A Million Suns: An Across the Universe Novel

by Beth Revis

  “I—oh,” she says when she sees me.

  “Yes?”

  “Um . . . Is that wise?”

  “What?” I follow her gaze. “The robe? Eldest wore it.”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “What did you need me for?”

  “I think everyone’s here now, sir,” she says, squaring her shoulders.

  For a moment, the robe seems to swallow me. I force my spine straighter and head to the door. It zips open.

  A wave of silence washes over the entire crowd—those standing nearest the door cease talking immediately, then those behind them follow suit. And it is a crowd. I’d never realized how big over two thousand people looked when they were all looking at you.

  Their eyes all follow me as I cross the short distance to the dais the Shippers have set up for me.

  “You chutz!” a voice bellows across the crowded room.

  The people in the room seem to move as one to make a path—and marching through that path is Bartie.

  “What right do you have to wear that robe?” he shouts. His face is red, even the tips of his ears.

  “I’m—” I stop. I can’t say I’m Eldest—I never claimed that title. And the robe is for an Eldest only.

  In the end, it doesn’t matter that I didn’t have anything witty to say to Bartie, because once he gets close enough to me, he knocks me aside so forcefully that I stagger back against the wall.

  “The frex?” I say, but my words are drowned out by Bartie’s voice.

  “Are we going to put up with this?” Bartie roars, turning to the crowd. “How can this child dare call us all together and parade in Eldest’s robe? He’s no Eldest—he’s no leader!”

  And they cheer him.

  Not all of them, certainly, but enough. Enough to make the sound of their support swirl inside my brain, soaking into my memory like water into a sponge.

  “We deserve a new leader. One chosen by us!”

  I grab Bartie by the elbow and spin him back around to face me. “What the frex do you think you’re doing?”

  “Your job,” he sneers.

  “I can do it myself!” I shout back.

  “Oh, really?” He pushes me, hard, and I stumble back into the wall. Bartie’s talking in a quieter voice now—and everyone is listening to him. He’s evoked a truer silence than I did. When they quit talking for me, that’s all they did, but now they’re not just quiet, they’re listening to him. Listening to his every word. “What have you done since Eldest died? Nothing.”

  “I took you all off Phydus!”

  “Not everyone wanted to be off Phydus! What did you do for them? Let them huddle in their homes, scared. Let them die in the streets. Did you even notice how many of us aren’t here? Have you noticed how many people don’t work? How many have broken down, are scared, are alone? Do you even care?”

  “Of course I care!”

  Bartie takes a step back, looking me up and down, measuring me. “You can’t be Eldest if you’re still Elder,” he says finally in a voice calm and quiet, but still loud enough for everyone to hear. “And,” he adds in a voice so low only I can hear, “you can’t be Eldest if you care for Amy more than Godspeed.”

  I don’t know if it’s because of his sneer or because a part of me is afraid he’s right, but I rear back and slam my fist against his face with all the force I have in me.

  Bartie looks shocked for a second, but then he recovers and throws an uppercut that catches me under my chin. My head jerks back so hard my neck pops, and my teeth snap over my tongue. I taste blood inside my mouth, and droplets of dark red stain the top of the Eldest Robe.

  The entire crowd surges forward, and the silence they held before is broken. A chant erupts near Bartie and me as his closest supporters shout, “Lead yourselves! Lead yourselves!” Shelby’s voice screams out over the chanting, directing orders to the other Shippers. I move to help her, but Bartie nails me in the stomach. I double over as Shelby jumps into the fight to defend me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do much good. As she’s blocking Bartie, one of his lackeys rushes forward and slams me against the wall. My elbow cracks against the metal, and I hiss in pain as I draw my leg up and knee him in the stomach.

  I race to the dais and leap over the small step.

  “Enough!” I roar.

  Apparently it’s not.

  This is what I’m king of: a whirling mass of humans who either hate me or ignore me.

  I jab my finger into my wi-com—wincing, because the sudden movement makes my elbow hurt more. “Direct command: Tonal variation. Level two. Apply to entire ship.”

  Now they look at me, some of them with the same look they reserved for Eldest.

  “End tonal variant.” I disconnect the wi-com link. “I didn’t call you here to lord over you!” I shout. “I called you here—oh, frex, just follow me.”

  I shove my way through the crowd and throw open the hatch in the floor that leads to the Shipper Level. I lead the way down the ladder and head directly to the Engine Room. Shelby calls after me, but I ignore her—she’s going to tell me that this is a forbidden area, that I shouldn’t do this—but they deserve to see. They have to see.

  I open both Bridge doors, and the people pour inside. I hear shouts of wonder and amazement from many just at seeing the engine—only the first-level Shippers have ever come this far. Not everyone will fit on the Bridge, and Shelby and the first-level Shippers man the room, directing people where to stand, cutting off the entrance when the Bridge becomes too crowded. Other Shippers jump in to help, sending the message down the crowd that everyone will get a chance to see.

  I roll my thumb over the biometric scanner and open the covering that hides the windows. The metal panels fall away slowly, revealing first a sprinkling of stars that soon give way to the glow of the planet spilling its light over the edges of the windows, brimming with promise and hope. I forget about the crowd. I see only the swirling white over blue and green. This is the world, the whole world, and it’s ours.

  “We’re going home!” I shout.

  For one second there is ringing silence throughout the Bridge.

  Then the chaos returns—but instead of fighting and shouting, there is cheering and screams of joy. Some of the people surge forward, their arms outstretched. They can’t even reach the window, but they’re straining up, as if they think touching it will make the planet more real. The Shippers rush forward to create a barrier and protect the control panel.

  Shelby organizes the group to move out in rotation, and the Shippers have to use force sometimes to get the crowd to continue on, seizing those who linger too long at the window by their arms and dragging them away. Some of the people don’t react with joy. Victria looks at the planet for only a moment, then bursts into tears and runs from the Bridge. I see another woman slip a pale green patch from her pocket and place it on the inside of her wrist, over her dark blue veins. The intelligence slips from her eyes as the drug takes effect. Others talk, casting suspicious, dark looks at me and the Shippers. They have seen the false stars Eldest gave them; do they really think I could engineer a false planet? Perhaps they simply refuse to believe that a world exists outside the ship.

  Bartie’s one of the last to go.

  “Tomorrow we’ll be there?” he asks, facing the planet.

  “Yes.”

  He shakes his head, and with each slow turn, I can see the incredulity shift to belief. He was raised with the idea that the ship would land when he was an old man, then told he’d never see the planet. If it were not in front of him now, he still wouldn’t believe in it.

  Bartie clenches his fists, then releases them. “When we land . . . who will lead?”

  “I—what?”

  “Are you still going to be the leader, or will it be one of the frozens on the cryo level?” Bartie asks.

  This is a new question. No one else has thought past the actual planet-landing—including me. “I—er—I don’t know. No—I’ll lead. It’ll be me, still.”
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br />   Bartie raises his eyebrow. “But leading the colony will be different from leading the ship,” he says. “Maybe we’ll need a new leader.”

  I stop fully now. “What are you saying?”

  “I want you to think—really think,” Bartie says slowly, not meeting my eye, “if you’re the best leader. If you’re what we all need.”

  “Of course I am!”

  “Why?”

  It should be such a simple question, but I find I don’t have an answer. The best I can come up with is that I was born to this job. But that’s not enough. Amy’s shown me enough history for me to know that princes born to kingdoms aren’t always the best leaders.

  I’d like to say that there’s just me to lead.

  But that’s not true. Bartie’s right in front of me.

  54

  AMY

  I IGNORE THE ALL-CALL ELDER SENT INVITING EVERYONE TO the Keeper Level. He couldn’t have meant that I should go too. My support would hurt him more than help, and I can think of nothing more dangerous than being crammed into a close-fitting room with every other person on the ship. Instead, I’ve spent the last hour with my face pressed against the bubble window in the hatch door, thinking about how, just beyond my vision, there’s a planet waiting for me.

  I don’t move until I hear footsteps and the sound of a door zipping open on the other side of the cryo level.

  My first instinct is to freeze, but then I remind myself of how few people have access to this level, and so I creep forward until I get to the main room. The door to the genetics lab is open.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  I can hear shuffling noises from inside. I step through the door. Victria kneels in front of Orion’s cryo chamber. Her dark hair clings to the skin on the back of her neck, and her hands shake as she tucks a strand behind her ear. The chair that usually stands beside it is knocked over, as if she’s slid from the seat to get closer to him.

  “How do you stand it?” she asks in a hollow voice.

  “Stand what?”

  “Your parents are still frozen, right? How do you stand not waking them up? They’re so close.”

  I don’t say anything. There’s something strange in her voice, scary.

  “I could do it,” she says. “I could do it right now. It can’t be that hard to unfreeze someone. You were unfrozen.”

  I stop.

  “What does it matter, anyway? The ship’s landing soon. I can just unfreeze him.”

  So, Elder’s told them about the planet.

  “I need him!” Victria says, her voice raising an octave. “I need him!”

  “Why?” I ask gently.

  “Because I’m frexing scared, all right? I’m terrified!” Victria screams. Her hands are shaking; she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a square green med patch.

  “Doc said those were dangerous,” I say.

  “Everyone has them; everyone uses them.” Victria’s voice sounds like a chant. “Just not more than one, only one.”

  “How did you get this?” I ask warily. Kit had told me they were stolen.

  Victria shrugs as she tries to rip one open, but the package twists instead of tears, and she throws it down. She sits down fully on the tile floor, and more green patches spill from her pockets, at least a dozen. I raise my eyebrows but don’t comment, although I do want to know why she has so many. Ignoring the patches completely, Victria wraps her arms around her legs and buries her head into her knees.

  “Why are you so scared?” I ask, scooping up the med patches and slipping them into my own pocket, out of Victria’s reach.

  “It was so huge.”

  “What was?”

  “The planet.”

  My heart sinks. Elder showed everyone else the planet? Why didn’t he tell me he was going to? Maybe it would have been worth the risk, if I could have finally seen it for myself. Or . . . he could have shown me before.

  “It was pretty,” Victria says. Her eyes rove over me, lingering on my red hair. “But it was different. Strange.”

  “You’ll like the new planet,” I say.

  “How do you know?”

  “Well—there won’t be walls.”

  “But I like the walls,” Victria whispers.

  And I realize, to her, the metal isn’t a cage, crushing her into a claustrophobic existence. No—to her, the walls are the walls of a comfortable home. It’s the outside—the vast, never-ending outside—that terrifies her.

  “Orion used to say we don’t know what’s down there. It could be anything.”

  “The probes and scans all say the planet is habitable,” I start, but she cuts me off. She drops to her knees and leans forward, her panicked eyes meeting mine.

  “Orion used to show me stuff, forbidden records. There were dinosaurs on Sol-Earth. Monsters that eat you. Animals bigger than people. Sinkholes and volcanoes and tornados and earthquakes.”

  “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my,” I say softly, but Victria doesn’t see it as a joke—she nods in agreement. These are monsters to her too.

  She’s rubbing her stomach so much that she reminds me of the shiny-bellied Buddha at the Chinese restaurant Jason took me to for our first date, back before I even knew what Godspeed was.

  “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” Victria chants. Her hand clutches convulsively against her chest.

  “Let’s get you in the chair,” I say, offering her my hand to help her stand. Victria shakes her head so violently that her entire torso turns. She jerks away from me. Her arms are seizing and shaking, and I can see beads of sweat building on her face, trembling down her neck. She rocks back and forth, clutching her legs closer to her chest, gasping for breath.

  “I’m dying, I’m dying!” Victria chokes out.

  “You’re not,” I insist, forcing my voice to remain calm. “You’re having a panic attack. Victria, you’ve got to calm down. The baby—”

  “Oh, stars, the baby!” Victria wails, rocking faster. “I can’t have a baby! Not here! Not there!” She wheezes, trying to drag air back into her.

  “Victria. Victria! Calm down, please, calm down. Tell me what’s wrong,” I say, desperately. “What’s making you so scared?”

  All I can make out of her response is “dying” and “Orion” and “planet” and “no.”

  I shove my hand into my pocket, withdrawing the same med patch Victria tried to rip open earlier. Beneath the wrapper, I can feel the oddly squishy patch—but it’s so thin that it’s hard to believe this little square can knock someone out. That three will kill. I smack it onto the top of her hand.

  Her rocking stills. Victria’s arms slacken, and her legs sprawl out in front of her.

  “Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

  Victria blinks.

  “Come on,” I say, standing. I offer Victria my hand, and she pulls herself up. She’s upright now, but her shoulders are slouched and her eyes vacant. Her hair, sweaty and bedraggled, clings to her face. I reach over and swipe it off her forehead, tucking the loose strands behind her left ear, next to her wi-com. She doesn’t flinch when I touch her; she doesn’t even seem to notice.

  “Victria?” I say. Then, louder: “Victria?”

  Victria blinks.

  I lead her to the elevator.

  When we get to the Hospital lobby, it’s more crowded than I’ve ever seen it. Two hassled nurses are trying to contain a group of people trying to push their way farther in, and apprentices are dashing about from patient to patient. A man near me grips the armrests of the chair he’s sitting in so hard that he bends the metal.

  “What’s wrong with them all?” I ask Kit as she rushes by. “Was there some sort of accident?”

  She shakes her head.

  Doc sees Victria and me from across the lobby and makes his way over to us, dropping a single green med patch in the hands of every patient who gets to him first, their arms reaching out to him in supplication.

  “What is going on?” I ask him. “Is this from the riot today?�
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  Doc shakes his head. “Elder doesn’t think. He never thinks first. You can’t give them everything at once. People can’t handle this sort of thing.” He diverts his attention to the man gripping the chair beside us. Then he reaches into the pocket of his lab coat and pulls out a pale green packet. He rips the backing off it and slaps it on the man’s arm. The man’s grip slackens, and an empty, expressionless sort of peace washes over him.

  “I’ll take her to her room,” Kit offers, steering Victria by the elbow down the hall.

  I think of returning to my room but instead go the other way, toward the door. I need fresh air, even if the air is just recycled oxygen. Outside, it’s pitch black, but I don’t need lights along the path to the Recorder Hall. Everything’s muddy from the heavy rain, but mud or not, I know this path better than any of the courses I ran back at home. I know the feel of it under my feet—the thicker mulch near the Hospital doorstep, the flowers that brush my legs as the path winds through the garden, the cool scent of water as I turn around the pond, the slight incline as I approach the Recorder Hall.

  I begin to see why those people in the Hospital are freaking out, and I’m overwhelmed with a sense of wonder that there’s anything more than this. Even I, who once breathed air on top of the Rocky Mountains, who once swam in the Atlantic Ocean, have come to feel like there’s nothing beyond these walls.

  I forgot about Earth.

  55

  ELDER

  I DIDN’T MEAN TO FALL ASLEEP—I MEANT TO JUST TAKE A quick nap, then get Amy and give her a private viewing of the planet on the Bridge. Instead, I awake the next morning with a smile on my lips but a foul taste in my mouth.

  This is it.

  This is finally it.

  I dress quickly, but before I rush out of my room, I look behind me.

  I’ve lived in this room over three years, ever since Eldest took me from the Feeder Level and began training me to be his successor. I have hated this room, when Eldest would lock me inside after I did something stupid, or later, after his death, when it reminded me of how alone I was. But I have loved this room, too. I smile, remembering the way Amy bounced on my bed when she woke me up here. I can’t wait to hand her the one thing she’s always wanted, the one thing I thought I’d deprived her of forever.