by Beth Revis
Page 17
“It’s beautiful,” Amy breathes. I suppose she’s right, but when I see it, I only remember the way it really happened, not the way Harley painted it.
The painting is vividly bright, even though in my memory everything was dark: the water, the mud, her eyes. Five figures stand at the top of the painting, looking down into the pond—me, Harley, Victria, Bartie, and, behind us, Orion. Harley had used some sort of reflective paint on the surface of the pond—but just beneath the mirror-like surface of the water, a girl swims, floating on her back, her laughing eyes peering up toward the surface. Koi swirl around her fingers, and a lotus plant’s roots tangle in her loose, thick black hair.
“He really liked koi,” Amy says.
“They were Kayleigh’s favorite. ”
I can taste the murky pond water. I can feel the clamminess of Kayleigh’s skin. I can see the bloated way her face squished under Harley’s touch.
“Let’s look for the clue,” Amy says gently, pulling me away from the edge of the pond. “It’s probably on the back, like the other one. ”
I lift the canvas up to the light, then flip it over.
“Look,” Amy says.
A rectangle is sketched in light ink on the back and, in the center of it, another tiny mem card. I pry it off with my fingernail. Another message is written on the back of the painting in the same faint handwriting as the first clue:
1, 2, 3, 4. Add it up to unlock the door.
“Does he mean the door on the fourth floor of the Hospital? The one that leads to the elevator that goes down to the cryo level?” I ask.
“I don’t think so. He told you about that door; he knows I’ve seen what’s behind it. If he left these clues for me to find, then he must mean one of the other locked doors. ”
“There aren’t any—” I start, but I stop abruptly. There are few locked doors on the ship—and fewer doors still that my biometric scan can’t break through. But there is one area that is full of locked doors, doors locked with a keypad whose code even Eldest didn’t know.
“The doors on the cryo level,” I say. “The ones near the hatch. ”
Amy nods. “It has to be. ”
“Still got that vid screen with you?” I ask. Amy pulls it out of her pocket, and I snap the mem card into it. Amy runs her finger on the ID box on the screen. The screen comes alive with Orion’s face. After hesitating a moment, Amy leans in closer to me, close enough to see the screen, but not so close that she touches me.
Orion is barely visible, hidden in shadow. He sits on the fourth step of a large staircase extending out of view behind him. His right hand taps against his knee in a jittery, almost nervous way.
“Where is that?” Amy asks.
I shake my head, intent on the video.
The camera wobbles as Orion adjusts the image. He speaks softly, almost kindly.
ORION: First, I want to say I’m sorry about Kayleigh. I never meant for her to die.
“He killed her?” Amy gasps.
I say nothing, but a heavy stone sinks in my stomach.
ORION: I didn’t kill her. But I might as well have. She figured it out. Eldest’s biggest secret. The one he doesn’t want anyone to know.
“What could that be—”
“Shh. ”
Orion pauses, swallowing hard as if overcome with emotion.
ORION: Amy, you should know this—if you decide to keep looking—Kayleigh’s murder was a warning. Eldest may have killed Kayleigh, but there are things I can do. Locks I can change. Fool that he is—he hasn’t thought to check them.
Orion stops abruptly. His eyes lose focus.
ORION: I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore. Not since Kayleigh died. I don’t know if what she knew was something the whole ship should know. I don’t know if she should have found the truth.
Orion shifts on the steps.
ORION: I don’t know if killing her was worth saving the ship.
He shrugs, as if there’s a possibility that killing her was excusable, or even understandable.
ORION: Maybe it was. Maybe Eldest is right. This truth . . . I don’t think anyone wants it.
Orion tucks a piece of hair behind his ear.
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.
ORION: That’s why I need you, Amy. You will know. Because you were born on a planet, but you’ve lived on Godspeed. You’re the only one on the whole ship who can know what to do with this truth.
Orion turns to face the camera, and his eyes seem to lock with mine.
ORION: I’ve seen the armory. Eldest showed it to me once. Just before . . . Anyway, I started asking questions. Like: If we are on a peaceful, exploratory mission like Eldest says, why are we armed for war?
I glance at Amy, but her attention is focused on the vid screen. Inside me, the stone grows larger. Amy never believed Orion had a reason to kill the frozens—she thought he was crazy and that his theory that the frozens would exploit those of us born on the ship was a delusion. I don’t think she believes there even is an armory behind one of the locked doors, even now, seeing Orion talk about it.
Orion looks over both shoulders, fear filling his face. He looks guilty or afraid or both.
ORION: So here’s what you need to do, Amy. You need to see the armory for yourself. You were from Sol-Earth, your father was in the military. You should know what is a reasonable amount of weaponry a ship like ours should have. So, go to the armory. See for yourself.
Orion shifts out of focus, then leans forward, his face filling the screen.
ORION: Oh, right. You need the code to get past the locked door, don’t you? Well, I’ll say only this, Amy. Go home. You hear me? Go home. You’ll find the answer there. GO HOME.
The screen fades to black.
24
AMY
GO HOME? GO HOME? WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED to mean? Earth? Yeah, I wish. The new planet? Just as impossible.
“Maybe he means the next clue is hidden inside an atlas or something?” Elder says.
Ha ha, Orion, funny joke. My home is nothing but a book of maps to places that I can’t even reach anymore.
“Maybe,” is all I say aloud. “I guess it’s worth checking into. ”
Elder places the painting down on the ground gently, reverently, and looks over his shoulder at it as he follows me out of the tiny bedroom, through the bathroom, and into the next bedroom. Lil’s still on her bed. She sits up when she sees us.
“You’re taking it, aren’t you?” she spits.
“No,” Elder says. “It’s yours. ”
Lil blinks, and her eyes focus on him. She glances at me, but her eyes dart quickly away again, unable to bear the sight of me, I suppose.
“And I’ll make sure food is sent to you,” Elder says. “I’m going to send Doc over here too. He’s been working on some med patches I think will help. ”
Lil nods, but she doesn’t get up as we leave her home. Part of me wonders: will she jump out of bed, race to her precious painting? Or does she care enough to even do that?
As we head down the stairs back into the City streets, Elder pushes his wi-com and starts issuing orders, first for food delivery, then for medication. He’s so intent that he doesn’t notice the angry man who spots us as we descend.
“Where is she?” the man demands. The man leans forward so close that Elder backs away until he bumps into the handrail of the stairs.
“Who?” Elder asks.
“Lil. You gonna make her work? ’Cause it ain’t fair I’m working if she’s not!”
“Stevy, she’s sick. She needs some time. I’ve commed Doc—”
“She ain’t sick! Just lazy!” the man roars.
Elder puts up both his hands. “Stevy, I’m doing what I can. She can go back to work when she’s read—”
But he doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence. His eyes widen with shock as Stevy rears back his fist and slams it straight into Elder’s jaw. Elder cr
ashes to the ground. As soon as he manages to get back on his feet with the help of the handrail, Stevy slams his fist into his face again. Elder staggers back, but this time, he doesn’t fall.
I don’t realize I’ve screamed until the sound is out of my throat. Behind us, the group of spinners who were outside plying yarn have all noticed—they’re standing up; they’re rushing forward; they’re screaming too; they’re holding back; they’re whispering to each other behind their hands.
I spin around. “Someone do something!” I shout at them. I’ve witnessed enough high school fights to know that a girl like me would be stupid to rush between them—they’re both at least a foot taller than me, and one of Stevy’s punches could easily knock me out.
Three of the spinners—two men and a woman who’s not that much bigger than me—rush forward. But before they reach us, Stevy falls to the ground, clutching his head. The spinners stop short, staring.
Elder wipes his bleeding lip with the back of his hand.
“Make it stop,” Stevy says, his voice somewhere between a whine and a demand.
“It will automatically stop in about two minutes. ” Elder speaks calmly, but there’s a cold impassivity to his voice that frightens me. “By that point, I think you should have learned punching me is a very bad idea. ”
“What have you done?” I ask.
His lip won’t stop bleeding; his teeth are outlined in red. “Something I told myself I’d never do,” Elder mutters. “Come on. ”
He doesn’t continue down the main street. Instead, he veers down an alley that heads toward the Greenhouses.
“It was something with his wi-com,” Elder says even though I’ve dropped the question. “Eldest did it to me once. It’s pretty effective at stopping someone. ”
“Elder!” a voice bellows after us. Elder freezes, then turns slowly back to the scene of the crime.
Stevy is lying on the ground, whimpering and clutching his head. Bartie looms over him, pointing at Elder. “What right do you have to punish this man like this?” he roars. “You said you were so much better than Eldest, but look at you! The first time someone protests against you, you punish him so severely he can’t even stand!”
Elder narrows his eyes and storms back to Bartie and Stevy. “Okay, first? He can stand. It’s just a thing that makes your wi-com make noise. And second? He punched me. He punched me. ”
Even though Bartie and Elder are close enough now that they could talk in normal tones, both of them are yelling. Bartie has his guitar strapped to his back, and for a crazy moment I think he’s going to grab it by the neck and swing it at Elder’s head. Instead, he just shouts, “What will you do the next time someone disagrees with you? Kill them?”
“Oh, come on! Quit exaggerating!”
But no one else seems to think Bartie’s exaggerating. They’re all watching Stevy moan and writhe on the ground.
“It’s not that bad,” Elder tells Stevy. “And besides, it should be over now. ” But Stevy doesn’t get up. I wonder, is he playing up the pain to get attention, or does it really hurt as badly as it seems?