“Nothing. ” I tilt my chin up at him. “She’s not hurting anything. She’ll be fine. ”
“An Eldest can never do ‘nothing. ’ ” Eldest is wearing this smug little smile on his face that makes me want to just punch him. Before I can think of anything snappy to say back to him, Eldest holds a finger up to me and turns away, pressing his wi-com button.
“Mm-hm,” he says to whoever has linked to him. “I see. Yes, of course. ”
He turns back to me. “I’m going to the Shipper Level. Stay here and read more about the leaders of Sol-Earth. I’ve left a floppy for you in the Learning Center. ”
“But—” Eldest is on the Shipper Level these days far more than he used to be. “Is everything okay?”
Eldest gives me an appraising look. Weighing whether or not I’m worthy of hearing his thoughts, sharing his problems. And I see it there, in the hunch of his shoulders, the uneasy way he carries his leg, the one he limps on. He can feel the weight of the ship on him, just like I can. No—he feels it more. He’s carried the weight longer than me, and he’s carried it not just for himself, but the Elder before me who died and couldn’t take over.
For just a moment, I see Amy through his eyes: as a problem.
“We need to have a talk when we get back. ” Eldest’s tone now is serious, uncomfortable. He shifts on his feet, but does not head toward the hatch.
“What about?”
“The Season is coming soon. . . . ”
“Oh. ” I knew about the Season already. While I was living on the Feeder Level, it was easy to learn about what happened between a male and a female. I saw it with the cows when I lived on the ranch; with the goats on the farm; with the sheep near the fields. I’d have been stupid not to notice what the animals did. Several of the women who kept me during my time on the Feeder Level explained reproduction to me. At the time, it seemed a bit uncomfortable and gross, but they all assured me that when my Season came, I’d be ready, and a woman from Harley’s gen would have a second Season with me. Since meeting Amy, I think I know what they mean about being ready.
“During the Season, you will see, er. . . ” Eldest voice trails off.
“I know what the Season is,” I say. I am as uncomfortable as he. It was bad enough to learn about mating from a matronly farmer, worse yet to hear about it from Eldest.
“Still, we should talk—” This time, Eldest is interrupted by his wi-com. He presses the button and says something softly, so I don’t hear it.
“Hey,” I say. “HEY. ”
He raises one finger, telling me to give him a second, and mumbles more into his wi-com.
“Quit ignoring me,” I say loudly.
Eldest sighs and disconnects the wi-com. “I’ve got to go. ”
“Aren’t you going to tell me what that was all about?”
Eldest heaves a sigh, as if I’m a child pestering him.
“Look,” I say, “I’m getting sick of secrets. ”
“Fine,” Eldest says, already walking to the hatch with his uneven gait. “You study; we’ll talk when I get back. ” Before I can protest, he’s gone.
The med patch has worked its wonders: My headache is mostly gone. I don’t like the idea of how easy it would be for Eldest to do that again, though. Maybe I should keep some med patches with me.
My first thought is to go to the Hospital, where all the meds for the ship are stored. Doc keeps them locked up, but if Orion can get extra mental meds, it shouldn’t be that hard for me to get some med patches. But, then again, that’s what got me in trouble in the first place. Then I think about Eldest’s chamber. I know he stores extra med supplies there.
But to do that would mean sneaking into Eldest’s room, breaking the unspoken law of privacy.
I may have tested the door handles on the fourth floor of the Hospital (okay, fine, I broke in), but I’ve never gone into someone’s private space without permission first.
But then I remember Orion’s advice. With Eldest, to get what I want, I’ll have to be sneaky.
I tell myself as I stand and walk toward Eldest’s chamber that I am only going to turn the knob, not even push the door open, but even as I mentally relay these words, I recognize that I am lying to myself so I don’t lose my courage.
My hand trembles as I reach for the knob.
“Com link: Harley,” chirps the pleasant female voice of my wi-com.