There’s a lot I’d like to ask her. What is her father like? What color did she wear when she was Matched? Why didn’t I find out all of this before? Now there’s not enough time for the little things. “You’re not a Society sympathizer,” I say instead. “I’ve always known that. But you weren’t Rising at the beginning.”
“I’m not Rising or Society,” she says. The fluid drips into her arm slowly. It can’t keep pace with what’s happening to her.
“Why don’t you believe in the Rising?” I ask. “Or the Pilot?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I wish I could.”
“What do you believe?” I ask.
“My father also taught me that the earth is a giant stone,” she says. “Rolling and turning through the sky. And we’re all on it together. I do believe that.”
“Why don’t we fall off?” I ask.
“We couldn’t if we tried,” she says. “There’s something that holds us here.”
“So the world is moving under my feet right now,” I say.
“Yes.”
“But I don’t feel it.”
“You will,” she says. “Someday. If you lie down and hold very still.”
She looks at me. We both realize what she’s said: still.
“I was hoping to see him again before this happened,” she says.
I almost say, I’m here. But looking at her I know that it’s not going to be enough, because I’m not who she wants. I’ve seen someone look at me this way before. Not through me, exactly, but beyond to someone else.
“I was hoping,” she says, “that he’d find me.”
After she’s still, I find a stretcher left behind by the medics. I lie her down and hang up the bag. One of the head medics comes past. “We don’t have room in this wing,” he says.
“She’s one of ours,” I tell him. “We’re making room.”
He has the red mark, too, so he doesn’t hesitate to bend down and look more closely at her. Recognition crosses his face. “Lei,” he says. “One of the best. The two of you worked together even before the Plague, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I tell him.
The medic’s face is sympathetic. “Feels like that was in a whole different world, doesn’t it?” he says.
“Yes,” I say. It does. I feel strangely detached, like I’m watching myself take care of Lei. It’s just the exhaustion, but I wonder if this is what it feels like to be still. Their bodies stay in one place, but can their minds go somewhere else?
Maybe part of Lei is floating around the medical center and going to all the places she knew. She’s in the patients’ rooms, overseeing their care. She’s in the courtyard, breathing in the night air. She’s at the port, looking at the painting of the girl fishing. Or, maybe she’s left the medical center behind and gone to find him. They could be together even now.
I bring Lei into the room with the others. There are a hundred and one of them now, all staring up at the ceiling or off to the sides. “You’re due to sleep now,” the head physic tells me from the port.
“I will in a minute,” I say. “Let me get her settled.” I call for one of the medics to come over to help me perform the physical exam.
“She’s all right so far,” the medic says. “Nothing’s enlarged, and her blood pressure is decent.” She reaches out and touches my hand before she leaves. “I’m sorry,” she says.
I’m looking into Lei’s staring-up eyes. I’ve talked to lots of other patients, but I’m not sure what to say to her. “I’m sorry,” I say, echoing the medic’s words to me. It’s not enough: I can’t do anything for Lei.
Then I get an idea, and before I can talk myself out of it, I take off down the hall for the cafeteria and the port where Lei was looking at the paintings.
“Please have paper, please have paper,” I say to the port. If I’m talking to patients who can’t answer, why not talk to the port, too?
The port listens. It prints out all of the Hundred Paintings when I enter the command. I gather up those pages full of color and light and take them with me. This is what I did for Cassia when she left me: I tried to give her something I knew she loved to take with her.
Most of the other workers think I’m crazy, but one of the nurses agrees that my idea might help. “If nothing else, it’ll give me something different to look at,” she says, and she finds adhesive tape and surgical thread in the supply closet and helps me hang the pictures from the ceiling, above the patients.
“Port paper deteriorates pretty fast,” I say, “so we’ll have to print them out every few days. And we should rotate them through. We don’t want the patients getting sick of any one painting.” I step back to survey what we’ve done. “It would be better if we had new pictures. I don’t want the patients to think they’re back in the Society.”
“We could make some,” another nurse says eagerly. “I’ve always missed drawing, the way we did in First School.”
“What would you use?” I ask. “We don’t have any paints.”
“I’ll think of something,” she says. “Haven’t you always wanted the chance?”
“No,” I say. I think it surprises her, so I smile to take the edge off. I wonder if I’d be a different kind of person, the kind Lei and Cassia could fall in love with, if I had.
“The head physic is going to pull you from your next shift if you don’t go to the sleeproom now,” the nurse tells me.
“I know,” I say. “I heard him on the port.”