Page 35 of Across the Universe (Across the Universe 1)

“It’s not like last time,” the doctor hisses. He must be standing closer to the door—his voice is softer, but I can hear him better. I wonder if he’s moved closer just for my benefit.

Eldest, meanwhile, has lowered his voice, and I only catch snatches of what he says. “Really?—The Season starting. . . someone unplugged—again—and you. . . ”

“You know it can’t be him again,” the doctor says. There’s some mumbling, a deep rumble of a voice, but I can’t discern it. I catch one word: “Impossible. ”

“Whabout you?” Their strange accent isn’t helping my eavesdropping, either.

“Me?” the doctor says.

“You. ” I catch the sneer in Eldest’s voice, even through the metal door. “You were sympathetic to him last time, don’t try to deny it. ”

“—posterous,” the doctor mumbles, “. . . could as easily say it was you. ”

Another low grumbling. It sounds almost like Eldest is actually growling.

“Well?” the doctor exclaims. “Elder told me you were teaching him about discord. How am I to know this isn’t all some sick trial you’ve devised to test the boy!” Something, something—stupid door makes it impossible to hear properly—“like last time. ”

Eldest’s voice deepens and grows gravelly. There’s some sort of scuffling, and before I have time to move, the door zips open. The doctor bumps right into me, and I do drop the cup this time. It rolls across the floor, the only sound as the three of us stare at one another.

Eldest’s face is hard, harsh. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on this. . . situation,” he says, but he’s looking at Doc, not me. He straightens his tunic-like shirt and turns to leave. Then he pauses and looks back at me. “Don’t leave the Hospital grounds. I haven’t decided what to do with you yet. ”

“I’m not some sort of prisoner!” I shout at him.

“On this ship, we all are,” he says, and then he’s gone.

“Don’t worry about him,” the doctor says, reaching over to pat my shoulder. I shrug him away. “He won’t put you in a release hatch. ”

“Humph. ” I didn’t quite believe that.

“I have set you up in a room with all the appropriate necessities. You will be living here, at least for now. Do you have any questions?”

Is he really going to pretend like nothing happened? Like I couldn’t hear what they were arguing about? All right, I didn’t hear most of it, but I heard enough.

“What happened last time?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” the doctor says, sitting down at his desk. He waves graciously at the chair across from him, and I slump down in it.

I give him a look, but he ignores it. “Come on. Really?”

The doctor starts straightening the pencils I dumped on his desk. He’s seriously OCD. But. . . I wonder how much of him is real. He’s as expressionless with me as he is with Eldest. I doubt he likes me—but he did stand up for me when Eldest threatened to throw me out the hatch. As for how the doctor feels about Eldest. . . I thought he respected him, maybe even feared him, but he seemed to move closer to the door when I was trying to listen in on his conversation with Eldest. Did he do that on purpose? Now—is he trying to get me to ask the right questions? Or am I just playing mind games with myself?

“Last Season,” the doctor says, “we had some trouble. But it has nothing to do with this. ”

“It might. How do you know?”

“Because the person who caused trouble last Season is dead,” the doctor says. “Anything else?”

He’s getting angry, maybe already regretting that he promised not to throw me off the ship. He likes things organized, and I’ve already proven more than once just in this little office that he can’t organize me like he can his pencils.

“Yeah,” I say, unable to keep the aggression from my voice. “Why was I woken up early? What happened?”

The doctor frowns. “I’m not sure,” he says finally. “But it appears as if someone. . . disconnected you. ”

“Disconnected me?”

“The cryostasis chambers are attached to a very simple electrical device that monitors temperatures and life support systems. You were simply. . . disconnected from the power unit. Turned off. Unplugged. ”

“Who unplugged me?!” I demand, rising. The doctor’s hand twitches, inching closer to the med patch on his desk. I sit back down, but my heart is racing, my breathing shallow. Between that conversation in the hall and this revelation, it’s clear that something’s going on. And I’m stuck in the middle of it.