens when you coop peopl
e up together on a ship, or am I just a prude compared to their evolved standards?
Elder doesn’t watch the couple on the bench; he’s watching me. The rain is pouring harder now, and I think about going in, but in a strange way I like how the rain makes me feel as if I am grounded, connected to this place. Even though I know the rain is fake, it feels the same as real rain, and I desperately need that.
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