by Beth Revis
“Hello?” Amy calls. “I think someone’s back there,” she adds, nodding at the cloth covering the doorway that leads deeper into the trailer.
I step in front of her and peel back the curtain. This room is darker still and smells of musk and sweat. It’s the main bedroom—beyond this room is another curtained door leading, I know, to a bathroom and a smaller bedroom.
Curled in a tight ball in the center of the bed is Harley’s mother, Lil. Her hair is messy, but she’s fully dressed, although her clothes are stained.
“What are you doing here?” Lil asks, her voice quiet and defeated.
“Where’s—” I struggle for the name of Harley’s father. “Where’s Stevy?”
Lil shrugs without getting up.
Amy moves forward, hesitates, then sits on the edge of the bed. “Is everything all right?” She reaches for Lil, but Lil, startled by Amy’s fair coloring, cowers back. Amy’s hand drops into her lap. After a moment, she gets back up and moves behind me.
“Where’s Stevy?” I ask again.
“Gone.”
“For how long?”
Lil shrugs again.
From under the covers, I hear her stomach growl.
“Let’s get you something to eat,” I say. I step forward, reaching down for her hand. Although Lil doesn’t flinch from me, she doesn’t respond to my offer, either.
“No point,” she says. “No food.”
“No food?” I ask. I instinctively look to the curtained door; the wall food distributer is in the main room of the trailer. “Is it broken? I’ll have maintenance come and check on it.”
“No point,” she says softly. I ignore her and com the Shipper level, requesting they send someone as soon as they can.
Once I break the com link, I turn my full attention back to Lil. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Why aren’t you working? Should I com Doc?”
She stares at the ceiling. “I can’t work. The dyes remind me of him. The colors. Colors everywhere.”
“Lil,” I say, making a mental note to com Doc later, “did you take any of Harley’s paintings from the Recorder Hall?”
Now she sits up. “No!”
But her eyes dart to the curtain.
She notices my glance in that direction. “They’re mine. He’s my son. He was my son. It’s all I have left of him.”
“We just want to look,” Amy says in a small voice from behind me.
Lil flops back into her pillow. “What’s the point? He’s not coming back. Neither of them is coming back.”
She doesn’t look up again, so Amy and I creep around the bed to the curtain on the far wall. I lift it up, and Amy follows me into the room.
A bathroom. The toilet’s unflushed and the sink is stained. We move quickly to the side, where another curtain blocks a doorway.
This is Harley’s room—or, at least, it was until he moved out to live in the Ward. There are traces of what the room used to be—a narrow mattress against one wall, a small nightstand that still holds a clock—but clearly in the years since he left, the room has become something of a storage space for his family. I maneuver past the boxes until I see what we came for: Harley’s painting, Through the Looking Glass.
“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 at
tention 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 crashes 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?
“We can’t trust you, Elder,” Bartie says, still shouting loudly enough for everyone to hear. He’s drawing a crowd—the spinners have all hopped up from their spinning wheels to see what’s going on. The bakers, covered with flour, are poking their heads out of their shop windows. The butchers walk out, meat cleavers still in their hands.
“When have I lied?” Elder says. “When have I proven dishonest?”
I try not to think about how Elder hasn’t told everyone that the ship’s stopped. It’s not a lie, after all, just . . . not quite telling the whole truth.
“Everything I’ve ever done has been for this ship!” Elder bellows.
“Even her?” Bartie asks, pointing past Elder. At me.
“Don’t bring Amy into this.”
I stand, rooted to the spot, as everyone, even Stevy, turns their gaze on me.
When I first woke up on Godspeed, I went running and found myself in the City—but it was a different City from this. The people had hollow eyes and seemed robotic; they were frightening because they were so empty inside. Now their emotions are boiling over, and the fear and anger and distrust all writhe together inside them, spilling out in narrowed gazes and snarling lips and clenched fists.
“Get out of here, Amy,” Elder mutters, casting a worried glance at me. I reach up and he grabs my hands, giving them a gentle squeeze before releasing me. “Go back to the Hospital. Go to where it’s safe.”
But I want to stay here. I want to show Elder that I’m not another mistake that Bartie can use against him. I want stand behind him and prove my loyalty.
That is, until someone in the crowd moves forward.
Luthor.
&nbs
p; Just an anonymous face in an angry crowd. Bartie shouts something else, and Elder snaps back, and everyone’s attention shifts to their argument.
Except Luthor’s.
His eyes are locked on mine. His lips curve in a smile that twists at the corners, reminding me of the Grinch who stole Christmas.
He mouths something, and although I can’t tell what he’s soundlessly saying to me, I can guess the words. I can do anything I want.
I run—I race—I flee.
25
ELDER
I’M GLAD AMY LEFT—I DON’T WANT HER INVOLVED IN THIS argument. I hate how quickly Bartie drew her into it.
And I hate how quickly the crowd has grown.
I touch the wi-com on the side of my neck. “Marae, get down here. Bring your police force.”
She starts to respond, but I cut off the com link. I need to focus on Bartie.
“Oh, calling for backup?” Bartie sneers.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “I thought you were my friend.”
“This isn’t about friendship.” His voice isn’t raised now; these are words for just me, even though the entire crowd is listening. “This is about having a chance to turn this ship into the kind of world we want to live in.”
“And there’s no place for me, huh?”
“There’s no place for an Eldest. Even an Eldest who calls himself Elder.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see blurs of dark blue and black zipping through the grav tube at the City. Marae will be here soon, along with about a half-dozen Shippers.
Stevy groans and struggles to his feet.
“Okay,” I say. “It’s all over. Let’s just get back to work.”
Some of the people in the crowd start to break away. The tension is already diffusing.
“Everyone break it up!” Marae roars, rushing forward.