“Maybe it’s just a clerical error?” Alma suggests.
“I thought the same thing,” he says, shaking his head. “But there are names missing. Specific names. I accessed the entire passenger list of the people who were aboard the Vagantur. I cross-referenced those names against the list of injuries and the list of settlers in the initial N’Terra settlement. None of those names was on the list. It’s not a numerical error. One hundred actual people are missing.”
“Disease,” I counter. “Is there any record of major illness? I mean, they were new on Faloiv. Maybe part of the population didn’t survive the transition.”
“Nope. I checked. No record of any catastrophic loss to the Vagantur’s population. No disease, no violence. There were a number of minor illnesses based on bad reactions to food, but very few. These were mostly people of science and their families,” he says. “They weren’t going to make any stupid mistakes.”
“Whoa,” Alma says, but nothing more. A woman passes us, walking toward the bridge, and we all avert our eyes. When I look back up, Rondo looks uncomfortable.
“There’s one more thing,” he says.
“What?”
He pauses, looks at Alma, and then back at me.
“Your grandmother’s last name was Lemieux, right?”
I stare at him.
“Yes.”
“Was your grandfather Jamyle Lemieux?”
“Rondo, why?” I say.
“You said your grandfather died on the Origin Planet,” he says.
“He did.”
He shakes his head slowly.
“I don’t think so.”
“What?”
He bites his lip.
“Rondo, what?” I demand.
“According to the passenger list, he was onboard when the Vagantur crashed. But then he disappeared.”
CHAPTER 12
“Octavia? Octavia?”
Rondo’s mouth is moving, but his voice seems to be coming through a thick cloud. For as long as I can remember—since I was old enough to speak—my parents have told me that my grandfather died on a planet far away. That he never saw Faloiv. What Rondo is telling me contradicts everything I’ve known my entire life.
“I think we should sit her down,” Alma whispers, like I’m not right in front of her listening. But I can’t find the way to make my mouth reply.
“Octavia?” Rondo says. He gives my shoulder a gentle shake.
I look at him. The only thing I can think to say is, “So my parents have been lying about that too.”
He blinks, raises an eyebrow. He wants to tell me yes, but is afraid to actually say it. He thinks I’m breakable right now, fragile. I almost smile. I wrap my fingers around this new secret and hold it tightly.
“We’re going to find out more,” I say.
They’re both looking at me uncertainly and a vague current of annoyance floods through me. What did they expect? That I’d cry? Break down? An echo of a whitecoat’s voice whispers, For what purpose?
“You said you’ve looked in every database for mention of the missing hundred?”
Rondo nods. He’s swallowing his uncertainty, the excitement gradually returning to his face.
“Right,” he says. “There’s nothing.”
“What about personal files? Can you get access to those?”
He raises one eyebrow.
“So much for being worried about me getting caught, huh?”
“You won’t get caught,” I say. “Just cover your tracks or whatever it is you do.”
Then I remember something else.
“Didn’t you say that you saw someone else in the files last time you were poking around?”
“Yep. Their footprints are all over the databases. Still don’t know who it is though.”
“But that means somebody else knows about the missing hundred.”
“I’m certain.”
“I bet a lot of people know, actually,” Alma says. Her worry has softened and she’s back into problem-solving mode. I’m glad I brought her with me. “Think about it. Our people all boarded the Vagantur together to come here. They’d notice if a hundred of their friends and family disappeared. A lot of the old folks who are still alive probably know something from the landing. Some of the people who were older kids when we landed probably remember too.”
“Like my parents,” I can’t resist saying. “Pretty sure my mother would remember her father disappearing when we crash-landed on a new planet.”
They both look at me helplessly. I know how I must sound: emotional. Angry. But I have a right to my anger for the moment. So many secrets, some with roots that stretch back for decades. If they’d keep my grandfather’s disappearance a secret from me—what else would they hide?
“We’re going to find out more,” I repeat. “I wish we could get into the Zoo now.”
“And do what?” Alma says. “We’ve only had access to the sorting room, and we know there’s nothing to see there but eggs. Even if one or two of them are . . . different.”
“I don’t know.” I groan. “Something. Who’s someone we could talk to that might get us some answers?”
“You mean a whitecoat? No one,” Alma says. “We’re not even actual scientists yet, O. None of them is going to give us any time until well after we’ve taken the oath and started working on projects of our own.”
“What about Dr. Espada? We could ask him, right?”
She looks doubtful. I can’t tell if she’s thinking of our argument about me asking too many questions or if she’s just being logical.
“If anyone would answer our questions, it would be him,” I insist. “We could slip it into conversation like it’s something we heard in the Zoo.”
“Maybe, but I don’t know when we’ll see him again.”
Dr. Espada is the one I need to talk to; I think back to our last day at the Greenhouse, the day he assigned us to our internships. He seemed almost sad when I sat at his desk, so intense . . .
Suddenly, I’m listening. My mind feels sharp and open: a feeling of utter clarity. I smell ogwe trees, though I’m not near enough to one for this to make sense. My ears ring and I notice a quiet buzz swirling in my head. Now that I’ve noticed it, it seems to grow louder. Has it been there all along, or did it just appear? Something tugs at the back of my brain, a prickling inside my skull.
And then I’m running. Alma and Rondo call my name, but I can’t answer. The tugging feeling pulls me along and I’m not even sure where I’m going until I find that my feet are carrying me back home, gliding down the dirt path as if I’m flying, barely feeling my feet hit the soil. I reach our ’wam’s door, hurriedly swiping my palm across the pad and darting through as soon as it opens.
I rush through the empty kitchen, down the dim hallway, and throw open my folding bedroom door. I scramble onto my bed, pawing at the mattress, fumbling to pull up the corner. I know before I even see that the hole is empty, but my eyes confirm it: the egg is gone.
CHAPTER 13
In the morning, Alma and I are preparing for the oath ceremony. We have no idea how much of a ceremony it will actually be, but we washed our skinsuits last night, just in case this ends up being something of an event.
In addition to washing my clothing, I searched my parents’ bedroom and study for the egg. Alma kept watch at the front door and I went in each room and looked in every wall compartment, under the mattress, in boxes, and between slides. Nothing. No sign that my parents—or anyone—had been home during the brief length of time Alma and I had gone to meet Rondo at the bridge. Someone must have been watching the ’wam, I decided, to know when it would be empty so they could go in and get it. But how had they known I’d had the egg at all?
At first I was furious, but the anger shrank into a knot of fear. Someone had been in my room. Maybe one of my parents, but maybe someone else. Who? And does that mean they know I’ve seen the spotted man?
The front door slides open and I exit the ’wam, Alma on my h
eels. I almost jump when Rondo appears in front of us, having just come around the corner on the path, but part of me expected him to be there. I messaged him last night, telling him what had happened, and all he said was: I’m going to dig. See you tomorrow.
“Hey,” I say. The sight of him is like a trickle of cool air against my skin in the rising heat.
“Hey.”
“So?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Nothing about the missing hundred and nothing about the egg either. I didn’t really expect to see anything about the latter, but still. Plus Jaquot kept asking me what I was working on and it was hard to focus. I left while he was washing up. Hope that wasn’t rude.”
“Damn,” I say. “Did you start looking at personal files?”
He waits to respond until a small group of whitecoats passes us on the path. They ignore us entirely, making their way up toward the main dome.
“Yes,” Rondo says when the whitecoats have gone. “But I didn’t see anything unusual. Even your parents’ files look normal.”
“You were in my parents’ files?” I say, raising my eyebrows.
“Yes. Alma’s parents too.”
“Hey!” she says.
He shrugs.
“I had to start somewhere,” he says as we approach the stairs. “That’s what I’m doing. But I can’t find anything. Your grandfather’s name appears in only one place, Octavia, and that’s on the records from the Vagantur. After the ship lands, he just . . . vanishes.”
“So weird,” I say. I wonder if my grandfather died in the landing after all. Maybe they neglected to put his name on some forgotten list of casualties.
“But, some good news. Kind of,” he says. “That thing your father mentioned? The Solossius? I found a reference to it in your dad’s files.”
“Really?”
“Don’t get too excited,” he says. “There wasn’t much. But I saw it mentioned as a relatively new project he’s working on with three other members of the Council. Including Dr. Albatur.”
“Solossius?” Alma says, batting at a few small vines that have grown out across the path. “That sounds like one of the dead languages.”
“You and your dead languages,” I can’t help but tease. “What does it mean?”
“I’m not entirely sure. But sol is sun, obviously, and ossius means bones, I think. Or having to do with bones. So . . . sun bone? Sun skeleton? I don’t know.”
“Hmm. Well, we know Dr. Albatur has issues with the sun. But he never said anything about his bones.”
We don’t say anything else as we finish the climb to the main dome, all lost in thought.
Inside, Jaquot and Yaya are already waiting outside the lab door, a small distance away from the guards. Jaquot is still yawning and merely nods when we approach. Yaya tips her head in greeting. I don’t quite manage a smile, but for some reason her levelheadedness eases my mind. Nothing seems to ruffle her—I should try to be more like that.
“Good morning,” she says. “Ready?”
“Definitely,” Alma says, grinning. She’s relieved to be around someone who shares her enthusiasm for the Zoo. But nothing is like it was for me. The Zoo holds animals—the beautiful, exciting creatures I’ve longed to study more closely my entire life—but somewhere in the winding bright hallways is the spotted man too: a hidden prisoner. Is that what our oath is designed to protect? Another question Alma would wish I didn’t have.
I snap out of my thoughts when Rondo nudges me and nods at the approaching figure of my mother.
She waves, smiling her warm smile that has always made people comfortable, but all I see is the mask of it. Looking at her and knowing that she and my father both lied to me about my grandfather . . . I can’t trust her face, or her.
“Hello, everyone,” she says. “I’m glad you’re all here early. No doubt you’re expecting to take your oath today?”
She looks around at us expectantly and we all nod, even me.
“Good. You would be correct. Today you will be taking your oath and moving on to a new area of study.”
“Thank the stars,” Jaquot says.
My mother chuckles, moving toward the lab doors and pressing her thumb against the entry pad.
“I suppose we know what your focus of study won’t be?” She smiles. “In general, sorting does belong to a team of specialists. We gave them a break while you went through training.”
We step through the doors, past the guards. At one point I was shocked at the sight of the buzzguns they now carry—when did I stop noticing them?
“So . . . what are we going to do next, Dr. English?” Yaya ventures once we’re in the Zoo.
My mother looks over her shoulder, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows.
“You’ll see,” she says.
We all exchange looks. I was right. The only thing standing between us and real specimens is the oath. But I have more than one purpose now, I remind myself. I want to find out who the spotted man is, where the egg went, and the truth about my grandfather.
We approach the sorting room at the end of the hall, but instead of proceeding through its doors as we have for the past four days, we turn left, toward where I saw the tufali earlier in the week. At the thought of the tusked creature, its smell comes back to mind. So vividly, in fact, that it’s almost as if it’s passing by in its cage again.
My mother stops at a door with no window, leading us beyond it into a medium-size room lined with washbasins, rows of hooks where white coats hang crisp and clean. She waits for us all to file in before closing the door behind us. Ahead there is another door, this one a slider like the entrance to the lab. She stands between it and us, her arms behind her back, regarding us seriously. All of her previous mischievousness is gone.
“The oath you are about to take is one that every scientist and researcher in our compounds has taken since we landed on Faloiv. Taking this oath means that you are committed to contributing to our philosophy of discovery and research. Does everyone understand?”
No one responds, and in the silence I realize how insignificant this all seems. We had expected a ceremony, witnesses—maybe even a blood drawing. But instead here we are in this small, clean scrub room, with no one but my mother. I’m both relieved and disappointed.
“You do not have to take the oath,” my mother continues. “If you do choose not to take it, then you will be removed from the internship and you will find another role in N’Terra.”
There’s a long pause and I hold my breath, glancing at Rondo and half wondering if he will ask to be removed. I know full well his interests aren’t within these walls—science doesn’t move him. Just music, I think. He’s played for me only once, but even if he never played for me again, I’d remember the sound forever. He must be thinking something similar because suddenly his brown eyes are on me, sparkling, and I hear nothing else my mother says as she resumes talking—just an imaginary melody from his izinusa.
“We’ll start at this end,” my mother says, and I’m jerked out of the world of Rondo’s eyes. She moves to her right, where Yaya stands looking almost feverish. “Repeat after me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Yaya says, her usually firm voice softer than usual.
“As a whitecoat on Faloiv, I swear to uphold the values of N’Terra.”
“‘As a whitecoat on Faloiv, I swear’”—Yaya swallows halfway through—“‘to uphold the values of N’Terra.’”
“And to seek, in my work, a better future for our people.”
Yaya repeats the words.
“I will not share this work with anyone beyond our community, nor will I falter in my pursuit of discoveries that will aid us. I promise to consider the good of humans above all else, so help me stars.”
Yaya repeats it word for word, and when she’s finished my mother smiles, murmurs “Well done,” and moves on to Jaquot.
Jaquot stumbles on some of the words, but makes it through without much difficulty. Rondo repeats the lines mechanically, once or tw
ice not even waiting for my mother to finish her sentence. By the time she gets to Alma, my best friend has almost memorized the words and they flow out of her without pause. She beams at the end, and my mother smiles and nods before finally turning to me.
“Last but not least,” she says, looking me in the eye.
I want to look away, but she holds my gaze as she says the lines of the oath to me.
“As a whitecoat on Faloiv,” she says, “I swear to uphold the values of N’Terra.”
“‘As a whitecoat on Faloiv, I swear to uphold the values of N’Terra.’”
She moves through the rest slowly. Had she been speaking this slowly for the others? Maybe time has just blurred into a sluggish version of itself. The Council pin on her lapel, the small shape of the Vagantur, reflects a stab of gold into my eyes. My mind feels fuzzy, but I can hear myself saying the words back to her, so I must be doing okay. She arrives at the last line.
“I promise to consider the good of humans above all else,” her lips say, but through the fog in my brain I hear her add four more words: and do no harm.
Her lips had not moved, but the shape of the words hangs squarely in the thick of my mind: and do no harm. I didn’t actually hear them, I realize. There’s no sound to the words: they just are. I hesitate. What do I say? Do I repeat everything, the whole line including the last part that is sitting in front of my eyes, invisible but shimmering there as if written in a spider’s web? Am I going crazy?
“‘I promise to consider the good of humans above all else,’” I say, and open my mouth to continue. But I stop. I swallow the words—no one else had said them. “So help me stars.”
My mother nods. “Well done,” she says, her eyes still locked on mine. “Well done, everyone. You are now sworn into the scientific community of N’Terra. Congratulations.”
We all shuffle our feet and look bashfully at one another, me rubbing my temples to clear my head. My mother is telling us that we’re about to scrub in for the containment room, but I barely hear her. The artificial lights seem painfully bright.
Alma and the others are already washing their hands in the basins that line the room. The sound of the water fills my ears.
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