"This is brilly," Harley says as we sit in a circle on the floor in the entryway of the Recorder Hall. We each have our own personal floppies, each flashing with images from ancient Greece. Orion ventured further into the Recorder Hall with promises to show us real books from Sol-Earth.

"I know!" Kayleigh says. She's so excited she's forgotten that she wants to be aloof in front of Harley. "I can't believe he's encouraging us to do art!"

Harley lights up at the joy in Kayleigh's voice. "What are you going to research?" he asks, leaning closer to Kayleigh while she lets him. "I think you could be Poseidon." He holds his floppy out to her.

Kayleigh scans the information on this Greek "god." It seems ridiculous that the Greeks actually worshipped these people, thinking they had any kind of real power. Silly Sol-Earth fairytales and religions.

"Ew," Kayleigh tosses the floppy back to Harley. "This man is half-naked."

Harley laughs. "Yeah, but he's the god of the ocean, and you love to swim."

"Maybe you should study Aphrodite," Kayleigh says in a sticky-sweet voice, "and dress up in some seashells."

"I'm not a flirt," Harley says so seriously that the entire room silences. "Not with anyone but you."

Kayleigh blushes furiously and gets up to sit on the other side of Victria, putting me beside Harley instead.

Harley doesn't seem to mind. Maybe he's confident; maybe he just doesn't see a point in pretending to have any other feelings than those he holds for Kayleigh. He turns to me next, as if nothing's happened. "What about you? You could be a Siren."

I tap the word into my floppy and am greeted with an image of something that looks like a cross between a girl and a fish. "This looks more like something Kayleigh would like," I say. She is the one who spends every morning swimming in the pond behind the Hospital.

"No, read," Harley insists.

I start reading, the sounds of everyone else's gentle arguments disappearing as I focus on the story. I see now why Harley thought this particular mythological creature suited me: the Sirens sing too. My fingers trail along a portrait of a Siren perched on a rock, a stringed instrument in one hand as she stares impassively at the boy drowning in the water below her.

Yes. I like these Sirens.

By the time I look up, Orion's returned with the books. Harley flips through the pages too quickly, careless with the ancient paper made from real trees from Sol-Earth. We don't have trees on Godspeed, and we hardly ever use the synthetic paper made by the Shippers-everything's recorded on floppies instead. Orion scowls at Harley until he sets the book gently down on the ground.

"Have you selected your topic?" Luthor asks.

I nod and hold out the floppy to him. He smiles as he reads about the creatures that sing to lure men's ships to dangerous waters and sure death.

Harley glances up as Bartie leans over to read too. "Ha! Your voice could make men suicidal!" He crows with laughter, but I snatch the floppy out of his hands and read about the Greek that he selected. I know he didn't mean the words to sting, but they do.

"Your music is so bad Hades would keep you in the underworld to save us all from having to hear it!" I try to keep my voice light like his, turning the words into a harmless joke among friends. Nothing more than friends.

"It is not!" Bartie snatches the floppy away. "Orpheus was the greatest musician of all time."

"Bet he couldn't sing," I snap back.

"Who have you all chosen?" Orion's voice calls out over our argument.

"Sappho," Victria says.

Harley snorts. "You would pick her."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can't decide between Hephaestus and Prometheus," Kayleigh says, drawing attention to her. Victria shoots her a small smile.

"Why Prometheus?" Orion asks.

Harley taps the name into his floppy. "You don't want him. He gets his liver eaten out by a giant bird!"

"But I like the way he brought knowledge to people," Kayleigh says.

"But you're more of an inventor." Orion lifts the floppy out of her hands and swipes the screen, bringing up an image of a huge, ugly man with a forge behind him. "Hephaestus is probably more appropriate. And less dangerous."

Even here, we have to remind ourselves that Eldest is more of a god than any of these long-dead Greeks, and he can do much worse that have our livers ripped out.

"I'm selecting Pygmalion," Luthor says.

I jump a little; I'd forgotten how close he was to me. He's so quiet.

"Piggy, piggy!" Barite taunts. "That sounds about right!"

"Pygmalion was a sculptor," Orion says. "Good choice, Luthor. What about you, Harley?"

"I can't find any painters," he grumbles.

"Why don't you do a fresco-it's like painting, but with plaster-and you can use the Muses as your subject?" Orion suggests.

He bends down to show Harley the Muses, but I'm distracted by Victria. She mouths something to me, indicating Bartie and Luthor with her head.

"What?" I mouth back.

Her eyes widen at me, and she jerks her head to Luthor. Then she glances significantly at Kayleigh, who's leaned in close to Harley, and jerks her head back.

"She wants us to give them some privacy," Luthor whispers in my ear.

"I-oh!" I say, blushing.

Victria rolls her eyes.

Scooping up the floppy and one of the books, I follow Victria and Bartie further into the Recorder Hall, passing closed doors leading to rooms full of books and Sol-Earth artifacts. Luthor trails behind me, chuckling at how Harley and Kayleigh remain ignorant of our plot.

Victria pauses at the door to the entry way. "I'll distract Orion in a minute, give them some real alone time." When I don't move, she adds, "You go on," and waves her hands at me.

I head further down the dark hallway. Luthor hesitates, then follows me, but Bartie winks and drops back to stay with Victria. I'm disappointed-I would actually like to talk to him about maybe working together on our project. He could compose music and I could write lyrics and maybe we could . . .

But he'd rather stay with Victria.

Fine.

Whatever.

I don't care.

"Let's go upstairs," Luthor says softly, so I follow him. I've never explored the Recorder Hall this much before; I know that the second and third stories hold relics from Sol-Earth, but not much else.

Luthor leads me to a room on the second floor-a huge gallery with double doors. Unlike the entryway, this room is filled with light, illuminating the objects inside.

"What is this?" I whisper. Canvases hang from the walls, illuminated by the windows. Sculptures dot the tiled floor; a mobile made of glittering glass hangs from the ceiling.

"It's the art from past gens," Luthor says. He steps inside, and while I just stand there, gazing around, he watches my expression as if eager to see if he's pleased me.

"I . . . I didn't know," I say, awed. And I didn't. It's not that the Recorder Hall is banned or kept hidden-although you do have to have permission to see the books. It's that it never occurred to me that a ship led by Eldest could hold such treasures.

"And look," Luthor says, stepping over to the wall, where an electronic box is embedded. He adjusts a dial, and music drifts through the room.

"These were all made by people who lived on this ship," he says.

I close my eyes and listen.

The singer is a soprano, like me, and her voice is clear and rich. She sings about impossibilities: stars within reach, solid earth at her feet, and ocean mist kissing her cheeks.

When the song fades to static, I open my eyes.

Luthor's motionless, staring at me with a look on his face that I don't recognize. "Let's make this our studio," he says suddenly. "You and me. Let's work on our projects here." He pauses, wetting his lips. "Together."

I think about the adoration Harley showers on Kayleigh, the way Kayleigh's mouth twitches whenever he tries to snatch her hand in his. I think of the way Bartie hung back to stay with Victria.

"Yes," I say, and in that moment, nothing exists beyond him and me and the lingering strains of the music that hang between us.