Someone else has the real video—the real clue.
33
ELDER
“FREX,” I MUMBLE AS MARAE RUNS DOWN THE LIST OF EVERY thing that’s happened so far today. I’ve only been with Amy for two hours, tops, but I should have known better than to ignore my coms.
First there was the meeting Bartie held at the Recorder Hall as soon as the solar lamp clicked on. Second Shipper Shelby had been there already and commed Marae, who tried to com me. By the time Marae had gotten to the Recorder Hall with the rest of the first-level Shippers, Bartie had already presented his ideas for what the ship’s leadership should be like in the future, with an added note that I was too inept to rule. Thirty people had pressed their thumbprints on his petition, giving it their mark of approval.
Then Marae tried to “arrest” Bartie, but I don’t think she really even understood what the word meant, even though we’ve all been reading up on police forces and civil conflicts. I think she thought if she just shouted “I arrest you!” really loudly that would mean he’d quit, but instead he uploaded the petition to the floppy network and everyone on the ship had it by lunch.
Not that I had lunch. By midday, I was back in the City, standing up on the table at the Food Distro, explaining that, for some reason, wall food production was delayed. The whole time, the Food Distro manager, Fridrick, was staring at me, smirking, and I kept remembering how Bartie said that you could start a revolution if you took away people’s food. I did an all-call explaining that extra portions would be delivered for supper, but no one was really satisfied with that answer.
It wasn’t until now, with the workday nearly done, that Doc bothered to summon me to the Hospital and explain that someone had broken into his office and stolen his supplies of Phydus med patches.
“Why the frex didn’t you tell me this sooner?” I shout.
Doc cringes. “You looked busy. ”
I roar—an inarticulate sound with no words. The stolen patches explain a lot—as I was running from one end of the ship to another, I’d noticed surreptitious looks and veiled comments, but I’d thought it was people passing around Bartie’s manifesto. Now I see they were also passing around the Phydus patches. The people who’ve been depressed—and many who weren’t—are trading anything they have for them.
“The worst thing,” Doc tells me as I stare at his disheveled office, “is that this must have happened yesterday. I haven’t been back to my office since early last morning. Whoever killed Stevy must have pocketed the patches after I left. ”
Doc’s lips curl in disgust. I don’t know which part he hates the most: that someone stole med patches, or that whoever it was turned his office into a mess.
“I made the concentration of Phydus in the patches high on purpose,” Doc says, “so that one patch could quickly placate a person. But the problem is, with such a high concentration—”
“It only takes three patches to kill a person. ”
“Yes. It’s very concentrated—two patches, and . . . It slows everything down. The organs. It’s too much for the body to handle. Three is death. I should have diluted the drug, but I thought . . . ”
“You thought you’d be the one administering it. ”
“Me or Kit. Someone who knew the dangers and could regulate it. ” He sounds guilty, sad. But I’m as much to blame as he is. I approved the use of the patches.
We both stare silently at his trashed office for a moment. Everything is normally so neat and organized. But now it’s a chaotic mess. The desk shoved to one wall. The locking cabinet smashed open, with med patches spilling out in all colors, but none of them pale green.
Kit runs into the office. “There’re reports,” she says breathlessly.
“Of what?” Doc snaps.
“Dead. Someone dead. From the patches. ”
We immediately spring into action. Doc drives the electric cart across the Feeder Level, with me riding behind him. As the level flies past us, all I can think of is how much worse everything has been since I took over.
“You’re going to have to do something,” Doc calls back to me over the roar of the electric cart. “Something to really make the Feeders see you as leader. Use this problem to show your strength!”
Yeah. Right.
When we get to the City, Doc stops the cart in front of the weaving district. “Why are we stopping here?” I ask, my heart sinking.
Before Doc can answer, someone yanks me off the back of the cart and throws me onto the street. I stumble, almost losing my balance.
“You frexing chutz!” Bartie bellows.
I step back, surprised.
“What are you—?” I start.