“Bartie lists all kinds of books in the Recorder Hall,” the man says, waving the floppy at me again. I still don’t take it. “All those governments on Sol-Earth. They had systems. Voting and elections, things like that. Things where people could choose and have a voice.”

“Taking the ship from Elder isn’t the right thing to do,” I insist. They seem so—I don’t know, logical—that I think if I could just sit them down, show them how hard Elder’s working, how much he really cares, maybe they wouldn’t be so willing to trash him.

“I’m sorry,” the man says. “But we can’t trust you either.”

“And why not? I live here too!”

He shakes his head. “But you’re not one of us.” His eyes drift down to my red hair spilling from the jacket. I try to stuff it back under the hood. The man smiles smugly. He looks perfectly at ease, as if he’s in complete control. In contrast, I can already feel my face is hot. “All I know,” he says, “is that we didn’t need police before you. Everything was fine before you.”

I back down the first two steps. “Maybe Elder would be the leader we need him to be if he didn’t have any distractions,” the deep-voiced woman says in a conversational tone, as if she’s not talking about eliminating me as a distraction.

I back down the next two steps. “It did all start with her,” the other woman says.

I’m gripping the Phydus patch in my pocket, deeply aware that one won’t subdue everyone in the group. Why did I bother trying to say anything? I should have known better.

Orion’s list brushes against the back of my hand.

No. I won’t let them scare me away from the chance to find the next clue.

I storm up the stairs and shoulder past the woman with the deep voice. The man steps out of my way, but he does so with an eerie twist on his lips, watching me as I push open the doors to the Recorder Hall and enter. I don’t like that look. It reminds me too much of the way Luthor looks at me, as if I’m a thing, not a person.

Inside, the Recorder Hall is mostly deserted. A single man, tall and skinny, reads an essay by Henry David Thoreau on the Literature wall floppy, and four people are bunched together, reading about the Boxer Rebellion. But no one’s looking at the Science floppy at all. That’s strange. This is the first time since Elder took the ship off Phydus that no one’s analyzing the engine diagram, trying to improve efficiency, not knowing that the engine hasn’t moved us forward in years.