Shards and Ashes

I grip the knife in my left pocket. It’s crudely made from a scrap of metal I found near my hiding place, but it will do what I need it to do. It will get me the pills I need.

I run both hands through my tangled, dirty hair, yanking against the matted knots. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. But what choice has Eldest left me? I used to get one pill a day, like clockwork. That pill protected me from the drugged waters that are piped throughout the ship, the chemicals that make nearly everyone else aboard Godspeed a mindless minion of Eldest. When I started to question Eldest, though, when I started using this brain of mine that had been sheltered so long by the daily blue-and-white pills . . . that’s when Eldest tried to have me killed.

The only reason I escaped is because Doc didn’t want to be responsible for killing a kid. I’m not that much of a kid. Practically a man. Nineteen. Doc might have let me go then, to fake my death and try hiding out in a ship that’s too small to hide anything forever, but if I don’t get more pills, I might as well give myself up to Eldest now.

I take a deep breath. I’ve been hiding in the walls of the ship for so long that I have almost forgotten the scent of dirt and grass. I had not known before how the stench of metal and dust had woven into my very bones until the clean air purged me. This is the largest level of the ship, the easiest level to hide in. Ten square miles of farmland with a city in the distance, all surrounded by metal walls painted blue to simulate a sky none of us have ever seen. One day Godspeed will land on the new planet, and we’ll get a real sky.

But until then . . .

I reach into my pocket and clench the knife in my fist.

I keep close to the wall. I can’t afford to be seen here. I can’t afford to be seen anywhere.

I creep up to the Recorder Hall, a giant brick building that houses all the records of Sol-Earth: literature, history, science, all written before the ship launched, most of it before the authors even thought launching a ship across the universe was possible. The Hall is empty now—no more students, only an ancient old man to wander among the ancient old texts.

The solar lamp is turned off and darkness blankets the ship, keeping me hidden. Everyone should be asleep. Especially the old Recorder.

The Recorder is of the oldest generation, a weak man who acquiesces to any of Eldest’s demands, not because he is drugged but because he wants nothing more than to do Eldest’s bidding.

Not because he is drugged. He has the pills I need. I just have to take them.

The giant front doors squeak when I push them open. I slip inside and shut them as quietly as I can.

Inside, the entryway of the Hall reminds me of when I was younger, when Eldest favored me. He would bring me here and let me run my hands over the digital membrane screens that decorate the walls, lighting them up with images and vids and music. My fingers ache with a foolish desire to turn on the closest screen. I’ve filled my time in hiding with my own thoughts—how I can survive, how I can one day take down Eldest, how I can change the ship for the better. I’m sick of my own voice.

“Who’s there?”

I freeze. My fingers are hard and numb around the knife in my pocket.

That was not the voice of an old man. That was a woman’s voice, clear and strong.

“I know someone’s there. Don’t make me com Eldest.”

Frex.

“Wait!” I say, stepping into the center of the entryway. I let go of the knife, hold up my empty hands.

The lights flick on. I blink, momentarily blinded by the brightness.

“Who are you?” the voice demands again.

“Who are you?” I shoot back, rubbing my eyes. “What happened to the Recorder?” I try to think of the old man who used to be the Recorder—he was old, but not so old that he would need a replacement already.

The woman’s hand shakes as it hovers over her wireless communicator. She’s only a few years older than me, but a childlike fear fills her eyes.

“Don’t com Eldest,” I plead. “Just—wait.”

She steps around the desk. “The old Recorder was my grandfather,” she says. “He . . . decided to retire. He let me take his place. We didn’t tell Eldest.”

The corner of my mouth twitches up. This girl is clever—and so was her grandfather. Much more clever than I would have thought. The grandfather is probably drugged up now, whiling away his later years on one of the farms that produce the food for the ship. By swapping places with this girl, he ensured that she would get his ration of blue-and-white pills, that his granddaughter would be able to think for herself.

And they didn’t tell Eldest, who would have put a stop to such independent thinking.

Maybe . . . maybe she’ll be on my side. Maybe I don’t have to stand up against Eldest by myself.

“What do you want?” she asks, suspicion tainting her voice.

“I—I . . .” I stutter, unsure of what to say.

“I know you,” she says.

I duck my head down, hoping my bedraggled hair will hide my features, but it’s too late.

“You . . . you’re dead. Eldest told everyone you died.”

I glance up, meeting her eyes. “Eldest lied.”

She approaches me warily, but I’m not sure if she hesitates because she’s afraid of me, or afraid I’ll run. I stand very, very still. When she’s only inches away from me, she reaches up and touches the side of my face, tucking my hair behind my ear.

She gasps.

I raise a hand to cover the scar on the side of my neck. It’s still fresh, puckered and pink, and it hurts to the touch.

She touches the side of her own neck where, just behind her left ear, a wi-com button is embedded. Implanted under our skin at birth, wi-coms provide easy communication with everyone onboard Godspeed. But they also provide Eldest with a locator. When I went into hiding, I had to get rid of my wi-com. I rub my fingers together, remembering the way they were slick with my own blood as I gouged the device from my neck.

“Why are you here?” the girl asks, and I know she’s talking about more than just why I’m in the Recorder Hall.

“Eldest . . .” I swallow. I’ve held on to the secrets Eldest tried to kill me for; I’m not ready to give them up to a girl with big, innocent eyes. “I’ve been in hiding. From Eldest. But I need . . . I’m running out of supplies.”

The young woman’s face lights up. Even though she’s my elder, I feel like an old man next to her vivacity. “Sanctuary!” she says enthusiastically.

“Sanctuary?”

She darts to the other end of the room, to a desk by the wall, and grabs up a heavy book from Sol-Earth. “Just like in this story,” she says, running back to me and pushing the book into my hands. The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo. “You,” she says, “are seeking sanctuary. Back on Sol-Earth, in this place called Pah-rees, if you were in trouble, you’d go to Note-ree Dame, and you could hide there in safety.”

I hand the thick book back to her. “You’re going to let the Recorder Hall be my sanctuary?”

She nods eagerly. “I’ll protect you from Eldest!”

I can’t help but smile, even though I’m worried that this young woman has no idea what she’s doing, offering sanctuary to me. Against Eldest. Eldest may look like a kind old grandfather, but he rules Godspeed more fiercely than any dictator. The few who don’t obey him because of the drugged water obey him because of their fear.

Except, maybe, this girl, alone in the Recorder Hall and ignored by all but the books.

“You can’t tell anybod—” I start.

“Of course not!” She cuts me off, looking wounded that I would even suggest that she would reveal my location.

I don’t want to trust her. I don’t want to trust anybody. But the thing is . . . I can’t live in hiding in a forgotten part of the ship for the rest of my life.