A Million Suns

63 ELDER

I CATCH THE ESCAPE SHUTTLE REPLICA WITH ONE HAND. “This is impossible,” I say, staring at it.

“Why?” Amy laughs. “Think of the design. The most important supplies are down there. The stairs I went down earlier today — they don’t go straight into the cryo level. They stop on the roof of it, and there’s a hatch you have to go down in order to get into the actual level. In fact,” I add, trying to remember what the area looked like through the yellow-tinted smoke, “I could see what was left of the elevator shaft behind a pillar, and there was a seal-lock hatch there too. Why else would you need a sealed door there? The builders of Godspeed didn’t waste any space.”

When she sees the doubt in my eyes, Amy growls in frustration. “Elder, think! You know I’m right — that part of the ship can break away. And you know what this means! We can still get to the new planet, even if the Bridge is gone. We can leave behind Godspeed and take the cryo level down!”

The possibilities swirl around me. Amy grins, knowing she’s won me over. “That level’s big — bigger than it needs to be if it’s just storage,” she says. “The roof is high — it has a higher oxygen capacity. And the floor’s large enough to hold everyone—”

My shoulders sag. “But how the frex are we going to be able to get there if the elevator and the stairs are both blown up?”

Amy’s grin is so huge all her teeth show. “Let’s go for a swim,” she says.

I can barely keep up with her as she races down the path back toward the Hospital. No — not the Hospital. The pond in the garden behind the Hospital.

“It was the fish that gave it away. I couldn’t get over how weird it was that there weren’t any fish in the pond,” Amy says. She’s practically running now, and I have to jog to keep up with her.

“The fish?”

“The koi. Harley painted koi. That’s what he was painting when I first met him, and that was one of the last things he painted, too. His room is filled with fish.”

“So?” I ask.

Amy stops so suddenly I crash into her.

“He knew fish. He saw them. It’s not like he could just look those images up. And you told me—you told me—that it’s not that there were no fish, but that there were none ‘anymore.’”

“Exactly,” I say. “There used to be fish.”

“So where are they? Fish don’t just disappear.”

I stop, thinking. It was so loons then, when Kayleigh died. I don’t remember anything but her body in the water when we found her. But after that… Harley didn’t go back to the pond for ages, and when we did, the fish had just… disappeared.

“There’s something at the bottom of the pond,” Amy says. “Think about the blueprint. You know what’s right above the contingency area?”

“The pond?” Hope bubbles up inside of me. Stars! There’s still a chance! We can still make it to Centauri-Earth… although it will mean leaving Godspeed behind.

“The pond.”

It’s all so simple — and now that Amy tells me about it, I can see the truth in it. If Kayleigh had drained the pond, the fish, of course, would have died. But before she could do anything, Eldest found her. Patched her up to make her immobile, then refilled the pond. To everyone else, it looked like Kayleigh had swum into the pond and let herself drown, but in reality…

Amy’s off again, racing toward the pond. Orion said that Kayleigh’s death was murder, not suicide. When Harley and I found her body, she was plastered in med patches. I remember the way Evie became so placated when Doc pressed a Phydus med patch into her skin. Kayleigh didn’t have the new Phydus patch, but there are others, patches that make you sleep, for example. And with enough med patches, Kayleigh would have just stood in the pond and let herself drown while Eldest watched his secret sink beneath the surface along with her.

Amy kicks off her moccasins at the edge of the pond and strips off her jacket, tossing it on the ground. She unwinds the long strip of cloth that binds her hair up.

“Turn around,” she says, and only then do I realize I’m staring.

“It’s not like I — um — you know — uh,” I stammer, feeling my face grow hot with embarrassment.

“Turn. Around,” Amy says again, but she’s smiling at me.

I spin around, staring at the ground and trying very hard not to listen to the rustle of cloth as Amy undresses.

A moment later, I hear a splash and turn back around. Amy’s pants and tunic lie in a crumpled pile; she must be wearing only her underwear and tank top under the water. My face grows even hotter at the thought, and I wonder how strange it would look if I stuck my head under the water to clear my mind.

“What are you looking for?” I call out over the water to her.

“A way down!” she says. The water’s clear, although a foggy brown rises up from the silty bottom of the pond near her feet.

She dives under the surface and is gone for nearly a full minute.

Then she bursts up from the surface, takes a huge gulp of air, and dives back down.

Huge bubbles burst along the surface.

My eyes scan the water. I see flashes of red, flicks of pale skin. I count the seconds.

Then Amy breaks through the surface, sucking in air and letting it all out in one long whoop of triumph.

“What’s going on?” a voice calls from the garden path.

“Crap, crap, crap,” Amy mutters behind me as she wiggles back into her pants. I risk a look over my shoulder as she tugs her tunic back into place. She steps forward just as Bartie and Victria come around the hydrangeas and down to the pond.

Her wet clothes soak through her dry ones, making everything stick to her curves in a way that I can’t rip my eyes from.

“Hello!” Amy calls to them.

“What are you doing?” Victria asks quietly.

I search her face. Victria was always the quiet one of our group, but I never noticed how silent she’d become since the Season. Not until Amy told me about what had happened to her.

I feel my fists clenching as I think about what happened to her — and how I didn’t stop it from happening. My fingernails press painfully into my palms. I hate what happened to Victria — what almost happened to Amy. I…

“I just went for a little swim,” Amy says, laughing.

“I can see that,” Victria says. I’m glad that it seems like Amy has been there for her at least. And, perhaps, Bartie. He might be a chutz and a traitor to boot, but at least he’s been a friend to Victria. More than I’ve been.

“What’s that?” Bartie asks, pointing to the ground.

“Oops.” Amy bends over and picks up two pale green med patches and shoves them back into her pocket. They must have fallen out as she dressed.

“Why do you have Phydus patches?” I ask, frowning. My first instinct is anger — she’s the one who’s been so solidly against Phydus — but it immediately melts into concern. I think about Evie, clawing at the walls of the ship. Do the walls crush Amy in the same way? Is Phydus getting her through the nights, when I don’t see her?

Amy’s eyes shoot to Victria, and silent understanding passes between them. “I picked some up. I thought… if I needed them… ” She glances at me, takes in my scowl. “Not for me!” she protests.

My frown deepens. She means she intended to use them as a weapon, in case someone attacked her. Someone like Luthor.

“Whatever’s done is done,” Amy says, and something in her tone tells me that she knows more than she’s saying. “So,” she continues in her most charming voice, trying to distract me, “is there a way to drain the pond?”

I raise one eyebrow, and I can tell that Amy understands my unspoken question: should we be doing this in front of Victria and Bartie? She lifts her shoulders slightly, and I know she means that there’s really no reason not to show them. If this works, everyone on the ship will find out about it anyway.

“What is going on?” Bartie says, half his voice demanding, half laughing.

“There’s a way off the ship!” Amy shouts gleefully.

“In the pond?” Victria asks.

“Not in it. Under it.”

Victria casts an incredulous look at Amy, as if wondering if Amy’s as crazy as she sounds. “The way off the ship is underwater?”

“It can’t stay underwater.” Amy laughs. “That’s why we have to drain the pond.”

Victria looks over to me. “Am I the only person who thinks this whole conversation is loons?”

“If you want to drain the pond,” Bartie says, “there’s a pump over there.” He points across the water to a small black box cleverly hidden by a hydrangea bush.

“It’s for emergencies,” I say, shifting my weight so I’m in front of Bartie. “In case the Hospital or Recorder Hall caught on fire, we could use the pond water to put it out.”

“Can you operate it?” Amy asks with gleaming eyes.

I have no idea — I’ve never tried before. “Of course I can,” I say.

I start toward the other side of the pond — and Bartie, unfortunately, follows. “You don’t know how to operate the pump, do you?” he asks, grinning.

I glare at him. “You don’t get to do that,” I say.

“Do what?”

“Pretend like you’re still my friend.”

Bartie nods. “Fair enough.”

“And… no.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t know how to use the pump.”

Bartie smiles at me, his old smile, like he used to do when we raced rockers. I kneel down beside the pump. It doesn’t look that difficult, but when I reach for the handle, Bartie says, “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Bartie shrugs. “You’ll just spray the water everywhere. Unless you want to waste it, you’ll have to divert it.”

I reach for a switch. “Nope,” he says.

“Frex, fine!” I say, throwing up my hands. “You do it.”

Bartie bends down and flips two switches, spins a dial, and starts up the pump. I can hear gurgling, churning sounds, but it takes a while before the water level seems to go lower. Once it does, though, the water drains out faster and faster. The lotus flowers float limply as the water level sinks, their pale pink petals stained brown from mud. Their long stems look almost like strands of hair caught in the mud. I swallow hard, remembering the way Kayleigh’s hair floated in the pond.

“It’s almost done!” Victria calls excitedly. This is the first time I’ve seen her really smile in… months. “Are we supposed to see something in the water yet?”

Amy jumps into the muddy hole before all the water’s out. Her feet sink into the silt, staining the hems of her trousers. She sloshes forward to the center of the pond.

“It’s here!” she calls, pulling the roots of a lotus plant out of the round handle sticking up from the top of the hatch. “It’s here!” she squeals excitedly.

“Wow,” Victria mutters.

“Is this something else you’re going to use to coerce us? Another ‘grand’ scene like showing everyone the planet?” Bartie asks, and whatever in him that was friendly before is gone now.

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” I say loudly. “Let’s all go down.”

Amy twists the handle to the hatch. I skid into the pond, fighting against the sucking mud to reach her side. The others follow me in. I’m worried about them — should we let them follow us down into the unknown? But when Amy sees my face, she nods, once, as if telling me that they should come too. We lift the lid up before the water’s gone, and some of it sloshes down the hole. A ladder stretches into the darkness.

“Come on,” Amy says, pulling one leg free from the murky pond bottom and stepping onto the ladder. Before I can say anything else, she’s already climbing down.

I lower the hatch lid over my head. I don’t like the feeling of being trapped in the narrow space — it’s so tight I can reach out both arms and touch the sides — but the idea of leaving the hatch open is worse. If someone thinks to follow us down, at least we’ll have some warning when the lid is raised again…

We climb down quickly, eager to be out of the confined space. As we reach the area between the levels, it gets even colder.

My breath comes out heavy, and the warm air bounces around the enclosed space. Chilly sweat drips down my back, making me shiver.

“Where are we?” Victria asks wonderingly.

“On a ladder,” Bartie says.

“I know that, chutz. I meant, in terms of the ship.”

“We’re going to find out,” Amy says as her feet hit something solid. “We’re here.”

We all jump down beside her. There’s another hatch — we spin it open, and a smaller ladder automatically drops down, stopping at the floor beneath. Amy goes down first, and I follow her.

This is a bridge.

It mirrors the one on the Shipper Level in miniature. The window is smaller, but it still faces the planet. Victria turns her back to the planet, but the rest of us all stand, still stunned speechless by the sight of the massive blue and green orb. It seems so achingly close. The control panel angles under the window, rows of desks behind it. I think about what Shelby told me, how — if all goes well, and if these controls work like the ones on the main Bridge — you can just hit the autopilot button on the front of the control panel, and the ship will land itself.

Propped up on top of the autopilot button is a floppy, already loaded with a mem card.

“The last vid,” Amy says.

“What is it?” Bartie asks, picking up the floppy.

I snatch it from his hands. My eyes question Amy — should we show them?

“All in,” she whispers, and even though I’m not sure what that phrase is about, the meaning is clear.

Everyone crowds around me as I swipe my fingers across the screen. I glance up once at the honeycombed glass window showing the planet, and the video begins.

<>

“What is this?” Bartie asks, drawing closer.

Victria gasps. Amy puts her arm around her shoulders and squeezes as Orion’s face fills the screen.

He sits on a chair in front of the bridge. I glance up, looking at the real chair, the one in the middle. That’s where Orion sat as he filmed this, the planet cresting over his left shoulder, so bright that it cast Orion in silhouette.

ORION: Oh, Amy. I wish I didn’t have to show you this. I really do. Because… now that you’ve seen the planet, how can I ask that you turn away?

Orion glances behind him at the planet and sighs. Victria sighs too.

ORION: Because that’s what I have to ask you to do. If at all possible — I need you to turn away, lock this door, and never come back.

Amy’s mouth drops open, but no sound comes out.

ORION: Did you think the big secret was that we were here? That the planet is just on the other side of that window?

Orion shakes his head. I notice that Victria, her eyes glued to Orion’s face, shakes her head just barely too, the movement hardly noticeable.

ORION: That’s not the secret.

Orion reaches behind him and pulls out a sheaf of papers.

“This is what he has,” Bartie says, picking up a sheaf of papers from where they were resting on the control panel. The edges are curled and the pages are dusty, but these are the same papers Orion holds on the screen.

Orion clears his throat, then reads, holding the papers up so the camera can show the report.

We all lean over the sheaf of papers Bartie holds, reading along with Orion’s gravelly voice.

Date: 328460

Ship Status: Arrival

Ship Record: Godspeed has arrived at Centauri-Earth 248 days prior to expected planet-landing. Preliminary scans indicate that the planet is life-supporting, with appropriate gravity, air quality with sufficient oxygen levels, and liquid water. However, additional scans have proven that the planet is already inhabited. Not by any creatures we can tell are sentient, but the life-forms seem… aggressive.

Date: 328464

Ship Status: Orbital

Ship Record: We have continued to scan the planet. The life-forms on the surface have been confirmed. Visual probes indicate that the planet is habitable but inhospitable. Our current weapons do not seem a sufficient enough defense against the creatures on the surface.

Date: 328467

Ship Status: Orbital

Ship Record: Crew is restless. It is the opinion of our top statisticians and scientists that we should not fulfill our mission for planet-landing at this point. The surface is too dangerous. Communication with Earth has been severed. We cannot expect aid from other sources, and we cannot defend ourselves outside the ship. We will conduct a vote with the crew, explaining the situation. It is my recommendation that the crew remains on board the ship where it is safe. Our needs are provided for, and the ship’s external engines can be redirected to internal maintenance.

Date: 328518

Ship Status: Orbital

Ship Record: Mutiny. The ship’s crew did not see the logic of staying aboard, despite my protests. There has been significant loss of life. My scientists, however, have developed a method of influencing them to obedience.

Amy and I look up at each other. “This is the Plague, isn’t it?” she asks. “This is where Phydus came from. This — this ‘captain’—he’s the first Eldest.”

I nod.

“Shh,” Bartie snaps.

Date: 328603

Ship Status: Orbital

Ship Record: A way of life has resumed with increasing stability. The crew is once more submissive. We will work on rebuilding our numbers. In the event that communication can be resumed with Earth or aid otherwise received, we can still commence with planet-landing. Until that point, with conservation and careful production, the internal functions of the ship should subsist for countless generations.

Orion sets the papers down on the control panel at the front of the bridge in the exact same spot Bartie found them.

ORION: So, that’s why we can’t land. I’m not a frexing chutz; I get what’s going on here. The Plague Eldest was right to keep us on board the ship. I’ve seen the armory — you’ve seen it too. There are weapons there…

Orion shakes his head in disbelief. My eyes are on Victria.

ORION: Amy, surely you know that those weapons aren’t normal… If the Plague Eldest says that there are monsters on Centauri-Earth that those weapons can’t kill…

He shakes his head again.

ORION: And besides, think about it. Think about those weapons.

Orion leans forward, closer to the camera. All four of us lean in closer too.

ORION: You think those frozens in the cryo chambers are going to use ’em? Frex, no. That’s what we’re here for.

Orion stands up, walks to the window, stares a minute, comes back.

ORION: See this?

Orion picks up the camera and angles it to show ten empty circles on the floor. As one, all four of us look up, over to the far wall and the ten hollow depressions in the floor.

ORION: That’s where the probes were. After all the ones the Plague Eldest sent, every Eldest after that sent down another probe. They’ve all come back with warnings, that we can’t live on Centauri-Earth without a fight. A fight we’ll probably lose. A fight the frozens will make us fight.

“That’s when he decided to kill them,” Amy says. “All the frozens, after I woke up — that’s why he unplugged them. You were getting close to the truth, even if you didn’t realize it, and he was afraid of what they’d do.”

I meet her eyes. “That’s what he told us. That’s what he told us all along. He wasn’t lying.”

Amy scowls. “He was lying about some of it. I don’t care what he says, my father wouldn’t—”

“Shh!” Bartie shoots us angry looks.

ORION: We ran out of probes a couple of gens ago. I don’t know how long the engines will last now, how long we can stay here, in Godspeed. This is the contingency plan.

He raises both hands, indicating the cryo level’s bridge.

ORION: If the engines fail, if life support falters, if Godspeed can’t protect us anymore, then — and only then — we can leave the ship.

Orion’s eyes stare directly out of the screen.

ORION: Amy, I could tell from the start: the thing you cared most about was the truth. When I first met you, you were crying at the wall, remember, and I told you everything was going to be okay, and I could tell — you weren’t going to just accept what I said. You were willing to face the truth, even if it hurt.

I glance up at Amy; she’s even paler than usual.

ORION: Well, this is the truth. What you do with it is up to you. I don’t know what choice should be made — Eldest thought I knew too much; he was scared of what I would do — and I was scared too. Still am. That leaves you. Now that you know the truth, Amy, you have to decide.

Orion takes a deep breath. Amy holds hers.

ORION: Is the ship so bad that you have to face the monsters below? Is it worth the risk of your life — of everyone’s lives? If the answer is yes, then begin the planet-landing. Use this shuttle if you have to. But. But if Godspeed can still be your home, if it’s possible to stay on board — do so.

Amy lets out a long, shaking breath. Almost as if he heard her, Orion glares down. She bites her lip, her whole body focused on Orion’s next words.

ORION: This is the last resort.

The screen fades to black.

<>