“Elder, what’s wrong?”
“I just . . . I want you safe. I’ve got to go—” The com link disconnects before he’s got the words fully out.
27
ELDER
“DON’T CROWD AROUND! GIVE US SOME AIR!” DOC’S BELLOWING does no good at all; if anything, the crowd presses closer.
“I’m glad you were already here,” I say, dropping to my knees beside Doc as he examines Stevy.
Doc touches Stevy’s neck, shakes his head, and leans back.
“What happened?” Bartie says. There’s no more bravado in his voice. He’s my old friend again, the one who used to race rockers across the porch of the Recorder Hall. And he’s scared. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” I say.
“You did something to his wi-com. Then he ends up dead. ” His voice is louder now. He’s no longer my friend—he’s my adversary. “Is this what happens to people who protest against you, Elder? They die?”
“Don’t be a chutz,” Doc says. He peels something sticky off Stevy’s arm. A small pale green med patch. Our eyes meet briefly. This is a Phydus p
atch—one of the patches Doc developed recently.
“What kind of med patch is that?” Bartie demands. Behind us, I can feel the others’ gazes. Marae, as efficient as ever, has organized her Shippers into a sort of barrier around us, keeping the crowd largely at bay. But it won’t last.
“It’s a specialized patch,” Doc answers Bartie. He looks at it closer, forgetting about Bartie and everyone else as he mutters to me, “Someone’s written something on it. ”
He holds the patch out. Bartie tries to snatch it, but I beat him to it. “Follow,” I read aloud. In heavy black ink, just that one word: follow.
“But how did this patch kill Stevy?” I ask.
“This one didn’t,” Doc says. He pushes up Stevy’s sleeve, exposing the patches hidden under his clothing. “One patch is harmless. But two more is an overdose. ” He peels the remaining patches off Stevy’s arm.
I frown: med patches are supposed to be fast-acting, but the concentration of Phydus in these med patches seems too strong if just three will instantaneously kill a man.
“What’s written on those patches?” Luthor calls out, trying to shove Marae aside so he can get closer.
Doc starts to hand the patches to me, but Bartie snatches them from his outstretched hands. “The,” he reads off the first one, loudly so the whole crowd can hear. “Leader. ” He looks up at me, and there is real fear in his eyes. He thinks I’ve done this. “Follow the leader. These patches—the special patches that killed Stevy—are a command. A warning. To follow the leader. ”
Before I can explain that none of this is my fault, that I didn’t write those words or put the patches on Stevy, Bartie turns to the crowd. “This is what happens when you don’t follow the leader. ” He spits out the words and throws the used patches on Stevy’s cold body.
“This is what happens!” Luthor cries out, picking up the charge from Bartie. His words ring across the City. “This is the price you pay if you don’t follow the leader! Don’t follow Elder—and he has you killed!”
“Wait a minute,” I shout, jumping up. “No I didn’t! No I don’t!”
But it’s too late. Bartie’s and Luthor’s words have spread like poison. I can see the fear and revulsion in people’s eyes as they break past the human barrier created by Marae and the other Shippers. They spill out, sweeping past me—knocking me down and shoving aside Doc as they scoop up Stevy’s lifeless body. They chant—follow the leader—but it’s a sneering, angry sort of chant. It’s mocking me.
It’s a battle cry.
More and more people—those who’d been waiting on the sidelines—join the shouting crowd. Stevy’s body becomes a banner of revolt. His lifeless form is passed around, raised over the crowd, roiling over the hands of the people like waves.
“Enough,” I say.
“They can’t hear you. ” Doc’s eyes are flashing, but his face is stony.
I press my wi-com. “ENOUGH!” I roar, and this time, every single frexing person on the ship hears me.
“The ship is now on curfew. Go to your homes. Do not leave them. The Shippers will be enforcing this curfew tonight. Everyone—everyone—is to leave the City streets, leave work, and retire to their own homes. ” If Eldest were giving this sort of order, he would have spoken with cold authority. But not me. I’m so mad I’m shaking, and I can’t keep the quiver of anger from my voice. I turn my attention now to the mob in front of me, even though this com is going out to every single person on board the ship, “Look at what you’re doing. Look at how you’re treating the body of one of your own. This is disgusting. Leave him here so Doc can send him to the stars. ”