I stop near the handrail, hesitant to go up the steps. Instead, I turn around so, if the group looked at me, they’d only see the back of my jacket.

“Bartie?” a woman asks. “Maybe Luthor?”

“Maybe one of them. But not necessarily. Just someone . . . older. More experienced.”

I try to look casual and uninterested as I strain to hear more.

“Elder’s been training for this his whole life,” a female voice says. I want to cheer—at least someone’s sticking up for Elder.

The first man’s laugh is harsh and mirthless. “Elder never listened to Eldest. They’re too different.”

I think of the giant cylinders hidden on the cryo level, filled with clones of Eldest. They’re more alike than the man could guess. Part of me thinks that, perhaps, Elder should have told them about the cloning. It was one of the few things he kept secret, and I don’t begrudge him this—after all, the only person this secret affects is him.

“Haven’t you noticed how slim the rations are getting? There wasn’t even lunch today. Elder thinks if he controls our food, he can control us. And if that doesn’t work, he’ll patch us. Those patches are dangerous—they’ve already killed.”

“I’d like to know how those frexing patches got everywhere,” a woman with a deep voice says. “I half think Elder did it after the trouble at the Food Distro. He might not be putting that frexing drug in our water anymore, but he’s making sure the troublemakers get it somehow.”

“Doc said the patches were stolen,” the first woman, the only dissenter in the group, says.

“He says,” the man shoots back. “But Doc’s always brownnosed the Eldest. I bet Elder told him to make sure anyone causing trouble gets patched.”

“Yes, but—” the woman starts to say.

I’ve had enough. “Are you really going to stand here and spread lies about Elder?” I demand, whirling around and striding up the steps toward the group. “You’re going to start a rebellion, talking like that.”

The man in the center of the crowd turns, but he doesn’t seem to care much that I’ve overhead him. If anything, he’s proud.

“This isn’t about rebellion,” he says gently, as if explaining something to someone very young. “Have you read Bartie’s manifesto?” He waves the floppy at me, but I don’t take it. “This is about doing what’s best for the ship. About keeping everyone safe and happy.” He pauses. “The ship is more important than any one person. Even Elder.”

“Happy?” I shoot back. The kinder the man’s voice is, the angrier I’m becoming. “What has Elder done to make you unhappy?”

The woman with a deep voice shakes her head. “It’s not that Elder’s bad. It’s that he wasn’t our choice.”