A Million Suns

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.”