Children of Exile Read Online Free PDF Page B

didn’t stop. I just kept muttering, “Don’t worry, don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right. . . .”
    I was pretty sure nobody heard me. I kept going anyway.
    The man on the PA system didn’t say anything else, but as I neared the front of the plane, I could see one man facing backward, glaring out at me from the sectioned-off compartment. The closer I got, the more he glared. It was like walking toward storm clouds.
    When I was about six rows away, the man shouted at me, “Are you a total idiot? Completely stupid? Sit down !”
    I’d never heard the words “idiot” or “stupid” before, but from the way he said them, I guessed they was like “dumb,” only worse. I guessed they were such horrible words that no one had been allowed to use them in Fredtown at all.
    I kept walking.
    â€œI can help you calm the children down,” I said. “So theydon’t cry for hours. So they’re not traumatized.”
    The man gaped at me. He had gray, scruffy whiskers growing along his jawline. I couldn’t decide if he wanted them to look that way or if he’d just been haphazard about shaving.
    â€œI don’t care if they cry,” he said, shrugging. “That’s what kids do. That’s why we all brought earplugs.” He popped something small and white out of one of his ears and held it up. Then he pointed over his shoulder into the compartment, where I could see what seemed to be stacked bassinets. Each one was labeled with a name, and contained a baby covered in tubes and wires. “And see? That’s why the automatic tenders we have the babies in are soundproofed.”
    As he spoke, one of the babies began squirming and flailing his arms and legs. His face turned red. I couldn’t hear anything, but he was clearly crying. Instantly a tube zoomed up to his mouth and he began sucking, even though tears still hung in his eyelashes.
    I gasped.
    â€œBabies need personal attention,” I told the man. Maybe he just didn’t know. “They need skin-to-skin contact, and—”
    The man snorted.
    â€œOh, a little automation never hurt anyone,” he said. “And it might kill me if I had to deal with crying babies for this whole trip. I wish the regulations let us put you all inisolation units. Little kids—ugh. But if the crying bothers you, well, I’m sure eventually they’ll cry themselves to sleep. Then they’ll be quiet.”
    This was like talking to Edwy. There were so many things wrong with what this man was saying, I didn’t know where to begin.
    â€œBut, but . . .”
    A lump was growing in my throat, a lump fed by being called “dumb” and “a total idiot.” A lump that probably would have been there anyway from leaving the Freds behind, from seeing Fredtown and the Old One for the very last time. From having to shake Bobo’s hand off my arm and walk away from him when he was scared and crying.
    I tried to ignore the lump and talk past it.
    â€œMy idea was, if we go ahead and feed the kids early—like now—maybe they’ll get distracted,” I said. “They’ll forget how sad they are and settle down.”
    Something in the man’s face shifted. It looked like he wanted to laugh at me. Just to be mean, not because he thought something was funny.
    â€œOh, no,” the man said. “I didn’t sign on to provide food service for spoiled brats. I’m just the hired muscle. I’m just transporting cargo from one set of crazies to another. I’m not your parents. I’m not your precious Freds. Forget what I said about sitting down so you don’t get your head bashed in fromthe turbulence. I don’t care what you do. If you’re too much of an idiot to follow simple orders, that’s not my problem.”
    The whole time we’d been talking, I’d been standing in the aisle and