Plague. I’d say my parents were disappointed that I didn’t uphold the family tradition, but I’m not even sure they noticed when I left. They couldn’t make me care about cloth, and I couldn’t make them care about anything else. So I moved here. It’s only Elder here without proper parents.”
“As it should be,” Elder says in a low voice without looking at either of us. “But right now,” he says, “if we can’t figure out
I stride across the room to Harley and his art supplies and take up his biggest brush and the cup of black paint.
“Hey!” Harley says, but before he or Elder can do anything, I scrawl my name in big letters across the wall beside the window.
“What are you doing to your wall?!” Elder sounds shocked.
“It’s not my wall,” I say. Nothing on this ship is mine.
Under my name, I add everything that I can think of that might make me a target for the killer. Girl, I write. Seventeen, Red hair, White, Average appearance,
“You’re beautiful,” Elder says quietly, but I ignore him.
Not part of any mission, I add.
“Okay,” I say, turning around. “What about Mr. Robertson?” I write his name on the wall next to my own.
Elder picks up the thin sheet of plastic off my desk that I’d wondered at before. When he runs his finger across it, it lights up like a computer screen. He starts tapping on it, and images flash across the screen.
“Eldest/Elder access granted,” a female voice says from the computer.
“Mr. William Robertson,” Elder reads from the screen. “Male. Fifty-seven years old, Hispanic, 212 pounds. Leadership specialist. Experience with United State Marines. Mission: offensive organization. Funded by the FRX. FRX?” He pauses. “I’ve seen that before. On a plaque in the Keeper Level…” His voice trails off.
“Financial Resource Exchange,” I say as I write the details about Mr. Robertson below his name. “Everyone in the military was funded by the FRX. It’s how Daddy got to join the mission.”
Elder rolls his finger on the screen. “That’s all there is.”
I look at that weird computer thing. “Does that say anything about me?”
Elder hesitates.
“What?” I say. “What does it say about me?”
“Er—”
Harley, who’s been watching us silently, snatches the computer thing from Elder. He scans it quickly, the laughter dying from his eyes.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“It’s nothing.” Harley moves to touch the screen — to turn it off, I’m sure. Before he can, I grab it from his hand.
There’s the picture they took of me a few days before I was frozen, during the health screening. My date of birth, blood type, height, weight. And, in tiny letters at the bottom: NONESSENTIAL CARGO.
Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten.
I’m just extra baggage.
I drop the computer thing on the desk and turn back to the wall with my paintbrush. Under my name, I add nonessential.
“You’re not—” Elder starts, but I silence him with a look.
Stepping back, I look at my handiwork. I painted the lines too thick; trails of black trickle down from the letters, some of them making it all the way to the baseboard, streaking over the peeling old painted vines on the floor, made by whoever once lived in this room. Harley’s eyes are on the trailing black, watching the drips race one another over the hand-painted flowers.
“So,” I say, scanning the lists, “what’s the connection? Why would someone want to kill both of us?”
Silence.
“We’re missing something,” I say, smoothing my hair down with both hands. “There must be some connection.”
But whatever it is, none of us can see it.
I throw my hands down to my sides. “We’re getting nowhere this way. Let’s just go down to the cryo chambers and see what we can see.”
“Go down there?” Elder asks, surprised.
I nod. “Maybe we’ll find some clues.”
Harley laughs, like this is a game. “Clues?!”
I just stare at him, and his laughter dies.
“Okay,” Elder says. His eyes meet mine, and I don’t remember why I used to think his face looked innocent. He’s determined now, ready for a fight, prepared to back me up.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Let’s go.”
30 ELDER
AMY IGNORES THE COLD STARES FROM THE PEOPLE IN THE Ward common room as we make our way to the elevator. She keeps her chin raised and avoids eye contact, and to me she looks like a queen, but I can tell from the whispers that follow her that the people around her view her as something very different. My jaw clenches. Eldest did this.
The elevator dings as the doors slide open on the fourth floor.
“Did you hear that?” Amy asks as we walk down the empty hall.
“Hear what?” Harley asks.
Amy shakes her head. “Nothing. I guess it was just my imagination.” Still, she looks at the doors as if she’s a little skeeved out.
I open the door at the end of the hall — still unlocked — and cross the room to get to the second elevator. The smashed alarm box is gone. Eldest has probably taken it to the Shippers to see if they can fix it.
“So, what are we looking for?” Harley asks as the elevator descends.
“I’m not sure.” Amy shifts on her feet. “A clue. Something.”
I think about the last time I was on the floor with the cryo chambers. The only evidence that I remember seeing that proved a murder had taken place was the body of Mr. William Robertson. There were no other clues.
But I don’t tell Amy that.
When the elevator doors slide open, Harley strides out, looking around eagerly. I follow. Amy doesn’t step out until the doors start to slide shut again.
“Where’s the hatch with the stars?” Harley asks eagerly.
Amy steps forward. She grabs my sleeve and tugs at it until I turn to face her. “Where are my parents?” she asks very, very softly.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I can look up their location for you.”
Amy bites her lip, shakes her head. “No… that’s okay.” She looks around her with wide, round, scared eyes. “Not… not this time. Later.”
“Can we look at the stars first?” Harley asks eagerly.
“There’s a hatch down there,” I start to say, but before I can finish, Harley takes off down the rows to where I’ve pointed. I turn to Amy. “But he doesn’t know the code to open the door.”
She throws me a half-smile. “Let him figure it out. Why don’t we try to find something here that can help?
