Glow (13 page)

Waverly turned her face into her pillow. She bit the pillowcase, gnashing it between her teeth as she cried.

SERVICES

The next morning, the matron turned on the lights and clapped her hands. “Get up, girls. You’re in for a treat!”

Waverly sat up in her cot, confused. She and Samantha looked at each other, and Samantha pretended to clap her hands gleefully, making Waverly smile. She wondered why she’d never been friends with Samantha before. They had more in common than she’d ever thought.

Several women brought in simple black dresses and stockings, handed them out to each of the girls, and told them to dress quickly. Once dressed, the girls were given white lace kerchiefs to tie around their heads, covering their hair. The girls looked like the pictures of Russian peasants Waverly had seen in a book of stories by Chekhov.

If this were a normal Sunday, Waverly and her mother would make waffles or pancakes and lie around reading old novels from Earth. Regina loved mysteries that reminded her of the home world. Waverly liked Victorian novels, with their descriptions of the English countryside, birdsong, and genteel manners. The descriptions were so complete, she could almost imagine what it would be like to stand in a place and be able to look at a horizon with nothing over your head but sky. In the afternoon, Waverly would draw a bath and soak for an hour before running off to meet Kieran in the orchards. Now, there was no bath and no books. Just rough black fabric that irritated her skin and a lace scarf that hid her hair and made her feel ridiculous.

The matrons had the girls walk double file down several flights of the central stairwell to the granary, the largest room in the ship.

Hundreds of people were milling about between rows of young wheat, talking together, laughing. Absolutely everyone wore black, the women in shapeless dresses that hung to their ankles, the men in tunics and leggings. Waverly saw Amanda and Josiah through the rows of wheat stalks, and they waved at her. She waved back and contrived a smile.

The girls walked single file between the wheat rows to an acre that had been cleared away. A stage had been set up beneath the large porthole that looked onto the veiled sky. Waverly could see a few stars in the distance, shining through the haze, and she hoped that meant they were nearing the edge of the nebula.

The matron gestured toward the front rows of chairs, where the girls sat down. Josiah walked onto the stage carrying a small guitar. He sat on a stool, and with a wink at Waverly, he began plucking the strings. His music echoed through the cavernous room, seeming to trickle between the stalks of dried wheat that hung over the heads of the congregation. Pastor Mather was sitting in a carved wooden chair, and on either side of her were an older man and a young woman, each holding a black book. Holy Books, Waverly guessed. All three of them were wearing white robes, in stark contrast with the rest of the congregation. Anne Mather herself wore an elegantly embroidered mantle, sewn in rich purple, red, and gold—the only color in the room. A similarly embroidered kerchief covered her hair. The people began filing into the rows of seats. Soon Anne Mather stood, the music died down, and she walked to an altar at the center of the stage.

“Welcome, all of you, on this, the two thousand two hundred and fifty-third Sunday of our mission to New Earth. Peace be upon you.”

“And peace upon you,” the congregation answered in unison.

“I wish especially to welcome aboard our guests, the refugees from the Empyrean, whose presence is a source of great joy to us all. Girls, please stand.”

Reluctantly, Waverly got to her feet, and the rest of the girls followed. The last to stand was Samantha, who hunched her shoulders resentfully.

Mather crossed the stage to stand over the girls, holding her hands out, palms down. “Dear Lord of the heavens, we ask that these girls learn to make a home for themselves aboard our vessel. We do not ask why it was Your will to separate them from their families. We must simply accept, and try to do our best to fulfill our obligations to You, both for the sake of our immortal souls and for the sakes of all future generations of New Earth. We will overcome any trial to fulfill our destiny.”

Mather took her place behind the altar and, smiling down at the congregation, lifted her hands. She seemed to glow from within, and Waverly thought that some special spotlight must be shining on her—a cheap effect to make her seem holy.

“Let us thank the wisdom of God for saving these girls and bringing them to join our family. Thank You, Lord, for sparing them from the fate that has met our brothers and sisters of the Empyrean. In Your wisdom You have seen into these girls’ hearts, and have found them worthy of Your mercy. Like Israel fleeing the bondage of Egypt, our young sisters have come to Canaan in search of a new life, and we welcome them with glad hearts.”

Mather obviously meant to imply that the crew of the Empyrean had died because they were wicked. Waverly glanced at Samantha and Sarah, who seemed to hate what Mather was saying as much as she did. Though a few of the younger girls seemed to feel proud that they’d been “chosen” by God as Mather suggested, most of the girls looked at the Pastor with distrust and anger.

After the services were over, Waverly sat in her chair, listening to the voices of the people around her. Several of the adults were talking about what a wonderful sermon Mather had delivered. These people spoke loudly. But underneath these voices were softer ones, murmuring to one another in hushed tones. Waverly strained toward these quieter voices. Something in them called to her.

Maybe not everyone on the New Horizon believed in Anne Mather.

Waverly noticed a woman staring at her from across the aisle. It was the lector with the auburn braid who’d read the ancient writings for services. She had very pale skin and pale eyes, but fine, strong bones in her face. The lector nodded, and Waverly nodded back. The woman walked across the aisle, held out a hand.

“Peace be upon you,” the woman said, and laughed brightly. “I always need to use the bathroom after services. Don’t you?”

“What?” Waverly asked.

Almost imperceptibly, the woman raised her eyebrows, then walked away.

Did she mean for Waverly to follow her?

The woman walked toward the port side of the granary, looking back discreetly over her shoulder. Waverly started after her, but the matron stood in her way. A full head shorter than Waverly and twice as wide, she was like a tank. “Where are you going?”

Waverly stood tall. “I need to use the restroom.”

“I’ll take you,” the woman said irritably. She led Waverly through the crowd. Waverly saw a great many faces turning eagerly to look at her as she passed, smiling in welcome. She smiled back, nodding as she went, though she felt tense to be the center of so much attention. How could she and the girls escape when they were under so much scrutiny?

Waverly hoped that the matron would let her enter the bathroom alone, but the woman came right in with her. There were two stalls, and the woman with the chestnut braid was just leaving one of them. She politely held the door open for Waverly and, nodding at the matron, went to the sink to wash her hands.

There was no way to talk to her. And Waverly felt sure the woman wanted to tell her something. But with the matron there, all she could do was go into the stall and pretend.

Once she was inside the stall, the door safely closed, something caught her eye. Spread out on top of the water in the toilet was a note scribbled on tissue paper. The bluish ink was just beginning to fade into the water, but the words were still legible:

You must not tell anyone about this. Not even your friends. If you betray me, I could be imprisoned, or killed. Those who disagree with Anne Mather have learned to be silent.

Members of the Empyrean crew are being held in the starboard cargo hold. I don’t know how many, or how they got there. I do not know what the Pastor plans to do with them. Some of them might be your parents.

I thought you had a right to know.

Waverly’s knees turned to liquid, and she had to sit down. Spots crowded her vision. She forced her breathing to a steady rhythm to keep from fainting.

Her mother might be on this ship! If she could find her mother, if she could get to her and the other parents …

A sob escaped Waverly’s throat. She covered her mouth with her hand, crying and laughing at the same time. She couldn’t control herself.

“You okay in there?” The matron knocked on the door.

“I’m sorry,” Waverly said. “I’m not feeling well.” Quickly she stood and flushed the toilet. The note twirled with the water, turning it blue, and went down the pipe just as the matron forced her way into the stall.

Waverly stood chest to chest with the squat woman. “What were you doing?”

“I…” She knew she was acting strangely and tried desperately to think of an explanation. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Did Jessica leave anything…” The woman’s eyes turned to slits.

“I thought I might be getting my period,” Waverly said quickly. “It’s not something I like to talk about.”

A smiled plumped up the matron’s pink cheeks. “Oh, I see.”

“False alarm,” Waverly said with a shrug.

“But you do bleed monthly,” the woman said as Waverly washed her hands in the metal sink.

“Well, I’m almost sixteen.”

“So you’re fertile,” the woman said as she opened the door of the bathroom. “Pastor Mather will be pleased.”

On shaky legs, Waverly followed the matron out of the bathroom. The voices of the congregation flooded around her like brackish water, made the room spin. Panic forced its way into every breath she took, and she had to bite back a sob. Being around so many people brought the truth home to her. The girls were hopelessly outnumbered here. They were trapped.

And these people could do anything to them they wanted.

No.

Waverly squared her shoulders. She
had
to find her mother and the rest of the parents. She had to find a way to leave this ship, no matter what happened.

And she would kill to do it.

PART THREE

MANEUVERS

The opportunity to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.

—Sun Tzu,
The Art of War

CONTAINMENT

At first, Kieran didn’t care about the alarm sounding through the ship warning of a reactor leak. He could only stare out the porthole as the New Horizon rotated to change course. Its powerful engines spattered blue light, and it sped away, disappearing into the nebula’s haze. Harvard’s shuttle followed close behind. Their only hope would be to tether themselves to the larger ship, or they’d never catch up.

Soon the area outside the ship was as peaceful as it had ever been.

She was gone. Waverly … For a crazy instant, he imagined bursting through the thick glass portholes to chase her. He would breathe the nebula. He would swim through it to find her.

“We have to do something!” Seth Ardvale stood in the doorway to Central Command. He was shirtless and blinking blood out of his eyes. “Don’t just stand there! Chase them.”

“We can’t change course,” Kieran snapped. “Harvard’s shuttle will never find us again if we do. They’ll die.”

“We’ll use the radar!”

“The radar was designed to work in a vacuum,” Kieran said distantly. He thought some part of his consciousness must be floating outside the ship. “We don’t have enough range in this nebula.”

“The shuttles can’t keep up with the New Horizon!”

“They can if they latch on to it. They had time. I saw the whole thing.”

“What if they didn’t?”

“Then they’ll be back,” Kieran said simply. “And we can change course then.”

“God! You’re so—” Seth slammed his shoulder into the metal wall, then slid down to crumple by the door. For a guy like Seth, waiting, doing nothing, was near impossible.

“Kieran!” someone shouted through clenched teeth. “Kieran Alden!” Mason Ardvale, Seth’s father, scowled into the vid screen. He was transmitting from an elevator that was speeding down to the engine room. “You’ve got to seal off the lower bulkheads. Seal them off!”

Kieran ran to one of the terminals and punched through the menus in front of him, searching for the bulkhead controls. He felt Seth behind him, watching everything he did. He finally found a folder marked “Meltdown Containment Protocol.”

Could it be so simple?

“Wait,” Seth said, and reached a hand toward the keypad, but Kieran batted him away and tapped the button. A list began scrolling through a series of automatic functions, completing each as it went.

“Kieran! Stop!” Mason Ardvale’s face, twisted with anger, appeared again in his vid console. “What are you
doing
?”

“You said to seal off the lower levels!”

“You stopped the elevators! We’re stuck in level two!”

“Oh God!” Seth snarled.

A sinking feeling seized Kieran. Had he killed them all? “How do I undo it?”

Just then the whine in the alarms changed. A piercing tone drilled into Kieran’s ears. The vid screen had blanked out, and two words appeared: “Containment Critical.”

“Oh God, it’s happening!” he heard Mason wail. “Never mind, Kieran. We’ll have to force bulkhead one open. But we won’t be able to seal it again.”

Kieran buried his face in his hands. He’d screwed up everything. He couldn’t do even a simple thing like seal off the doors to the engine room. It would take them twice as long to get down there.

“You might have killed everyone on the ship,” Seth said, his eyes fixed on Kieran like pebbles in cement. “You don’t listen.”