“They’ve only been doing it for like a few days. Don’t you have to wait a couple weeks before you can tell someone’s pregnant?”
The doctor wipes off the lube jelly from Filomina’s bare stomach, then rubs her skin with something that smells of rubbing alcohol. He reaches down and opens a drawer from the cabinet beside the stirrup bed and pulls out a syringe as long as my forearm. The long glass cylinder is filled with amber liquid. Near the plunger is a tiny label; I can tell words are written on it, but I am too far away to read them.
“Her hormone levels indicate that she’s got a good chance at fertilization. And if she wasn’t pregnant before, she will be after this. This will sting a little,” the doctor adds to Filomina, who doesn’t seem to care.
Then he stabs her with the needle, ramming it deep inside her — into her uterus, I’m guessing.
I shrink back in horror, my own stomach clenching at the sight, but Filomina just gives a tiny uh! of pain, and then it’s over. The doctor pushes down on the plunger, and the amber liquid shoots into Filomina.
“That stuff is there to change the baby,” I say in a choked whisper.
The doctor looks at me, still depressing the plunger. “It makes the baby stronger, better.”
My mouth is dry. I remember what the girl in the rabbit field said about the “inoculations.”
“Is that why all these women are so odd? Because you changed them before they were born?”
“All I did,” the doctor says as he starts to pull the needle from Filomina’s abdomen, “is give this baby additional DNA sequencing, so that the part of its DNA that’s weaker because of incest can be remade. I’m not affecting its personality.”
“If you change it, you are.”
The doctor pulls the needle out. I can’t stop staring at the tiny jewel of blood rising from the puncture.
The doctor drops the needle in a waste bin and finally turns his full attention to me.
“This is all perfectly normal,” he says, stressing each word. “There is nothing wrong here. This is the way normal people are.”
“Oh, yes,” Filomina says in a flat monotone. “This is normal. I’m normal.”
I back away, fumbling with the doorknob. I spill out of the room and run down the hall. The women stare at me silently as I race past. And even though I know their eyes aren’t interested in me, the soullessness of them fills me with a dread I cannot explain.
48 ELDER
“TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE BAT. HOW I WONDER WHAT you’re at.”
“Pardon?” I ask, smiling.
“Just a text from Sol-Earth,” Orion says, turning back to the floppy in his hand.
I didn’t expect to see Orion in the Ward’s common room again, but I’m glad he’s here. A friendly face. Harley commed me yesterday to say he took my shift in the cryo level. I’ve been stuck with Eldest most of the day.
“Have you see Harley or Amy?”
Orion shakes his head.
“What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you didn’t want Eldest or Doc to see you.”
Orion laughs. “Oh, no worries. They’re both quite busy, I’m sure.” I almost think he’s trying to tell me something secret with his eyes, but whatever it is, I can’t figure it out. Sighing, Orion turns back to his floppy. “These Sol-Earth texts are just so fascinating.” He taps on the screen, flipping through different texts.
“You should be careful. If Eldest finds out you gave Victria a Sol-Earth book… You’re a Recorder. You know the Sol-Earth books aren’t supposed to leave the Recorder Hall and aren’t meant to be seen by Feeders.” I try to peer over his shoulder to see what he’s reading. “What is that?”
Orion holds the floppy out to me, and I see a line drawing of a winged man with three faces. “It’s a story about hell. The bottom layer’s all ice.”
I’m not looking at the floppy anymore — I’m looking at Orion.
“Oh — access?” he says. “Don’t worry. I have access.”
Something about the casual way he speaks of access makes me pause. “What do you know?” I ask, my voice low so the others in the common room can’t hear. Orion’s the one who showed me the blueprints that led me to Amy. Now he’s talking about hellish ice.
Orion stands. Too close. I take a step back, but he leans in next to my face. “What do you know?” he asks. “Do you know you have a friend in me?”
49 AMY
WHEN I GET TO MY ROOM, THE FIRST THING I DO IS PUNCH the button that operates the blind over the window. The room dims. Good. I want darkness.
Someone knocks on my door.
I ignore it. Who on this ship would I want to talk with?
“Amy?” Harley says. “I saw you come in. I wanted to check on you.”
“I’m fine,” I call through the door.
“No, you’re not. Open the door.”
“No.”
“Doc has the master code. I’ll go get him if I need to.”
I jump up and press the button to open the door. The doctor is the last one I ever want to see.
Harley steps inside and surveys the room.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just thought… someone would be in here with you.”
I snort. “Who?”
Harley steps over to the desk and sits in the chair. “I thought Elder might be here.”
“Why would he come to see me?” I sit on the bed.
“Because he likes you.”
I stare at Harley, but I see no sign that he’s not sincere. “I don’t think anyone here likes anyone else.” Not like that, anyway.
“Why do you say that?” He looks truly surprised.
“Didn’t you see those men yesterday? That wasn’t ‘like’! That was—ugh! And just now—” I stop. I don’t want to talk about Filomina.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Harley says, and I know he means it. “But the Season is over now. It won’t happen again.” I can hear the threat in his voice. I hope I’m there when he sees Luthe again. “But what happened today?” he adds. “Where were you?”
“On the second floor.” Harley waits for me to go on. “The women there—”
“Oh!” Harley smiles. “The Feeder women! They were here for their examinations.”
“They were creepy.”
“Oh, no, they’re normal.” I shudder at his choice of words.
“They were not normal,” I spit out. “That is not the way normal people act. People are not mindless drones!”
Harley shakes his head. “You’re only saying that because you’ve been in the Ward since you were unfrozen. We’re the ones who aren’t normal. People are supposed to be like that: obedient, calm, working together. It’s us — who can’t focus, who can’t work together, who can’t do the Feeder or Shipper jobs — we’re the ones who aren’t normal. We’re the ones who have to take the mental meds just so we don’t go loons.”
I stare at him. I don’t know what’s going on, but everything is twisted here. The normal people are “insane,” while the ones who’ve lost any capacity for real thought are “normal.” And the Season… Luthe’s mocking eyes flash in my memory, and I choke down bile.
“Don’t people around here have emotions?” I ask finally.
“Sure. Take now for instance. Now, I’m hungry. Do you want to go to the cafeteria with me?”
“No, I’m serious. Do you have love, or just the Season?”
Whatever laughter had crinkled Harley’s eyes is dead now. “The Season wasn’t our finest moment, but I wish you would appreciate the fact that I didn’t act like that.”
“And why didn’t you?” I ask, frustrated. “What is it with this ship? Why were some people rutting in the streets, and some not affected at all?”