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Luthor leads me to a room on the second floor—a huge gallery with double doors. Unlike the entryway, this room is filled with light, illuminating the objects inside.
“ What is this?” I whisper. Canvases hang from the walls, illuminated by the windows. Sculptures dot the tiled floor; a mobile made of glittering glass hangs from the ceiling. “It’s the art from past gens,” Luthor says. He steps inside, and while I just stand there, gazing around, he watches my expression as if eager to see if he’s pleased me.
“I . . . I didn’t know,” I say, awed. And I didn’t. It’s not that the Recorder Hall is banned or kept hidden—although you do have to have permission to see the books. It’s that it never occurred to me that a ship led by Eldest could hold such treasures.
“And look,” Luthor says, stepping over to the wall, where an electronic box is embedded. He adjusts a dial, and music drifts through the room.
“These were all made by people who lived on this ship,” he says.
I close my eyes and listen.
The singer is a soprano, like me, and her voice is clear and rich. She sings about impossibilities: stars within reach, solid earth at her feet, and ocean mist kissing her cheeks. When the song fades to static, I open my eyes.
Luthor’s motionless, staring at me with a look on his face that I don’t recognize. “Let’s make this our studio,” he says suddenly. “You and me. Let’s work on our projects here. ” He pauses, wetting his lips. “Together. ”
I think about the adoration Harley showers on Kayleigh, the way Kayleigh’s mouth twitches whenever he tries to snatch her hand in his. I think of the way Bartie hung back to stay with Victria.
“Yes, ” I say, and in that moment, nothing exists beyond him and me and the lingering strains of the music that hang between us.
5.
Orion gave us a whole month to complete our projects, but we waste no time getting started. An opportunity to dedicate our days to the arts we love has been rare in the Hospital, and none of us is taking that that time for granted. Kayleigh works outside—she’s using metal and a blowtorch to make . . . something, but only she knows what. Harley has decided that he needs to work outside too, to keep his fresco wet, and the two of them have set up spaces near the koi pond Kayleigh likes to swim in.
Bartie tags along wherever Victria goes, and Victria wanders through the fields and to the City, scribbling in the little leather-bound book that Orion gave her after she told him her idea for a collection of poetry. It almost seems as if Bartie’s taking his assignment too literally—he’s following the object of his affection blindly no matter where she leads him. Still, I suspect Bartie would be devastated to discover what her notebook actually contains—my guess is that more than half her poems are in fact dedicated to Orion.
And Luthor and I? We meet each other every morning, before the solar lamp clicks on, and sneak into our little makeshift studio together.
“I ’m glad you didn’t decide to work with Bartie,” he says after the first week.
“ Why would I work with Bartie?” I ask innocently, even though that’s what I’d thought I wanted before. I focus on typing notes on my floppy so he doesn’t notice my blush.
Luthor smirks at me and turns his attention back to his own floppy. Orion has ordered clay for him, manufactured chemically in the labs on the Shipper Level, but when it arrives, he’ll have to work quickly to finish his sculpture before it dries out. For that reason, Orion’s insisted that he come up with a design before he actually starts sculpting.
“ Seriously, Luthor,” I say, “I’m really glad we’re working toget
her. ”
He mumbles something.
“ What?” I ask.
“Luthe. You could call me Luthe. My friends do. ”
I wonder whom he means by “friends. ” Bartie? Probably, even though if you asked Bartie, I’m sure he wouldn’t have applied the term “friend” to Luthor. Luthor has been living at the Hospital as long as anyone—in fact, I think he was one of the first Doc selected to move in. Even so, he’s always been stand-offish at best.
I shoot him a quick smile. “I’m glad to be your friend,” I say. “Would it be okay if I still call you Luthor, though? It—suits you. ”
He turns back to his floppy, but he can’t hide his smile.
At the end of the second week, Victria taps on my bedroom door. It zips open before I have a chance to get up from my desk and answer her knock.
“ Don’t just come in! ” I say, jumping up.
Victria rolls her eyes and plops down on my unmade bed.
There are no locks on Godspeed. We don’t need them. The ship is so small that everyone respects privacy. On Sol-Earth, people had to worry about things like theft, but not here. Godspeed is perfectly safe.
Except from Victria when she wants to talk.
