He ignores me.
“Some of you, particularly those of you on the Feeder Level near the Hospital, may notice a new resident on board. ”
“Stop. ” I lunge at Eldest. I’m sick of his lies.
Doc pulls me back, his long fingers gripping my arms. I try to shake him off, but he’s too strong.
“This new resident is a young female with strangely pale skin and bright hair. She is the result of a Shipper science experiment attempting to develop physical attributes of the body to withstand the possible harsh nature of Centauri-Earth. The girl is harmless, though simple, and prone to lying. She is easily confused and poorly suited to labor; therefore she will remain in the Ward. You are not required nor expected to interact with her at all. She is a freak, and should be treated as such. ”
My fists clench. A freak, is she? The result of a crazy Shipper science experiment? Well, that is believable—the Shipper scientists spend most of their time coming up with new things that will protect us in whatever kind of environment Centauri-Earth provides. Still, it’s clear Eldest is trying to cover up Amy’s real origins and keep her away from most people.
I shake with anger as Doc releases me, but there’s no point. Eldest is done. I turn and head back to the elevator, back to Amy.
27
AMY
“WHAT I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” I SAY, “IS WHY YOU’RE ALL HERE. ”
“What ya mean?” one of the men says. He has a guitar on his lap, an old acoustic relic.
“Harley said you all were crazy. He said this was a mental hospital. ”
“Ah, we’re not crazy,” the guitar player says. His accent is thicker than the others; I can barely understand him.
“We are. ” This is the woman who had originally scooted away from me. Harley called her Victria, said she wrote stories. She has an ancient-looking book in her hand—a real book bound in leather, not an electronic thing. I wonder where she got it. “The only thing keeping us close to sane is the mental meds,” Victria adds.
“You might be crazy,” says the guitar player in a joking tone, “but I’m not. ”
“You are,” says Harley. “She is. I am. We all are here. ”
“But you’re not,” I insist.
“Speak for yourself. ”
“No, I mean it! You’re not. You don’t act crazy. None of you do. ”
Harley smiles. “I’ll count that as a compliment. After all—” he starts, but then he cocks his head to the left, as if he’s listening to something.
“What?” I ask.
“Shh,” says Victria.
I look around the room. All of them, they’ve all got their heads tilted, each appearing to listen deeply to something.
“An all-call,” the guitar player says under his breath. “Eldest hasn’t done one since our Elder died. ”
“Shh!” Victria hisses.
My eyes bounce from person to person. Each one in the psych ward, patient or nurse, is listening intensely.
It’s eerie, the way they’ve all stopped to listen to something I can’t hear. Everyone around me is still and silent, but I jump up and pace around the crowded room, waiting for the spell to break, waiting for everyone else to return to my world.
“Load of shite,” Harley says in an offhand manner. They all start to straighten up, readjust their focus. Whatever they’d been listening to is gone now.
“What is?” I ask.
Harley looks at me, and for the first time, there is no smile in his eyes.