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The entire level seems to come to a standstill as everyone waits for me to answer.
“Get the first-level Shippers—meet me at the door to the Bridge,” I say.
“But sir—what about the Feeder Level?”
“That’s an order,” I say. “Immediately. ”
I stare her down. I try to assume the cold, impassive face that Eldest wore so well, the look that demanded obedience. I don’t know if I can make that face work, even though Eldest and I share the same DNA. I should be able to arrange my features—the same as his—into an identical look of power and command, but the more I think of it, the more I feel like a little kid trying on Daddy’s shoes.
She does it, though. She pushes her wi-com, gives the orders to the First Shippers, and then strides down the hall toward the Bridge.
Before I follow her, I have some coms of my own to make.
“Com link req: Bartie,” I say, pushing my wi-com.
A moment later, Bartie answers my com.
“You’re going to destroy us all,” I say.
“You opened the door. ” Bartie’s voice is strained, as if he’s running—running from the mob he himself created. “I just pushed them through it. ”
50
AMY
I HEARD THE WI-COMS FIRST.
Then I saw the smoke.
Then I could hear, far in the distance—t
he sound of the ship in revolt.
Elder coms me and at first I’m relieved—at least I know he’s escaping the mob—but he sounds as if he’s running—fleeing—and the com cuts out before I can say anything.
I run straight to the Hospital, to the elevator, to the cryo level.
It is silent here, and cold.
Above me there is rage, and fire, and chaos.
But here: stillness and ice.
I pull my parents out at the same time, relishing in the feel of cold metal on my skin, the ch-thunk sound the cryo chambers make as they settle on their stands.
“Today,” I whisper, “I miss you. ”
I know it’s stupid, I know it’s pointless, but there is still within me a tiny part of my mind that believes my parents can fix anything. Even a mutinous ship, even people who are tearing apart the only home they’ve known. Even me, caught in the eye of this storm.
Elder said the ship would be landing soon, a voice whispers to the piece of me that still cries for them.
When the ship lands, they’ll be woken up anyway. Why not wake them up now?
Why not?
Why not?
Why not?
