Half Way Home

wondered if even Hickson could kill in such a public manner. Then I remembered Stevens.

“We’re working ourselves to the bone,” Hickson said. “We’re doing twice the work with half the men, so if we’re hurting, it’s as much your fault as ours.”

He pulled me to a stop before we entered the command module. Myra stood by the open door; he waved her away.

“Do you know why you’re doing this?” I asked him, curious how much of a confidant Colony had made him. “What has Colony told you?”

Hickson waved the gun back and forth across my belly and shook his head in time with it. “Colony tells me what I need to know,” he said.

He stepped close, his skeletal face and pale skin sickly looking past his beard. I remembered the last time he had confronted me in such a manner. How big he had seemed at the time. But now, this boy I had feared— especially during the planning and our long hike—I realized he was just a scared, starving kid like me.

“After your talk,” he said, “one you’ve done nothing to deserve, you’re gonna tell me where the others are.”

I started to shake my head and respond, but he forced the gun against my stomach and leaned in to whisper in my ear: “If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna fuck your girlfriend in the vat next to you, understand? I’ll have her face shoved against the glass and I’ll make you watch, and she’ll love it.”

He stepped back and licked his lips before showing me his teeth. The world disappeared, leaving just his wicked expression in the center of my vision. I imagined bending my knees and launching myself forward, driving my skull through his nose and teeth. I thought about holding that gun and putting it in his mouth and pulling the trigger and real bullets coming out and squeezing until it stopped working. My temperature soared and I forgot why I was there, why anything was anything. I just wanted to kill.

But some part of my brain, some scrap of frontal lobe that was in charge of mitigating risky behavior, short- circuited the rest. I looked away and tried to remember where I was.

And that’s when I realized I had been wrong. Hickson and I were nothing alike. Our bodies might be similarly starved, but our brains were still intact. Intact and different. Whatever disease of hate and fear-mongering he had been born with made him something far worse than I would ever be capable of emulating.

He pushed me into the command module and followed close behind. I staggered forward, between the servers and into the computer room. I started to sit in the center chair.

Hickson smacked me in the back of the head with his open hand and shoved me toward the other one.

“Mine,” he said simply.

I plopped down and rested my bound hands on the counter. So far, this was not the meeting I had expected.

“Leave us,” Colony said, its voice as calm and soothing as ever. Just hearing it massaged away some of my anger toward Hickson. It also terrified me that one of my plans may have been a fool’s errand—that the notion of reasoning with Colony may have been inspired by the hubris of my youth.

Hickson started to complain, “But—”

“I would like to speak with Porter alone,” Colony said.

I smiled.

This was the meeting I had expected.

• 35 • Therapy

Colony waited until Hickson and Myra departed and the door was sealed. Then it spoke—and threw me off my guard.

“I owe you an apology,” it said.

I looked down at my hands, then leaned back in my chair without saying a word. It was best to listen, I knew.

“Looking back, I can see that you gave me excellent advice once, and I did not heed it. I should have made morale more of a priority.”

“It’s not too late,” I said softly.

“Wrong. It is far too late. And now it doesn’t matter. However, revised calculations now show we would have launched two weeks ago had I allowed you the freedom to tend to your own needs. It is a curiosity that will be accompanying my report to the Senate.”

“I’d love to read that report,” I told Colony. “Perhaps I could help point out similar mistakes.”

“I don’t doubt you could, Porter. I imagine most of you could. There seems to be much in human behavior that cannot be contained in studies and historical analyses. Certain peculiarities seem to require firsthand experience. Then again, I am loaded with information on functioning adult humans. Nowhere in my data banks can I find precedent for dealing with vat-raised children, especially not in such a state.”

“And what state is that?” I asked. “Abject terror of one another? Near-starvation?”

“Some of that, yes. Another recommendation I’m making is reversing the order of the vats. Seniority should go in last, rather than first. Of course, I would like to think the uniqueness of this tragedy will never be repeated, but there is no good argument for the current arrangement beyond simple ego. The least qualified should be terminated first, even if an abort sequence is never again halted midcycle.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“It will not apply to your profession, Porter. I’m also recommending a few nonessential specialists be promoted. And I believe, from my time with Oliver, that philosophers should be barred from inclusion. At the very least, they should skip the religious history of philosophy altogether.”

“Oliver’s dead.”

“I know.” Colony paused. “I watched the end come before the tractor was destroyed. I told them to not go down there.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” I asked.

“Why wouldn’t I? Despite your adventures beyond the confines of base, I see you as an integral part of this colony’s success. A great part of our nation’s success, in fact. Much is to be learned from our failures and our discoveries. I am learning much from our present interaction, especially from what you do not say.”

“You brought me in here to learn from my silence?”

“I am fascinated that you have not asked me why we aren’t farming and planning for the future. I assume that’s because you know we do not have one. I marvel that you seem comfortable with this and wonder if perhaps you are resigned to your fate or if you think you have some bold plan to thwart the rocket’s launch. So, yes, I brought you in to learn from your silence.”

I reached up and wiped a line of sweat from my forehead. I tried to remember if Colony had any other sensors in the room besides a microphone. How much I was betraying—?

“Do you know why your position is initially occupied by homosexuals?” Colony asked.

My hands moved from my brow to cover my face. My jaw hung open, my elbows coming to a rest on the counter. None of this was going as it should have. From Hickson, to Colony… I wondered if we had made a mistake in coming back.

“Do you know why?” Colony repeated.

“What do you mean—my position?” I stammered.

“The psychologists. In every colony, they are created out of blastocysts genetically selected for their homosexuality. You do understand what homosexuals are, don’t you?”

“Of course,” I whispered.

“And that you are one?”

I sat still. Then I nodded my head once. “Yes,” I said, so softly I wondered if it strained Colony’s ability to