“Hmm. ” The doctor sounds disapproving. “We do not actually allow photography on board the ship outside of scientific uses. ”
Even though I’m determined to prove to the doctor I can be calm without medication, I can’t help but show my disbelief. “Are you serious? Photography’s banned?”
“What other activities do you enjoy?” he says, completely ignoring my question.
“I don’t know,” I say, throwing my hands up. “What do most of the teenagers around here do? Clubs? Parties?”
“We do not have school or parties or anything of that sort,” the doctor says slowly, replacing the two stray pencils on his desk into the cup, “because we do not have children aboard the ship. Not currently. ”
“What?” I ask, leaning forward, as if by doing so I will actually understand what he is saying.
The door behind me slides open.
The doctor stands to greet the man walking through the door, but I don’t. He’s old, but he walks into the office as if he owns it, despite a slight limp.
“This is Amy. ” The doctor sounds out my name as if he’s unsure of its pronunciation, even though it’s only three letters long.
“Obviously,” the man replies. He remains standing, sneering down at me. “Tell me what you know about Godspeed. ”
“Is that the name of this ship?”
He nods impatiently. It seems so weird to me, that this ship has a name with “God” in it. This too-neat office that smells of disinfectant and something soured doesn’t remind me of God at all.
“They called it Project Ark Ship before I was frozen. All I know about it is that I’m on it. We’re heading to a planet in the Centauri system that NASA discovered a few years before I was born. It’s a generation ship—you all are supposed to have been born on the ship, keeping it running and all, until we get there and my parents and the rest of the people from the mission can terraform the new planet. ”
The man nods. “That’s all you need to know about Godspeed,” he says. “Although you should also know this. I am Eldest. ”
Good for you, I think. Congrats on being old.
He takes my silence as a cue to continue. “This ship does not need a captain. Its path was determined long ago, and the ship was designed to operate without need of human interference. ” The old man sighs. “But while the ship doesn’t need guidance, the people do. I am the oldest. I am their leader. ” The old man picks up a round paperweight from the doctor’s desk. He contemplates it as if he’s holding the world in his hands, and I realize that to him, the world is this ship.
“Okay. ”
“As such, everyone follows my rules. ”
“Fine. ”
“Including you. ”
“Whatever. ”
Eldest glares. He slams the paperweight back on the doctor’s desk—but not in the same place it had been originally. The doctor’s hands twitch as if he’d like to move it to its proper place, but he restrains himself.
“To that end,” he continues, “I cannot let any disturbance disrupt the lives of the people. And you are a disturbance. ”
“Me?”
“You. You don’t look like us, you don’t sound like us, and you are not one of us. ”
“I’m not some kind of freak!”
“On this ship you are. First,” he says, before I can protest, “there’s your physical appearance. ”
“Huh?”
“We’re monoethnic,” the doctor says, leaning forward. “We all share the same physical features—skin, hair, and eye color. It’s to be expected on a ship where there’s no new blood; our features have genetically merged. ”
I glance down at my red hair falling over my shoulders, at my pale, pale skin that always freckles too much. It’s a long-shot difference from the dark olive skin and graying hair that still holds traces of deep brown on the doctor. Eldest’s hair is mostly white, but I can tell it, too, was once dark to match his skin and eyes.