Across the Universe

52 ELDER

HER COOL FINGERS WRAP AROUND MY HAND. SHE IS HOLDING me so hard that my fingertips, already cold from the grav tube, are now numb, but I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all. She is breathless and smiling, and I wish that we could stay alone in the Learning Center, and that I could tuck that stray strand of hair behind her ear, and that I could kiss those laughing lips. But I can already hear people’s voices on the other side of the door as everyone else enters through the hatch from the Shipper Level.

When I meet her eyes, there’s a glazed film over them, as if she’s just woken up. But when I smile, she smiles back. We hold hands as we cross the Learning Center and enter the Great Room. I’m surprised — I didn’t think she’d let me hold on to her that long — but she’s just smiling away, almost as if she’s forgotten that I am holding her hand.

People pile into the Great Room. I never realized it was so big — but everyone’s here, and still more people climb up from the hatch. I see Harley finally arrive, followed by Bartie and Victria. He stands with them, near the hatch, but he winks at me when he sees how Amy’s trailing me. Her eyes are wide, taking in all the new faces she’s seeing. The Feeders cluster together, clucking like chickens. The Shippers all stand stoically around the edges of the room. I wonder what they know. Eldest surely wouldn’t have revealed his intentions to them, but the way they’re standing, huddled together, makes me think they know something I don’t.

Maybe Doc knows. I scan the crowd, but I don’t see him.

Nearly all the people have their faces upturned. The “stars” from the metal screen shine and twinkle. The red dot that indicates our ship blinks. Just 49 years and 264 days away from the still light that represents Centauri-Earth. Home.

“Look at the stars,” I hear a farmer from the Feeder Level say to a woman standing next to him. They move a little closer, their shoulders touching as they gaze upward. The woman snakes her arm around her belly, splaying her fingers over her abdomen. The two whisper to each other, still staring at the burning lightbulbs they think are stars.

It feels like every person in the Great Room is pairing off into couples, and more than one woman has her hands over her belly. I lean in closer to Amy, let our arms touch, but she doesn’t pick my hand back up.

The ebb of people rising from the hatch slows, then stops. We’re all here. Waiting.

A few Shippers gather near Eldest’s chamber door. Their backs are straight; they shoot furtive looks at the crowd. The people from the Ward cluster together, their voices rising over the crowd. When I glance back at them, though, I see that Harley is silent. He stares up, and I guess he’s figured out that these stars aren’t real. How could anyone who had seen the real stars be deceived by this light show?

I open my mouth to ask Amy what she thinks about the false stars, but before I can speak, Eldest’s chamber door opens.

He steps out wearing his official Eldest garb, a heavy woolen set of robes embroidered with silent, still stars on the shoulders and bountiful green crops on the hem — the hopes of everyone on board the ship.

“Friends,” Eldest says in his very best grandfather voice, “nay, family.”

The Feeders around me sigh, and the women rub their bellies and smile at their men.

“I have invited you all up here for a very specific reason. First, I wanted to show you the stars.” He sweeps his hand up high and every face follows it, every eye turning to the brightly burning “stars.”

“Do you see the trails that follow the stars?” As Eldest continues, the Feeders nod their heads. “They show how fast our ship is traveling as we soar through space to our new home.”

I glance at Amy, but she’s just staring blankly up at them. I don’t think she’s realized yet that these stars aren’t real. I turn to Harley. Across the room, he’s staring right at me, a deep frown creasing his forehead. He knows this isn’t right.

“As you know, you young ones are the generation that is to land on the surface of Centauri-Earth.” Eldest pauses, gives a dramatically deep sigh. “But, alas, that is not to be.”

Murmurs rise from the crowd. The little red light that indicates Godspeed moves backward on the track, away from Centauri-Earth.

“The engines of our dear Godspeed are tired, friends, and the ship can only go so fast. We were due to land in fifty years.”

“In 49 years, 264 days,” a voice shouts, interrupting him. As one, we all turn to face Harley, who stares at Eldest. His face is pale, the bruise under his eye dark in contrast.

Eldest smiles graciously. “As you say. And within your lifetime, friends. But, I fear, this may not be the case. Planet-landing is beyond the reach of fifty years.”

“When?” Harley says, his voice now softer, scared.

“We must hope, friends, that science lies, and that Centauri-Earth is closer than we’d believed.”

“When?”

“Seventy-five years before we land,” Eldest says simply. “Twenty-five more than we thought.”

Silence permeates the Keeper Level. Twenty-five additional years? I will not be an old man at planet-landing — I’ll be dead. I clutch Amy’s hand without realizing it. She presses against my fingers so lightly that I can barely feel her touch.

“Twenty-five more years?!” Harley shouts, pushing people apart to go through the crowd toward Eldest. “Twenty-five more?!”

Bartie and Victria hold Harley back. He swallows, hard, like he’s going to be sick right there in front of us. I can hear him muttering: “74, 264… 74, 264…”

“Twenty-five more.” Eldest speaks over Harley. “I’m sorry, but I cannot help it. It will be too late for you to see land… but your children…”

Around me, all the women’s hands curl around their bellies. “Our children,” the woman closest to me says to the man beside her. “Our children will see land.”

The words spread like fire, and all the Feeder women are murmuring to the babies inside them. Whispering words of hope, words of comfort. They don’t care about themselves. They care about the children forming inside them, about the future.

“To have miscalculated a centuries-long voyage by only twenty-five years is not so great a thing, friends,” Eldest says, and already I can see some of the Feeders nodding in agreement.

“It is!” Harley roars. He breaks free from Bartie and Victria’s grasp. “You promised us land, you promised us a home, you promised us real stars, and now you say we’ll die before we have a chance to taste air that’s not been recycled for so many frexing centuries?!”

“But our children,” one of the Feeder women says. “Our children will have the Earth. That is enough.”

“It is not enough!” Harley shouts. He’s almost at the front now; he’s almost at Eldest. “It will never be enough, not until I can feel real dirt beneath my feet!”

Eldest steps forward, and then he’s in front of Harley. He crooks his finger, and Harley, despite his rage, leans down to hear what Eldest whispers in his ear. Harley’s face becomes ghostlike, and his eyes fill with sorrow and death. When Eldest is done whispering, Harley straightens, looks out at the crowd of us, and runs from the Great Room. He clambers down the hatch. We are all silent, listening to his pounding footsteps below, until the sound fades to nothing.

I glance at Amy, expecting her face to be filled with similar rage. She was certainly angry enough when I told her she’d have to wait fifty years before landing — how does she feel now that it’ll be seventy-five years before we take our first steps onto our new planet? My heart thuds. When her parents are finally reanimated, their daughter will probably be dead. And Amy will never have gotten to say goodbye.

Amy’s face is pale, but there is no flash of anger in her eyes, no defiance in the tilt of her head.

“Amy?” I say under my breath. She turns toward me. “What do you think of this?”

Pause. “It is sad,” she says, but there is no sadness in her voice. “I regret that it must happen. But I guess it will be okay.” Her tone is even, flat.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask.

“Nothing is wrong with me,” Amy says. She blinks; her eyes are unfocused. “The stars are pretty,” she adds.

“They’re not real stars!” I hiss into her ear. “Can’t you see that?”

“I like how they have little tails, like comets.”

I lean in closer. “You have seen real stars! You know these aren’t real! They just added the tails to make it look like we’re going fast!”

“Oh, we are going fast,” Amy says. She points to Eldest. “He told us we are.”

I step back and inspect her. Her body slumps a little. Her shoulders sag. Even her hair looks limp. “What is wrong with you?” I ask again.

She blinks. “Shh,” she says. “Our Eldest is speaking.”

I gape at her. Our Eldest? Our Eldest?!

“Friends,” Eldest says, “I know this is hard news to bear. But I wanted to bring you here, to see the stars, so that you can tell your children, when they are born, about the sky that awaits them! About the world that will be their home!”

And the people cheer. They actually cheer.

Even Amy.