by Beth Revis
“Is it bad?” Elder asks as he and Bartie break away.
Kit rips open a pale purple patch.
“No,” I say immediately.
“It’s for pain.”
“No patches.”
She shrugs and starts to wrap my arm. The bleeding hasn’t quite stopped, but it’s slower — I probably won’t even need stitches. It’s Victria who got the full force of the bullet.
“Come on,” Elder says to Bartie.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“We’re sending Victria to the stars,” Bartie says.
“Let me help.” Kit tugs the bandage around my arm, tight, and I hiss in pain.
Bartie holds Victria by the shoulders, and Elder stoops to pick up her feet. “We can do this alone, Amy.” Elder’s voice is kind, and his eyes beg me to understand. Bartie and Elder need to say goodbye together. They need to remember Victria the way she was before Orion was frozen, and she drowned in her love for him. Before I was unfrozen.
The two men silently carry their friend’s body out the door, toward the hatch, leaving only a bloodstain behind.
69 ELDER
BARTIE SLAMS THE HATCH DOOR SHUT, AND I PUNCH IN THE code. We both stand at the window and watch as we send our last childhood friend to the stars.
Through the bubble glass window, we see Victria’s body fly up. The pull of the vacuum makes her rise and float backward, her face obscured by her black hair, her arms and legs reaching to me even as they are pulled farther and farther away.
And then she’s gone.
Kit approaches us as the hatch door closes. Doc — with the green patch still on his arm — limps beside her. Kit tries to use her weight to support Doc, but he’s much bigger than she is.
“Let me help,” Bartie says, taking Kit’s place under Doc’s arm. His voice is gravelly with unshed tears. When I meet his eyes, I know — what’s happened in the last three months cannot overshadow what’s happened in the last thirty minutes. We’re friends again.
“Make sure that patch stays on,” I say, and Bartie nods.
Kit and Bartie take Doc toward the hatch. I think about giving them a hand — it’s going to be hard getting him up the ladder — but I don’t want to help Doc. I don’t ever want to see Doc again.
I go back to the gen lab. Amy, her arm swaddled in bandages, stands in front of Orion’s frozen face.
The memories of what happened while I was patched are hard to sort out in my mind. It’s the difference between swimming in water and swimming in syrup. But I do know one thing: Doc killed Marae and the others because I’m not as good a leader as Orion would have been.
Amy said Orion had a plan for everything, and I’m starting to think I should have one too. Because I don’t know what I’m going to do now.
“You kept those wires,” she says as I step beside her. “The wires to the Phydus machine. You had them the whole time. You went straight to the machine—”
“Doc had patched me,” I say. “I don’t think I could have helped but go to the machine.”
“But you had those wires with you the whole time.”
I did. “But,” I say, “I think I deserve some credit for never using them, even if I did have them.”
“Yeah,” Amy says, offering me a hint of a smile. “You do.”
We stare at Orion’s cryo chamber.
“What do these numbers mean?” Amy asks, pointing to the LCD screen on the front of the box.
I watch the numbers tick down. “It’s a countdown clock.”
“I was afraid of that.”
I bend down, examining the electronics. Apparently, Doc already started the regeneration process. Orion should be unfrozen within twenty-three hours and forty-two minutes. I try to stop the clock, but even though I turn the dial, the screen continues to tick away time.
“Just turn it off,” Amy says, bending down to look at the electronics.
“We can’t just unplug it,” I say. I’ve definitely learned my lesson about that one.
“Well, make it stop.”
“I can’t,” I say, fiddling with the dials some more. I notice the screen and keypad. “Doc’s locked up the system.”
“Reset it.”
I hesitate. “That could be dangerous. If regeneration has already started, it could damage his body if we just stop it.”
“It’s only been going on for twenty minutes,” Amy says. “It can’t do that much harm.”
But I’m remembering how I froze Orion without preparing his body. He’s already damaged from that. Messing with the cryo tube now might kill him.
“I don’t care if it’s dangerous. He needs to stay frozen.”
“Amy, it’s not that simple. I can’t. The cryo chamber is only programmed to go one way.”
“I don’t want him to wake up,” Amy says in a very quiet voice.
I look at Amy and bite my lip. Because I do.
I don’t know if it’s because of our shared DNA or because I understand the choices he’s made. Maybe it’s because of the guns in the armory or the ship records in the bridge. Maybe it’s because I’m starting to think Doc was right, and Orion would be a better leader than me. But Orion doesn’t seem as loons as before.
Amy puts her hand on my elbow, drawing my gaze away from the countdown clock and back to her. “I couldn’t kill him.”
I stare, unsure of how to respond.
“Doc. He had a gun on me. On you. I didn’t know which of us he’d shoot.”
I touch the bandage on Amy’s arm — not firmly enough to put any pressure on her wound.
“It’s just a graze. But when the gun was pointed at us, I thought, ‘I have to kill him, or he’ll kill one of us.’ But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
“Why are you—”
“Elder,” Amy says, “I believe in the bottom of my heart that Orion doesn’t deserve to live. There are some people,” she adds, emphasizing the word, “that don’t deserve a second chance. I haven’t forgotten what it was like to drown in my cryo box. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t remember.”
I did that to her. Not Orion. Me.
“Two people are dead, and they died like I almost did. And he did that to them.”
“Amy, I can’t stop the regeneration process.”
“He doesn’t deserve to live.”
“Would you kill him?”
Amy’s eyes dance back and forth between mine. She couldn’t kill Doc. But her hatred for Orion goes deeper.
“You’re right. Some people don’t deserve a second chance. But Orion—” I pause, unsure of how to explain. “Orion was wrong, yes. But it’s not like he went on a murdering spree or something. He had a reason. He acted out of fear.”
Amy bites her bottom lip, thinking. I know she’s comparing Orion, who thought he was doing the right thing, to Luthor, who knew he was doing wrong.
I want to wrap my arms around her and erase the worry etched on her face, but I know it’s not as simple as that. “Maybe,” I say, turning back to the cryo chamber. “I can’t stop the regeneration… But I can delay it.”
Amy steps aside and lets me focus on the controls on the chamber. I feel two sets of eyes on me: Amy’s, begging me to keep Orion frozen, and Orion’s, pleading to come back to life.
“I can do it,” I say finally. “I can slow it down.”
“Do it,” Amy says.
I punch the numbers in, adjust the dial, and the countdown clock goes from one day to three.
“Can we keep doing this?” Amy asks. “Every time the countdown clock gets low, can we just add more time?”
I nod slowly.
“That’s what we’ll do, then,” she says, her jaw set. “We’ll just keep backing it up. He doesn’t ever have to wake up.”
Amy stares into Orion’s bulging eyes with a sort of fierce intensity. But I stare at Amy, unable to recognize this girl with such hatred in her heart.
70 AMY
WHEN ELDER AND I EMERGE FROM THE HATCH, THERE’S already a crowd.
“Is it true?” someone calls out.
“Is what true?” Elder asks.
“Is there still a way off this ship?”
Bartie offers me a hand, pulling me up from the last rungs of the ladder in the hatch. “I had to tell them,” he said. “It’s not like they couldn’t see the giant hatch in the middle of the pond.”
“It’s true!” Elder calls.
“Do we all have to go?” someone else shouts. I whirl around to see who asked this, but I can’t tell. The crowd here seems divided. Those closest to the mud hole that used to be the pond are jubilant. They hug each other, happy tears staining their faces as they celebrate Elder’s words.
But other people linger near the back. They look suspicious and worried, scowling and talking to each other behind their hands. Even from here, I see a few with pale green patches. Some hold the patches in their hands, squeezing the wrapper but not ripping it open. Others already have patches on their arms, already have glazed looks in their eyes.
“We’re going to have another meeting,” Elder shouts. “I’m calling everyone together now.” He pushes his wi-com and does an all-call, telling all 2,296 passengers to come to the garden immediately.
No. Not 2,296. Not anymore. I count the number down in my head. Victria. Luthor. All the top-ranking Shippers. The people who died in the riot. The ones Doc slathered in patches. The population of Godspeed, which always seemed so inimitable to me before, now seems very fragile.
Bartie approaches Elder hesitantly. “Can I… would you mind if I said something too?”
Elder shoots him a wry grin. “Going to try to start another riot?”
“No,” Bartie says. He’s completely serious.
Elder looks up at me, and I take the hint, letting them have their privacy. The two men move away from me, talking in low quiet tones. I can see the strain in Elder’s face as he listens to whatever Bartie is saying, and when they quit talking, they shake hands with a sort of finality that leaves me nervous.
It seems to take forever before everyone gathers at the pond. The people come slowly — I can see them crossing the fields toward us. I touch my hair — I’m not wearing my head wrap or even my jacket, but I don’t care. I’m not afraid of them anymore. Today I shot a man and watched a woman die. Beneath my feet is a shuttle that will take me far away from here. Their opinion of me means nothing.
I stand on the edge of the pond, on the side nearest the wall. As everyone crowds around the edges of the silty muddy remains of the pond, some of them draw closer to me. Many still keep their distance or sneer, but most ignore me. One girl accidentally brushes my arm.
“Sorry,” she says.
I can’t help but stare in wonder. She didn’t flinch away or look disgusted; she didn’t snatch her arm back as if it were now contaminated.
Elder walks straight into the muddy remains of the pond and stands near the hatch. Victria said before that we can’t choose who we love. I still don’t know if that’s true, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Because, choice or no, my heart is his.
Everyone looks down at him — we all stand on the edge of the pond, towering above him. He’s up to his ankles in muck, and he shifts uneasily as if he’s nervous. Even from here I can see the pale purple-green of bruises on his face, but he’s never looked stronger or more noble.
Elder taps into the wi-com system so that everyone can hear him clearly. He mumbles at first, something I can’t discern, then speaks clearly and loudly.
“In the centuries of travel on Godspeed, much has been gained. But much has also been lost and forgotten. Including this.” Elder sweeps his hand toward the open hatch.
“We thought that beneath our feet was another level of the ship. We were wrong. It’s not a level. It’s an escape shuttle. At the end of this hatch there is another bridge. The entire level can break away from Godspeed, and it will take us to our new home on Centauri-Earth.”
I glance around me — every eye is on Elder.
He clears his throat and explains more about how the shuttle works. Although he hesitates, he also tells them about the possibility of danger, Orion’s warnings.
“It’s not ideal,” he says, and this makes my head snap up. “When we launch the shuttle, we’ll be leaving behind Godspeed. I know this ship has been your home. It’s been mine too. But Godspeed isn’t stable. It was never meant to be a permanent solution. The cryo level is large, and we’ll pack it as tightly as we can. Focus on bringing essentials with you. Some things will have to be left behind.”
Elder motions for Bartie to come closer. Elder steps away from the center of the pond, and everyone’s attention shifts to Bartie.
“I wanted to say something too,” Bartie says through the wi-com system. “What Elder has told you is true. I was in the shuttle today; I saw it myself. And what he says about leaving things behind is true too. And…” He swallows deeply. “And I am one of the things that will be left behind. Godspeed is my home. I don’t want another. I’m staying here. And if you would like to stay here with me, you’re welcome to.”
My mouth drops open. I turn around, expecting the crowd to be shocked or skeptical, to think Bartie’s lost it… but a lot of them… don’t. They seem to agree.
They want the walls.
“Can we?” someone shouts.
“Is it safe?”
“It’s suicide,” I say under my breath, but I don’t feel so safe that I can shout back.
Elder crosses the pond and motions for someone to talk to him. The young woman nods and speaks to him, shooting glances at Bartie and the crowd behind her.
Finally Elder speaks again. “The scientists agree that the internal functions of the ship could last for at least a generation, maybe indefinitely if the biosphere is maintained and energy conserved.”
Conversation surges again through the crowd. Elder raises his arm — and they’re all silenced immediately.
“This is an important decision. Whatever you decide now — there will be no going back. Stay or leave — your decision will be permanent.”
He takes a deep breath.
“But your decision will be yours.”
71 ELDER
AMY CORNERS ME IN THE KEEPER LEVEL AT THE END OF THE DAY.
“You can’t be serious,” she demands.
“I can’t force people to go.” I roll my shoulders back, trying to ease some of the tension within them.
“It’s suicide! Godspeed can’t last forever — in a few generations, everyone will die out!”
“I’ve talked to Bartie about this,” I say, collapsing in one of the blue plastic chairs I’ve pulled into the Great Room from the Learning Center. “When the ship’s no longer sustainable, they’ll…”
“They’ll what?” Amy demands. “Make a suicide pact? Drink the bad Kool-Aid?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Doc has an array of med patches. The black ones…”
“Kill?” She sounds disgusted.
“As humanely as possible.”
Amy throws her hands down and starts pacing around the Great Room. “This is ridiculous,” she says. “You can’t let them stay here! You have to force them to come! They’re killing themselves—”
I cut her off. “I’ve talked to the scientists. The ship isn’t going to disintegrate overnight. There will be enough energy to last for a couple more generations at least.”
“And then?” Amy demands.
And then black patches.
“It’s what they want,” I say.
“You’re the leader! Make them come!”
I wait until she stops pacing and faces me. “Amy, I have to consider more than just your opinion.”
She bites down as if she’s chewing on her words, then sits down opposite me.
“How many are staying?”
“About eight hundred.”
“Eight hundred?!” Amy jumps up again.
“About.”
“That’s…”
“More than a third of
the ship,” I say.
“They’d rather die in a cage than live on a planet?”
“This is their home, Amy,” I say. “I know you can’t understand how Godspeed is a home, but it is.”
She sits back down, slowly. “You should make them go,” she snaps. “But,” she adds when I open my mouth, “I can see how they might want to stay. If they’ve never seen anything else…”
“Amy,” I say, “we have to let them decide for themselves.” I touch her knee, bringing her gaze back to me. “We’re going.”
A tentative smile spreads across her face. She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “Oh, Elder,” she says, and it comes out in a rush, like a breath of relief, “you’re going to love it. Being on a world without walls. There’s so much… so much that you’re going to see. Trees — great big, towering trees. That pond — it’s tiny — there’ll be an ocean on the planet. Clouds. The sky — the sky. You’ll see birds. Birds!”
I laugh. “I’ve seen birds! We have chickens.”
“No!” Amy’s voice rings with music. “Those chickens aren’t even proper chickens. I’m talking about real birds! Birds that tweet so loud you wake up in the morning before your alarm clock. Birds that soar and swoop and fly!”
With that, she jumps up, twirling with her arms raised. She ends her spin facing me, her eyes alight. “You have no idea how wonderful it’s going to be!”
She sees birds and freedom and oceans.
I see the armory, with piles of explosives. I hear Orion saying, If Godspeed can still be your home, if it’s possible to stay on board — do so.
“Yeah,” I tell her, smiling as best I can. “It’ll be brilly.”
Amy collapses in her chair. She’s giving me this look that says, You have no idea, and all I can think is that neither does she. Centauri-Earth isn’t the Earth she came from. She doesn’t know what’s down there, no one does, the only one who had a clue about it was Orion, and it scared the shite out of him.
“What if he’s right?” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but she knows immediately who I’m talking about.
“It’ll be worth it,” Amy says immediately, not even pausing to question herself.
