A Million Suns (20 page)

41

ELDER

“UHHRRR,” I GROAN. MY CHEST FEELS AS IF SOMEONE CRACKED it open and then taped it shut again.

“Elder!” Amy leans over me.

“What happened?” My voice is alien to me, high. My nose is cold on the inside—there's a tube blowing air up into it.

“I think you died a little bit,” Amy says. She tries to laugh, but the sound fades on her lips. Her eyes are red, as if she's either been crying too much or needs to cry but hasn't yet.

I lie still for a moment, assessing myself. I'm in the Hospital. “I feel like shite,” I conclude.

“Yes, that's what happens when you die for a little bit.”

Amy starts to head to the door, but I grab her wrist. “Don't go.”

“I should get Doc,” she says. “He's been waiting for you to wake up.”

“Not yet,” I say. I slip the tube under my nose off my face.

“Don't do that,” Amy says. “It's oxygen.”

“I've got enough now, see?” I take a big, obvious breath and disentangle myself from the tube.

Her brows furrow, but she allows me to pull her down so she's sitting on the edge of the bed. I bite my lip, then release it—my lips are sore and feel bruised. I can taste copper along the soft flesh.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” Amy whispers. Her fingers trail down the side of my cheek, lightly brushing the place where my face is still bruised from Stevy's punch a few days ago. Her fingers are cool, her touch so soft I barely feel it.

“I'm fine.” I smile wryly. “Better than fine.”

“Are you really okay?” she asks, moving a piece of hair off my face.

“Amy,” I say, taking a deep breath and relishing the taste of air. “Amy, we're here. We're
at
the planet. We've made it.”

Her brow crinkles.

“That's what I saw when I went outside. I saw Centauri-Earth.”

She shakes her head, as if making my words rattle around inside her skull.

“We're going to land.
Soon.
”

Something snaps. Her eyes go out of focus. “We'll be able to wake my parents up,” she says slowly. “I won't have to spend my whole life on this ship. I'll be able to go outside again. I'll see the sun.”

“Suns,” I correct. “Centauri-Earth has two suns.”

“Suns.
Suns.
” And the light in her eyes reminds me of the two shining orbs hanging over the planet.

“Now aren't you glad I went outside?” I ask, grinning at her. “All I had to do was die a little, and you get a new planet!”

I expected her to laugh, or at least smile. I did not expect her to slap my arm. “You stupid idiot!” she says, smacking me again. “I don't want the new planet without you!”

Her eyes round as she realizes what she just said. Anytime we'd gotten this close to talking about
us
before, Amy has shied away from the topic. But now, instead of drawing away from me, she leans closer. Her hair spills over her shoulders, brushing my chest as she leans down. Her fiery joy at learning about the planet is replaced with something else, something warmer, like a slow-burning but steady flame.

“It wouldn't be worth it without you,” she says, her voice low.

My arm snakes out, wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer so that she's practically lying on top of me. I can feel every inch of her; her heartbeat is crashing about so hard that I'm surprised it's not making the bed shake.

She looks terrified, but she doesn't pull away.

Her kiss is soft and gentle, barely pressing against my bruised lips. There is sweetness in it, and innocence, and a promise.

Doc clears his throat.

I get one glimpse of Amy's surprised face, and then she scurries back to the chair against the wall, her face bright red.

“How are you feeling, Elder?” Doc asks as he approaches the bed. He frowns at the discarded oxygen tube. He checks my pulse, waves a light in front of my eyes.

“I'm fine,” I insist.

Finally, he seems to agree with me and sits down in the chair next to Amy. “Now,” he says, an edge to his usually even voice, “would you like to tell me just what the frex you were thinking?”

I open my mouth, but no answer comes out. My eyes dart to Amy's—how much does Doc know?—and she shakes her head subtly.

“Don't try to hide things from me,” Doc says, his voice going up a notch. “It's obvious what you two were doing.”

“It . . . is?”

Doc glares at me. “I know what that suit was. It was for going outside the ship. Orion did it once, when the ship needed an external repair. And you two found the suits and thought, ‘Oh, let's just go outside
in space
and
play!
'”

“It's not like—” I start, but Amy widens her eyes at me, silencing me.

“Elder, I understand, I do,” Doc says, his voice dipping back down to a low monotone, the same sort of voice he'd use when asking how I was, just before offering me a med patch to calm down. “You wanted to see what it was like out there. But you should have realized. Those suits are ancient. I doubt any of them are truly safe.” He pauses, not meeting my eyes. “Elder—you're too valuable. With Orion frozen and the ship off Phydus—we can't take any chances. Not with you.”

Doc covers his face with his hands, and I'm surprised—I've never seen him overcome with emotion like this before.

Beep, beep-beep.

I move to silence the wi-com.

“Are you getting a com?” Doc asks. “You better take it.” He glares at me, his worry replaced with anger. “Just because you do something loons doesn't excuse you from your duties.”

“I know,” I say, wounded. I press my wi-com.

Doc's scowl softens, and he looks like he's about to apologize to me, but I put one finger up, listening to the com.

When I disconnect the link, I stand up. Amy looks as if she'd like to push me back into the bed, but I ignore her.

“Amy.” I try to put the words I cannot say into the look I give her. “We need to talk later. About the
thing
.”

She nods.

“But I've got to go now,” I say.

Amy grabs me by my elbow before I make it out of the room. “What is it?” she asks, and even though she's only said three words, the tone of her voice begs me to stay with her.

But I can't.

“Marae's dead.”

42

AMY

THE ROOM FEELS HOLLOW WHEN ELDER LEAVES. I TRY TO remember Marae—I knew she was the First Shipper, a title something like being second in command to Elder. She was tall and all business, with a severe haircut and piercing eyes, but I don't really know anything about her other than her appearance.

And now it's too late.

And too late for her to see the new planet too.

Guilt tugs at my navel. I shouldn't be so happy, not when someone else has been killed. But—we're here! The ship is going to actually land! As I pass by the common room in the Ward, I stop to stare out of the huge windows. In my mind, I replace the perfectly even rolling hills and boxed-up trailers of the distant City with forests and oceans and sky.

We're here.

I grin in satisfaction as I drift back to my room. I may hate Orion for all he did to me after I woke up, but I can't deny that his clues led Elder and me straight to Centauri-Earth.

And nearly killed him,
I think.

My hands raise of their own volition, and I touch my lips with my fingers. That kiss . . . I hadn't thought about what I was doing, I just did it. And now I can't forget the way his lips felt against mine. Had I meant what I said, that the new planet would be pointless without him?

Yes.

But . . . if—no,
when
—the ship lands, everything will be different.

That is just as true as our kiss.

I shake my head. I can't think about this now.

I lock my bedroom door and pull out the Shakespearean sonnet I found in the room with the space suits. Part of me wants to go back to get the copy of
The Little Prince
that was down there as well, but I can't bear the thought of going back to the cryo level just yet. I can't think about the hatch without also seeing Elder's crumpled body on the floor. I remember that brief moment when I thought it was already too late.

I run my finger along the smooth edge of the page. I doubt Orion cut it from the book of Shakespeare's sonnets. Someone's tampering with the clues, I'm sure of it. I toss the sonnet on my desk as I start pacing around my room. If Orion's big secret was the planet, we don't even need this clue. Isn't the planet the answer to the mystery?

He said there was a choice, though. He said I would have to make the decision. There must be something else—something bigger even than the planet.

I feel a bit like a puppet, with Orion pulling the strings to make me move. Some of the strings, though, are getting tangled.

And some cut.

I take a deep breath and try to forget the lifelessness in Elder's lips as I tried to breathe life into him again.

Was Elder's accident even an accident? If someone's tampering with the clues, how hard would it have been for them to puncture the suit's air tubes? If I were to go to the cryo level right now and check all the suits, would I find that they were all damaged in some tiny, unnoticeable way?

I collapse into my desk chair and open up the folded sonnet. I'm going to keep playing Orion's game. Even if someone is trying to stop me.

This sonnet, just like all the others in the book, makes no sense at all. But unlike the other sonnets, this one's marked up.

I sit up straighter, staring at the handwritten annotations. They're all about something hidden and forgotten. And tube? The only tube I know is the grav tube, and nothing could be further from a Shakespearean sonnet than a futuristic device that sucks people up to different levels of a spaceship.

I trace my finger over the weird lines near the bottom of the poem. They almost look like stairs.

My eyes widen.
Stairs.
Like the staircase Orion has been sitting on in every video he left for me!

The grav tube was invented on the ship after the launch, which means that there had to be
some
way for the first generations on
Godspeed
to go between the levels. Like a staircase . . . a
hidden
staircase that everyone has since forgotten because of the grav tube! I scan the lines of the poem Orion underlined—
hid
and
vanish'd sight
must mean that these stairs are
very
well hidden. In the videos, the stairs are always dark. Orion felt safe there, even from Eldest, who didn't know about them.

But . . . where are they?

43

ELDER

MY MIND WHIRLS AS THE WIND IN THE GRAV TUBE BEATS against my skull as I fly up to the Shipper Level. Amy has never kissed me like that before, has never looked at me that way.

I want to replay what just happened over and over in my mind, but when I reach the Bridge and see Second Shipper Shelby's solemn face, I force myself to forget about everything else but Marae.

“We found her in here,” she says, moving to open the door. Although the Engine Room is crowded and the Shippers appear to be working, all eyes are on Shelby and me as we enter the Bridge, our footsteps echoing across the metal floor. The only light comes from a lamp near Marae's still hand.

I look away—I don't want to face the fact of her dead body yet. My eyes drift to the metal ceiling, high and rounded. On the other side of the steel plates is a planet. Marae had no idea how close she was. And it was always just right there.

She lies sprawled across the table, her body dripping off the chair. Her eyes are open and empty, staring at nothing. Floppies with diagrams and charts flash under her face; a printed schematic of the engine lies crushed under one arm.

At the base of her neck, just under her shortly cropped hair, are three pale green med patches. One word in black ink on each patch.

Follow.

The.

Leader.

“This doesn't make sense,” I whisper. If someone's killing people who disobey me, why kill Marae? She's been my staunchest supporter from the start. She's unswervingly faithful, and she's led the rest of the Shippers in that attitude as well. She jumped at the chance to lead my police force. If Doc was Eldest's greatest adviser, Marae was mine.

“Who did this to you?” I whisper, but of course she's not going to tell me. But it has to be someone of high rank, doesn't it? Someone who either has access to the Bridge or who knows Marae well enough that she'd be persuaded to open the door. Besides the Shippers, a few of the scientists, Doc and Kit, technicians, even Fridrick, as foreman of food distribution, could also come to this level. And with the med patches stolen, any of them could have done this.

Shelby makes a small noise behind me. She's staring resolutely at the ceiling of the Bridge, her jaw tight.

I want to say something to comfort her, but all that comes out is, “You're First Shipper now.” She nods once. She will not dishonor Marae by showing weakness. She will make a fine First Shipper.

The ceiling of the Bridge is domed, much like the ceiling in the cryo level and the Great Room on the Keeper Level. When I was outside—I smile a secret smile,
when I was outside
—it had looked as if there were glass windows over the Bridge. Well—not glass, surely. Glass is too fragile for the ship's entry into the atmosphere or other dangers of space—asteroids, comets, meteors. But some other clear, strong material, maybe a thick polycarbonate, would work. Something that sparkled, reflecting the light of the planet, shining from the dual suns.

But this roof is metal.

Just like the roof on the Keeper Level. Eldest hid the false stars under a metal roof there . . . one with panels and hinges, just like this one . . . with hydraulic controls on the sides. . . . My eyes trail all the way down to the wall, to the switch near the door that's controlled by a biometric scanner. I grind my teeth. I don't know why I'm surprised that secrets have been hidden here too, just like the rest of the ship.

And I am frexing sick of secrets and lies. It's one thing to not tell everyone that the ship's engine is dead—it would have been the end of all hope—but the planet changes everything.

“Lock the Bridge door,” I order Shelby.

She hesitates a fraction of a second, then turns and silently pulls the heavy metal door closed.

“Lock it,” I repeat.

“These are above standard lockdown-grade seals,” Shelby says. “They completely seal the Bridge from the rest of the ship.”

“I know,” I say.

Shelby scans her thumb and the locks click into place. She flicks another switch, and lights cascade on like dominoes. But rather than illuminating Shelby's face, the lights cast shadows over her. She looks doubtful—even scared. Scared to be locked in a room with me.

And with what's left of Marae.

“Today I went outside.” I speak to Shelby, but my eyes are locked on Marae's open, empty ones.

“I don't understand, sir,” Shelby says.

“Outside. In the stars. Through the hatch.”

Shelby gasps.

“Amy and I found some space suits, and I went. And I saw . . . well, let me show you what I saw.”

I start to move toward the far wall but stop, turn, and bend over Marae's still body. Carefully, as respectfully as I can, I tilt her cold, stiff face up so that her empty eyes can see the ceiling. This is my last gift to her.

I go behind Shelby and roll my thumb over the biometric scanner on this wall, the one just like the scanner by Eldest's door on the Keeper Level. This—like the roof over the navigational chart in the Keeper Level—must have been retrofitted into the ship's design. Not part of the original, no—this must have been the Plague Eldest's way of covering up the truth.

“Command?” the computer's voice asks in a pleasant tone once it accepts my authority.

“Open,” I say, unable to keep from smiling.

 

And the metal roof splits apart.

 

Shelby screams and drops to her knees, covering her head. She thinks the ship itself is splitting open, just as I did when the roof on the Keeper Level opened up to reveal the light bulb stars. She thinks the Bridge will tear apart in explosive decompression and we'll be sucked out into space, our deaths quick but painful as our bodies succumb to anoxia, our skin turning blue and our organs bursting.

I walk over to Shelby—my calm pace makes her quake more—and crouch down beside her. “Get up,” I say over the
whirr
of grinding gears as the roof folds out of the way. “You don't want to miss this.”

I offer her my hand. I can feel her trembling in my palm, but she stands anyway. She searches my eyes at first—looking for something, I don't know what—but I tilt my head up, and I see her do the same out of the corner of my eye.

Because the universe is there, above us, glittering through the honeycomb windows that cover the Bridge. The universe—the stars, the blackness between them—and the planet.