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“Those shots aren’t inoculations,” I say, searching her blank eyes. “They’re something to do with gene manipulation. I know. My mom was a genetic splicer back—” I pause. She still thinks I’m a freak, a by-product of a science experiment on board the ship. “Look, I’m not who Eldest said I was. I’m from Earth. Sol-Earth, I mean. I was born there. I was cryogenically frozen and I woke up early. And my mother, back on Ear—on Sol-Earth, she was a genetic splicer. That stuff you’re injecting the rabbits with—that’s not a vaccine. That’s genetic modification material. You’re changing the rabbits’ DNA. ”
She nods like she’s agreeing with me, following every word, but she says, “Eldest said you were simple and didn’t understand things. ”
“I am from Earth—but that’s not the point! Look, the point is, that stuff is dangerous. Genetic modification material isn’t something to play around with, not even with rabbits, especially if you’re going to eat them. Don’t you know what you’re doing?”
“Eldest said it was an inoculation,” the girl says. She starts to walk away from me.
“Hey, wait—hold up!” The fence keeps me back.
The girl stops—but only because she is positioning herself to lunge at another rabbit.
“Look, you read that stuff on the computer thing. It says right there that you’re injecting them with genetic mod material. Right. There. ” I point at the screen. She looks down at it, curiously, like she’s looking for what I’m talking about, even though the chart she’s been working on is clearly labeled. “Look at that. There. Do you even see the word inoculation?”
She shakes her head slowly, her eyes scanning the words on the screen.
“So. . . ” I say, waiting for her to realize my point. When she doesn’t, I add, “So you’re not inoculating the rabbits. You’re modifying their DNA. ”
She looks back up at me, eyes wide, and for a moment I think she’s understood. “Oh, no,” she says. “You’re wrong. Eldest told me. Inoculations. ” She holds out the basket of needles for me to inspect. “They make the rabbits healthier. Stronger. Better meat. ”
I start to protest, but her wide, innocent, and empty eyes tell me it would be pointless. I shiver, but it has nothing to do with how cold I feel as my sweat dries on my skin. Eldest’s control is absolute. I don’t know why this girl is so vacant that she won’t believe what’s right in front of her face when it contradicts what Eldest has told her. I don’t know for sure if it even is Eldest behind the unpluggings. But I do know one thing: if it is him, and he’s got the entire ship blindly following him like this, there’s no chance I can stand against him.
34
ELDER
STARLIGHT TRICKLES UNDER MY DOOR THE NEXT MORNING. When I emerge from my chamber, yawning and stretching, I see that Eldest has lowered the metal screen over the navigation chart, exposing the lightbulb stars.
“Hey,” Eldest says. He’s leaning against the wall by his room, staring up at the false stars. He scoots over when I sit down, and I hear glass clattering on the metal floor. A bottle of the drink the Shippers make. Eldest moves to hide it, but he’s too late.
We stare at the lightbulbs.
“I forget sometimes,” Eldest says. “How hard it is. I’ve been doing it. . . for so long. ” He sighs. Although the sharp, stinging scent of the drink lingers in the air, Eldest isn’t drunk. I glance at the bottle—it’s been opened, but no more than a swallow or two are missing. Trust Eldest not to let go of control even in this.
“I know it’s hard,” I say.
Eldest shakes his head. “No, you don’t. Not really. You’re just starting. You. . . haven’t had to make the decisions I’ve had to. You haven’t had to live with yourself afterward. ”
What does he mean by that?
Just what has he done?
And another part of me, the part that’s felt what it’s like to be Elder for sixteen years, not Eldest’s fifty-six, that part of me asks: What has he had to do?
Because I know Eldest, and what’s more, I know the job. And I know why we do the job. Why we live the job. Why we have to.
“It’d be easier, if the Elder before you was still alive. He could take care of you and the Season, and I could take care of—”
“Of what?” I ask, leaning forward.
“Of everything else. ”
Eldest stands now, the light of the false stars speckling his body. He looks very old. Much older than I’ve ever seen him before. It’s not years that age him, though.
“I hate the Season. ” Eldest’s disgust is apparent in his voice.
I start to ask why, but he’s not looking at me, and something stays my tongue. I wonder—does he hate it because he has no one to mate with? I’ve never seen him look at a woman the way Harley used to look at his girlfriend. . . the way I look at Amy. Maybe he had a woman before me, for his Season, but she died. Maybe. . . I swallow. I can’t say I haven’t wondered before, wondered if Eldest was really my—
“Don’t get proud,” Eldest says, interrupting my thoughts.
