A Million Suns

15 ELDER

Doc coms me as I leave the Recorder Hall.

“Where are you now?” he asks.

“Recorder Hall.”

“Good. Come out to the wall near the garden.”

“Why?”

“I can’t explain it. Just come on out.”

“But — I wanted to speak with…”

“Speak with Amy?” he asks, biting off each word.

Yes. I did. All Bartie’s outburst and the slashed painting have done is remind me that Amy is one of the few people on this whole frexing ship who isn’t waiting for me to fail. I have to apologize — again — for calling her a freak. I want to tell her that I don’t care what she needs to feel safe on Godspeed, I’ll give it to her. I want to tell her that if the only thing that will bring the smile back to her eyes is waking up her parents, maybe we should do it. And even if I know I can’t actually tell her that last bit, I want to look her in the eyes and make sure she knows that I would if I could.

My silence is answer enough for Doc.

“Elder, this is your job. You can’t decide when you’re Eldest and when you’re not. You. Are. Always. Eldest. Even if you don’t take the title.” Ah. There’s the berating I’d been waiting for.

I sigh. “Fine. Be there soon.”

Doc’s apprentice, Kit, meets me in the garden. Doc didn’t want to take on an apprentice, but he’s of the age that he will need a replacement, and I insisted. Of all the nurses that applied for apprenticeship, Kit was the best. Not the best with medicine — Doc constantly complains about what a slow learner she is — but she’s the best with the people, and I decided that Doc needs someone more human beside him as he works. Doc wasn’t happy with my decision, but he accepted it.

“Thank you,” Kit says. “We just weren’t sure what to do.”

“What’s going on?” I ask, following her down the path, past the hydrangeas and the pond to the metal wall behind the garden.

Doc crouches on the ground, for once negligent about the dirt and grass stains that must be seeping into his pants.

A woman kneels in front of the wall. She looks a little like some of the pictures of people praying on Sol-Earth — her hands rest on the ground, palms up, and her body bends forward, her face resting on the metal wall.

“She won’t get up,” Doc says.

I squat down beside her. “What’s wrong with her?”

Doc shakes his head. “She just won’t get up.”

I put my hand on the woman’s back. She doesn’t flinch — she doesn’t acknowledge my presence at all. My hand creeps up to her shoulder, and I apply as gentle pressure as I can until her body weight shifts back. She leans away, sitting on her ankles.

I know her.

I try to know everyone on the ship, but I can’t. There are too many of them, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t know them all. But I do know this woman.

Her name is Evalee, and she works in the food storage district in the City. I stayed with her family when I was a little kid; I don’t remember exactly when. I don’t think she was on Phydus when I lived with her family, but she definitely was on it later, when I visited her before moving to the Keeper Level. Even so, she was always kind to me. She put salve on my hand when I burned it while learning how to can string beans, and she ignored the way I cried even though I was old enough to know that such a small burn didn’t deserve tears.

“Evie,” I say. “It’s me. Elder. What’s wrong?”

She looks at me, but her eyes are as dead as if she was still drugged. Deader. Evie doesn’t turn away as she reaches one hand up and scratches against the wall in front of her.

“No way out,” she whispers.

She turns her head, slowly, to the wall. Like a child sinking into her pillow, Evie rests her face against the metal. Her fingernails scrape slowly down the wall, so softly I can barely hear it. Her hand hits the dirt and relaxes, palm up.

Doc watches us with a grim expression on his face. I look up at him.

“What’s wrong with her?”

Doc’s mouth tightens as he breathes a heavy sigh through his nose, then he speaks. “She’s one of my depression patients. She went missing yesterday; I think she was just walking along the wall until she got exhausted and wound up here.”

I glance at Evie’s feet. They are stained reddish brown, even in the arches, and dark lines of mud cake under her toenails.

“What can we do?” I ask. But what I really want to know is: Will everyone else react this way when they find out that the ship is stopped? I always thought the worst that could happen was a rebellion, but this dead-inside depression makes me feel hollowed out too. Would it be better for us to rip the ship apart in rage or silently scratch at the walls until we simply quit breathing?

Doc glances at his apprentice. Kit reaches into the pocket of her laboratory coat and pulls out a pale green med patch.

“This is why I commed you,” Doc says as Kit hands the patch to me. “I’ve developed a new med patch for the depression patients.”

I turn the patch over in my hand. Doc makes them himself, with the help of some of the Shippers in the chem research lab. Tiny needles adhere to one side like metal filings stuck to tape; when you press the patch into your skin, the needles stick to you and inject medicine directly into your system.

“So use it,” I say, handing it to Doc.

Doc takes the patch, holding it carefully. “I have to ask you — I wanted you to see why it’s necessary, but then I have to ask you — I made the patches using Phydus.”

I stare at Doc. Phydus? I’d told him to destroy all the stores of the chemical. Clearly he hasn’t — and he doesn’t fear me enough to lie and say he has.

But he does have enough chutz to ask my permission before using it.

Kit shifts nervously behind us. Even Doc looks worried about my reaction to the illicit drug. Only Evie, her face mashed against the metal wall, her feet muddy and calloused, doesn’t care.

“Use it,” I say, standing. Doc rips the med patch open, and I can hear the sigh of submission from Evie as the chemical seeps into her system. Doc asks her to stand and follow him to the Hospital, and she silently obeys.

I trail behind them. Evie’s emptiness was worse than the mindlessness I’d seen in the Feeders when they were still on Phydus. I think back to Amy’s dull, Phydus-drugged eyes — Doc said she had a bad reaction to it. Is Evie having a bad reaction to being off it?

“Take her up to one of the rooms on the fourth floor,” Doc tells Kit.

I shoot Doc a look as Kit walks Evie to the elevator.

“The fourth floor just holds regular patient beds now,” Doc says firmly. He knows what I’m thinking — about the grays, and the clinical way Doc killed them under Eldest’s orders to make room for more younger people. “Would you like me to give you my weekly report now, while you’re here? We can go to my office.”

I nod and follow him silently into the elevator. When it reaches the third floor, we both get off, leaving Kit and Evie to continue to the fourth floor. Doc leads me to his office. I pause at one door — Amy’s. I want to turn right and go to her. I just want to give her my apology over and over until she accepts it. But instead, I turn left and enter Doc’s office.

“The Hospital’s been so busy lately,” Doc says. “This is the first time I’ve had a chance to come to my office in two days. I’m sorry for the mess.”

I snort. The office looks immaculate, but that doesn’t stop Doc from immediately straightening the papers on his desk.

The Hospital has been busier than usual, though. Bruises and cuts from fights. Injuries from farm equipment when the operators were distracted from their jobs by senseless daydreaming that never would have happened had they still been on Phydus. A few people just doing stupid things to show how much chutz they had. And some… some pretty strange cases. Where people hurt themselves or each other, just because they suddenly had the capacity to feel, and they didn’t care what they felt as long as it was something.

Amy said that she could mark how quickly the effects of Phydus wore off the Feeders by how many more people would come to the Hospital each day.

My gut twists at the thought of Amy. She’s just down the hall, probably sitting in her room, hating me.

“My report,” Doc says, sliding a floppy across the desk as he sits down.

Before I look at it, I say, “Will Evie be okay?”

Doc nods. “The Phydus patch is just like any other med patch — it’s just that the meds inside it are a variation of Phydus. It’s strong enough to act quickly, but I’ve also developed an antidote patch, just in case.”

I’m still hesitant about using Phydus in any form, but at least there’s an antidote. I let the subject drop.

For a moment, I consider telling Doc what I now know about the ship, how we’re stopped. If Eldest had known, he would have told Doc. But I’m not Eldest, and Doc’s not my friend. Instead of speaking, I examine the report Doc handed me.

SHIP HEALTH EVALUATION REPORT

Previous ship population: 2,298

Current ship population: 2,296

Fluctuations in population: -2

Jordy, Rancher: suicide

Ellemae, Greenhouse Keeper: complications in external injuries

Disease and injuries:

+3 infection due to previous wounds

+18 gastroenteritis due to improper food preparation

+6 workplace injuries +9 self-inflicted injuries and violence

+43 alcohol-related problems (poisoning, injuries, etc.)

+24 malnourishment +63 overfeeding

Psychological and health issues

— 1 depression

+8 hoarding

+6 hypochondria +2 deviant sexual behavior

Medical notes: +2 pregnancies

I click on the deaths and read the names carefully, memorizing them. Because here’s the simple truth — if I hadn’t taken the ship off Phydus, people like Jordy and Ellemae would still be alive. And while I could say that a shorter life with feelings is better than a longer life without, the dead can’t tell me their side.

I pause at the malnourished and overfed. Some of this is linked with the hoarding, I’m sure. People are afraid they won’t have enough food later, so they’re saving it now rather than eating it. Or they’re eating as much as they can before supplies run out.

I can’t help but think of Bartie’s warning. The way to a revolution is through people’s stomachs.

When I get to the end of the report, I ask, “Two new pregnancies?”

Doc takes the floppy back and reads over it, even though he must know what’s on it. “Oh, yes,” he says. “Both had lived in the Ward and chosen not to participate in the Season. They have, however, since decided to procreate.”

“Doc,” I say, curiosity making my voice rise. “If we wanted to increase the ship’s population, then the Season’s not very effective, is it?”

Doc swipes the floppy off and sets it on his desk, poking one side until it’s square with the desk mat. “I, er, why do you say that?”

I lean forward, sitting on the edge of my chair. “I used to think that the Season was just the way things were, like how the animals mate on schedule. But it’s pretty obvious now that the Season isn’t natural. And if it’s something engineered by you and Eldest, and if we’re still trying to rebuild our population from the so-called Plague… well, the Season doesn’t make sense, does it? One mating Season per gen? That would reduce our population, not recoup it… ”

My voice trails off, but Doc doesn’t answer right away. The more I speak, the more I realize how right I am. The Season is just a frexing loon method to rebuild a population.

“Well, for some gens we had two Seasons,” Doc says defensively. “And we’ve engineered it so many couples have multiple births.”

For a moment we both stare at each other.

“It started a few gens ago,” Doc says finally. His voice is hollow; it’s like he’s confessing a sin to me. “We figured it would be best to slow the population growth. We’re having trouble producing enough food as it is.”

“What happens when we can’t produce enough food?” I ask.

Doc looks at me silently, and I can tell he’s evaluating whether or not he will tell me. With the Shippers, I can demand truth and be assured they’ll give it. But with Doc, I have to wait and hope. Doc was in favor of Eldest’s use of Phydus, and he was in favor of Orion’s methods — after all, he was the one who kept Orion alive when Eldest ordered him killed. But I don’t think Doc has made up his mind yet on whether or not I’m a good enough replacement for either of these men.

Apparently, though, I can be trusted with the truth. At least in this case. He finally says, “Eldest had thought of that. We have in storage a supply of over 3,000 black med patches.”

“Black?” I ask. I’d never seen patches that were black.

Doc nods curtly. “In the event that the ship is no longer capable of sustaining life, the black patches will be distributed to the ship’s population.”

And now I understand what the black patches are for. A quick death, rather than a slow one.