"Why don't we just wait and see what happens?" Jobs asked wearily.

  "We can't," 2Face insisted. "It's too dangerous. Listen, Jobs, this isn't some meaningless thing like who gets to be prom queen. Yago is dangerous. I'm scared of him. And I think you should be, too."

  Jobs looked out over the water and wished he could just ignore 2Face. Popularity contests hadn't been his thing on Earth and he saw no reason to change his ways now. What good had Yago and 2Face's struggle done them so far? None. The way he saw things, Mother, the ship's computer, was the one in charge. The rest of them were just trying to save their skins.

  "Yago is a jerk," Jobs said. "I'll give you that much. But I don't think he's dangerous!'

  "You're wrong," 2Face said."Yago's game is to divide people into normals and freaks. If he takes charge, I'll be an outcast. So will Chameleon, your kid brother."

  "Don't call him that," Jobs said.

  "He asked me to call him that," 2Face argued.

  "I know, but I don't like it," Jobs said.

  "Fine. Whatever."

  Edward had awakened on the shuttle with a new and disturbing ability: He could take on the characteristics of the environment surrounding him. It was like his own personal, built-in, adaptable camouflage. Jobs figured the mutation must have come about when Edward was exposed to radiation on their long voyage.

  Jobs didn't feel like talking about Edward's strange mutation to anyone. Maybe, if they ignored it, it would just fade away in time.

  2Face would never be so lucky. Her face — or rather half of her face — had been badly burned on Earth. The right side drooped and dripped like melted wax, pulling her eyelid down into a fixed expression of sadness. Nothing but a nub remained of her right ear. The effect of the damage was made even more startling by the perfection of the other side of her face.

  "Don't worry about Edward," Jobs said."He's my responsibility."

  2Face let out an explosive sigh — obviously irritated by Jobs's reluctance to submit to her view of the world."Look, I'm not living under Yago as boss."

  "So what's the alternative?" Jobs asked, beginning to feel irritated himself."You seem bent on starting some sort of civil war. Don't we have enough problems already?"

  2Face took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer and quieter than it had been. "The civil war is already on. The question is who's going to win."

  Coke versus Pepsi, Jobs thought. That's what this situation reminded him of. The cola giants were always trying to make you believe that the choice between their products was vital to your happiness. But, when you came right down to it, what was the difference? They were both peddling sugar water in cans.

  "I'll think about it," Jobs said as diplomatically as possible. He began to move toward the top of the ladder.

  2Face put out a hand to stop him. "You don't trust me, do you?" she asked.

  Jobs stared at her arm, feeling defeated. He considered pushing by her, but what would be the point? She'd keep after him until he agreed to join her anti-Yago campaign or flatly refused to do so.

  "I'd like to trust you," Jobs said. "But I know you're not exactly an angel. Edward told me what happened with the baby. The whole story," he added with special emphasis.

  Jobs hadn't wanted to believe it when Edward took him aside and whispered his terrifying tale. He hadn't wanted to believe that 2Face would sacrifice Wylson to save herself. He hadn't wanted to believe Tamara had demanded a sacrifice or that the others had considered it. Sometimes he thought this place was designed to test them, to see how depraved they could become.

  2Face fell quiet. Silence stretched out between them. Jobs wondered if the conversation was over, if he could just slip away now. But 2Face hadn't moved her hand.

  "I'm not proud of that," 2Face said at last."! regret it constantly. But, let me ask you this, would you submit to a terrible death to save — not someone you loved — but someone like Wylson?"

  "I don't know," Jobs admitted.

  "Well, until you do, maybe you shouldn't be so fast to judge me," 2Face said.

  "I'm not judging you," Jobs said with effort. "I'm just saying... I'm saying the choice between you and Yago doesn't strike me as a choice between good and evil. Both choices suck for different reasons."

  2Face didn't laugh. She didn't even smile. "I think I understand," she said."You're like my father, like my father was. You're a coward. You don't want to choose because you're terrified of making the wrong choice. You're afraid someone will blame you if things go wrong. Of course, nobody can blame you if you refuse to get involved."

  That hurt. Jobs stood there, without words, wondering if 2Face was right.

  "You don't like me, that's fine, Jobs," 2Face said.

  "But just remember it comes down to Yago, dividing people up into freaks and normals, or me. When the time comes, you'd better be ready to choose."

  2Face pushed by him and started down the ladder.

  Jobs stared out to sea, feeling completely lost. Ten minutes earlier, he'd thought 2Face was the closest thing he had left to a friend. Who did he have to turn to now?

  CHAPTER 8

  "NOBODY ASKED HER TO GET ALL HEROIC . . ."

  The hammock was a joke. It was made of some sort of itchy rope tied into knots that bit into Yago's back. He thought with longing of his bedroom suite back in the White House. Almost a thousand square feet all to himself, including a huge bed with a down mattress cover. Heaven. Pampering appropriate for the president's son.

  Of course, his efforts to sleep weren't aided any by the total lack of privacy.

  Olga was lying in the next hammock over. She'd been quiet and withdrawn ever since Mo'Steel went overboard. Yago wished she'd get a grip. Now was not the time for selfish concerns like grief.

  Burroway had one of the hammocks, too. He wasn't sleeping. Apparently the motion of the ship was getting to him. He'd spent half the night moaning and gagging. At least Yago's own nausea had

  Maybe Anamull, although he was so silent and brutish who knew what he was thinking?

  The adults — T.R., Olga, Burroway? A shrink, a research scientist, and an astrophysicist. Not one of them was leadership material. Of course, that didn't mean they would follow Yago.

  Tate. She'd probably go to 2Face. She'd stood up for 2Face when the baby was ready to have her for dinner.

  Violet. Miss Blake. The Jane. Mine, Yago thought with pleasure. She always treated him ... delicately. Like she respected him. Too bad about her finger. Deformities like that turned Yago's stomach. But it was the Jane's own fault. Nobody asked her to get all heroic and try to save Big Bill's life.

  Roger Dodger. Too young to have a clue.

  Ditto Edward. He'd do whatever Jobs told him.

  And what about Jobs?

  Yago had not liked the way Jobs corrected him about the helm. Disrespectful. That was the only way to describe it.

  On the other hand, Jobs did have the sort of geeky intelligence that could be useful in this nuthouse. Maybe it was time to get over their little disagreements and make nice-nice. With Mo'Steel gone, Jobs would be yearning for a friendly face. Yes, Yago could definitely take advantage of Mo'Steel's death where Jobs was concerned.

  And what about Tamara and the baby? Now there was a regular riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma rolled up in a conundrum. Just thinking about Tamara and her flesh-eating spawn was enough to give Yago a headache.

  Yago sighed. He had so much work to do. He had to work on Jobs, figure out how to get Tamara and the baby under his control, think of a way to make 2Face look bad.

  One thing was certain: Battles were dangerous. The last one almost killed them. Forget the Blue Meanies. Forget the Squids. Forget the Riders. Let the three of them battle one another The thing was to pick a direction and just keep sailing that way until they hit another node.

  Yago would figure out how to conquer the aliens eventually. For now, he had his hands full just trying to conquer the humans.

  CHAPTER 9

  "HAPPY PEOPLE DON'T MAKE NOISES LIKE THAT."

  Kubrick snapped out of it first. He scrambled up and pulled his father out of the alien chair or computer interface or whatever it was. He expected resistance, some sort of force holding him in, but his father came out of the chair easily.

  They landed on the floor on all fours. Kubrick immediately crawled out from under his father, but Alberto just laid there looking like a bug zapped by a bugzapper

  "Is he dead?" Mo'Steel asked.

  "You check," Kubrick said, out of breath from exertion and fear.

  Mo'Steel reluctantly got down on his hands and knees and slowly crawled closer By that time, Alberto had begun to twitch and wail.

  "Definitely alive," Mo'Steel said.

  "What's wrong with him?" Kubrick demanded.

  "Don't know," Mo'Steel said. "But whatever it is, it's woolly. Happy people don't make noises like that."

  Alberto pushed Mo'Steel away."2390.00026.l3," he mumbled as he struggled to his knees and wiped the drool off his chin. "Self-diagnostic. No errors found."

  "Well, that's a relief," Mo'Steel said. "Although I think you may want to run that program again."

  "Dad, are you okay?" Kubrick asked, forcing himself to approach his father and touch his shoulder. "Papa? Papa, can you hear me?"

  Alberto grabbed Kubrick's arm and pulled himself up to his knees and then his feet. He leaned heavily on Kubrick's shoulder."Too much sad."

  "Okay, this is weird stuff," Mo'Steel said."Remind me never to take a nap around here."

  Kubrick pushed his father away, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him. Hard. "Snap out of it!" he demanded."Tell us what happened!"

  Alberto wobbled and then steadied himself. Mo'Steel came forward and helped hold him up. Billy was nearby, too. Observing, but not getting involved.

  Kubrick wished Billy would keep his distance.

  Billy gave him the creeps. He was too pale, too spaced out, and yet too aware.

  Disturbing.

  Kubrick stared intently into his father's face and he thought he saw his eyes focus. "Tell us what happened!" he demanded.

  Alberto licked his lips with a bloody tongue. Blood was also oozing out of his ears, nose, and the corners of his bloodshot eyes. He spoke with agonizing slowness. "It — an interface — computer. A control? Data. Too data, too sad. Pazzo."

  "Pazzo?" Mo'Steel demanded.

  "Means crazy," Kubrick said.

  "Does he mean he's crazy or the computer is crazy?" Mo'Steel asked.

  "I don't know!" Kubrick exploded."How should I know?! Listen, let's get something straight. Back on Earth, I wasn't exactly known for my high IQ. I definitely wasn't Ivy League material, get it? So don't keep coming to me with your questions."

  "Whoa — relax," Mo'Steel said. "I'm more a man of action myself."

  Kubrick got the horrible feeling he was going to cry, and it ticked him off. He was mad — at his father, and at himself for turning into freaky see-through boy. It was stupid, but he'd actually been looking forward to leaving bad old Earth behind and starting over in the New World. It seemed like the solution to all of his problems.

  But things weren't turning out exactly how he'd expected. He couldn't deal with this weirdness. Couldn't deal with a computer attacking his father or stealing his skin. This wasn't what he had in mind. He wanted out, wanted to escape.

  He wished he'd waited for the Rock back on Earth. Then he wouldn't have to worry about Mo'Steel checking out his new "look." He wouldn't have to worry about his father.

  "Sit down, Papa," Kubrick said. "Sit down and rest awhile."

  They climbed out of the pit and settled Alberto on the edge, hoping they were still close enough to the instruments to be safe from the light columns.

  Billy stayed close to Alberto. Not touching him or commenting on his condition, just sitting. Watching? Kubrick couldn't tell but he didn't like it.

  Alberto didn't improve. If anything, his twitching and jerking got more frequent and violent. He stared wildly and erupted into sudden torrents of disjointed words. Occasionally, he got stuck, repeating "gone" a few thousand times before lapsing into silence. Kubrick tried to make sense of what he was saying, but it was all a mad, unsettling jumble.

  Pazzo.

  That's what Alberto had said.

  Kubrick was pretty sure he wasn't talking about the computer.

  CHAPTER 10

  "IT'S TRYING TO KILL US."

  When Yago woke, the other hammocks were empty. The sun was up and a weak light was coming through the portholes. The ship's movements had calmed. He could hear commotion on the deck.

  Something was wrong.

  Yago fought his way out of the hammock and climbed the ladder to the deck.

  Everyone was up there. They were bunched together in twos or threes, talking tensely. Adults in one group. Tate, Edward, and Roger Dodger in another Tamara and the baby, alone as usual. What the hell was going on? Why hadn't someone called him?

  Just what he needed. A crisis before breakfast.

  Yago noticed 2Face, Jobs, and Violet standing together just in front of the foremast. They looked tense. Yago felt his blood go cold. It was like seeing the chief of staff, majority whip, and vice president huddling in the West Wing. What were they doing? Planning a coup?

  What would Mom do in a situation like this? Yago wondered. The answer came back immediately: Act cheery, unthreatened. Yes, cheery was definitely the thing.

  "Good morning!" Yago said, joining the group. "Jobs, I'd like you to head this ship south."

  Jobs stared at him. "South? We can't go south."

  "South, north, I don't care," Yago said."The point is to pick a direction and keep going that way until we reach the end of this environment, this node. Go whichever way the wind is blowing."

  "Would you stop being such a pompous creep and look around you?" 2Face snapped.

  Yago looked out at the ocean. The statues were gone, that was the first thing he noticed. And the water was calmer, much calmer. Also, there were more ships this morning.

  2Face shook her head impatiently. "See those ships? Notice anything important about them? I'll give you a hint: Look at the flags."

  "British," Yago said immediately.

  "Very good," 2Face said. "And we're flying the American flag. Don't you think that just might make them a little bit angry?"

  "So we take the flag down," Yago said with a shrug. "D-Caf! Do me a favor and take down those flags."

  D-Caf immediately began climbing the mainmast in a way Yago found most gratifying.

  "Good idea," Jobs said. "And let's find a white one to put in its place. Surrendering worked with the Squids. Let's try it again."

  "Good idea," Yago said, smiling ingratiatingly at Jobs. He hated to do it, but he reminded himself that Jobs could be useful. "Edward! See if you can find some white fabric we can run up the flagpole."

  Edward cast a questioning look at Jobs, who nodded. As soon as he received confirmation from his brother, Edward scurried belowdecks. Hmm. Yago didn't like that. He'd have to teach Edward where his loyalty should lie.

  Yago studied the other ships more carefully. There were three of them altogether The ships themselves were rather jaunty — painted gold and navy blue — much nicer than the Constitution's black and white, in Yago's opinion. Each one had four separate gun decks with cannons poking out under little trapdoors.

  Swarms of men were climbing all over the rigging. They were close enough that Yago could make out individual men. Some wore white pants, navy jackets with gold trim, and hats. Officers. Others had on tan pants, striped shirts, and seemed to be barefoot. Crewmen.

  "This is a new painting," Violet said thoughtfully.

  "How do you know?" Jobs asked.

  "The sky," Violet said. "Yesterday, the brushstrokes were smooth, almost invisible. This style is more impressionistic. I suspect whoever painted this scene didn't live during the Civil War era."

  "Give me one reason why I should care," 2Face said.

  Yago cringed. Next to Violet, 2Face seemed so brusque.

  "Artists who were contemporaries of these ships had many reasons to paint them," Violet explained patiently. "Perhaps a crewman was interested in purchasing a painting of his ship to send home to his family. His only options were oils or watercolors. Later artists, however, were more likely to paint important moments in history. I believe battle scenes were particularly popular."

 

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