Across the Universe - Beth Revis [31]
“Where’s the Ward?” I ask.
“The Hospital.” (“Thas pital.”)
I look around. This isn’t what I expected. “Why am I in a hospital? What are you doing here?”
I’m not fully concentrating on what he’s saying, and I don’t really catch everything he says in reply. The room suddenly feels colder, and I clutch the blanket tighter to me. Something about being a future leader, again, like that has any weight to it. Future leader of the ship. Well, of course he is. I inspect him closer. He’s got wide, broad shoulders with just enough muscle that it isn’t too obvious under his shirt-tunic thing, although I can see the hard corners of his biceps. Tall—much taller than me, but a few inches taller than most people, even though he’s probably about my age. He slouches, though. His face is narrow but inviting, with almond-shaped eyes that pierce. All of this adds up to a certain something that makes him just look like the kind of guy who could lead a ship. It’s almost as if God had known Elder was going to be some sort of leader or whatever, so He gave him the right face and body for it.
I turn in the bed so that my feet touch the floor. The floor’s cold, though, so I raise my knees to my chin—under the blanket, of course, since the hospital gown does little to cover me. “What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?” (“Waz-wa lick?”)
“The new planet.” And even though I didn’t want to come here in the first place, and even though I hated every moment of my frozen years to get here, there is a little awe in my voice that even I cannot hide. A new planet. We are finally on a new planet. A planet no human being has ever been on before.
The boy stands up. He’s so tall, it doesn’t feel fair to call him a boy, but at the same time, he’s got a bit of a baby face, as if he’s never seen or done anything to make him grow up, to make the angles of his face sharpen with the harshness of age. He walks to the far wall, his back to me. He is towering in this small room; it can barely contain him. He reminds me, in a small way, of Jason. Not in how he looks—this boy is darker and more muscular than Jason—but in the way he stands and walks, as if he knows his place in the world with absolute certainty. He leans against the wall, facing a rectangular piece of metal hanging there. Light peeps out from around the edges of the metal. It must be some sort of window covering.
“Ware na onnda plant yeah,” he says. I had not realized how confusing his accent was until he was facing away from me, unintentionally shielding his lips from my view.
“What?” I ask.
He turns to me; this time when he speaks, I am able to decipher his words. “We’re not on the planet yet.”
“What... do you mean?” Cold, the coldness of ice and hell, fills my empty stomach.
“We’ve still got about fifty years before we land.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry; 49 years and 266 days. I’m sorry.”
“Why did you wake me up early?”
“I didn’t!” the boy protests, flushing deeply. “It wasn’t me! Why did you accuse me?”
“I just want to know why we were all woken up 49 years and 200-some days early! And where are my parents?”
The boy lowers his eyes. Something in his look makes the ice pit in my belly churn.
“You weren’t all woken up early,” he says. His eyes beg me to understand what he means, to quit asking questions.
“Where are my parents?” I repeat.
“They’re... below.”
“I want to see my parents. I want to talk to my parents.”
“They . . .”
“What happened to my parents?”
“They haven’t been reanimated yet. They’re still frozen. Everyone else down there is still frozen but you.”
“When will they wake up? When do I get to see them?”
The boy edges to the door. “Maybe I should get Eldest to come explain?”
“Eldest who? Explain what?” I am shouting, but I don’t care. The blanket has slipped from my legs. My brain is racing, falling into place, crashing against the words