by Beth Revis
To freedom.
I find a second set of stairs soon after, a narrow hole leading down in this space between the heart of Godspeed and the universe. These stairs are narrower and steeper, and they go down into what must be the cryo level. I long to explore — the only place I can imagine the stairs open up on the cryo level is in the last locked room. But I can’t do this without Elder. It’s not right to explore the ship without him.
I meander back around to the door leading to the Feeder Level. Orion said he lived here, in hiding from Eldest. I can’t imagine what it would take for someone to willingly cage himself into a narrow dark hall without even the fake sun of the solar lamp to warm him. How many days passed before he couldn’t bear the darkness anymore and crept back into the Feeder Level under the guise of being a Recorder? Did he spend his time leaned up against the outside wall of the ship or against the inside wall that surrounded the Feeder Level?
Whatever he did, this was the perfect hiding place. No one else knows the stairs even exist.
Once, I stayed at a fancy hotel in Atlanta when my mom was giving a lecture at a genetics conference. I spent most of my time in the hotel’s pool. On the last day, I attempted to go back to my room and pack, but the elevator was broken. It took me half an hour to find the stairs, and when I did, they were hidden behind a door marked with a four-inch square metal placard. I’d gone an entire week not knowing where the stairs were, not even thinking about them, even though I knew, logically, that the hotel had to have stairs, somewhere.
The people of Godspeed have gone years without knowing about the stairs. And I can’t help but think: if they’ve forgotten stairs, what else have they forgotten?
45 ELDER
I SLIDE MY THUMB OVER THE BIOMETRIC SCANNER AGAIN, and the metal panels over the ceiling start to close. Shelby’s eyes stare as hard as they can until the metal clicks back into place.
“We’re there,” she says, her voice alight with music and tears. “We’re here.”
“We’re here.”
For a moment, we share a smile. Then her gaze slides down to Marae’s murdered body. I’m filled with regret that even though her eyes stare unblinkingly up, she’ll never see the planet.
“I will take Marae’s body to the stars myself,” I say. “But I need you to get the remaining first-level Shippers here, on the Bridge, and start whatever process we need to begin planet-landing.”
She nods. “All the first-level Shippers are trained for this. There are simulators, and the information has been passed down since…”
“Since the ship left Sol-Earth.”
“We were always ready for planet-landing, even when it was centuries beyond us.”
“How much time will you need?”
Shelby stares at the control panel, thinking. “The First Shipper runs scans… ”
Her eyes shoot to mine. She’d forgotten. She’s First Shipper now.
“I’ll run scans. The first level is to ensure that the planet is habitable.”
“I thought we always knew the planet was habitable.”
Shelby nods. “Before the mission, the probes from Sol-Earth indicated the planet’s environment was stable and could support life, but the first stage of planet-landing is to ensure that’s actually the case. I’m, well, to be honest, I’m a little worried. If the ship’s engine has been diverted for this long because we’ve been in orbit… why haven’t we landed already?”
My wonder at seeing the planet has slowly been replaced by this very question. It’s possible we’ve been in orbit since the Plague — perhaps the rebellion that sparked the Eldest system came about as long ago as that. Why didn’t the ship land before?
“Before we even think about landing, I want to make sure it’s possible,” I tell Shelby.
“I’ll do the scans myself. They should take several hours. I’ll know more then.”
“First,” I say, “we have to say goodbye.”
Shelby’s eyes drop to Marae’s body, still staring at the ceiling. She nods silently.
Shelby brings me a transport — a folded-up black box lined with electromagnets that work with the controls under the metal of the ship’s floors to easily carry heavy objects. She snaps the box open. It automatically spreads out, locking into shape, a large, deep rectangle with a circuit board on the side to communicate with the grav tube. This transport has been used for some piece of machinery — it’s dirty, scratched, and smeared with mechanical grease. I try to run my sleeve over it, but all I do is spread the dirt around. I don’t want to treat Marae’s body like a piece of broken machinery to be thrown away, but I can’t bear the idea of prolonging her funeral among the stars. I rush back into the engine room and grab some machinery towels to lay out on the transport.
And then it’s time to move Marae.
I lift her body by the shoulders; Shelby picks up her feet. We have to bend Marae’s knees and curve her back so that she fits completely in the box. We end up curling her into the fetal position.
Shelby’s slight body seems massive beside the shell of Marae’s. I didn’t know life took up so much space. Shelby bends down over Marae’s body, and it reminds me of the pictures of scavenger beasts from Sol-Earth, the ones that feed on the rotting flesh of carcasses.
“I don’t know how to do this without you,” Shelby whispers to Marae. “But I’ll try.”
And she doesn’t look like a scavenger anymore; she looks like an orphan.
She bends swiftly, and I don’t know if she’s kissing Marae’s flaxen cheek or whispering in her ear, but either way, it’s not like Marae can feel it.
The Shippers gather around as we pull the transport out. For most of them, this is the first death they’ve seen. When Eldest was in charge, death was a methodical, scheduled product of the Hospital.
They stare at Marae’s body as I pass; I stare at the floor. The hard lines of the metal blur. I rub my face angrily with my hands.
I force my shoulders down, my back straight.
I look directly ahead of me and only allow my clenching jaw to show how much this hurts.
46 AMY
WITHOUT ELDER, THERE’S LITTLE POINT IN ME EXPLORING the stairs further. Instead, I go to the garden behind the Hospital. Bartie and his crowd have left, including Luthor. The smashed grass around the bench is the only remnant of the impromptu meeting. I peel the moccasins off my feet and pad through the cool grass to the water’s edge. I think about com-ing Elder, but I’m afraid of bothering him when he’s doing something important. I sit on the bank, my knees drawn up under my chin, and stare at the pond’s perfectly still surface. I try to see through its depths — the water’s clear, and not very deep, but my eyes bore past the dangling roots of lotus flowers to the green-brown murkiness that shadows my view.
I lean back, and grass tickles my neck. My feet slip down the bank until my toes touch the cool water. I slide my feet into the pond and close my eyes. The solar lamp above me beats down warmth and light, but behind my eyelids, it looks like the same bright reddish blur that the Sun looked like on Earth when I’d lie down outside.
A shadow crosses over me, and the brightness dims — like the sun covered by clouds. I open my eyes, and Elder’s face is rimmed with light as he leans down over me.
“Hey,” I say, suddenly breathless. All my thoughts of dragging him off to the stairs and exploring the ship disappear as he collapses beside me, exhaustion etched on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
Elder makes a noncommittal noise.
I want to reach out to him, let him know that I’m sorry for his loss, but I know no words will ever be enough.
Elder leans back in the grass, staring at the metal ceiling of the Feeder Level. If we were outside on Earth, this would be nice. Lying in cool grass next to a pond, staring up at clouds the way little kids do. But this isn’t Earth and the clouds are paint and even if there is a planet past this ship, it still seems a very long way away.
“Marae was murdered. Like Stevy. T
he same phrase on the med patches.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, the two most inadequate words in the English language.
“I want to know who’s doing this.”
“Maybe the same person who tried to hide Orion’s last clue,” I say. Before Elder has a chance to speak, I add, “And maybe the same person who sabotaged your space suit.”
“Sabotaged the suit?” Elder asks.
I twist my head to stare at Elder through the bright green grass. “Whoever tampered with the clues and tried to throw us off the trail could have easily punctured the PLSS tubing or something. If you died, you couldn’t tell anyone what you saw. And look how close it came to working.”
Elder starts to respond, but as soon as he opens his mouth, he turns to answer a com. “Doc says Bartie’s causing trouble at the Food Distro. Again,” he says, sighing, leaning up.
I touch my hand to his face, just over the purple-green bruise on his jaw. He leans into my hand — not a lot, just enough so that I’m suddenly aware of the pressure of his skin against mine.
“Elder,” I say, “you can’t keep on doing everything yourself.”
“Who else is going to stop Bartie? Who else is going to get the Food Distro back on track? Who else is going to help the Shippers get ready for planet-landing — after the scans show whether or not we even can planet-land?”
There’s a note of panic in his voice, and pain. I want to tell him everything will be okay, but I don’t want to lie. I lean forward a fraction of an inch, and he leans forward, and I catch his eyes just as he starts to close in.
I think, He’s going to kiss me.
I think, Good.
His lips bruise mine in their need, and when my mouth parts in a tiny o of surprise, his kiss deepens. His arms are strong; he’s lifting the whole of my upper body up and against him. His body speaks for him; he needs me.
My arms slide from the ground up his arms, my fingers trailing through the tiny hairs along his forearms. His muscles tighten under my graze; his biceps are like rocks, pulling me even closer against him. My hands dance across his shoulders and meet at the base of his neck, and I swirl my fingers in his hair.
There’s something deeply satisfying in touching him — it reminds me that he’s real, despite how close I came to losing him earlier today.
My hands tighten, and I use my grip to lift my body up against his. One of his arms slides down my back, pulling my hips closer to him.
Elder breaks the kiss, and he peers into my eyes. I can only imagine what we look like — rolling around in the grass by the pond. Just like the Season. But I don’t care. This isn’t like that. The Season was just mindless, emotionless, loveless movements. But this is—
Elder reaches up and brushes a stray strand of hair from my face. I close my eyes and relish the touch. His fingers clench against my scalp — I feel the pressure of his hand, pulling me into another kiss.
And I go to him.
Sweeter, this time. Slower. Softer. I feel his lips this time, not the hunger.
I become aware of his body next to mine. I let my hand rest just above his heart, pounding away in his chest, so violent I can feel it mirroring my own heartbeat.
Then my hand slips lower, down his side. The bottom of his tunic has pulled up, and my fingers slide over the bare skin just above his hip.
Elder moans, a low guttural sound from deep inside him. His hands slide down my mussed hair to my shoulders, and he gently pushes me away. Our feet still touch under the pond’s surface, though.
“Augh!” he says suddenly, smashing his hand into the side of his neck. “I don’t have time for this!”
I scoot away from him, stung, then notice the way his head tilts. Someone is trying to com him.
“I’m sorry,” Elder says immediately, leaning back up and staring into my eyes. “Stars, Amy, I’m sorry,” he adds. “It’s just — with Marae’s death, and the planet, and—frex!”
My eyes widen, but Elder just punches the wi-com in the side of his neck. “What?” he barks into it.
I sit up slowly, no longer comfortable lying in the grass. As Elder listens to his com, I stare at the still surface of the pond.
I have no idea what I want. I told Victria that love is a choice, and I told myself that I didn’t have to choose Elder, but I can’t forget the way my heart stopped when his did.
47 ELDER
SHE LOOKS SO SAD AND ALONE, SO ABANDONED — AND I’M the one who abandoned her, even though I’m still sitting by the edge of the pond beside her. I shouldn’t have kissed her. It’s like tasting dessert before supper is served; it’s only made me want more. But I couldn’t help it. I don’t know what it is about Amy. I couldn’t help it.
But I should have. With everything that’s happening now, the last thing I should be trying to do is kiss Amy. I need to focus on the planet — and she needs to figure out what she wants. I can see the questions in her eyes, the way she won’t quite name what’s between us.
Now she sits quietly, not meeting my eyes, her cheeks almost as pink as her lips.
Her lips.
No.
I look away from her. And her lips.
“What happened?” she asks quietly.
A beastly roar rises up in me, and I force myself to swallow it down. What happened? I can’t control myself around her, that’s what happened. I want her so much that it overrides everything else, every other thought in my head, every instinct, every restraint. My want is consuming — and I’m afraid it won’t just consume me, but her too.
“With the Shippers, I mean,” she adds when I don’t answer her. “When you told them about the planet.”
I frown. It’s obvious Amy would rather ignore everything that just happened — or I’ve scared her off between my frustration and impatience. Frex. I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at the strands, hard, trying to pull some coherent thoughts up through the roots.
“They’re running scans,” I say. “If everything indicates that Centauri-Earth is habitable, then we might begin planet-landing in a matter of days.”
Amy narrows her eyes. “Might?” she asks.
If she could, she’d land this ship right now. “Amy,” I say, warning already creeping into my voice, “we can’t just land the ship on Centauri-Earth. We have to make sure it’s safe.”
“Who cares if it’s safe?” she says, throwing up her hands.
“I care. And I care about everyone else on this ship.”
“It’s just going to take a couple of days, right?” she asks.
Maybe. If we’re lucky. “Of course,” I say.
“Okay, then,” Amy breathes. “I’ve been worried about… The sooner we land, the better.”
“It’s not all bad here,” I think, put off by the disgust in her voice.
Amy looks at me incredulously. “People are angry. Marae was murdered.”
“Without Phydus,” I say, “the people — they’re thinking… they’re doing…”
“Shut up.” There’s cold anger in Amy’s voice. “Some people are good. Some people are bad. Phydus doesn’t fix anything. It just hides the good and bad under a haze of nothing.”
“But—” I start, but I keep it to myself. But maybe it really is worth hiding the good if it distorts the bad, too.
Marae would have thought so.
“The water’s very still,” Amy says.
I don’t try to contain the disbelief on my face. Frex, really? We’ve gotten to the point where I can kiss her breathless, then we can talk about murder, and all she can comment on is the frexing pond?
“Aren’t there any fish?” she asks.
Fish. Frexing fish. We’re not painting charts on walls or setting up guards or trying to track down a murderer. I guess when it’s my people being killed, not hers, she doesn’t care so much.
“No fish,” I growl, standing up. “Not anymore.”
Amy looks up at me, questions in her eyes. “You’re really upset.”
“Frex, Amy, of c
ourse I am!” I shout. She flinches from my voice. “I’m sorry.” I run my fingers through my hair. “Sorry. It’s just — yes. I’m upset.”
She reaches for my hand and opens her mouth to speak, but before I can find out whatever it was she wanted to say, a voice interrupts us.
48 AMY
“OH, I’M SORRY,” LUTHOR SAYS. “I DIDN’T MEAN TO INTERRUPT.” While his face is impassive, his eyes linger on the inch of exposed skin above my waistband. I tug my tunic down with such violence I’m afraid my fingers will poke through the handwoven material.
“What do you need, Luthor?” Elder asks. I’m not sure if the impatience in his voice is because Luthor interrupted us or because Elder knows how close Luthor is to Bartie’s plans for a revolution. Elder twists around to look up at the man. “Stars, Luthor, what happened to you?!”
Now it’s my turn to smirk at his black eye and busted lip.
“Nothing of importance,” Luthor tells Elder. “Nothing I can’t… handle… myself.”
I don’t let my face betray my fear.
Luthor sneers down at me, but when Elder glares at him, he shrugs, chuckling softly to himself as he meanders down the path away from us.
“That man is a frexing nuisance,” Elder says. “The only reason he’s been helping Bartie is because he likes trouble for trouble’s sake.”
“Yeah,” I say in a hollow voice. Before Luthor interrupted, I was going to tell Elder about the stairs and everything else I’d found out this morning. But Luthor’s very good at silencing my words.
Elder turns his full attention to me. “What’s wrong?” When I don’t answer, he adds, “Amy, do you know something? About Luthor? Did Luthor do something?”
A hand wrapped around my wrist, pushing me down into the ground, cutting off the circulation in my hand, fingers digging into that little space over the blue veins under my palm. But when I look down, it’s my hand wrapped around my wrist, not Luthor’s.
