“Where?” I ask. Dread wriggles through my veins like worms writhing in mud.
“In the Recorder Hall. ”
I glance down at the wi-com on my wrist in revulsion. All I can think about is the angry, spiderweb scar that marred the side of Orion’s head, just under his left ear. I imagine the wires braided around my wrist being ripped from his flesh, dripping in blood and gore. “This was his?” I hiss.
Doc nods. “I found it among his possessions. He altered it himself. I don’t know why he kept it, even—but the design works perfectly. ” Doc pauses. I didn’t know it was possible, but he looks even more uncomfortable as he meets my eyes. “There was . . . a note. He made this wi-com specifically for you. ”
“For me?” I ask, peering down at the thing entwined around my wrist.
“He wrote that he feared for your safety, if something happened to him and the Eldest system faltered, as he thought it would. As it did. ”
I don’t know what to do with this information. That Orion, who tried to kill my father, who did kill other people from Earth, helpless, frozen, and defenseless, that he would care enough about me to remake his wi-com . . . A twisted sort of emotion, part gratitude, part revulsion, snakes around my insides.
“Not that I really want a wi-com, but can’t you just make another one? A new one? One that wasn’t under someone’s skin?”
“We don’t have unlimited resources. There are more babies coming than we have wi-coms ready for, and the Shippers are already scrambling to make more. Besides which, I can’t program a used one for a baby; it runs a greater chance of wearing out over time. ”
I fiddle with the metal clasp, trying to get the blasted thing off.
Doc’s hand twitches, but he doesn’t reach out to stop me. Instead, he says, “Amy, you need a wi-com. It’s this or get one implanted. ”
“You can’t make me—” I start.
“No,” he says, “but Elder can. And we both agree—and you know it too—that you need to be able to call for help if . . . ”
My hand stills. If.
Frex. He’s right.
Doc nods, satisfied that I’m not going to rip the thing off and throw it away. “Well. I just wanted to give you this. Let me know if . . . if you need anything. ” He walks away, shutting the door behind him.
But me, I remain as frozen as when I lay in the glass coffin and the ice stilled my beating heart.
Frex is one of their words.
I am not one of them.
I, with a wi-com on my wrist, am not one of them.
I’m not.
I’m not.
5
ELDER
The words take a long time to sink in. “We’re . . . stopped?” I say. I scan the Shippers’ faces, hoping for some hint that this isn’t true, but the grim set of Marae’s jaw is evidence enough for me.
Oh, frex. How am I going to tell Amy this?
“How long have we been stopped?” My voice rises. I sound like a tantrum-throwing child, but I can’t help it.
“We’re . . . not sure. For some time. Maybe since the Plague. ” Marae bites her lip.
“There was no Plague,” I say automatically. She knows this; she’s just used to calling the mutiny that happened so many gens ago the Plague, perpetuating the lie the Eldest system is based on.
Behind me, the ship’s heartbeat continues: whirr-churn-whirr. “How can we not be moving?” I ask. “The engine is still working. ” Even to me, I sound desperate, a child refusing to believe the fairy tales aren’t real.