Page 91 of Across the Universe (Across the Universe 1)

“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.

53

AMY

I FEEL FUNNY.

Not funny ha-ha. Funny weird.