“As you know, you young ones are the generation that is to land on the surface of Centauri-Earth.” Eldest pauses, gives a dramatically deep sigh. “But, alas, that is not to be.”

Murmurs rise from the crowd. The little red light that indicates Godspeed moves backward on the track, away from Centauri-Earth.

“The engines of our dear Godspeed are tired, friends, and the ship can only go so fast. We were due to land in fifty years.”

“In 49 years, 264 days,” a voice shouts, interrupting him. As one, we all turn to face Harley, who stares at Eldest. His face is pale, the bruise under his eye dark in contrast.

Eldest smiles graciously. “As you say. And within your lifetime, friends. But, I fear, this may not be the case. Planet-landing is beyond the reach of fifty years.”

“When?” Harley says, his voice now softer, scared.

“We must hope, friends, that science lies, and that Centauri-Earth is closer than we’d believed.”

“When?”

“Seventy-five years before we land,” Eldest says simply. “Twenty-five more than we thought.”

Silence permeates the Keeper Level. Twenty-five additional years? I will not be an old man at planet-landing—I’ll be dead. I clutch Amy’s hand without realizing it. She presses against my fingers so lightly that I can barely feel her touch.

“Twenty-five more years?!” Harley shouts, pushing people apart to go through the crowd toward Eldest. “Twenty-five more?!”

Bartie and Victria hold Harley back. He swallows, hard, like he’s going to be sick right there in front of us. I can hear him muttering: “74, 264... 74, 264 ...”

“Twenty-five more.” Eldest speaks over Harley. “I’m sorry, but I cannot help it. It will be too late for you to see land ... but your children ...”

Around me, all the women’s hands curl around their bellies. “Our children,” the woman closest to me says to the man beside her. “Our children will see land.”

The words spread like fire, and all the Feeder women are murmuring to the babies inside them. Whispering words of hope, words of comfort. They don’t care about themselves. They care about the children forming inside them, about the future.

“To have miscalculated a centuries-long voyage by only twenty-five years is not so great a thing, friends,” Eldest says, and already I can see some of the Feeders nodding in agreement.

“It is!” Harley roars. He breaks free from Bartie and Victria’s grasp. “You promised us land, you promised us a home, you promised us real stars, and now you say we’ll die before we have a chance to taste air that’s not been recycled for so many frexing centuries?!”

“But our children,” one of the Feeder women says. “Our children will have the Earth. That is enough.”

“It is not enough!” Harley shouts. He’s almost at the front now; he’s almost at Eldest. “It will never be enough, not until I can feel real dirt beneath my feet!”

Eldest steps forward, and then he’s in front of Harley. He crooks his finger, and Harley, despite his rage, leans down to hear what Eldest whispers in his ear. Harley’s face becomes ghostlike, and his eyes fill with sorrow and death. When Eldest is done whispering, Harley straightens, looks out at the crowd of us, and runs from the Great Room. He clambers down the hatch. We are all silent, listening to his pounding footsteps below, until the sound fades to nothing.

I glance at Amy, expecting her face to be filled with similar rage. She was certainly angry enough when I told her she’d have to wait fifty years before landing—how does she feel now that it’ll be seventy-five years before we take our first steps onto our new planet? My heart thuds. When her parents are finally reanimated, their daughter will probably be dead. And Amy will never have gotten to say goodbye.

Amy’s face is pale, but there is no flash of anger in her eyes, no defiance in the tilt of her head.

“Amy?” I say under my breath. She turns toward me. “What do you think of this?”

Pause. “It is sad,” she says, but there is no sadness in her voice. “I regret that it must happen. But I guess it will be okay.” Her tone is even, flat.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask.

“Nothing is wrong with me,” Amy says. She blinks; her eyes are unfocused. “The stars are pretty,” she adds.

“They’re not real stars!” I hiss into her ear. “Can’t you see that?”

“I like how they have little tails, like comets.”

I lean in closer. “You have seen real stars! You know these aren’t real! They just added the tails to make it look like we’re going fast!”

“Oh, we are going fast,” Amy says. She points to Eldest. “He told us we are.”

I step back and inspect her. Her body slumps a little. Her shoulders sag. Even her hair looks limp. “What is wrong with you?” I ask again.

She blinks. “Shh,” she says. “Our Eldest is speaking.”

I gape at her. Our Eldest? Our Eldest?!

“Friends,” Eldest says, “I know this is hard news to bear. But I wanted to bring you here, to see the stars, so that you can tell your children, when they are born, about the sky that awaits them! About the world that will be their home!”

And the people cheer. They actually cheer.

Even Amy.

53

AMY

I FEEL FUNNY.

Not funny ha-ha. Funny weird.

Run, my body tells my brain. When something’s not right, run. Running makes you feel better. Normal.

But why run? Run where? What’s the point?

Seems silly, running.

May as well stand here.

 


And wait.

The world seems slow.

Like walking through water.

Like drowning.

 


The cheering washes over me, like a warm wave of joy, and I join in, raising my voice in happiness, becoming a part of the crowd. Elder looks at me funny (not funny ha-ha, but funny weird), and he doesn’t cheer. I don’t know why.

“Why don’t you cheer?” I ask.

Elder takes a long time to answer, and when he finally does, I’ve nearly forgotten the question. “I’ve got nothing to cheer about.”

Why do you need a reason to cheer? Why not just ... cheer?

Everyone starts to leave the Keeper Level. I stand still, watching them go. Their walking makes the floor rumble a bit, like ripples when you throw a pebble in the water. I close my eyes and feel the world through my feet.

For a moment, I remember Earth. Remember ripples in ponds.

The memory fades. I am here. Now. Not there.

Why think about Earth?

Elder touches my arm. I open my eyes. Everyone else is gone. But not Elder or Eldest. And not me.

Elder starts to stride toward Eldest. He turns around and looks at me. “Come on,” he says. “Aren’t you going to come with me?”

Oh, yes. Of course. I follow him.

Eldest looks at me, and my body reacts before my mind, my stomach clenching and my gut twisting in nausea. I stumble—why don’t my feet want to go closer to Eldest? Why is my breath catching, my heart racing?

Why don’t I like Eldest?

I shake my head to clear my mind. Of course I like Eldest. Why would I not like him? He is my leader.

A loud noise makes me jump. The noise came from Elder.

I have missed part of their conversation. I squint and focus my attention on them. It seems very important that I understand. I feel like I should understand, should care.

“What did you do?” Elder shouts.

Why is he shouting?

“Nothing more than what you will do.” Eldest’s voice is a snarl.

“I will never be like you! Never! This is all a lie!” My gaze follows his arm up, to the stars. They are so pretty. Sparkly. Glittering. Not like the stars at home.

My heart misses a beat, and my breath is gone for a moment. Home? This is home. Why think about other stars? I have these stars. These stars are enough. They’re pretty. Sparkly. Glittering.

“What are you playing at?” Elder shouts, and I realize I’ve forgotten to pay attention again.

I should pay attention.

But ... why? This has nothing to do with me.

It does, a voice whispers in my head.

How? I ask it.

But there is no answer.

“You frexing chutz,” Eldest says, leaning in close to Elder. “They need hope, don’t they? They need to look at the pretty sparklies—”

I look up at the pretty sparklies. They are pretty. And sparkly.

I blink. Where did the sound go?

Elder and Eldest stare at me.

Should I say something to them? They look like they want me to say something.

But what should I say?

“Amy?” Elder asks, quietly.

Eldest grins with all his teeth showing. My stomach clenches again, bile on my tongue, but my lips curve up, matching his smile. Eldest leans forward. He strokes my cheek. As he reaches for me, I have a sudden urge to flinch. But that’s silly—why should I flinch? I stand there. He wraps both hands around the sides of my face and draws me closer.

“Get your hands off her,” Elder snarls.

“Don’t you see?” Eldest says. I think he’s talking to Elder, not me, but I’m the one he’s looking at. “The people of Godspeed have simple needs, simple wants. Give them some sparkly lights and they call it hope. Give them hope, and they’ll do anything. They’ll work when they don’t want to. They’ll breed when the ship needs it. And they’ll smile the whole time.”

Eldest smiles, his lips curling up. His eyes stare into mine, so warm and brown and comforting.

I smile back.

54

ELDER

SOMETHING’S NOT RIGHT. AMY’S NOT RIGHT.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her.

She blinks. “Nothing.”

I have to get her to Doc. I don’t know if I can trust Doc, but I don’t know of anyone else who can help. I sure as frex can’t trust Eldest.

I get Amy off the Keeper Level and away from Eldest as fast as I can. The fear and exhilaration she showed when we first went up the grav tube is gone, replaced with mild disinterest. She follows me down the path to the Hospital garden like a dog. Her eyes stare straight ahead, not at the flowers, not at the statue of the Plague Eldest, just straight ahead. I wonder if she’s even really seeing anything at all.

At least a dozen people litter the ground floor of the Hospital. Half of them are elderly, and the other half are their younger counterparts, sons and daughters who have brought in their mothers and fathers.

“She’s gone,” a man says, leaning in close to the flabby-armed nurse who runs the ground floor emergency room. “She’s too old to travel through the grav tubes, but I told her about the meeting—you know, the meeting on the Keeper Level. And it’s left her completely baffled. She’s gotten all confused.”

“Not confused,” the old woman behind him says in a cracked voice. “I remember it, clear as day. Those stars that trailed with light. Only time I ever saw stars.”

I pull Amy along behind me, as if she is a distracted child, but in truth, I’m more distracted than she is.

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