“Use it,” I say, standing. Doc rips the med patch open, and I can hear the sigh of submission from Evie as the chemical seeps into her system. Doc asks her to stand and follow him to the Hospital, and she silently obeys.
I trail behind them. Evie’s emptiness was worse than the mindlessness I’d seen in the Feeders when they were still on Phydus. I think back to Amy’s dull, Phydus-drugged eyes — Doc said she had a bad reaction to it. Is Evie having a bad reaction to being off it?
“Take her up to one of the rooms on the fourth floor,” Doc tells Kit.
I shoot Doc a look as Kit walks Evie to the elevator.
“The fourth floor just holds regular patient beds now,” Doc says firmly. He knows what I’m thinking — about the grays, and the clinical way Doc killed them under Eldest’s orders to make room for more younger people. “Would you like me to give you my weekly report now, while you’re here? We can go to my office.”
I nod and follow him silently into the elevator. When it reaches the third floor, we both get off, leaving Kit and Evie to continue to the fourth floor. Doc leads me to his office. I pause at one door — Amy’s. I want to turn right and go to her. I just want to give her my apology over and over until she accepts it. But instead, I turn left and enter Doc’s office.
“The Hospital’s been so busy lately,” Doc says. “This is the first time I’ve had a chance to come to my office in two days. I’m sorry for the mess.”
I snort. The office looks immaculate, but that doesn’t stop Doc from immediately straightening the papers on his desk.
The Hospital has been busier than usual, though. Bruises and cuts from fights. Injuries from farm equipment when the operators were distracted from their jobs by senseless daydreaming that never would have happened had they still been on Phydus. A few people just doing stupid things to show how much chutz they had. And some… some pretty strange cases. Where people hurt themselves or each other, just because they suddenly had the capacity to feel, and they didn’t care what they felt as long as it was something.
Amy said that she could mark how quickly the effects of Phydus wore off the Feeders by how many more people would come to the Hospital each day.
My gut twists at the thought of Amy. She’s just down the hall, probably sitting in her room, hating me.
“My report,” Doc says, sliding a floppy across the desk as he sits down.
Before I look at it, I say, “Will Evie be okay?”
Doc nods. “The Phydus patch is just like any other med patch — it’s just that the meds inside it are a variation of Phydus. It’s strong enough to act quickly, but I’ve also developed an antidote patch, just in case.”
I’m still hesitant about using Phydus in any form, but at least there’s an antidote. I let the subject drop.
For a moment, I consider telling Doc what I now know about the ship, how we’re stopped. If Eldest had known, he would have told Doc. But I’m not Eldest, and Doc’s not my friend. Instead of speaking, I examine the report Doc handed me.
SHIP HEALTH EVALUATION REPORT
Previous ship population: 2,298
Current ship population: 2,296
Fluctuations in population: -2
Jordy, Rancher: suicide
Ellemae, Greenhouse Keeper: complications in external injuries
Disease and injuries:
+3 infection due to previous wounds
+18 gastroenteritis due to improper food preparation
+6 workplace injuries +9 self-inflicted injuries and violence
+43 alcohol-related problems (poisoning, injuries, etc.)
+24 malnourishment +63 overfeeding
Psychological and health issues
— 1 depression
+8 hoarding
+6 hypochondria +2 deviant sexual behavior
Medical notes: +2 pregnancies
I click on the deaths and read the names carefully, memorizing them. Because here’s the simple truth — if I hadn’t taken the ship off Phydus, people like Jordy and Ellemae would still be alive. And while I could say that a shorter life with feelings is better than a longer life without, the dead can’t tell me their side.
I pause at the malnourished and overfed. Some of this is linked with the hoarding, I’m sure. People are afraid they won’t have enough food later, so they’re saving it now rather than eating it. Or they’re eating as much as they can before supplies run out.
I can’t help but think of Bartie’s warning. The way to a revolution is through people’s stomachs.
When I get to the end of the report, I ask, “Two new pregnancies?”
Doc takes the floppy back and reads over it, even though he must know what’s on it. “Oh, yes,” he says. “Both had lived in the Ward and chosen not to participate in the Season. They have, however, since decided to procreate.”
“Doc,” I say, curiosity making my voice rise. “If we wanted to increase the ship’s population, then the Season’s not very effective, is it?”
Doc swipes the floppy off and sets it on his desk, poking one side until it’s square with the desk mat. “I, er, why do you say that?”
I lean forward, sitting on the edge of my chair. “I used to think that the Season was just the way things were, like how the animals mate on schedule. But it’s pretty obvious now that the Season isn’t natural. And if it’s something engineered by you and Eldest, and if we’re still trying to rebuild our population from the so-called Plague… well, the Season doesn’t make sense, does it? One mating Season per gen? That would reduce our population, not recoup it… ”
My voice trails off, but Doc doesn’t answer right away. The more I speak, the more I realize how right I am. The Season is just a frexing loon method to rebuild a population.
“Well, for some gens we had two Seasons,” Doc says defensively. “And we’ve engineered it so many couples have multiple births.”
For a moment we both stare at each other.
“It started a few gens ago,” Doc says finally. His voice is hollow; it’s like he’s confessing a sin to me. “We figured it would be best to slow the population growth. We’re having trouble producing enough food as it is.”
“What happens when we can’t produce enough food?” I ask.
Doc looks at me silently, and I can tell he’s evaluating whether or not he will tell me. With the Shippers, I can demand truth and be assured they’ll give it. But with Doc, I have to wait and hope. Doc was in favor of Eldest’s use of Phydus, and he was in favor of Orion’s methods — after all, he was the one who kept Orion alive when Eldest ordered him killed. But I don’t think Doc has made up his mind yet on whether or not I’m a good enough replacement for either of these men.
Apparently, though, I can be trusted with the truth. At least in this case. He finally says, “Eldest had thought of that. We have in storage a supply of over 3,000 black med patches.”
“Black?” I ask. I’d never seen patches that were black.
Doc nods curtly. “In the event that the ship is no longer capable of sustaining life, the black patches will be distributed to the ship’s population.”
And now I understand what the black patches are for. A quick death, rather than a slow one.
16 AMY
I PROP HARLEY’S LAST PAINTING UP ON MY BED AND STAND back. His laughing eyes are even with my own, but there’s no Mona Lisa — like illusion that he’s looking at me.
“So,” I say aloud to painted Harley, “just where is this clue Orion says is here?”
I’m hesitant to touch the paint — I don’t want to do anything to damage it. Instead, I scan the painting with my eyes, looking for some hidden message from Orion.