“The egg? Yeah, of course.”
I shift my weight on the bed platform, pulling up the edge of my mattress. I scoop the egg out of the hole, gazing at it for a moment, its shell lineless and unmarred, before standing to present it to Alma.
She sits on the edge of her bed and stares at it curiously, her face apprehensive.
“It’s beautiful,” she says finally.
“Here,” I say, extending it out to her.
She crosses her arms quickly, shaking her head.
“Nah, I don’t want to touch it,” she says. “I just wanted to see it.”
“It won’t hurt you,” I laugh, rubbing it against my cheek. I do this sometimes when I can’t sleep. The warmth of it comforts me. In a strange way it reminds me of Rondo.
“It might,” she says. “Remember what happened in the sorting room? I still don’t understand why that egg burned Jaquot and Yaya but not you.”
I rub my thumbs over the egg.
“I don’t know either. But what my mother said to me about different eggs having different purposes . . . it has to be related to that somehow.”
I return the egg to its hiding place under my mattress.
“Is that where you keep it?” she says, poking her head down again. “Eventually we’re going to need to ask someone about it. Dr. Espada or even your mom. You could actually get some answers. Scientia potentia est!”
“Alma, what?”
“It means ‘Knowledge is power!’”
I can’t help but chuckle.
“Why do you know all these stupid dead words?”
“They’re not stupid! They’re beautiful.” She shrugs. “See: Scientia potentia est,” she says with a flourish. We both laugh, but I still want to know.
“Seriously. The last few years you’re always asking Dr. Espada about the Origin Planet. All his crusty old artifacts. Why?”
“You don’t want to know where we come from?” she says, her voice elongated with yearning. “This dead language is just one, the one they decided should survive. Think about how many other languages we probably left behind! We focus so much on Faloiv and the future, we never stop to think about the past.”
“So? The past is the past. Gone. We have to focus on what will help us survive now: in the future.” I realize I sound a bit like my father and frown.
She casts her eyes to the ground, fidgeting with her skinsuit. It’s not often that Alma seems unsure or lacks a solid argument.
“I know, and we should. But sometimes . . . I don’t know. You never feel like the future would make more sense if you knew about the past?”
“Like the names of old hairstyles?” I tease, but she doesn’t smile.
“Yes,” she says, nodding. “All these old words, they still carry meaning. Some more than others. We just have to figure out what it is.”
She holds my gaze a moment longer, and I get the feeling there’s more she wants to say. But then she shakes her head, smiling.
“Anyway. So what do you think the oath is going to be like?” She pulls her legs up again. “Your dad said we’d have to take it at the end of our first week, and that’s tomorrow.”
I’ve been wondering the same thing. My father had said the oath was a vow of secrecy to protect the work we do in the labs. I’ve been carrying so many secrets, the oath feels like another brick added to the stack already on my shoulders.
“Hopefully it’s not some big ceremony,” I say. “It’s going to be really awkward if all the whitecoats are there. They all hate us for getting into the Zoo at sixteen.”
“Ha! Yeah, they do. Just jealous. I do hope we get to see the kind of specimens they must be working with though.”
“Maybe after the oath,” I say. “I mean, so far we haven’t seen anything worth keeping secret. Maybe after we’ll see the real stuff.”
My slate makes its faint wooden sound, and I rise to retrieve it. I slide my finger across the surface to unlock it and see a message from Rondo.
I found something. Bridge.
“What’s that?” Alma says, craning her neck to see. “Rondo?” She grins.
“Yes,” I say, half smiling, but impatient too. For the moment this isn’t about how Rondo makes me feel: it could be important. I hesitate. I’m not used to having anyone with me in the ’wam.
“Do you want to wait here, or . . . ?” I ask.
She hops down off her bed, grinning.
“And miss this epically awkward flirtation? Not a chance.” “So many people out!” Alma says as we make our way through the commune, glancing around. We stop to let two kids race by, one carrying a hand drum. I think again of Rondo’s izinusa, and guiltily wish for a split second that Alma hadn’t come so he and I could be alone. “It’s so different.”
“What do you mean? What’s the Newt commune like?”
“Quieter. You know nobody really cares about amphibians. We’re born bored over there.”
“Ha. It’s just loud in here because they’re building that damn tower.” The structure continues to grow, and I haven’t been able to shake the association of it with Dr. Albatur, its harsh lines in such stark contrast to the rounded warmth of everything else in the commune.
“Yeah, that thing is ugly. I hope it’s worth it. Dr. Espada has wanted to introduce more astronomy into the curriculum for a while now. They must have fixed the telescope from the Vagantur.”
“I hope so.”
“I bet you do. You want to get up in that tower and use the telescope to look in Rondo’s window. Damn the stars.”
“Oh, shut up.” I laugh.
“You guys have your own bridge?” She presses on, teasing me.
“Alma.”
“He just says bridge and you already know which one, huh?”
“Oh, stars, he’s just a friend!”
“Oh right,” she says. “Sure, sure. A friend that you wander around at night with, spying on whitecoats.”
“Now that you’re here, I’ll wander around with you instead,” I say, only half meaning it. I secretly hope that whatever Rondo found means another after-dark trip to the dome.
All my thoughts of being alone with Rondo disappear when I see him on the bridge ahead. He’s pacing, and I know something is up. My pulse jumps. Except for his drumming fingers, Rondo is generally very still. Everything my father would say a scientist should be . . . aside from his lack of interest in science. But right now he’s in constant motion. He looks up and doesn’t wait for me to reach him. He walks toward me, eager to close the distance between us. It’s not until he’s a few steps away that he seems to realize I haven’t come alone. He peers at Alma and then back at me with a squint.
“Octavia?” he says. He doesn’t need to say the rest: What’s she doing here?
“She’s rooming with me now for the course of the internships.”
He nods, as if remembering.
“Jaquot moved in with me too.” He’s making small talk until he decides about Alma.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I told her everything.”
He hesitates a moment longer, and then it’s as if the pressure is too great and he spills a stream of words in a rush.