As soon as the door zips shut behind them, I leap from my chair and press my ear against the metal. Nothing. I go back to the doctor’s desk, dump out his pencils, and put the cup against the door, like they do in those old Disney movies. More nothing.
“—last time!” Eldest roars so loudly that I almost drop the cup. I cram my ear against the metal door, straining for sound.
“It’s not like last time,” the doctor hisses. He must be standing closer to the door — his voice is softer, but I can hear him better. I wonder if he’s moved closer just for my benefit.
Eldest, meanwhile, has lowered his voice, and I only catch snatches of what he says. “Really? — The Season starting… someone unplugged — again — and you…”
“You know it can’t be him again,” the doctor says. There’s some mumbling, a deep rumble of a voice, but I can’t discern it. I catch one word: “Impossible.”
“Whabout you?” Their strange accent isn’t helping my eavesdropping, either.
“Me?” the doctor says.
“You.” I catch the sneer in Eldest’s voice, even through the metal door. “You were sympathetic to him last time, don’t try to deny it.”
“—posterous,” the doctor mumbles, “… could as easily say it was you.”
Another low grumbling. It sounds almost like Eldest is actually growling.
“Well?” the doctor exclaims. “Elder told me you were teaching him about discord. How am I to know this isn’t all some sick trial you’ve devised to test the boy!” Something, something—stupid door makes it impossible to hear properly—“like last time.”
Eldest’s voice deepens and grows gravelly. There’s some sort of scuffling, and before I have time to move, the door zips open. The doctor bumps right into me, and I do drop the cup this time. It rolls across the floor, the only sound as the three of us stare at one another.
Eldest’s face is hard, harsh. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on this… situation,” he says, but he’s looking at Doc, not me. He straightens his tunic-like shirt and turns to leave. Then he pauses and looks back at me. “Don’t leave the Hospital grounds. I haven’t decided what to do with you yet.”
“I’m not some sort of prisoner!” I shout at him.
“On this ship, we all are,” he says, and then he’s gone.
“Don’t worry about him,” the doctor says, reaching over to pat my shoulder. I shrug him away. “He won’t put you in a release hatch.”
“Humph.” I didn’t quite believe that.
“I have set you up in a room with all the appropriate necessities. You will be living here, at least for now. Do you have any questions?”
Is he really going to pretend like nothing happened? Like I couldn’t hear what they were arguing about? All right, I didn’t hear most of it, but I heard enough.
“What happened last time?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” the doctor says, sitting down at his desk. He waves graciously at the chair across from him, and I slump down in it.
I give him a look, but he ignores it. “Come on. Really?”
The doctor starts straightening the pencils I dumped on his desk. He’s seriously OCD. But… I wonder how much of him is real. He’s as expressionless with me as he is with Eldest. I doubt he likes me — but he did stand up for me when Eldest threatened to throw me out the hatch. As for how the doctor feels about Eldest… I thought he respected him, maybe even feared him, but he seemed to move closer to the door when I was trying to listen in on his conversation with Eldest. Did he do that on purpose? Now — is he trying to get me to ask the right questions? Or am I just playing mind games with myself?
“Last Season,” the doctor says, “we had some trouble. But it has nothing to do with this.”
“It might. How do you know?”
“Because the person who caused trouble last Season is dead,” the doctor says. “Anything else?”
He’s getting angry, maybe already regretting that he promised not to throw me off the ship. He likes things organized, and I’ve already proven more than once just in this little office that he can’t organize me like he can his pencils.
“Yeah,” I say, unable to keep the aggression from my voice. “Why was I woken up early? What happened?”
The doctor frowns. “I’m not sure,” he says finally. “But it appears as if someone… disconnected you.”
“Disconnected me?”
“The cryostasis chambers are attached to a very simple electrical device that monitors temperatures and life support systems. You were simply… disconnected from the power unit. Turned off. Unplugged.”
“Who unplugged me?!” I demand, rising. The doctor’s hand twitches, inching closer to the med patch on his desk. I sit back down, but my heart is racing, my breathing shallow. Between that conversation in the hall and this revelation, it’s clear that something’s going on. And I’m stuck in the middle of it.
“We are not sure. But we will find out.” Then, so low I almost don’t hear it, he adds, “But it had to have been someone with access.” His eyes shoot to the door behind me, and I know he’s thinking of Eldest. Which is stupid: Eldest didn’t want me dead until I was unfrozen. But… why would anyone unplug me? To kill me? But why me? I am, as the doctor so kindly pointed out, nonessential.
And then another question, one much more important, rises above everything else. “What about my parents? Is whoever unplugged me going to unplug my parents?” I remember choking on cryo liquid; I remember believing that I would drown in that box. I don’t want my parents to feel the same thing. I don’t want to run the risk of losing them forever if their boxes are opened too late after the ice melts.
“Go back to your chamber to rest. Try not to think these disturbing thoughts. You can rest assured that your parents — and all the rest of the frozens — are protected. Eldest will see to that.”
I narrow my eyes. I doubt very much that old man will do anything to help anyone else. He’d probably think setting guards around the cryo chambers would be too much of a “disturbance.” And with his callousness, I wouldn’t be too surprised to find out that he unplugged me just to see if it would kill me.
But I cannot think here. I cannot figure out what to do. Even though I don’t want to rest, I do need to be somewhere alone with my thoughts. So, I leave.
A pile of crushed flowers rests beside my door. I bend and pick them up. The blooms remind me of tiger lilies, but they are bigger and brighter than any tiger lilies I remember from Earth. Even though they’re ruined, a part of me wants to set them in a bowl of water — they’re beautiful and their fragrance is sweet. In the end, though, I stand up and leave the broken flowers in the hall. They remind me too much of me.
18 ELDER
“OH, HERE YOU ARE,” ELDEST SAYS CASUALLY AS HE CLIMBS UP the hatch that connects the Keeper Level to the Shipper Level.
I lie on the cool metal floor below the metal screen hiding the fake stars. My head is pounding from Eldest’s little noise trick. I have never in all my life had a headache this bad before. Every time I let my head roll on the floor, it feels as if a ton of weight is crashing around, slamming against my skull, flattening my brain into useless mush. I try to stay still.
“That was a frexing dirty thing to do,” I mutter, pressing the palms of my hands into my forehead.
“What? Oh, the tonal thing. Well, next time don’t ignore my com.”
“I can if I want to!” I know it sounds childish, but I can barely frexing see with this headache. I stare up at the dull metal ceiling, grateful the star screen is blocked from view. Just thinking about the tiny pinpricks of the lightbulb stars makes my head ache more.