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.