His body is stiff. Cold. He’s been dead awhile.
He died down here, probably before Elder gave his announcement about planet-landing. He died without knowing hope. He died cold and alone, blocked from the light of the stars, on a hard metal floor, surrounded by walls.
There’s nothing I can do. He’s dead.
I glance back at the keypad by the door. Whoever dumped his body in the hatch meant to type the code and open the outer door, sending the body out into the vacuum of space. They messed the code up on the last number and left the body by accident.
I bite my lip, trying to think who would do this — and what I should do if I figure it out. Does Luthor’s murderer deserve punishment? He tried to rape me, he did rape Victria, and he would do it again, given the chance. He’s been pushing for a rebellion not because he believes in any ideal of democracy, but because he thrills in causing chaos. He never showed any remorse. He didn’t make a mistake — he was evil, and he knew, and he relished in it.
I remember the rage in Elder’s eyes when I told him what Luthor had done, and how he went away for so long after.
No. No.
I force my mind to think of the future.
Planet-landing.
Fresh air.
My parents, awake and with me.
No more walls.
I turn my back very deliberately on the body and walk to the hatch door. I shut it, trying as hard as possible not to catch sight of the body through the bubble window.
I start to type the correct code into the control panel by the door.
G-o-d.
I pause.
Under my tunic, the gold cross necklace weighs heavily against my neck, as if it would like to pull me down, down. I feel the disapproving gaze of my parents, frozen and locked away in their cryo chambers. This — this is covering up a murder.
A murder of a horrible man who deserved to die.
But a man, nonetheless.
But he deserved it.
I think about Victria’s tear-streaked face.
I can’t do anything; he’s already dead.
I could tell Elder.
But what if I’m right and Elder—
Very quickly, I type out the rest of the code.
The door flies open; Luthor’s body flies out.
He’s gone.
Forever.
53 ELDER
I GET TO THE KEEPER LEVEL ONLY A FEW MINUTES BEFORE the solar lamp is due to click off — at its proper time — and I rush straight to Eldest’s room, swing open the door of his closet, and pull out the Keeper Robe. Stars are sprinkled across the shoulder, a planet along the hem. This robe symbolizes every hope and dream my people have ever known. And I’m going to make those dreams come true tonight.
I push my wi-com and do an all-call. “Everyone on board Godspeed is to come immediately to the Keeper Level,” I say, then disconnect the link. I don’t want to waste time on words.
I slide the robe off the hanger and slip it over my shoulders. Before, it felt like the robe was too big for me. Tonight, I stand straight and tall, my chest puffed out, and the robe fits perfectly.
In a few minutes, I can hear people start to arrive. Amy won’t be here; there’s no way she’d come among a crowd of this many people — and while I’m glad she’ll be safe in her room, I wish I could walk away from all the other residents of Godspeed and take her to the Bridge myself, just the two of us.
The people’s footsteps are heavy on the metal floor, and their talk is loud, totally unlike the quiet, polite whispers that filled the Great Room the last time Eldest called a group meeting.
It will take a while for everyone to arrive. I can hear Shelby and the other Shippers organizing the group, making sure there is enough room for everyone. The Shippers are also, I know, stationing themselves among the people most likely to cause trouble. In the meantime, I sit down on Eldest’s bed. I breathe in. I breathe out. I don’t want to have to speak, not to everyone, but words will be required. I will have to do this.
There’s a knock on the door. I walk across the room and open it. Shelby slips inside and shuts the door. I wonder how she knew I’d be here rather than in my room, then realize — she probably always assumed I’d be here. This is the Eldest’s room, and whether I take his name or not, I’m still him now.
“I — oh,” she says when she sees me.
“Yes?”
“Um… Is that wise?”
“What?” I follow her gaze. “The robe? Eldest wore it.”
“Yes, but…”
“What did you need me for?”
“I think everyone’s here now, sir,” she says, squaring her shoulders.
For a moment, the robe seems to swallow me. I force my spine straighter and head to the door. It zips open.
A wave of silence washes over the entire crowd — those standing nearest the door cease talking immediately, then those behind them follow suit. And it is a crowd. I’d never realized how big over two thousand people looked when they were all looking at you.
Their eyes all follow me as I cross the short distance to the dais the Shippers have set up for me.
“You chutz!” a voice bellows across the crowded room.
The people in the room seem to move as one to make a path — and marching through that path is Bartie.
“What right do you have to wear that robe?” he shouts. His face is red, even the tips of his ears.
“I’m—” I stop. I can’t say I’m Eldest — I never claimed that title. And the robe is for an Eldest only.
In the end, it doesn’t matter that I didn’t have anything witty to say to Bartie, because once he gets close enough to me, he knocks me aside so forcefully that I stagger back against the wall.
“The frex?” I say, but my words are drowned out by Bartie’s voice.
“Are we going to put up with this?” Bartie roars, turning to the crowd. “How can this child dare call us all together and parade in Eldest’s robe? He’s no Eldest — he’s no leader!”
And they cheer him.
Not all of them, certainly, but enough. Enough to make the sound of their support swirl inside my brain, soaking into my memory like water into a sponge.
“We deserve a new leader. One chosen by us!”
I grab Bartie by the elbow and spin him back around to face me. “What the frex do you think you’re doing?”
“Your job,” he sneers.
“I can do it myself!” I shout back.
“Oh, really?” He pushes me, hard, and I stumble back into the wall. Bartie’s talking in a quieter voice now — and everyone is listening to him. He’s evoked a truer silence than I did. When they quit talking for me, that’s all they did, but now they’re not just quiet, they’re listening to him. Listening to his every word. “What have you done since Eldest died? Nothing.”
“I took you all off Phydus!”
“Not everyone wanted to be off Phydus! What did you do for them? Let them huddle in their homes, scared. Let them die in the streets. Did you even notice how many of us aren’t here? Have you noticed how many people don’t work? How many have broken down, are scared, are alone? Do you even care?”
“Of course I care!”
Bartie takes a step back, looking me up and down, measuring me. “You can’t be Eldest if you’re still Elder,” he says finally in a voice calm and quiet, but still loud enough for everyone to hear. “And,” he adds in a voice so low only I can hear, “you can’t be Eldest if you care for Amy more than Godspeed.”
I don’t know if it’s because of his sneer or because a part of me is afraid he’s right, but I rear back and slam my fist against his face with all the force I have in me.