The flabby-armed nurse nods at the young man. “It’s not your fault. Many elderly get confused in their old age. We’ve got rooms for them on the fourth floor. I’ll send her there and have Doc look at her.”

“Thank you,” the young man says, a sigh of relief floating among his words. He turns to talk to his mother, then hands her over to a nurse who leads her to the elevator where Amy and I are waiting.

“You’re the Elder. The one who didn’t die,” the old woman says as she sees me. “And that’s the freak girl Eldest told us about.”

“Hello,” Amy says with a smile, holding out her hand to the woman. If I had any doubt about something being wrong with Amy, it’s gone now. Amy—the normal Amy I’d come to know—would not have put up with an old lady calling her a freak girl.

“They say I’m sick,” the old lady tells Amy.

“This is the Hospital,” Amy says. Her speech has a childlike cadence to it, simple and factual.

“I didn’t know I was sick.”

“You’re just confused, dear,” the nurse says. “You’re getting the past and the present mixed up.”

“That’s not good,” Amy says, her eyes wide.

The doors slide open and we all step inside. I push the third button. The nurse reaches over and pushes the fourth.

“What’s on the fourth floor?” I ask. I’ve noticed that Doc occasionally takes patients—usually the grays—there, but never really noticed anything special about it other than the secret elevator.

“It’s where we’ve got rooms set up for the elderly,” the nurse says. “Sometimes, they get to the point where they can’t take care of themselves, so we give them rooms there. They need rest and peace, and we have some meds for that on the fourth floor.” She pats the old woman’s hand, and the woman smiles up at the nurse, her smile shining through the deep wrinkles of her face.

My brow creases. Why were the doors on the fourth floor locked if they merely contained old people relaxing?

The doors slide open to the common room of the Ward. I step out.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” the nurse calls.

Amy is still standing in the elevator, staring vacantly up at the numbers above the doors.

“Three,” she says solemnly, reading the lit number.

“Yes,” I say. “Come on.” I grab her wrist and pull her into the common room. Many of the mental patients are inside, dark looks on their faces, anger in their eyes.

Amy grimaces. I look down at her wrists and see greenish-purple bruises staining her pale skin.

“Did I do this?” I ask, gently lifting her wrist up for closer inspection.

“No,” Amy says simply.

The bruises are old, anyway, at least a day or more. “What happened?”

“Some men pinned me down,” Amy says. “But it’s okay.”

My heart thuds. “Some men pinned you down? And it’s okay?”

“Yes.”

“B-but—” I splutter.

Amy blinks up at me, as if she cannot fathom why anything is worth this much emotion.

“You don’t care, do you?” I ask.

“About what?”

“About... about anything.”

“I care,” Amy says, but her voice sounds bored.

“Do you remember when you got these bruises?” I wave her limp wrist in front of her face. Her eyes focus on them, then drift away. She nods. “Think about how you felt afterward. What did you do?”

“I remember ... crying? But that’s silly. It’s not worth crying about. Everything’s fine.”

I cannot help it. I drop Amy’s wrist, grab her by the shoulders, and shake her. Her head bobbles on her neck. It’s like shaking a doll. And no matter how much I shake, I cannot bring the life back into her eyes.

“What happened to you?” I gasp, letting her go.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“I’m going to find a way to fix you.”

“I’m not broken,” Amy says in a voice as empty as her eyes.

I lead her down the hall, deposit her in her chamber, and tell her not to leave. I have no doubt she will follow my order.

I eventually find Harley on the other side of the pond, tossing rocks into the water.

“What did Eldest whisper to you?” I ask, standing next to him.

He doesn’t look up. “I’m not telling you,” he snarls.

I don’t have time for Harley’s bad mood. “There’s something wrong with Amy.”

Harley’s head whips up. “What is it?”

“She’s ... she’s acting like the Feeders do.”

Harley turns back to the pond. “Oh.” Then: “Maybe it’s better that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“They were all okay with not landing, didn’t you notice? It’s only the mental cases like us who were bothered.”

I had noticed. Only Harley, who had seen real stars, protested, but the others at the Ward were abuzz with the news, and they certainly weren’t happy about it.

“It’s to be expected,” I say. “It’s typical that we’re the only ones bothered. It’s why we’re in the Ward, isn’t it? Because we can’t take direction, follow leadership. It’s why we take the Inhibitor meds.” Even as I say it, though, I’m thinking about the couple on the lawn in front of the Recorder Hall, about how they didn’t know love and clearly don’t know grief, either.

“Amy might be happier that way,” Harley says. “I think I’d be happier if I didn’t care about getting off this frexing ship.”

I want to say not to worry, that we’ll land someday, but I know the words are hollow, and no amount of false hope in my voice can fill them up.

“But Amy didn’t start that way. She started out like us. And now she’s like one of the Feeders.”

Harley shrugs. “So? That just means she’s normal. Good for her.”

“But I liked her so much more before,” I say, more to myself than to Harley.

He stands and heads down the path. “I’ll go to the cryo level and stand guard anyway.”

I watch him leave. His words sting because they’re true. I forget sometimes, since I spend so much time at the Ward or alone with Eldest, that most people on the ship are calm, complacent—not insane. Not bothered by things like false stars and delayed landing times. Happier.

Would Amy really be happier if she stayed hollow inside?

Would I be happier if I didn’t have to live with the idea that I’d live all my life encased in a ship?

It doesn’t matter. I know that if Amy was given the choice, she’d never choose this blind ignorance, even if it is bliss. Something—someone—has done this to her, and I’m going to find out who.

55

AMY

I AM SITTING IN MY ROOM.

The door opens.

“What are you doing?” Elder asks.

“I am sitting in my room,” I say.

“What are you looking at?”

“The wall.”

“Why are you looking at the wall?”

Elder asks so many questions.

Elder walks to me. He picks up my hand. His fingers trace my bruises.

“Come with me,” Elder says. I stand up. He walks. I follow.

We walk until we stop.

Elder pushes a button. The door opens. I follow him inside. He takes me to a chair.

I sit.

“Amy,” a deep voice says. I look up and see the doctor. We are in his office. He is sitting at his desk. “What seems to be the problem?”

I blink. “Nothing. Everything is fine.”

“Everything is not fine!” Elder shouts.

I look at him. “Everything is fine.”

The chair I am sitting in is blue. It is made of hard plastic. The desk is interesting. Everything is placed so neatly on the desk. The pencils are all straight in their cup.

“What happened to you?” Elder shouts.

I jump. I had forgotten he was there. I stare at him.

Elder growls, like a dog, and it is funny, and I smile.

“There is nothing wrong with her, Elder,” the doctor says. “I think you’ve become too accustomed to being around the mental patients. Perhaps it would be better for you to spend more time with normal people. I recommend ...”

The doctor is still talking. I know because his mouth is going up and down and sound is coming out, but the words just jangle around in my head, cluttering it up. The notepad on the doctor’s desk has such neat, even edges. I reach out and run my finger along the edges. They are smooth—so smooth that the paper slices my skin. A tiny line of red sprouts on the end of my finger. Look, the doctor has another notebook on the other side of his desk. That’s nice. Symmetrical. I like symmetrical. See-met-tree-cul. That’s a nice word. I say it out loud.

“See-met-tree-cul.” Yes. That sounds nice.

Elder is staring at me as if I’m crazy, but that’s crazy, ha ha, because he’s the one who hangs out at a mental hospital for fun.

The walls are painted a nice shade of blue. So nice. Like a foggy sky.

Something rattles. I look. The doctor places a brown bottle of pills on his desk. I cock my head, staring at them. The pills lay chaotically on the bottom of the bottle. Piled up like little candies.

The doctor and Elder speak.

“You’re right,” the doctor says. “Her condition is unusually severe. Has she had any shocks recently? Trauma? Increased heart rate? These will sometimes make the reaction more severe.”

“Reaction to what?” Eldest says, his voice loud.

The doctor has a funny look on his face.

“To the ship. You’ve got to understand, things are different now from when she lived on Sol-Earth. We have different meds, different food, take more nutritional supplements and vits.”

“Vits,” Elder says, jumping on the word. “Like the ones Eldest puts in the water?”

“Yeess,” the doctor says, drawling the word out in a funny way.

I giggle at him.

Elder turns to stare at me. I giggle at him, too.

“And hormones. Eldest puts hormones in the water. For the Season.”

The doctor shakes his head. “They wouldn’t affect her. It takes time for the hormones to build up in one’s body. They need several weeks, over a month to be effective.”

“She’s been drinking a lot of water lately, though.” Elder looks at my wrists. “And maybe there’s something to that trauma you mentioned.”

I blink, and realize that time has passed, and for a moment I wonder what happened in that time, but it doesn’t matter, nothing’s changed, I’m still here, they’re still talking.

I blink. I was gone again.

Blink.

Really, it’s easier when I stay gone. It’s too hard to keep up with the words Elder and the doctor say. They are too intense. Why are they so worked up?