The Creative Fire: 1 (Ruby's Song) (20 page)

Wow
. “How does he have the energy for four times a day?”

“This is what he does.”

They were in the corridor now. Someone bumped Ruby from behind, pushing a little, jostling her into Ani. Hot, spicy breath whispered into Ruby’s ear. “Whore.” The word had spilled out of a slender woman with short brown hair teased up into spikes. Just the one word and she was past them, walking with meaning.

“Bitch!” Ani called after her, the word meant to carry, to label rather than challenge. More like acknowledgment.

“What’d she call me?” Ruby muttered, off balance. Although she was being watched over as if she might break or be stolen any moment, she hadn’t seen any fighting on this level. Everything looked like love and respect and a darned good time for all. “Who was that?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Who was that?”

“Chance. One of Fox’s old girlfriends.”

One of? No wonder she hadn’t liked the woman. Ruby clamped her mouth shut, not wanting to destroy the glow of the exercise or say anything bad today, when her first song here was coming out and it mattered whether people liked her. She should think about that now, focus on her debut.

29: Joel

Onor ran. Conroy ran beside him. Onor’s breath sounded louder and more desperate than his teacher’s, but only by a little. He glanced at Conroy, hoping he was nearly ready for a break. Only small bits of sweat brightened Conroy’s face, and his strides fell precisely, just fast enough to keep Onor a little ahead of the pace he liked.

Sometimes the split-lipped man, Aric, led the night’s work. On Aric’s nights they fought each other barehanded, back and forth across the vast floor until they were almost all bruised. On Conroy’s nights, they ran a lot, climbed the walls using the handholds, and lined up and raced each other until Onor’s breath made fire in his chest and his thighs burned.

This was Conroy’s night; there would be no fighting.

Maybe there would be no rest either. They rounded the whole floor again and again.

Onor’s legs turned soft and hot.

Conroy and Onor lapped Penny for a second time, and finally Conroy put up his hands and slowed to a walk. As he did, he leaned over to Onor and said, “Someone important is going visit us tonight. Listen well.”

The slower pace snaked through the group unevenly, a few stragglers still running here and there until they realized they could stop.

Conroy led them in a chain through two or three more circles until they were gathered near the middle and their breath had lost its ragged edge. An overhead light threw a pale, yellowish cast across sweaty faces.

“Very good,” he said. “Now form lines.”

They did, nine lines of about six people each. They sprinted from side to side, catcalling to each other.

The last relay racer started back, and Onor readied himself, one leg bent, his body leaning forward. When his teammate tagged him, he took off, going all out, reaching for longer strides. By the time he touched the far wall and returned, his lungs ached and his labored breathing drowned all but the closest sounds.

After three relays, Conroy drove them through sit-ups and push-ups.

Then he had them all gather in a circle. He said, “You did well, tonight. I’m glad, because you’ve been watched this practice by someone who matters very much to us.”

The others seemed to know what would be happening. Onor felt content to sit, so glad to be able to stop moving he didn’t actually care what was coming next. All of the long muscles in his legs burned, and his lungs burned even harder.

Before he felt entirely rested, a man stepped silently out of the shadows. He stood in a spot too dark for Onor to really see his features, but he walked with power. Like Conroy, only more so. He wasn’t as big as Conroy, and there was enough light to see that his hair was graying. His uniform might be black or even dark green. It looked cut to fit him and new.

Behind Onor, someone whispered, “Joel,” and was shushed.

Conroy confirmed the whisper. “This is Joel. He is part of the power on
The Creative Fire
, a man high in our command. He helps plan the future we’ll all share. I only met him myself a few weeks ago, and you should feel trusted and privileged that he has come here.”

Joel cleared his throat and spoke slightly louder than Conroy had, his voice meant to be a call for action, a bit of theater. “Thank you for the work you are doing here. I have heard a lot about you, and I’m pleased to meet you.”

His diction was perfect and even, a cleaner voice than Onor had ever heard. He seemed to be able to look them all in the eye at once.

“There is a lot that can’t be told yet, but I wanted to finally speak in person and see your faces and show you mine. For the next short while we must all work hard together. We must keep our work secret. We will blend the colors of the ship so that some day we can walk wearing red pants and a blue shirt and gray shoes.”

He stepped forward into the center of the light and it was clear he wore green. All green. “And a green hat. This is the color of command, and at the moment it is the color I must wear, as you must wear gray. We will all need to work in our places, but we are fighting together to honor each other.

“I believe you are the most important people on the ship. Without you there is no food, no water, no life. Gray is the color of life here, and
The
Creative Fire
was designed to honor the work of life rather than to lock it up. I have no interest in apologizing for the choices made by people in the past; my choices are for the future. We can walk together into a good future, a strong future, a fair future.”

Joel fell silent. For a moment all that could be heard were the slight sounds of people shifting position and the hums and clicks of the
Fire
herself.

Joel spoke into the quiet he had created. “We will have an exercise soon. It will be real in some ways, and you must be ready, and you must obey Conroy and Aric and your other leaders. I am proud of them, and of you, and happy to see your faces and show you mine. I don’t have a date yet, but . . .” a pause, “events are hurrying us up.”

Onor wondered if the man meant Ruby and then decided that was silly. All of this had been going on while he and Ruby were still children. Penny had been training most of her life. He settled back to listen.

“We are a mighty army. We are more than you see here. More than one hab and even more than one level. You matter, you give weight to what we do to free you, whether or not we call on you individually. Be vigilant. Be hopeful. Be strong.”

A pause. Silence. Breathing.

He continued. “This is a time to be brave. Can you be brave?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” chorused voices, and Onor heard his own join in.

“You may hear rumors that people were taken. Those are true. But it is only three people out of hundreds of you—of us—who went to lock up. Stay true. Can you stay true?”

The chorus of yeses came again.

“Can you stay true even if some of you die, if half of you are locked up?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

“Thank you.” The man sounded so sincere; Onor believed he meant the thanks.

Then he was gone.

Joel
. Onor would remember that name.
Joel
.

30: The Unveiling

There were nearly thirty people in Ruby’s hab. Elbows bumped; feet got stepped on; a glass of juice spiked with still spilled on the floor, leaving a sweet, heady scent even after Dayn cleaned it up.

The constant low chatter made Ruby feel like a string had been pulled tight through her temples. The crowd seemed to have weight, to press on her, and she smiled and nodded and shook hands and made small talk, every gesture an attempt to impress. Fox moved beside her, graceful and smooth of speech.

The event had unleashed color throughout the room. The base dress was still always the uniform, but whites and golds and bright yellow lined collars and cuffs, hung around necks, glittered in ears and hair, and decorated belts. Accent colors had shown up at home; she’d made them in the beaded necklaces. But they had never been so bold, and now the whole level felt new again, and strange.

Jali’s basic blue uniform had been toned to a soft blue. Bright pink buttons and pink piping along the carefully cut shirt showed off her lithe body. Her black hair hung loose, a dark cloud floating around her face and shoulders, making her look even thinner and more mysterious than usual.

For Ruby, Jali had chosen a dress uniform in the darkest navy permissible, with a white collar, a white belt, and white triangles sewn in the outside of the pant legs. Ruby loved the way the soft material clung to her arms and thighs so that every step felt like walking through a massage. She had chosen only one part of her outfit: the gray, blue, and red beaded necklace she had saved from the trash the day she arrived here.

There was no music. Fox had made that choice, and almost all the choices about food and people.

Her voice teachers, Mala and Henri, were both dressed up in shockingly bright blue matching shirts lined with gold. Mala looked uncomfortable, and Henri so clearly reveled in the attention of various females that Ruby went up to him and whispered in his ear. “You never flirted that much with me.”

“Oh, no, how could I?” He glanced slyly at Fox. “But if you want me to?”

“Only if you don’t mean it. It’s my nerves showing.”

She slipped into the kitchen to get a moment’s peace. What was she doing? Everything here was so different from home; it made her dizzy. She wanted Marcelle and Onor. She loved it here and she didn’t, and nothing was what she’d expected.

She was becoming her mother. Suri would approve of her in this setting. But she’d come here because of Nona, and she needed to remember that.

She downed a glass of water and dodged a serving bot Fox had arranged for. There were only a few minutes left. She could plunge back into the crowd and do this. She could.

She’d started talking stiffly to Jaliet about KJ’s class when a soft tone started to rise throughout the room. She stopped. The music stilled her, the moment before her song.

Sweaty shakes descended on her.

She had expected to be excited.

She hated fear.

As Ruby looked around the room, the conversation died away and people started looking back at her. She swallowed.

Jali took her arm and hissed, “Stand up straight. Be brave.”

Ruby straightened her back and smiled.

Her own voice spilled into the room, honed by her teachers Mala and Henri, recorded by Fox, who had magicked it into something deeper and more resonant than she would have ever thought possible.

In early memory my mother sings. She tells me

how her mother bent over a broken robot

touching its hard metal joints with her warm hands

twisting a worn bolt so we can fly safe and true.

She must have fixed it. We are here today and

I am singing the women down

to sleep inside the belly of the
Fire

In the summer orchard, growth light shines

On the twisted limbs of an orbfruit tree so old

it might have been a seed from home. My father

picked yellow fruit the color of the light

to feed us through all the harvests and

I am singing the strong men down down

to sleep inside the belly of the
Fire

At the end of the day, the apprentices

in the crèche dress the children to go home

with tired mothers and fathers and uncles

who have worked all day to keep the
Fire

a safe cradle through the dark unknown and

I am singing the parents down

to sleep inside the belly of the
Fire

She had crafted two stanzas to describe things the peacers and the logistics crew had never done with their own hands, and the other to end with something they must. The words were hers. Most of the things about the song that had to do with the lilt and timing of them, but Henri had done the score. He had created a long, haunting end that sounded like wind and stars, like the things she imagined lived outside the ship even though she had never seen the universe except in pictures. She had argued with him at first, wanting something angrier, but as she watched people’s faces she saw that Henri had been right. The song had become more than she had imagined.

The last note faded.

People came up to her one at a time and congratulated her and asked questions and kissed her on the cheek. They hugged her briefly and commented on her voice. They asked her questions about fixing robots and making the beaded necklaces. One woman engaged her in a long conversation about Owl Paulie and spoke as if she’d known him, which grated right up Ruby’s spine and made it hard for her to keep smiling. She did, though.

By the time her hab finally began to empty, her feet had become leaden with pain from standing.

As she watched Dayn usher the last of the guests who weren’t part of the song out, she flopped onto the couch and tucked her feet under her. Fox joined her. After the crowded party, the room felt empty even though she and Fox and Dayn and Ani all sat near each other. Henri lounged against a wall; Mala sat on the floor; and Jali perched on the arm of the couch near Fox.

“Play it again?” Henri asked.

Fox complied, and they listened all the way through. Ruby expected the kind of bickering and fault-finding that had accompanied the retakes and the laying down of various sounds across the music. Instead, there was silence, and in the end Henri spoke first, addressing Fox, but looking at Ruby. “You were right. Getting her was a risk worth taking.”

Jali reached across Fox’s back, leaning into him, placing a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “You did well. Really well.”

“No one asked me to sing,” Ruby said. She had forgotten about that.

“Yes, they did.” Fox said.

“Well? Why didn’t I?”

Jali, back in her original position, said, “You did well at the party. You did all that you possibly could.”

“I could have sung!” The words blurted out of her. “I can sing for anybody.”

Fox kissed her on the temple. “Be patient.”

They said that a lot. All of them.
Be patient. We’ll let you out into the real world of this level soon. We’ll let you out of our sight soon. We’ll tell you how things work soon.
Surely she was just tired, and she shouldn’t feel this way. Fox loved her, and he was helping make her dreams come true. Some of them anyway.

She set her face into a smile and chose to stay quiet and listen to the rest of the conversation, hoping for any bit of information she could add to the store she was slowly accumulating.