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“I should have done it a month ago. ” I say, then wait for her reaction.
Her hand twitches, as if she’d like to reach out to me, but she doesn’t. “You’re still not telling me something,” she says softly.
Neither are you, I think, but I can tell from the hardness of her eyes that she won’t tell me whatever it is that’s bothering her. Instead, I confess my truth. About the engines. And the lies. How we’re not moving, and we don’t even know where we are. I tell her what I haven’t told anyone else on board.
“And we can’t tell them,” I add. “If the Feeders knew . . . ”
Amy bites her lip but doesn’t argue. For now.
I run my fingers through my hair, trying to pull my answer up through the roots. “We’ve been stopped a long time. The ship’s not going to last forever. It’s . . . Godspeed is falling apart. ”
When I say it now, to her, I finally realize the truth. And I finally see the things I’ve never seen before, and what they really mean. The dwindling food production, despite the fact that w
e’re pumping all the fertilizer and nutrients we can into the fields. It’s true that most Feeders haven’t been working as hard as they did while on Phydus, but even their lack of productivity can’t excuse the way the crops barely have enough strength to push their way up through the soil.
That year when we had so much rain—was it just for research, or did the irrigation system break? The chemically derived meat substitute used in wall food at least twice a week—is it really a better source of nutrition or just the best Doc and the scientists could make when the livestock was no longer enough to feed everyone?
I’m starting to see why Eldest was so . . . so desperate.
I think of the sound of the engine, even if its energy is just being diverted to the internal functions of the ship: that churn amid the whirrs. It’s not a healthy sound.
When I’m done talking, I realize how silent she’s been the whole time.
“Amy?” I ask softly.
She meets my eyes.
“Does this mean . . . can I wake my parents up now?”
“What? No!” I say immediately.
“But . . . if we’re not going to land—if there’s no hope at all that we’ll ever land—then, why not?”
“We might still land! Frex, give me a chance to fix this problem. ”
“Maybe one of the frozens can fix it. There are scientists and engineers frozen too, you know. ”
“Amy—no. No. My people can handle this. ”
She mutters something I don’t catch.
“What?” I demand.
“It’s not like they’ve done that good of a job so far! Hell, Elder, how long have the engines been dead? Since before you were born! Maybe even decades—or longer!”
“I don’t need this!” I roar. “Not from you too! I don’t need you telling me what to do or that I’m not good enough. ”
“I’m not questioning you!” Amy hurtles the words at me. “I’m just saying, someone from Earth could probably fix this problem!”
“You’re just saying that we should wake your parents up!”
“This isn’t about them!”
“With you, it always is! You can’t just wake up your parents because you’re a scared little girl!”
Amy glares at me fiercely, an angry flush staining her cheeks. “Maybe if you’d admit you weren’t good enough to do everything on this effing ship yourself, you could see that you have people who could actually help you right underneath your feet!”
I know she said it in anger—that I wasn’t good enough. But her words do hurt, like a hot knife slicing through the center of me. “Haven’t you figured out that half my problems are because of you? If I didn’t have to watch out for the freak, maybe I could get something done!”
