Earthseed

You have nothing to complain about.”
    Still holding the blanket, she sat up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “You’ll recover. Your arm will heal. Ship can make you a new arm somehow, and you’ll learn how to use it. The dead people won’t get another chance.” He brushed back his hair. “Or you can sit here and feel sorry for yourself and let everyone treat you like a poor little weak girl who has to be protected. I don’t know. Maybe that’s what you want. You can go on remembering what you were and what you did and never do anything again.”
    “You’re a great one to talk,” she said, wanting to wound him. “You were never exactly cheery about your legs and your limp. You always seemed to be mad at everyone.”
    He looked down. “Maybe I was. I never said I was perfect. You don’t have to be like me, you know.” He got up. “There’s your lunch. You can eat it or starve for all I care. I’ll come back later for the tray.” He left the room; she heard the outer door slam.
    She stared at the tray, then pulled it closer with her right arm. Lifting a cover from the plate, she saw that her meat and vegetables had been cut into small pieces—just right for a one-armed girl. She began to eat.

    As Zoheret walked through the settlement toward the group gathered in the clearing, she was conscious of the empty sleeve hanging at her left side. When she reached the edge of the crowd, she nodded at those who turned to greet her. They were gazing fixedly and obsessively at her face or her feet—anywhere except at the empty sleeve.
    The bodies of the dead had been lowered into a mass grave; the older people would rest with the young. A metal plate with the engraved names of the dead lay on the ground. Zoheret circled the clearing and went to the grave, pushing her way past the young people standing there with shovels; those to her left shied away, as if afraid to touch her.
    She stood next to Manuel and stared into the open grave. The bodies of the dead young people had been brought back the day before; she had refused to look at the procession, unable to bear the thought of seeing Dmitri’s wounds, his decay. Now she forced herself to look. But the bodies had been wrapped in sheets; she could not see him.
    It wasn’t right, she thought. Why did they have to lie there with their murderers? It was as though death offered some sort of reconciliation. She bowed her head. What did it matter? They would all rest aboard Ship anyway, and two of those below had died by her hand. The sheets were clean and white; the bodies had been cleaned and sterilized. It would have been simpler to return the bodies to Ship’s recycling system, or perhaps more suitable to jettison them in space, to enter the new world’s atmosphere in a fiery glow.
    The Earthpeople had been led out to watch the burial. Bound together, they stood with bowed heads. Zoheret could not look at Geula.
    The shovels were lifted toward a hill of dirt. Clumps fell on the bodies below. I must watch, Zoheret thought. If I don’t, he’ll haunt me forever. A clot of dirt spattered against the whiteness, and she felt as though part of herself was being forever hidden away.

    When the grave had been filled in, the young people settled on the ground in front of the storehouse. Their prisoners were led before them; Zoheret heard murmurs of hostility. At the same time, she saw distrustful glances directed toward Yusef and Kieu and their comrades. It was to be expected; one group of strangers had been replaced by another.
    Aleksandr stepped forward. Zoheret swallowed; Dmitri would have looked like him in time. “We have a problem,” Aleksandr said. “There are people here who seem to have no place, and there are five others like them back in the corridors. We have to decide what will become of them.”
    The crowd murmured. “Do away with them,” Ho shouted. A few muttered assents followed his statement.
    “No,” Aleksandr replied. “No more deaths. We’ve seen enough. We’ll meet more death on the new world without seeking it. Shall we go there with more blood on our hands?”
    “Let them go to the new world, then.” Lillka stood up. “Put them in a spot far from us—there’s room. We never have to meet.”
    “Are you so certain?” Aleksandr said. “They’re still young enough to have children. They’ll develop their own society, and we might be leaving a legacy of hatred and conflict for our descendants.” Lillka sat down.
    “I