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Bartie glares at me. There’s no question about it now: there’s contempt and anger in his eyes, although his voice remains soft-spoken. “Why aren’t you stepping up? Why aren’t you keeping the order? Eldest might’ve been a chutz, but at least you didn’t have to worry about getting through the day when he was in charge. ”
“I’m doing what I can,” I protest.
“It’s not enough!” The words bounce around the room, slamming into my ears.
Without thinking about it, I pound my fist onto the table. The noise startles Bartie; the shock of it makes me forget my anger. I shake my hand, pain tingling up my arm.
“What are you reading?” I growl.
“What?”
“What are you frexing reading?”
When I glance up, Bartie’s eyes meet mine. Our anger melts. We’re friends—even without Harley, we’re still friends. And even if the ship hasn’t exactly been a friendly place lately, we can still hold onto our past.
Bartie lifts the smaller book for me to see the title: The Republic, by Plato.
“I read that last year,” I say. “It was confusing as frex. That bit about the cave made no sense at all. ”
Bartie shrugs. “I’m at the part about aristocracy. ” He pronounces it “a-risto-crazy. ” Eldest told me it was “ah-rista-crah-see” but he probably got it wrong too, and besides, what’s the difference?
I know the part he’s talking about well—it was the center of the lesson Eldest had prepared for me. It was also, essentially, the base of the entire Eldest system. “An aristocrat is someone born to rule,” I say. “Someone born with the innate talent to guide everyone else. ”
Bartie can’t be thinking what I’m thinking: that the only reason I was born to rule was because I was plucked as an embryo from a tube full of other genetically enhanced clones whose DNA had been modified to make the ideal ruler.
“But even Plato says that the ideal state of an aristocracy can decay,” Bartie says.
The word decay reminds me of the entropy Marae mentioned, how everything is constantly spinning out of control, including the ship. Including me.
“An Eldest is like an aristocrat,” Bartie adds. He’s searching my eyes now, the book forgotten, as if he wants me to pick up some deeper meaning to what he’s saying. I pull my mind away from the broken engine and Marae’s lies and back to the conversation at hand.
“But the Eldest system isn’t decaying,” I say. “It works. It is working. ”
“You’re not Eldest,” Bartie points out. “You’re still Elder. ”
I shake my head. “In name only. I can rule without taking on the title. ”
“Titles confuse me. ” Bartie picks up The Republic again, closing it and staring at the cover. “This book talks about aristocracy and tyranny like they’re two different things, but I don’t see a difference. ” He slides it across the table. “There are other forms of government, though. ”
“What are you saying?” I ask warily.
Bartie stands and so do I. “You don’t have to be alone in this,” he says. “Look at the reality of the situation. Even if you are the one aristocrat on this ship, the one leader—you’re sixteen years old. Maybe you will be a great leader . . . ”
“Will be?” I growl.
He shrugs. “People don’t respect you now. Maybe in another five or ten years. ”
“People respect me because of what I am!”
Bartie drops the book on the table; its thud echoes on the metal surface. He heads toward the door, shouldering past me when he nears. “You’ve given us all the chance to think, to choose for ourselves what we want. ” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “I respect that. But you’ve got to realize that maybe, when we’ve had a chance to think about it, we’re not going to choose you as our leader. ”
Bartie picks up two books from the table—the history of the French Revolution and a book from the science room, Technical Instruction on Communication Systems. He abandons Plato’s Republic on the table and carries the other books across the room without speaking. When the door zips closed after him, though, it feels as if there are a lot of words drifting through the silence he leaves behind.
The last cause of discord. Individual thought.
He has no idea that I haven’t slept a full night in three months. That I do nothing but try to figure out how to keep a ship full of angry, passionate, self-aware people from self-destruction. That now, on top of everything else, I have the dead engine to worry about. All he sees is my failure.
If I can’t rule without Phydus, that’s all any of them will ever see.
