as they slip away - beth revis

7/29/2019 As They Slip Away - Beth Revis

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As They Slip Away

An ACROSS THE UNIVERSE Novella

Beth Revis


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1.

Three Months before I Die

stare at the basket of hypodermi

needles. So slender and pretty, each filled

with a yellow liquid that reminds me o

gold paint.

Inoculations, I say. I consult the flopp

hat contains my instructions for today

abor.

Across the top of the screen is a chart an

he words GENETIC MODIFICATION.

Thats . . . not right. These needles ar

filled with inoculations.


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Eldest told me so. Thats what he said thi

morning, when he brought me the basket

himself.

Selene, he had told me, his voice war

and kind, these are inoculations for th

rabbits.

nject one full dose per rabbit today.

My eyes burn with pain as I scan the texon the floppy. Theres nothing abou

noculations

here.

Sharp pain shoots through my head.

Eldest told me these were inoculations.


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Inoculations, I say, a soft smile curvin

my lips. I pat the basket of needles as if

comforting it in the knowledge of what iruly is.

t doesnt matter what the chart and word

on the floppy say. It only matters whaldest

says.

Everything is only what Eldest says it is.

The rabbit field is quiet, but not silent

That is what I like about it.

like sounds.

Soft thumps on the ground as the rabbit


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hop around. The little chirruping noise

hey

make. The gentle clacky-chewy sounds ahey nibble on grass.

sit down in the grass field.

For a moment, I look up at the sky. Mad

of metal and painted with clouds tha

never move.

My sky is a certainty. Thats nice.

Sometimes, I think about how Im livin

aboard a spaceship hurtling through thstars

oward a new planet. But those thought

are too big, and so I dont think the


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often.

blink and see darkness.

open my eyes and see blue.

Blink. Dark.

Light. Blue.

Blink. Dark. Dark. I dont open my eyes

Dark.

loodbruisespainbetrayalalonealonealo

open my eyes.

do not like the dark.

stand. There is work to do.


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The rabbits are fat and lazy. But they do

not like it when I try to grab them. Perhap

hey

know that sometimes when I snatch the

up, I send them to the butcher and they ar

made into

food. But if they do know this, theyre no

oo concerned about it. They scampe

away, but only a meter or so. Then

sneak. I sneak behind them, where thecant see, dont know Im coming.

They think I am their friend.

And then I lunge.

tackle the nearest rabbit, pinning it dow

by its shoulders. After scanning it


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dentification

chipNumber 424, the screen says

plunge a hypodermic needle into its baceg.

Number 424, inoculated, I say aloud.

dont have to say it aloud.

But I like sound.

This is my day. Sneak up on rabbits

Lunge. Grab. Hold. Inoculate.

Sometimes I look at the sky. Sometimes ook around me, at the green hills. I se

someone

running through the fields, a swing o


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color, bright against the normal green.

hum, and I work.

And then.

Then a girl shows up.

She is a freak. Eldest told me she is

freak, told all of us on the ship. A

genetically

modified experiment gone wrong. Sh

ooks like a freak. Pale skin, almost th

color of the fluffy

white tails of the rabbits. Bright, brigh

hair. Red hair. With orange and gold in it

Like the koi in the pond by the Hospital.


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riendsgonegonegonealonealonealone.

Hello, the girl says.

look at the girl. I look at her koi-fis

hair. Hello, I say.

She is different. She reminds me of . . something. A sharp pain shoots through m

head

again. I look down, away from her.

Youre the genetically modified

experiment, I say. I wait for her to

confirm this is true,

even though I know it is because Eldes

said she is. Eldest has said we don

have to speak to


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you.

The girl is mad at me. I know because o

her voice. I like sounds. I pay attention noust to

which words are said, but how they ar

said, and this girl says them angrily.

But she doesnt go away. She keep

alking to me. She asks about the rabbits

She asks

about the needles.

She talks a lot.

I saw you running, I say suddenly

realizing that the person I saw before wa

his girl,


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he bright color in the green fields was he

koi-fish hair.

A strange feeling washes over me. Myheart is loud and slow, and my head hurts

What were you running from? I ask. M

voice cracks. I pay attention to soundEven the

sounds I make. And the sound I am makin

s fear.

ewillgetmerunrunrunrunrunhide.

Just running, the girl says, as if it isnstrange to run for no reason.

She talks more. Questions, questions.

have work to do.


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But then I remember more about wha

Eldest told us about this girl. That she wa

o live in

he Hospital.

ask her, and she confirms it. She lives in

he Hospital.

My grandfather was taken to th

Hospital, I say.

Gonegonegone.

Is he better now? the girl asks.

Hes gone.

Gonegonegone.


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I m sorry, the girl says. Her voic

surprises me. She means it. She means tha

shes

sorry.

Why? I ask. It was his time.

The girl stares at me for so long I thin

shes done speaking. But then she says

Youre

crying.

touch my face.

My fingers come away wet with salt

ears.

I have no reason to be sad, I say.


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ts true.

have no reason to be sad.

one at all.


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2.

Seven Years before I Die

suppose I should be upset that Im crazy

but Im actually quite pleased about i

Being crazy

means I dont have to work in the fields o

he City. It means I get to stay here, in th

Hospital.

With my friends.

Selene, Kayleigh drawls from the sof

n the common room. Come sit with us.

Victria, who had been by the window

staring at the open fields that separate th


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Hospital

from the rest of the ships population in

he City, plops down in the center seat ohe orange sofa made of scratchy woo

She wiggles in closer to Kayleigh, and th

wo girls look almost like sisters, with th

same shade of olive skin and same lengtof dark brown hair. Everyone on the ship

has

similar coloring, but I think Victria tries tomake herself into a shadow of Kayleigh

She deigns to glance in my direction. Sh

doesnt mindme, exactly, she just likes to

know the order of things.

And the order of things here is tha

Kayleigh comes first, and Victria i


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always beside her, and

sometimes, trailing at the end, is me.

ts almost time for lessons. Doc and th

nurses like us all to take meds at the sam

ime,

ust before the solar lamp in the meta

ceiling clicks on.

I hate the meds, Kayleigh says undeher breath as Doc walks into the commo

room.

He and the nurses distribute the pills, anwe all swallow them down obediently

Except Kayleigh.

She stares at the pill until Doc notices


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and he doesnt look away from her unti

she gulps it down

with some water.

dont mind the Inhibitor pills, not lik

Kayleigh does. Swallowing one blue-and

white pill

a day is a small price to pay for life at th

Hospital. So were loons. So we have t

ake mental

meds. Its not so bad that Eldest keeps u

here, removed from the rest of the ship, o

he other side ofGodspeed, in thHospital, away from the normal people

ts not so bad being abnormal here

where everyone else is weird too.


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But if that pill is supposed to keep m

from being crazy, it doesnt do a ver

good job.

nstead of making me less loons

sometimes I worry it makes me more. I

different. Weall of

us in the Hospitalare different. I didn

have to see the way my parents glass

eyes would

flicker with concern when I spoke to know

hat the things I said werent normal.

Doc says were special, but special iust a nice way of saying freak.

Sometimes, Kayleigh whispers, I thin

ts everyone else whos weird.


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Victrias eyes dart around the common

room, lingering on the nurses gathere

around Doc

by the door. One of the first things w

earned was not to ask too many question

or draw attention

o ourselves, and Kayleighs words ar

ncendiary.

No, I say. Were the freaks.

And we are. Everyone else on th

spaceship Godspeed doesnt stay up lat

at night,

worrying about whether or not the ship

will ever land. They dont spend thei

ime doing useless


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hings like singing songs or drawin

pictures. They never worry about whethe

Bartie will be able

o rip his gaze off Victria long enough to

notice anyone else. . . .

Were not thatfreakish, Victria says. heard Elder takes the mental meds too.

gasp in surprise. Elder, our future leader

s on mental meds like us? Hes stilyoung

iving in the City now, awaiting the tim

until he comes of age and joins Eldest ohe Keeper Level of the shipbut eve

he hint of madness in our leader disturb

me. Will he come to live at the


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Hospital?

Victria nods. I heard Doc talking to

Eldest about it. Elder will be moving hern a few

months, after going to one of the farms fo

a bit.

want to know more, but Kayleig

nterrupts us.

Its better. Being on the mental meds.

hated it before I started taking them,

Kayleigh

says. Her voice is clear and slow, as i

shes measured the weight of each word

and determined its


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worth before speaking it.

You dont remember what it was like

before. None of us do.

I remember, she insists.

Yeah? My voice is a challenge. Whawas it like?

Nothing.

Tell us, I demand.

Nothing. It was like nothing. It was lik

being empty inside.

Victria and I exchange a look.

Sometimes . . . Kayleigh sighs


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Theres a lot about this ship that doesn

make

sense.

Liiiike, a voice calls out from the othe

side of the room, how you wont let m

kiss

you!

Kayleigh picks up a pillow from the sofand throws it at Harleynot too hard, bu

hard

enough. Harley tosses it aside easilyaughing. If I had to describe Harley a

nothing but a sound, that would be it

aughter. Hes always smiling, his whit

eeth unable to bite back the sound. H


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sees the world in shades of joy. Harle

picks the pillow up from the ground, and

notice paint is

caked under his nails, leaking out onto hi

fingertips.

We were having, Kayleigh says, hevoice punctuating each word, aprivate

conversation.

Yeah, yeah, and meanwhile the rest of u

are going to lessons.

Going to lessons? I ask, leaninforward. But the lessons have alway

been here

before. I dont know if theres much of


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point in teaching crazy people things, bu

Doc insists

hat its our duty to hone our inherenalents. Every day, he or the nurses lead

a discussion on topics relevant to studies

art, math, science. Things like that. And

heyre usually done here, in the commoroom, where there are enough seats fo

everyone and nothing to distract us fro

earning

beyond the perfectly symmetrical an

evenly spaced green fields outside th

window.

Were going to the Recorder Hall,

Harley says, a mischievous light in hi

eyes.


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Kayleigh rolls her eyes. You made i

sound like we were doing somethin

mportant

oday, she says. Weve been to th

Recorder Hall before.

Yeah, Harley says. But Docs nodoing the lesson there. The Recorder is.

My eyes grow round at this. The Recorde

s going to teach us from now on? But . . .

Why? I ask.

Harley shrugs. A moment later, Doc startscalling out names. Harley was partiall

wrong:

most of the other residents of the Hospita


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are going to lessons on the Shipper Leve

Doc tells

hem theyre being apprenticed. Itpeople like Buck and Britne and Tailor

he ones good at the

science and math lessons. People like mand Kayleigh and Harleythe ones wh

ike artare

being sent to the Recorder Hall.

By the time Docs done announcing ou

new roles and sending the studious ones t

he

Shipper Level, only a handful of us remai

o go to the Recorder Hall.


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This should be fun, Bartie, Harley

best friend, tells me as we enter th

elevator. I grin

at him, hoping the heat I feel rising up i

me isnt reflected in my cheeks. I cant rip

my eyes from him until he turns to Harle

and says something that makes him laughhe sound of his voice

olting me out of my reverie. Victri

shoots me a look, and my eyes drop to thmetal floor of the

elevator. I dont want her to know how

feel about Bartie. I dont want anyone tknow. I want to

keep it in the secret place of my heart, th


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part of me that still clings to hope.


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3.

The Recorder Hall is dark and musty, lik

always. Weve only been here a fewimes, to be honest.

Lessons about the ship and its mission ar

given to every child, mad or not, at leasonce a year until their apprenticeship. It

vital that every person on Godspee

knows and understands the

significance of what were doing. Were

carrying the hopes of an old planet acros

he universe in

order to create a whole new world.

The entryway to the Recorder Hall i


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huge, with a tall ceiling and tiny, narrow

windows that

are supposed to stream in light, but reallust cast everything in shadows. Digita

membrane

screens stretch from floor to ceiling alonhe walls. We call them wall floppies

which is a stupid name, really, but the

hang on the wall and theyre, well, floppy

Each one glows now with an

mageone shows a constellation

another a painting, another a sculpture.

We stand awkwardly in the center of the

room, six teenagers surrounded by th

history of


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both the old world and the ship. The nurs

who escorted us slips out the door an

closes it behind

her, the sound a solid thud compared to

he electronic doors of the Hospital tha

zip shut with a

whisper.

So . . . Harley says, his voice ringin

hroughout the tall room despite his husheone.

This is boring.

Bartie, standing behind him, snorts wit

aughter. Victria rolls her eyes at them

both, and


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Bartie silences immediately.

turn away, my stomach twisting wit

envy. My eyes are drawn to clear hazeeyesthose

of Luthor, the straggler of our group. Hed

been watching me, staring at me, and hdoesnt bother

rying to hide his interest.

blush and turn away.

Thank you for coming out here today,

voice booms throughout the RecordeHall. A

man emerges from the other end of th

entry way. Hes very tall, with long


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unkempt hair that

almost covers a spider web scar on th

side of his neck.

Like we had a choice, Victria mumbles

The mans head whips around. You do,he says. You always have a choice. H

opens

his mouth as if to say something more, buswallows the words. Instead, he says,

am Orion, the

Recorder.

Why are you teaching us today?

Kayleigh asks. Why not Doc?


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Or one of the Shippers? Bartie adds

Are we not getting an apprenticeship?

Apprenticeships are for labor, Oriosays. You are not going to be laborers.

Because were loons, I cant help bu

say.

Are you? Orion asks sincerely. H

blinks at me, as if trying to determine if

really am

oons or not.

I take the mental meds every day, I snapdont like the way hes looking at me.

Thats not a very good indication o

whether or not youre crazy, Orio


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replies.

start to snap something back, bu

Kayleighs elbow jabs me in the ribs and silence.

The Recorder Hall is not just a record o

knowledge and history, Orion sayssweeping

his arms toward the wall floppies hangin

from the ceiling. He crosses the room the floppy

abeled HISTORY. We all trot obediently

behind him. The screen lights up as hswipes his hand

across it, and a map of a peninsula an

slands illuminates the screen.


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This is Greece, a country in Sol-Earth,

Orion says.

My eyes slide to Kayleighs. Theres anntense sort of focus to her gaze, and n

wonder.

While the giant clay model of Sol-Earthangs from ceiling of the entryway, it

countries arent

abeled. We are taught that the world wadivided into nations, but not the names o

hese divisions.

The very fact that the old world wabroken up into different countries prove

why life aboard the

ship is better. Theres no point in learning


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he history of Sol-Earths nations, excep

as a warning of bad civilizations w

cannot let Godspeedemulate.

The Greeks, they knew how to appreciat

art, Orion continues. They believed i

art for

arts sake, that a sculpture or a paintin

doesnt have a higher purposeit just is

A sinking sadness fills my chest. The one

n the Hospital who were better at mat

and

science have been apprenticed becaus

hey have something to contribute to th

ship. But usme


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and Kayleigh and Victria and Bartie and

Harley and Luthorwere just artists. We

have nothing to

contribute.

Or, Orion says, talking to the map in

contemplative tone, perhaps it is better tsay

hat art is a higher purpose in and of itself

Thats what the Greeks understoodhats something even Eldest understands

Art is important. There is value in art tha

cant be tallied like the right or wron

answers on a test. Even here, even on thifrexing ship, art is important.

Victria shifts uncomfortably beside me


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o one speaks ill ofGodspeed or it

eaders, but

Orions dancing around contempt in a wahat makes us all nervous. Except fo

Kayleigh. Shes

hanging on every word Orion says, heeyes glistening.

Your assignment is to research the

Greeks. They made heroes of their artistsome they

even made into gods. Find a Greek tha

matches your artistic style.

try to imagine it for a moment, a worl

hat values people who sing. Ive neve

been able to


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hink of my singing as anything more than

worthless, throw-away skill.

Harley clears his throat. I donunderstand.

Your parents are weavers, right? Orion

asks.

Harley nods. His usual carefree attitude i

mmediately hidden behind an emotionles

mask:

He doesnt like to talk about his parents

one of us do. Moving to the Hospita

means leaving

behind your parents. But if Harley

parents were like mine, its not like the

cared when he left.


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Or even noticed.

In Greece, Orion continues as i

nothings different, the best weaver iheir history

was a woman named Arachne. She was so

good that the gods were jealous, and theurned her into

a spider so she could only weave webs.

My eyes drift down Orions neck, to thspiderweb scar

behind his left ear. He notices my glanc

and touches the scar before catchinhimself and lowering

his hand.


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And what? Bartie asks. You want us to

write a report on her, or whatever god

matches

our skills?

No, Orion says eagerly. I want you to

create. If, for example, you chosArachne, then I want you to weave he

story into a tapestry.

can see the moment when understandinwashes over each of our faceshe want

us to

make art. A sloppy grin spreads oveHarleys face. Luthor mutters to himself

as if coming up with ideas of what he

ike to do already. Even Victria look


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ecstatic.

Godspeed isnt Greece: No matter wha

Orion says, it doesnt feel as if art is vermuch

valued here. Doc has had us research art

sure, but never really experiment with itHe was much more focused on what ou

art could dofor the ship, how we coul

urn it into something useful.

catch Barties eye. Doc has never bee

able to give us assignments that use ou

alents. He

could have Luthor make scale models ou

of clay instead of sculpting, or Harley ca

draw


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architectural plans instead of painting, bu

here wasnt much he could do wit

Barties skill with

nstruments or my singing voice.

Your assignment, Orion repeats, is to

research art . . . and then make some.

t is a delicious challenge.


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4.

This is brilly, Harley says as we sit in

circle on the floor in the entryway of thRecorder Hall.

We each have our own personal floppies

each flashing with images from ancienGreece. Orion

ventured further into the Recorder Hal

with promises to show us realbooks fro

Sol-Earth.

I know! Kayleigh says. Shes so

excited shes forgotten that she wants to

be aloof in

front of Harley. I cant believe he


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encouraging us to do art!

Harley lights up at the joy in Kayleigh

voice. What are you going to research?he asks,

eaning closer to Kayleigh while she let

him. I think you could be Poseidon. Hholds his

floppy out to her.

Kayleigh scans the information on thi

Greek god. It seems ridiculous that th

Greeks

a c t u a l l y worshipped these people

hinking they had any kind of real power

Silly Sol-Earth


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fairytales and religions.

Ew, Kayleigh tosses the floppy back to

Harley. This man is half-naked.

Harley laughs. Yeah, but hes the god o

he ocean, and you love to swim.

Maybe you should study Aphrodite,

Kayleigh says in a sticky-sweet voice

and dress

up in some seashells.

I m not a flirt, Harley says so seriousl

hat the entire room silences. Not witanyone

but you.


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Kayleigh blushes furiously and gets up t

sit on the other side of Victria, putting m

beside

Harley instead.

Harley doesnt seem to mind. Maybe he

confident; maybe he just doesnt see point in

pretending to have any other feelings tha

hose he holds for Kayleigh. He turns tme next, as if

nothings happened. What about you

You could be a Siren.

tap the word into my floppy and a

greeted with an image of something tha

ooks like a


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cross between a girl and a fish. Thi

ooks more like something Kayleig

would like, I say. She

s the one who spends every mornin

swimming in the pond behind th

Hospital.

No, read, Harley insists.

start reading, the sounds of everyon

elses gentle arguments disappearing as focus on

he story. I see now why Harley though

his particular mythological creatursuited me: the Sirens

sing too. My fingers trail along a portrai

of a Siren perched on a rock, a stringe


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nstrument in one hand as she stare

mpassively at the boy drowning in th

water below her.

Yes. I like these Sirens.

By the time I look up, Orions returned

with the books. Harley flips through thpages too

quickly, careless with the ancient pape

made from real trees from Sol-Earth. Wedont have trees

on Godspeed, and we hardly ever use th

synthetic paper made by the Shipperseverythings

recorded on floppies instead. Orio

scowls at Harley until he sets the boo


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gently down on the

ground.

Have you selected your topic? Lutho

asks.

nod and hold out the floppy to him. Hsmiles as he reads about the creatures tha

sing to

ure mens ships to dangerous waters andsure death.

Harley glances up as Bartie leans over t

read too. Ha! Your voice could makemen

suicidal! He crows with laughter, but

snatch the floppy out of his hands and rea


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about the

Greek that he selected. I know he didn

mean the words to sting, but they do.

Yourmusic is so bad Hades would kee

you in the underworld to save us all fro

having

o hear it! I try to keep my voice ligh

ike his, turning the words into a harmles

oke among

friends. Nothing more than friends.

It is not! Bartie snatches the floppaway. Orpheus was the greatest musicia

of all

ime.


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Bet he couldnt sing, I snap back.

Who have you all chosen? Orion

voice calls out over our argument.

Sappho, Victria says.

Harley snorts. You wouldpick her.

Whats that supposed to mean?

I cant decide between Hephaestus anPrometheus, Kayleigh says, drawin

attention to

her. Victria shoots her a small smile.

Why Prometheus? Orion asks.

Harley taps the name into his floppy. Yo


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dont want him. He gets his liver eaten ou

by a

giant bird!

But I like the way he brought knowledg

o people, Kayleigh says.

But youre more of an inventor. Orion

ifts the floppy out of her hands an

swipes the

screen, bringing up an image of a huge

ugly man with a forge behind him

Hephaestus is

probably more appropriate. And les

dangerous.

Even here, we have to remind ourselve


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hat Eldest is more of a god than any o

hese long-

dead Greeks, and he can do much worshat have our livers ripped out.

I m selecting Pygmalion, Luthor says.

jump a little; Id forgotten how close h

was to me. Hes so quiet.

Piggy, piggy! Barite taunts. Thasounds about right!

Pygmalion was a sculptor, Orion says

Good choice, Luthor. What about you,

Harley?

I cant find any painters, he grumbles.


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Why dont you do a frescoits lik

painting, but with plasterand you ca

use the

Muses as your subject? Orion suggests.

He bends down to show Harley th

Muses, but Im distracted by Victria. Shmouths

something to me, indicating Bartie an

Luthor with her head.

What? I mouth back.

Her eyes widen at me, and she jerks hehead to Luthor. Then she glance

significantly at

Kayleigh, whos leaned in close to


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Harley, and jerks her head back.

She wants us to give them som

privacy, Luthor whispers in my ear.

Ioh! I say, blushing.

Victria rolls her eyes.

Scooping up the floppy and one of th

books, I follow Victria and Bartie furthe

nto the

Recorder Hall, passing closed door

eading to rooms full of books and Sol

Earth artifacts. Luthor

rails behind me, chuckling at how Harle

and Kayleigh remain ignorant of our plot.


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Victria pauses at the door to the entr

way. Ill distract Orion in a minute, giv

hem some

real alone time. When I dont move, sh

adds, You go on, and waves her hand

at me.

head further down the dark hallway

Luthor hesitates, then follows me, bu

Bartie winks

and drops back to stay with Victria. I

disappointedI would actually like t

alk to him about

maybe working together on our projec

He could compose music and I coul

write lyrics and


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maybe we could . . .

But hed rather stay with Victria.

Fine.

Whatever.

dont care.

Lets go upstairs, Luthor says softly, so

follow him. Ive never explored thRecorder

Hall this much before; I know that th

second and third stories hold relics froSol-Earth, but not

much else.


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Luthor leads me to a room on the secon

floora huge gallery with double doors

Unlike

he entryway, this room is filled with light

lluminating the objects inside.

What is this? I whisper. Canvases hanfrom the walls, illuminated by th

windows.

Sculptures dot the tiled floor; a mobilmade of glittering glass hangs from th

ceiling.

Its the art from past gens, Luthor saysHe steps inside, and while I just stan

here,

gazing around, he watches my expressio


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as if eager to see if hes pleased me.

I . . . I didnt know, I say, awed. And

didnt. Its not that the Recorder Hall ibanned

or kept hiddenalthough you do have t

have permission to see the books. Its that never

occurred to me that a ship led by Eldes

could hold such treasures.

And look, Luthor says, stepping over t

he wall, where an electronic box i

embedded.

He adjusts a dial, and music drifts throug

he room.


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These were all made by people wh

ived on this ship, he says.

close my eyes and listen.

The singer is a soprano, like me, and he

voice is clear and rich. She sings about

mpossibilities: stars within reach, soli

earth at her feet, and ocean mist kissin

her cheeks.

When the song fades to static, I open m

eyes.

Luthors motionless, staring at me with ook on his face that I dont recognize

Lets

make this our studio, he says suddenly


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You and me. Lets work on our project

here. He

pauses, wetting his lips. Together.

think about the adoration Harley shower

on Kayleigh, the way Kayleighs mouth

witches whenever he tries to snatch he

hand in his. I think of the way Bartie hun

back to stay

with Victria.

Yes, I say, and in that moment, nothing

exists beyond him and me and thingering

strains of the music that hang between us.


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5.

Orion gave us a whole month to complet

our projects, but we waste no time gettinstarted. An

opportunity to dedicate our days to the art

we love has been rare in the Hospital, annone of us is taking that that time fo

granted. Kayleigh works outsideshe

using metal and a blowtorch to

make . . .something, but only she know

what. Harley has decided that he needs t

work outside too, to keep his fresco wet

and the two of them have set up space

near the koi pond Kayleigh likes to swi

n.


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Bartie tags along wherever Victria goes

and Victria wanders through the fields and

o the

City, scribbling in the little leather-bound

book that Orion gave her after she tol

him her idea for a collection of poetry. I

almost seems as if Barties taking hiassignment too literallyhes

following the object of his affectio

blindly no matter where she leads himStill, I suspect Bartie would be devastate

o discover what her notebook actuall

containsmy guess is that more than

half her poems are in fact dedicated t

Orion.


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And Luthor and I? We meet each othe

every morning, before the solar lam

clicks on, and

sneak into our little makeshift studi

ogether.

I m glad you didnt decide to work witBartie, he says after the first week.

Why would I work with Bartie? I as

nnocently, even though thats what Idhought I

wanted before. I focus on typing notes o

my floppy so he doesnt notice my blush.

Luthor smirks at me and turns his attentio

back to his own floppy. Orion has ordered

clay


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for him, manufactured chemically in th

abs on the Shipper Level, but when i

arrives, hell have to work quickly t

finish his sculpture before it dries out. Fohat reason, Orions insisted that he

come up with a design before he actuall

starts sculpting.

Seriously, Luthor, I say, Im really

glad were working together.

He mumbles something.

What? I ask.

Luthe. You could call me Luthe. My

friends do.

wonder whom he means by friends.


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Bartie? Probably, even though if yo

asked Bartie,

m sure he wouldnt have applied therm friend to Luthor. Luthor has been

iving at the

Hospital as long as anyonein fact, hink he was one of the first Doc selecte

o move in. Even

so, hes always been stand-offish at best.

shoot him a quick smile. Im glad to b

your friend, I say. Would it be okay if

still

call you Luthor, though? Itsuits you.

He turns back to his floppy, but he can


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hide his smile.

At the end of the second week, Victri

aps on my bedroom door. It zips openbefore I have a

chance to get up from my desk and answe

her knock.

Dont just come in! I say, jumping up.

Victria rolls her eyes and plops down onmy unmade bed.

There are no locks on Godspeed. We

dont need them. The ship is so small thaeveryone

respects privacy. On Sol-Earth, peopl

had to worry about things like theft, bu


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not here. Godspeedis perfectly safe.

Except from Victria when she wants to

alk.

Seleeeeene, she draws out my name.

Whaaaat? I mimic her whine.

She crashes into my pillows dramatically

Im bored.

shove aside the sheet music Id bee

working on. Wheres Kayleigh? I ask.

With Harley. Her voice drips withdisdain, as if even his name disgusts her.

glance to the window. Its nearly time

for the solar lamp to go dark. Theyre stil


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working on their projects?

Victria props herself up on her elbows.

a m certain that the one thing theyre nodoing is working on their projects.

let her words sink in. Oh!

Yeah.

Well . . . I pause, careful about which

words I use. What about you and, uhBartie?

Hes annoying, she snaps, sitting up an

ossing my pillow up in the air. Shcatches it,

hen stares at me. What about you an

Luthor?


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shrug, not meeting her eyes.

Youve been working with him in the

Recorder Hall a lot, she adds, leaninforward.

Yeah, but . . .

Listen, be careful with him. She doesn

meet my eyes; her whole demeanor has

changed. She sets the pillow back on mbed, carefully smoothing it out an

pretending like the

simple task deserves her full focus.

Luthors harmless. Even as I say it,

can hear the doubt in my own voice, th

question


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seeking confirmation.

Hes . . . creepy, Victria says. I just .

I worry.

You dont have to worry about me, I say

as I shove her off my bed. Its Kayleig

you

should keep your eye on!

But the concern wrinkling Victrias browdoesnt fade as she leaves.

Someone knocks on my door before th

solar lamp clicks on the next day. Who it? I call,

yawning. I pull my cotton tank top over th

waist of my soft knit shorts and stagge


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blearily to the door. At least I know it

not Victria; shed have just barreled i

before I had a chance to get up.

Luthors waiting on the other side, lookin

excited.

I know what I want to sculpt, he saysstepping into the room.

What? After the door zips closed

behind him, I push the large button in mwall and

soon the room is filled with the scent o

breakfast. Wall food isnt that greatwecould go to the

caf instead and get something a little bette

but it is convenient. I pull out the war


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meat pasty

from the cavity built into my wall an

break it apart, offering half to Luthor.

He takes it, a flicker of surprise on hi

face. Thanks, he mumbles.

So, I say, spraying bread crumb

before I think to swallow. Whatre yo

going to

make?

You.

What?

You. Luthor sets his half of breakfas

down on the desk. Hes too excited; h


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needs both hands to fly around as h

speaks. I read more about the Pig-guy.

Pygmalion, I say, smiling. I know thname better than he does.

Yeah. And he made a sculpture of wha

he thought the ideal woman would be likeThats

he whole point of his story, that h

created this perfect woman with his artAnd thats what I want to do. I want to

make the perfect woman.

And you want . . . me?

Luthor pauses in his flurried excitemen

really looking at me, taking in m

disheveled hair,


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wrinkled clothes, and sleep-encruste

eyes. Of course you, he says simply, an

my heart fills

with song.

stand perfectly still in our little studio a

Luthor sketches me. He wants to make thstatue in a

classical pose, as he says it, and h

keeps telling me to rearrange my arms, ohunch my back

more, or hold up one hand.

No, no, no, he says, frustrated. Im no

offendedhes frustrated with my posin

n the


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same way that I get frustrated with m

voice when I cant reach a note. Lik

his.

He strides across the floor and pulls m

arms down. He runs both his hands dow

my

arms, making my elbows straighten an

pulling my hands slightly behind my hips.

glance down at

him; he doesnt see me as a person in thi

momentIm not Selene, Im a model.

Luthor slips behind me, pushing one hannto my spine so my back curves inward

making

my chest jut forward.


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Slowly, he walks around, inspecting m

and my pose, stopping when he faces me

Up,

he says gently, tapping my chin. I lift m

face toward the ceiling, the warm ligh

from the high

windows cascading down my cheeks.

Perfect, he whispers. Youre perfect

glance down at him, careful not to mov

my body or my face. When he looks at m

now, I

know hes seeing past my skin, into th

very heart of who I am.


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Orion approves Luthors design quickly

and if he thought there was something od

about his

selection of me as a model, he doesnt sa

anything. After lunch, workers from th

Feeder Level

bring a huge pillar of brown clay, and

Luthor tells them to drop it right there, i

he center of the floor, where the ligh

from the windows hits it just right.

He brings in buckets of water and lays ou

his tools in a neat arc next to the clay.

We could go down to the pond with

Kayleigh and Harley, I suggest.

Luthor shakes his head, his attentio


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focused on lining up each tool correctly

They look

almost like Docs medical instruments: dull-bladed knife, tiny needlelike picks,

scalpel.

I want to workhere, Luthor says. Wityou. Alone.

As if on cue, Victria barges into th

studio. So, she says loudly, her voicbouncing off

he walls, this is where you two hav

been hiding.

Bartie trails behind Victria. He carries hi

guitar on a strap across his shoulders, on

hand


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unconsciously stroking the strings.

Were working, Luthor says pointedly.

So are we. Looking for inspiration an

all that. Victria ignores him and head

straight

over to me. Theres something almos

protective in her stance.

Look for inspiration somewhere else,Luthor growls, and I cant blame him. H

wasjust

about to get started on the sculpture heplanned for two weeks; Victria and

Barties interruption

could not have come at a worse time.


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I need Selene. Victria lifts on

shoulder, as if shes helpless in the face o

her whimsical

muse.

So do I. Luthor hasnt moved awa

from his clay, but his hands armotionless, his

body stiff.

Victria leans over. Youve got a sketch.

Her words are casual, but she touches m

arm,

pressing into my skin as if trying to conve

a message to me through my flesh. Barti

shifts


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nervously by the door.

But Ill still need her.

Before the two of them can dissolve into

real fight, I speak up. Why do you nee

me,

Victria?

I need a song. Music.

You have Bartie. I hope none of the

others notice the bitterness in my voice

She does

have Bartie, all of him, even if she doesn

appear to want him the way I used to.

But I need singing.


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Yeah, Bartie says, looking up for the

first time. Youre the Siren, remember

Sing us a

song thatll make us want to drown.

Victria and Bartie chuckle at the jab, bu

Luthor just scowls. Will you leave if shsings?

he says.

Victria hesitates, but Bartie says, Yes.

Just get rid of them, Luthor says

waving his hand as if hes sacrificinsomething to let

me sing.


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I . . . I dont know what to sing, I say

suddenly shy.

Sing one of the songs youve beeworking on for Orions project.

My hand moves unconsciously to the loos

papers scattered on my makeshift desk.

Theyre not ready.

Victria rolls her eyes. Just sing.

And so I sing.

start with a long notea high Eand hold it as long as I can, letting the strengt

of my

voice lift the sound to the ceiling. I tilt m


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head back and shut my eyes, letting mysel

forget about Luthor and whatever it i

about him that makes Victria nervous

forget about the way Barties

presence fills me with regret, forge

everything but the sound.

hold the note until my breath gives out

and I collapse a little on myself as I suc

n more

air, but I dont open my eyes.

know the notes I want, the words tha

will go with them.

start softly, a contrast to the opening o

he song.


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sing of being afraid, and of findin

friendship. Of love and longing.

Very softly, Bartie picks up the tuneadding simple chords in key with m

voice. His guitar

sounds hesitant at first, but as my voicrises, the chords grow stronger. My voic

falters a bit, a little sad at the way we ca

make such beautiful music together

despite the fact that Bartie will never lovme the way I had wanted him to. Then

glance at Luthor, and my song surges in m

hroat.

sing about the ocean Ive never seen i

real life. I sing about loneliness. I mak

he Siren


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nto something sympathetic. She doesn

mean to kill what she loves. She just can

help it.

Silence wraps around me, and I fill it wit

my voice. I sing of everything that

wrong, and

everything thats right, of hope and death.

sing of infinite wonder, of how everythin

must end.

When I open my eyes, my chest is heaving

my head thrown back, my arms cas

behind me.

ve unconsciously formed myself int

Luthors Pygmalion tribute. And eve

hough I sang a love


96/165

song, my eyes go not to Bartie, who still

his guitar string with one shaking hand, bu

o Luthor,

whos snatched up his notebook and i

resketching me, trying to capture th

moment of my singing

onto paper so he can carve it out of clay.

Thanks, Victria whispers.

Was that what you were looking for?

ask. Theres a sheen of sweat on my brow

Yeah, she says slowly.

I m not finished. Im suddenly sel

conscious, aware of the way my voic

cracked in the


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second verse, the cluttered lyrics I rushe

hrough in the third. I mean, Im stil

working on the lyrics and the rhythm.

Its good.

Its really sad, Bartie says.

laugh. Its not sad! Its a love song!

Bartie stands, slinging his guitar onto hi

back. Love songs can still be sad.

Come on, Victria says, putting one hand

on Barties elbow. Lets leave these two

alone

o work.

She nods to me as she leaves, an


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although she still sidesteps around Lutho

and avoids his

gaze, there must have been something imy song to make her know that hes no

hreat and that our

greatest focus now is on our art.

As if to prove it, Luthor picks up a long

bladed tool and starts to saw at the clay

Ive got

he perfect idea, he says withou

stopping. I know exactly how to mak

his work. He glances

up at me now. Butwould you mind

singing while I sculpt? You could practice

some more for


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your presentation.

d intended to present Orion with a serie

of songs, an entire opera, but I only hapieces

of each song done here and there. I hate

o start singing something incomplete; thove song was

bad enough, but at least it was mostl

done.

Still, theres something in the wa

Luthors hands slide over the clay, in th

silence of his

work, that makes me want to fill the studi

with music once more.


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open my mouth and sing.

Luthor works fast, not breaking for meals

The clay Orion ordered is chemicallproduced not to

dry completely until Luthor applies

glaze to the outside, but the more hhandles it, the more

difficult it is to work with, becoming les

pliable and more prone to crumbling.

dont even think about leaving. How

could I? Still, my voice cracks and

despite drinking

copious amounts of water, I slowl

succumb to silence. Ive done more wor

on my songs today


101/165

han on any day of the previous tw

weeks, and I know that a large part of tha

s because Luthors

nfectious need to sculpt has influence

my need to sing.

The gallerys overhead lights click owhen the solar lamp clicks off. Lutho

growls at the

change in light, but barely pauses.

move behind him, inspecting the wor

hes done.

The sculpture is beautiful, far mor

beautiful than me. The clay version of m

s smooth and


102/165

ithe, more graceful in her stillness than

could ever be when I move.

Can you he starts, then getdistracted by his sculpture, smoothin

down a ridge in the

clay. I watch as his hands run over thsurface. He must be nearly finishedth

sculpture looks so

real now, as if this perfect earthen copy ome will lift her feet up and step from th

narrow base.

Luthors hands move to her forehead, foufingers on each hand swirling across the

sculptures brow, over her closed

delicate eyelids, along her cheeks, dow


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he hollows of her neck, straining with

silent song, lingering on her collarbon

and trailing, finally, finally, coming to res

on her clay breasts.

take a shaky breath.

I like to make the lines smooth, Luthosays, his attention still on his sculpture.

Everything has to blend together.

Its beautiful, I say, my voice softer than

d intended.

He pauses now, and turns to look at meYoure beautiful, he says.

He lifts his mud-coated hands toward me

hen stops. I lean forward. He touches m


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on my

forehead, just as he touched his sculpture

and I close my eyes, pressing my face inthis hand. I

gnore the clay he leaves on my skin

relishing the feel of his gentle fingerailing over my face, down my neck

across my collarbone . . . but he stops.

open my eyes.

He pulls me closer to him.

And the kiss we share makes me glad tha

m not just an empty, clay girl.


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6.

dont go back to the Hospital until wel

after dark, and when I do, I leave Luthon our studio.

Hes still working like mad on th

sculpture, even though, to me, it lookcomplete.

wander down the path between th

Recorder Hall and the Hospital. Ive spen

half my life

n love with Bartie, who never reall

noticed me, and now heres Luthor, who

d never really seen

before, and theres this thing between u


106/165

hat Ill never be able to ignore again.

ear the pond, a huge monstrosity grow

up from the ground. Kayleighs workmobile

metal sculpture that looks half organic

half nightmare. Shes used some sort oreddish-clear gel to create the appearanc

of fire at the base, and added gropin

metal arms reaching through the flames, up

o the sky. But our sky is made of metaoo, and if this sculpture is grasping fo

freedom, it will just meet another wall.

Harleys fresco looks like nothing but plaster sheetI suspect hes been busie

ooking


107/165

at Kayleigh than doing any work. H

usually paints every day, but hes been

rather distracted by

he fact that Kayleighs no longer turnin

him away.

m in a silent, contemplative mood by thime I make it back to the Hospital.

Hey, Selene!

jump, surprised by the sudden voice.

I ve been waiting for you, Bartie says

smiling up from the comfy couch in thcommon

room. A trill of music follows his words

his guitar lies on his lap, his finger


108/165

unconsciously

strumming the strings.

cross the room and sit in the chai

opposite him. A month ago, finding ou

hat Bartie had

been waiting up just to see me would hav

made my face flush and my knees shake

But now, I can

still feel Luthors kiss on my lips.

Why? I ask simply.

Victria . . . His voice trails off.

This would be the point, a month ago, tha

would have made me want to cry. But th


109/165

part of

my heart that will always recognize tha

Bartie was my first love is silent.

I m sure shell come around, I say

Victrias not a very, I dont know

emotional

person. But I bet shell fall for yo

eventually.

Bartie laughs. No, thats not what

meant! Still, hes pleased with what

said.

Then what?

Bartie shifts uncomfortably, his hand

going back to his guitar, running hi


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fingers up and

down the strings. Victria said you . .

and Luthe . . .

Itsfine, I say immediately. Better tha

fine.

Luthe . . . hes not . . . Bartie shift

again, glancing out the dark window

Hes said

hings . . . I just . . .

Victria should pay more attention to he

ove life and less to mine, I snap.

Listen, Bartie says, leaning closer. I

Luthe has friends, then Im one. And th

way he


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alks about people . . . about girls . . .

Girls? More than one? I ask, my hear

plunging.

Thats not what Im trying to say.

cant help but let a sigh of relief escapmy lips.

Just be careful, okay? Bartie finall

mumbles.

nod, but Im still not sure what he means

Barties hands drift back to his guitarWant to jam a bit?

Jam? I laugh.


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I read about it. Its what they used to cal

making music, back on Sol-Earth.

Jam. I say again. Such a ridiculouword.

I ve been working a bit on this, Barti

adds, and he lifts the guitar up into itproper

position, his calloused fingers pressin

nto the strings on the neck. He fumblesistening to the

chords, until he finds the right harmony.

The song is fast, and gets louder as h

goes, but it still sounds melancholy to me

think its


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he way that the notes weave in and out

always going back to the same deep

resonating chords, as

f, no matter how quickly Barties finger

dance on the strings, he cant help but fal

nto the same sad melody.

When he glances up at me, he stops th

song abruptly.

What is it? I ask as the music dies.

You looked as if you were going to cry,

he says.

touch my cheek, but its dry.

How about this instead? Bartie says

smiling, and he starts up on the sam


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melody hed

made to match the song I wrote.

smile, and as soon as I catch the rhythm

open my mouth to sing. I dont let th

music rip

from me as I did in the studio before

nstead I force the song to stream from m

ike a steady flow of quiet water. I don

want to wake anyone up, and even if thcommon room is separated from the

rest of the Hospital, its not soundproof.

Still, the music overwhelms me. By th

ime Im at the end, my voice is raised

and I am


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breathless.

And its not until then that I notice Luthor

standing in front of the elevator, watchinme.

Bartie presses his palm into the guita

strings, silencing them. Luthor doesnmake a sound

as his eyes dart from Bartie to me an

back again. Im suddenly aware of howclose I am to Bartie,

of the flush on my cheeks, of the way m

fingers are almost touching his knee. snatch my hand

back.


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Luthor walks out of the common roo

without saying a word.

When I wake up the next morning, my doos open. I know I closed it the nigh

before, but its

open now, light from the hallwastreaming inside. I get up, rubbing my eye

and pulling my tank

op down over my hips as I press thbutton to zip the door closed. I wonder i

t was Victria, come to talk or barge in a

usual, and if at the last minute she decide

o let me sleep. Or maybe it was just door malfunction.

press the button on my wall for foo


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delivery, and while I wait, I stick m

fingers into the

small cavity by the door. A small blueand-white pill waits for me there. I star

at the capsule,

wondering at how this tiny pill separateme from nearly everyone else on the ship

outside the

Hospital.

swallow the pill dry. Doc says wer

oons, that our restlessness and artisti

expression

comes from this insanity, and that th

nhibitor pills are the only thing that keep

us from really


118/165

osing it.

But I think Kayleigh is probably right. Th

nhibitor pills dont keep us frocracking; they

keep us human, they keep us from turnin

nto the passive nothingness the rest of thFeeders feel.

The little compartment in my wall opens

and steam wafts out of it, leaving behinhe scent

of a meat pasty. I gobble it up as quickly

as I can; wall food isnt the best, and itunbearable to eat cold.

must have oversleptno ones around

he common room, and the Hospital i


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empty. I

head straight to the Recorder Hall. Orio

nods at me in the entryway, but is busworking on a

floppy.

Something blocks the door of our littl

studio, and I have to push hard to ge

nside.

The first thing I notice is Luthor. He

brown with clay, covered up to hi

elbows, with

splotches of it decorating his clothes an

great swaths over his brow. Little lines o

sweat trickle through the dirt on his face.


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Underneath the clay and sweat is a scow

angrier than any Ive seen..

The next thing I notice is the sculptureWhile Luthors face radiates wit

emotion, the clay

face of the sculpture is blank. No wondeLuthors hands are caked with mud. He

smoothed

every feature from the sculptures visagemaking the cheeks so flat that theyr

almost gone,

smoothing the nose into nothing but bump, completely erasing the lips. Th

eyeshed worked a

solid day on the eyes alone, using a tin


121/165

pick-like tool to carve in eyelashesar

now nothing more

han slight indentations under the barelyhere brow.

There is an eerie quality to the sculptur

now: The body is still intact, perfectlbeautiful and

meticulously detailed, but the face i

nothing but a flat shadow.

Still, it seems to stare at me with it

nothing eyes.

Its better now, Luthor says flatly.

It was lovely before. My voice come

out weak.


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Luthor levels his glare at me. Its bette

now, he repeats.

My hand reaches behind me for the doormy body seeking an escape before m

mind can

ell me what I need to do.

What were you doing with Bartie?

Luthor asks.

What?

Last night. In the common room. Wha

were you doing with Bartie? He bites ofeach

word as if it tastes foul in his mouth.


123/165

Nothing. Singing. Nothing.

Luthor reaches toward me with his clay

covered hands. I flinch. He notices, andrather than

becoming gentler as he would have a da

before, his hand tenses and his eyenarrow. He touches

my brow, his fingers raking across my

skin forcefully as he drags them downover my eyelids,

eaving brown streaks on my face.

Youre mine, he whispers. Mine.

get the frex out of there.


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7.

From that point on, I dont work in th

studio. I go at nightwith Bartie anVictria, both wearing

ooks of concern and worryto get m

notebooks and sheet music from the HalLuthors

covered his sculpture up with a larg

cloth, and I dont have the courage to loo

at the blank face

again.

My music takes on a different tone as

write with Victria and Bartie, whov

urned the


125/165

garden behind the Hospital into thei

studio. Its nice to be able to get help fro

a poet when I work on lyrics, or advic

from a fellow musician when Istruggling to find chords. I work quicke

but at the same time, it feels as if Ive lossome of the emotion behind the music. I

started out writing love songs, and ende

up writing sad ones. Perhaps appropriat

for the Sirens, but not for

me.

And then, almost before Ive really had chance to put everything together the way

want,


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ts time to present our work to Orion.

Kayleigh and Harley enlist all of our help

o get their pieces from the pond behinhe

Hospital up to the Recorder Hall. Harle

wanted to do the presentations by thpond, but Orion

nsisted they be done inside the Hal

Besides, the projects are supposed to bnstalled in the

galleries on the upper floors once wer

done with our presentations. I assume thameans Luthor

had to clean up as well, that our studio i

once more just the gallery, but I try not to


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hink on it too much.

The gallery seems darker with thre

hulking new additionsKayleighs metasculpture,

Harleys fresco, and Luthors covered-up

clay sculpture.

Orion asks us each to explain our work a

part of our presentations. Kayleigh goe

first,

followed by Harley, but I barely hea

hem. Im too busy staring at the bump

cloth over Luthors

sculpture. It doesnt have that sam

familiar shape Id come to know. It seem

shorter.


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Orion nods to Luthor, indicating that h

should go next, but Luthor shakes his head

nstead, Victria begins reciting her poetry

ts not until Bartie goes that I am able to

draw my attention away from Luthor

oo-short

sculpture.

His music is hollow in the best possiblway. It speaks of longing and sorrow, and

want to

fill it with my voice, but I dont. Its bettehis way.

As his music fades, I step forward wit

my own. I close my eyes and forget about


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everything and just sing.

And for that short moment, everything i

right.

But then the moment disappears.

open my eyes, and Im still here. And sos Luthor.

Thank you, Selene, Orion says. Now

ts your turn, Luthor.

He doesnt bother introducing his work

nstead, Luthor steps up to his sculptur

and in

one swift motion rips the cloth off.

gaspthe only sound in the silen


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gallery.

The sculpture is no longer facelessit

headless. From the rough marks at thdecimated

remains of the neck, I can easily imagin

him wrapping his fingers around the claycarefully and

precisely squeezing, squeezing,squeezing

until the head simply popped right off.

From the neck down, the sculpture i

beautifuleven more graceful and elegan

han Id

remembered. There are cuticles etched i

he fingernails, veins at the delicat

wrists. Individual toes curl around th


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base, and the draping gown looks as if i

s made of silk, not mud.

But from the neck upnothing.

Well. Orions voice cuts through the

ringing silence. This is quite . .

lluminating,

Luthor.

Luthor lets the sheet that had beecovering his sculpture drop to the floor a

he turns and

storms out of the gallery.

Even Kayleigh and Harley, as wrapped up

as they are in each other, have noticed th

way Bartie and


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Victria never leave my side. Their worr

s palpable.

Go to Doc, Harley finally saysRipping the head off a sculpture o

someone is loons.

Maybe he can up Luthors meds.

I dont think the meds we take hav

anything to do with being loons, Kayleig

says.

They just

This isnt the time for that, Victrisnaps. Im surprised; Ive never seen he

be short

with Kayleigh before. But Harleys right


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We should talk to Doc. Or maybe even

Eldest?

We let the weight of her words sink inbefore I say anything. Not Eldest. Its jus

a creepy

sculpture. No reason to contact Eldest.

Although no one says anything, the tensio

n the room dissolves a bit now that Iv

said to

eave Eldest out of it.

StillDoc? Bartie says.

shake my head. Its just a sculpture.

cant sleep that night, which is why


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when my door zips open, Im awake to se

Luthor standing in

he doorway.

You were supposed to be asleep, he

says.

Youre supposed to be in your own

room, I snap back.

He shrugs and steps inside, letting thdoor zip closed behind him.

I didnt say you could come in!

He just stands there.

Get out! I say, my voice rising.


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n two steps, hes at my bed, his ope

hand covering my mouth. I try to shout, bu

he

sound is muffled. He presses his weigh

against me, pushing me into my mattress.

hrash around,

but cant escape his grip.

You were supposed to be mine, he says

His breath is hot, his pupils dilated.

shake my head the best I can under hi

grip.

I dont like toshare.

His hand slips down. I dont know wha

youre talking about! I yell.


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But his hand isnt letting me goits jus

moving further down. His other hand join

he

first around my neck.

am hyperaware of the situation. I can fee

each heavy thud of my heart growinstronger

and faster. I can feel each of his finger

around my throat, each pressing into mskin. Hes not

choking me; hes just making sure I know

hat he could.

Unbidden and unwanted, an image of hi

sculpture comes into my mind: a perfec

body


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with its head squeezed off.

My eyes burn. Dont, I whisper, afraid

o say more. The word has to fight its waup my

hroat to my mouth.

I could, he says. I could. I can d

whatever I want.

Dont, I plead.

You sing. You become someone else

when you singmore beautiful, mor

perfect.

His index finger strokes the front of m

hroat, where my vocal chords are.


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Dont sing for anyone else, he orders.

nod my headanything to make him g

away.

His grip tightens around my neck, pushin

me further into my mattress. He lifts hi

right

eg, and, without removing his hands fro

my throat, he climbs over me so that he

straddling me

n my own bed.

His full weight presses down against me.

Tears leak from my eyes, dripping into my

hair.


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Youre mine, he whispers.

t is a very long time before he leaves, bu

when he finally does, a part of me haalready died.

My back is uncomfortably straight in th

blue plastic chair across from Docs desn his office.

He steeples his fingers as he looks at me

But, he says in a carefully controllevoice,

he didnt actually do anything?

For answer, I remove the scarf around my

neck. Ten long fingerprint-shaped bruises

decorate my throat.


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Butnothing else? Doc shift

uncomfortably. He threatened you, yes,

understand

hat, but he didnt actually . . . ?

Would it matter if he did? I ask. My

voice is raspy, a mixture of the gaspinsobs that

raked through my throat in the shower thi

morning and the pressure Luthor exerteon my vocal

chords as he

Doc leans forward. This is very serious

he says. I think perhaps I should giv

Luthor


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some hormone suppressants, at least unti

he Season. . . .

Pills? Youre just going to give himpills?

His, er, desire for you isnt entirely

natural. We can tamp down that desire, aeast for a

few years, until the Season.

I m not just worried about his desire.

Docs eyes drift lower, to the bruises on

my neck.

I could bring Eldest into this, h

mutters, half to himself. But the thing is .


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What? My feeble voice cracks. Wha

s it? Why are you trying to nicely say that

Luthor wont be punished for what hedone to me?

But if he didnt actually do anything

What do you want me to say? I stan

up, my voice straining against my desire t

shout.

That he held me down on the bed, eve

when I begged him to get up? That h

crushed my throat

until I couldnt make a sound? That h

aughedat me as I struggled against him?

That he did things to me that Im to

disgusted to even describe with words.


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Doc wont meet my eyes.

Luthor is skilled in tactile and kineti

studies, he tells his neatly ordered deskHe may

be focused on creating sculptures now, bu

his skills could lead to an advancement imodular

studies of the ships engines, or help

ncrease efficiency in the City or throughe floppy network.

. .

And all I can do is sing, I croak.

collapse back in the chair, hoping fo

Doc to protest, but we both know its true


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Theres

not much room for art on Godspeed; I

superfluous at best. People like Kayleigor Luthor will be able to find a productiv

way to contribute to the ship. People lik

me or Bartie will be able to do nothin

more than provide some amusement fohe real workers.

Luthors more important than me, becaus

his skills can aid the ship. A song inothing

compared to productivity.

laugh, a bitter, cracked sound damaged

by Luthors chokehold on me last night.

cant even sing, not now. One day


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soon, if Docs rightmy vocal chord

will heal.

But could I ever really sing again? ILuthor says I can only ever sing for him

and he can

do whatever he wants on this ship thavalues people based on what labor o

skills they can provide, dare I ever mak

music?

I ll start Luthor on hormon

suppressants, Doc says in the silence

That should stop

his . . . urges.

But not his hands, his big, strong hand

hat choked the sound out of me, tha


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popped the

head off his sculpture, that held the razor

sharp scalpels he used to carve into clayhat he could use to carve into me.


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8.

Well protect you, Victria says

Kayleigh, sitting on my bed, nods hehead. If Doc wont

protect you, we will.

What can you do? I ask with a feebl

augh.

Kayleigh and Victria exchange glancesThe boys will help, Kayleigh says

Harley and

Bartie.

They dont know me that well.


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Theyll still help.

can see it now: a lifetime where I

always watched by at least one of themBefore, I had

hought of Kayleigh as a sometime frien

and Victria as an occasional companionHarley and

Bartie were always in the background o

my mind. But I knowI can see it in thearnest looks

both girls are giving methat here is

chance for me to become something moro them all.

ot friend. Ward.


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I cant ask that of you, of any of you,

say.

Victria shakes her head. We cant let thahappen to you again.

She looks at my neck, but she cant see th

wounds Ive hidden behind my clothes.

You cant protect me all day, every day

You can move into my room, Kayleigh

says.

Or mine, Victria adds.

stare out the window.

Selene? Kayleigh asks. Something i


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her voice draws my attention to her. You

forgot

o take your pill, she says. She holds ouhe little blue-and-white capsule that hold

he drugs that keep me conscious, awar

of the world.

hadnt forgotten it.

Silly me, I mutter, taking the pill

Kayleigh watches me carefully as I put ion my tongue

and pretend to swallow.

But I dont.

After a while, I plead a headache, and th

wo girls leave. They dont go far; I ca


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hear them

alking, guarding my room. They shout a

Luthor when he gets too close; I can heahim denying

heir accusations, their voices raising unti

Doc comes out and silences everyone.

spit the blue-and-white pill out of m

mouth and into the toilet, then flush i

away.

Kayleigh said the pills made you nothing

and nothing seems like a pretty good thin

o be

right now.

Someone knocks on my door. I know i


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cant be Luthorhe doesnt knock.

Doc stands on the other side. Ive sen

your little guards to their rooms, he saysThen

his harsh expression melts. Ive als

posted a guarda real guardat Luthorroom. I dont

want you to feel threatened.

But I do. Guard or no. Because eventually

n a few days or weeks or even a whol

month,

he guard will go away. And I still won

have a lock on my door. And Luthor won

have forgotten.


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You can never escape from me. Thos

were the last words he said to me, jus

before he left

my room that night.

But in the end, its remarkably easy to

escape.

As I walk past the common room, I ca

see the way things will one day be

Kayleigh is

snuggled into Harleys arm on the couc

by the windowtheir love will grow an

spread and be

everything they want. Bartie plays a son

for Victria. Victria may or may not fall fo

he guitar


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player, but their friendship wont fade

They are an idyllic vision of what I onc

wanted in my life.

n the corner, watched closely by Doc, i

Luthor. He stares at me, eyes narrowed, a

cross

he room. He blames me for the clos

watch hes been under these past few

weeks, the additional

pills. He hasnt forgotten.

But I almost have.

take the elevator down to the lobby, the

stroll down the path that leads from th

Hospital


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o the Recorder Hall. I think about goin

nto the Hall, maybe seeing the sculptur

one last time, but the idea doesnt creat

an urge in me to make the effort tcontinue up the stairs.

Orion stands in the doorway. He starts to

alk to me, but then he frowns as I pass by

The path bleeds into the road that lead

deeper into the Feeder Level. I know

where Im

goingIve already talked about this wit

Doc, who got permission from Eldest fo

my

reassignment.

Kayleigh was right. Without the pills, you


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really do feel nothing.

And nothing can be nice.

open my palm, letting my last blue-and

white pill drop heedlessly to the ground.

stand at the fence, staring down at tharge rabbits used for meat on the ship

This is my

new job.

ot songs.

Rabbits.

glance back once.

Luthor will forget about me. He wante


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my music, but empty people dont sing

ll stay

here. I will care for the rabbits. I will lemyself become a nothing, and then Lutho

wont want me, because there will b

nothing to want.

t took several days before I felt the fea

fade.

didnt know that everything else woulfade too.

But its nice to be without the fear

Without the sad.

n the end, it didnt seem like such a bi

price to pay.


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My songs, in exchange for nothing.

othing is nice.

Empty is good.

cross over the fence. The rabbits hop. Up

and down. Ears twitch.

will be this girl, the girl who cares fo

he rabbits. Luthor took my music when h

ook

everything else from me that night. Wha

does it matter to me if I let the emptines

fill my shell?


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9.

The Day I Die

hum a song.

do that sometimes.

Hum.

like sounds.

Hello, Selene, a deep male voice say

from the fence of the rabbit fields.

stop humming.

Do you remember me? the man asks.

Youre Luthor, I say.


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Luthor nods. I told you before, call m

Luthe. All my friends do.

But . . . I dont think he is a friend.

The fence around the rabbit field i

nothing but chicken wire. He crumples i

and shoves it

away as easily as if it were made o

paper.

Selene, he says. I like sounds, but

dont like the way my name snarls aroun

his lips.

You were always my perfect girl, he

says softly. The rabbits scurry out of hi

way as he


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walks slowly toward me.

unrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun. My min

screams at me, but my body doesnt move

Everything is dull around me. A splintered

memory jabs into my brain, trying to spar

ife

nto me, but everything is slow and steady

can hear my heartbeat in my ears, a dul

normal beat . .

beat . . . beat. Not the panicked racing o

he rabbits heartbeat when I hold it down

But I feel like a rabbit, one selected foslaughter.

Luthor touches the side of my face, run

his fingers down my cheek, tucks a stran


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of hair

behind my ear.

Sing for me, he says.

Singing isnt productive, I say. But I do

sing, sometimes. Or hum. I like soundsThe

rabbits like sounds. Sometimes we sin

ogether.

But I dont want to sing for him.

Luthors hands slip down my neck, hifingers pressing slightly against my throa

Sing,

he commands.


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My mouth opens, my body automaticall

ready to obey the command.

But there is something inside me thasilences my voice.

will not give him what he wants, thi

rebel inside me whispers.

do not sing.

Luthors grip on my neck tightens, and hpushes me down, first to my knees, then t

my

back. You are mine, he growls. If cant have her, I willtake you.

My body doesnt protest. It has bee

rained by years of drugs an


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acquiescence.

shut my eyes.

Youre more like clay now than you

were before.

open my eyes.

Luthor is grinning.

In the story, Pygmalion turned his girl oclay into a human. But I have turned

human

nto a girl of clay. And that is, by far, thebetter option.

open my mouth.


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And I sing then. Not the song Lutho

wants. I sing for myself, a dirge,

mournful wail. I

singI screamuntil Luthors hand

around my throat silence me.

And I die. But at least I die in song.

as they slip away - beth revis

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