“WHAT’S THAT NOISE?” I ASK, ONLY NOW NOTICING THE churning sound.
Eldest glances over his shoulder, where the room makes a hard right angle. “The water pump’s back there.”
I frown. The water processor is on the Shipper Level, not here. But then I remember the blueprints Orion showed me before Amy woke up. There was another water pump on the fourth level in the diagram.
“This is old,” I say.
“How do you know that?” Eldest asks sharply, but I ignore him.
I step forward, inspecting it. It’s nowhere near as big as the pump on the Shipper Level. There’s a control panel and, above that, a nozzle. The pump on the Shipper Level is used to recycle, purify, and distribute water. This pump is just designed to mix something into the water. An empty bucket rests beside the pump, a thick, syrup-like substance coating the inside.
“What’s that water pump for?” I ask.
Eldest looks at me like he can’t believe my stupidity. “To pump water.”
“No. That’s what the pump on the Shipper Level is for. What’s this one for?”
Eldest smiles, and it actually looks genuine. Like he’s proud of me for seeing through him. “It was a part of the ship’s original design. Godspeed is only so big. By adding nutritional supplements to the food and water, we can maintain a population rate of up to one person per two acres. Even with that, though, the ship can’t support much more than three thousand people. We’ve always had to enforce population control.” He notices my confused face. “Birth control.”
“Through here?” I ask, pointing to the nozzle.
Eldest nods. “We use this water pump to distribute contraceptives and vits to everyone. Mix it directly into the water supply, keep everyone healthy. Why do you think the Feeder wives say to drink water when you don’t feel well? And, at the start of the Season, we take out the contraceptives and add in hormones. To increase sexual desire. It works particularly well on the Feeders.”
I remember Amy’s words, how the Season wasn’t natural. She was right.
“I’m glad you’re asking these kinds of questions,” Eldest says. “Glad you’re finally starting to think like an Eldest.” He grips the basket in his hands. “It’s important for me to know that you are willing to do whatever it takes to make this ship and its people prosper. Whatever. It. Takes.”
“Are you?” My voice cracks over the words.
“I always have been.” Eldest speaks with such sincerity that I don’t question him. “Every moment of my life is spent making this ship a better place for the people on it to live. I know you don’t always agree with me, but it works.”
“Every moment, huh?” I ask. I can feel my chutz rising at Eldest’s cocky attitude. I know he’s implying that I’m not as dedicated as he is.
“Every moment.”
“Then how were you ensuring that the ship prospers when you were in the cryo chambers earlier? What great leadership action were you taking then?”
Eldest straightens up. “I do not have to answer to you, boy.”
I know how Eldest operates; I know how to make him talk. “I thought the second cause of discord was lack of one strong central leader. How can you be a strong central leader without disclosing important information to your successor?”
I hear a creak. Eldest is crushing the sides of the basket of needles under his hands. “Why don’t you just tell me what you think I should have been doing.” It’s not a question, it’s more of a threat.
“Why not just say what I think you shouldn’t have been doing? Like how maybe you shouldn’t have been ripping more people from cryo chambers. The man died. The woman would’ve, if Amy hadn’t found her.”
Eldest shoves the basket away from him. The needles clatter inside it. “Are you accusing me of opening the cryo chambers, of killing another one of the frozens?”
“All I’m saying is that you’ve been awful close every time one of them dies.”
“I do not have to listen to this drivel from the likes of YOU!” Eldest roars. He heads to the door, but his bad leg makes him stumble. He crashes into one of the big cylinders of goo, and the bean-shaped things wobble in the bubbles.
“Some leader,” I mutter.
Eldest straightens up, glaring at me.
“The third cause of discord,” he says in a terrible monotone, “is individual thought. No society can thrive if a single individual can poison its members into mutiny and chaos.” He turns now, glaring. “And if the individual thought is coming from the ship’s future leader, and if the ship’s future leader is spewing forth such vitriol and stupidity that he’d accuse me of killing the frozens, then I pray to the stars above that he puts something more intelligent in that empty head of his before I die and he takes over!”
“That’s just like you, to try to turn this into a lesson about how shite of a leader I’ll be!” I shout. “But you haven’t told me what you were doing down here, or how Mr. Kennedy ended up drowned just on the other side of this door!” I fling my arm toward the door, hitting the tube of cryo liquid and embryos so hard that the embryos inside jiggle like fruit in gelatin.
“You are a fool,” Eldest spits out at me. He storms from the room, slamming his foot against the door when it rises too slowly. The needles clatter with each of his steps.
“I might be a fool,” I mutter, “but you haven’t told me that you didn’t do it.”