A Million Suns (33 page)

72

AMY

ON MY LAST DAY ABOARD GODSPEED, I PACK EVERYTHING I own in a small bag. The clothes that once belonged to Kayleigh, who died for the secret Orion couldn't keep. The notebook I wrote letters to my parents in, when I didn't think I'd see them again. My teddy bear.

I leave behind the maroon scarf. I won't have to hide myself on the new planet. As I fold the length of material and place it on the desk, I glance around this room that was mine for three months. I thought I would spend the rest of my life here. Or—maybe I'd move to the Keeper Level with Elder one day.

I swallow down the lump in my throat. Maybe Elder's right and Orion doesn't deserve to drown in his cryo box. But he doesn't deserve the new planet, either. I try to remember the things I thought I loved about Elder, but all I can see now is the stubborn set of his eyes, the tone of his voice when he refused to leave Orion on
Godspeed
.

I carry my bag in one hand and Harley's last painting in the other. There's not much room for art, but I will make room for this.

The solar lamp clicks on just as I reach the edge of the pond. The bottom is dry earth now, cracked under the heat of the solar lamp, and the lotus flowers are wilted strands of green and pink, already dead.

I'm the first one down. I tuck my bag and Harley's painting into an out-of-the-way corner on the bridge and then sit down in the chair opposite the honeycombed glass window. Past the bridge, the shuttle is packed nearly to the brim. The rooms are all unlocked, every square inch used for storage. Except for the armory—Elder has decided to keep that door locked, even if we could have used the space. I'm not sure if it's because he's afraid someone will try to steal a gun or if he wants to keep the extent of the armory hidden for now, but either way I think he made the right choice.

Every other room, though, is full of crates of food—enough to last us a month. Jugs of fresh water. Medicine. Clothing. Manufacturing tools. Shelves of tiny seedlings from the Greenhouses. Elder and Bartie divided the livestock. Several of the larger animals were slaughtered, the meat smoked and salted. Some of the smaller ones—rabbits and chickens—are crated. There's a mini-barnyard next to the cryo chambers.

All that's left now are the people.

 

They come in twos and threes. They bring with them only what they can carry. They come with pieces of handmade furniture, an old cradle, a rocking chair, a spindle. They come with bags of cloth, or butcher knives, or scientific equipment. They come with nothing in their hands, and they stare at the planet through the honeycombed window and they cry. They go straight to the cryo chamber, where the others were waiting, not bothering to turn their heads a fraction of an inch to see what they will be facing.

They see me and they smile, they hug me, they touch my pale skin and red hair with wonder. They see me and they scowl, they curse, they say they're only coming because their friend, their lover, their mother is going, and they'll risk a new world to stay with them.

They scurry down the ladder, they jump on the floor, they spin in the bridge, they go to the edge of the window and touch the glass. They sigh when they reach the floor, their shoulders slumping under the weight of their thoughts, their skin flushed and creased with worry, with sorrow, with fear.

But the important thing is simply: they come.

 

Elder arrives last.

“That's it,” he says. “That's all of them.”

All of them willing to go.

He hesitates, and I run to him, throwing my arms around his neck. I don't care about our disagreements, I don't care about our fight—not for this one moment. Elder wraps me in a hug that lifts me up, then sets me gently back on the ground. “I'm scared as shite,” he whispers into my hair.

“Me too,” I whisper back.

 

He searches my eyes. “What's wrong?”

I don't answer him, and after a moment, he looks away. He knows what's wrong.

“I have to take him,” Elder says.

“You really don't.”

Instead of answering me, Elder pushes his wi-com. “We will begin launch in a few minutes,” Elder says. “We're relying on autopilot. I have had some training on the operation of the shuttle, but . . .”

He doesn't say that his training was little more than Shelby showing him the controls. Still, that's more knowledge than anyone else has; only the top-ranking Shippers—the ones killed in the explosion on the Bridge—had any real experience with these controls.

“You should stabilize your belongings and find a secure place during launch,” Elder adds before disconnecting his wi-com.

We can hear the shuffle of movement from here. Elder closes the bridge door.

His face is hard, his shoulders squared.

He looks like a general about to go into battle, but without any armor or weapons.

He motions for me to follow him—we go to the control panel under the window.

 

“It's worth it, right?” he asks, staring at the planet.

I lean over the control panel, trying to see as much of the planet as I can. It's bright and blue and green, with swirls of stringy white clouds. I can make out lakes and mountains, a yellow-brown stretch that must be desert, a ribbon of green dots that are islands. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

But then I glance at Elder's face.

His worry infects me, and now as I look at the surface of Centauri-Earth, I wonder: what's down there?

Victria's staring eyes fill my memory.

Death is easy, and sudden, and can't be stopped. Maybe Centauri-Earth is just beginning to evolve, and dinosaurs will crush us. Or Centauri-­Earth may be light-years ahead of Earth, my Earth, and the aliens there will laugh at our weapons as they kill us. It's obvious that plants grow on the planet—there is so much green amid the blue—but what if all the plants are poison? What if all the blue water is salt?

“It's worth it.” I move to touch him, but he grabs my hand first, squeezes my fingers, then lets me go.

“What was it you said to Doc?” Elder asks. “About faith?”

“I don't remember,” I say with a dry laugh. “I was too busy trying not to get killed.”

“Well, whatever it was—you were right.” His hand rests over the autopilot launch button.

 

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

 

This book quite simply would not exist without my amazing agent Merrilee Heifetz, who pushed me to come up with a better idea than my original one, and I'm forever grateful for that.

A book is more than an idea, and so my thanks go also to Ben Schrank and Gillian Levinson for helping me to see which words best told the story. I knew I was in good editorial hands when one of your notes said, “Don't be afraid to kill off more characters!”

When it comes to producing this book, I couldn't have a better team behind me than the one at Razorbill. Thank you Natalie Sousa and Emily Osborne for the beautiful cover designs for all the books; Emily Romero, Courtney Wood, Erin Dempsey, Erin Gallagher and Anna Jarzab for the amazing marketing and online programs; Casey McIntyre for organizing the Breathless Tour and working so diligently on publicity; and everyone else at Razorbill for being so brilly.

A special thanks to Cecilia de la Campa at Writers House for helping the series go around the world, and to Chelsey Heller for helping me navigate foreign contracts.

This book went through more drafts than I care to admit, but I'd like to thank Heather Zundel, Erin Anderson, and Christy Farley for reading the earliest version. And telling me to throw it away. Thank you Tricia Hoover, Christine Marciniak, Jodi Meadows, and Jillian Boehme for reading the next version . . . that I also threw away. Corinne Duyvis and Casey McCormick, thank you for reading first chapters until I'm sure you were sick of them. Elana Johnson, Lisa Roecker, Laura Roecker, Shannon Messenger, Lauren DeStefano, Michelle Hodkin, Stephanie Perkins, Saundra Mitchell, Victoria Schwab, Myra McEntire, and all the Bookanistas, all the members of the League: thank you for listening to me prattle on about books and writing.

Kiersten White, Melissa Marr, and Carrie Ryan believed in me before
Across the Universe
was even a book, and I'm very grateful to them for that. Carrie, thanks also for always reading my long, rambling emails and giving me the best advice for every situation!

Thank you, Jennifer Randolph, for being one of my first supporters. Thank you, Laura Parker, for being so selfless and sharing in my joy. Thank you, Melissa Spence, for driving across the state just to celebrate with me. All of your friendships mean the world to me.

I'd like to thank the students at Burns High School who leant me their names for this story, particularly those of you who wanted to have the goriest, bloodiest ends. I hope you enjoyed being killed off!

Thanks to Village Coffee for keeping me caffeinated and Fireside Books & Gifts for keeping me well read.

And, of course, my deepest love and gratitude to my parents, Ted and JoAnne Graham, who are just as excited as I am about this whole endeavor, and to my husband, Corwin Revis, who read every draft, even the worst ones, and still loved me after all that.

Thank you all.

YOUR UNIVERSE CHANGED WITH BOOK ONE.

YOUR HEART STOPPED WITH BOOK TWO.

AND NOW IN BOOK THREE?

 

IT'S TIME TO GO HOME.

 

COMING JANUARY 2013

 

SHADES OF EARTH

 

BOOK III IN THE ACROSS THE UNIVERSE TRILOGY

FROM NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR BETH REVIS

 

THE JOURNEY IS JUST BEGINNING . . .