Across the Universe

“That old man’s a dictator — that’s how it works,” I mutter. I catch Elder smirking. “What?”

“I like how you call him an old man. Most people around here worship at his feet.”

“He seemed like a jerk to me. More than a jerk. He was pretty much King Asshole to me. I mean, I know he’s your leader and all, but he did want to basically kill me.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t really throw you out of the hatch.”

“Really?”

Elder stares at the flowers at our feet. “He might have. Yes. He probably would have.”

I kick at the big orangey-red flowers, like tiger lilies, that line the edge of the pool.

The couple on the bench are really going at it. The man’s got one hand up the woman’s shirt, another hand down her pants. Elder follows my gaze and stares at the couple.

“Eldest said that the Season would start soon.”

“This is the Season? People don’t act like that in public.” At least, they didn’t used to. Is this what happens when you coop people up together on a ship, or am I just a prude compared to their evolved standards?

Elder doesn’t watch the couple on the bench; he’s watching me. The rain is pouring harder now, and I think about going in, but in a strange way I like how the rain makes me feel as if I am grounded, connected to this place. Even though I know the rain is fake, it feels the same as real rain, and I desperately need that.

32 ELDER

ACROSS FROM US, THE MAN AND WOMAN ON THE BENCH ARE using the rain as an excuse to remove their clothing. The man rips the woman’s shirt off, and she arches her back, pushing up against him.

“That’s disgusting,” Amy says.

I don’t want to talk about the Season, though, even if the couple is giving me some ideas. I want to know if her hatred for Eldest is limited to the man, not the title. “He’s not all bad,” I say. “Eldest is actually quite a good leader.” I take a step closer to her. “I mean, I know he can be forceful, but he’s really kept everyone on board working together and happy.”

Amy snorts. “So, are you going to hate people because they’re different, too?”

“I would never hate you!”

It is her differences — her red hair, her Sol-Earth background, the way she doesn’t blindly follow Eldest — these are the things I like best about her.

The rain is pouring now, but neither one of us cares. Amy looks at me expectantly, as if she’s waiting for me to prove to her I’m not Eldest.

Instead, I reach around and pull out the paintbrushes holding up her hair in a knot. A flash of red as her hair cascades down, then the rain drenches her heavy locks, darkening them so much that her hair almost looks brown like mine. Almost. I reach up and tuck one orange-gold strand behind her ear. She flinches as my fingertips brush her skin.

“Eldest is a great leader,” I insist, my voice soft. “But,” I say before Amy can protest, “we disagree on the issue of differences. I happen to like differences. Quite a lot.” I swallow, hard. My mouth feels too wet, my throat too dry.

And then — I’m not sure how it happens — but she takes a step closer and I take a step closer, and then we’re both just entirely too close.

And there is nothing between us but rain.

Then there is nothing between us at all.

My lips melt into hers. A drop of rainwater slips around the edge of my mouth, and then her lips part, and so do mine. The raindrop falls on my tongue, and then it’s lost on hers.

My body is drenched; I should be cold. But the warmth of her fills me.

My arms snake around her body, pulling her hard against me. I want to crush her into me.

I never want this to end.

And then—

— She’s pulling away.

She’s stepping back.

Her fingers are on her swollen lips.

Her eyes are wide and sparkling.

Raindrops drip down her cheeks, but it’s not rain, and for the first time, I taste salt on my tongue.

“It’s always in the rain,” she murmurs. “With Jason, too.”

And whoever this Jason is, I want to kill him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, taking another step back. “I never meant to—”

And no, no, it’s not supposed to be like this.

I shouldn’t have kissed her. She has too much else in her mind and heart to bother adding me.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

I reach for her, but she pulls back.

And then she’s gone.

Water pours from the metal ceiling overhead. In my hand, forgotten until they were all I had left, are the paintbrushes Amy had used to keep her hair in place. Harley’s paintbrushes.

I snap them in half and toss them into the pond.

33 AMY

A SPLATTER OF RAIN ON MY SKIN. AND JASON’S THERE, AND WE almost kiss. But it’s not rain, it’s my steamy shower, and it’s not Jason, it’s Elder.

My head thunks on the tile of the shower stall, warmed by the steam.

I don’t know what to do.

I wrap a towel around myself as I leave the bathroom. The chart I painted on the wall grabs my attention, and I stand, dripping shower water on the matted carpet as I stare at it. It doesn’t help. I still can’t see any connection between me and Mr. Robertson.

I have never felt this lost — this alone — before in my life. All the people who should be with me — my parents, Jason, my friends — are gone. Without them, the ship feels empty and small—I feel empty and small.

I should go to the cryo level and guard my parents. I shouldn’t have left Harley there. It’s my parents down there, not his. He has no ties to this.

But I saw the longing in his eyes when we left, and I don’t want to be the one to pull him from the stars.

And I don’t want to be the one alone down there, in the coldness of death.