by Beth Revis
“It’s not your fault,” I say immediately. “No one could have known… ”
My voice trails off. But someone did know. Someone did guess. Orion. He really did have a plan for everything. A contingency plan…
I point to one of the giant wall floppies. “Can you bring up the blueprints of the ship?”
“Why?” Elder just stands there, begging me with his eyes to stop, to not make him think there’s any hope left.
Except there is.
I push Elder to the wall floppy and don’t leave his side until he starts tapping on the screen to bring up the blueprint. Once he does, I rush off to the other side of the hallway and grab a chair resting against the wall. I slam it down under the clay models of the planets and the little replica of Godspeed.
“In the last video, the one that I found when I discovered the missing explosives,” I say, climbing up onto the chair, “Orion told me that the last thing I need to find will be in Godspeed.”
“Godspeed is huge,” Elder says. The wall floppy behind him shows the giant diagram of the ship. Seeing it there, projected on the wall, I can appreciate just how huge this ship is.
“I know,” I say, “but isn’t it odd? That word choice. He didn’t say ‘on Godspeed.’ He said ‘in.’”
“So?” Elder asks. His voice is still flat, and I know that while he’s physically in the Recorder Hall with me, he’s really still in the garden, giving up, still on the Bridge, watching his people die. He doesn’t care about Orion’s clues anymore.
I strain, reaching for the tiny model of Godspeed hanging suspended between the two clay models of the Earths.
“In Godspeed,” I say. “In it.” The chair wobbles as I stand on my tiptoes on top of it, my fingers brushing the bottom of the small model ship. I noticed before that it was on a hook, as if it could be taken down and inspected. I push against the bottom, and the hook slides off. The ship falls. I reach out, grabbing it with one hand. The chair topples, and I jump off before it clatters to the ground. Elder catches me around the middle, and I gasp in surprise. He sets me down gently on the ground.
The model’s about as large as my head and caked in dust. I blow on it, and huge chunks of dust fly away and then drop to the floor, too heavy to float. There’s more dust on the top of the ship, in the grooves of the tiny model honeycomb window on the Bridge. I turn the replica over so the ship’s on its side. It almost looks like a broken winged bird — a beak for a nose and thrusters for tail feathers.
I hand it to Elder.
He weighs it in his hand as if it’s an alien thing, not a replica of the only home he’s ever known. His face is intense — a scowl so deep that the shadows seem like black marks on his face. The veins in his hand pop up, and his fingers tense. Very deliberately, he presses his thumb against the Bridge window until the tiny honeycombed glass breaks. I see a dot of blood on his thumb, but he shows no sign of pain.
“It’s accurate now,” he says, handing the model back to me.
I search his eyes, but they’re hollow inside.
“There’s more glass here,” I say, pointing to the bottom of the ship.
Elder shrugs, a sort of one-shoulder careless motion. “I saw it when I was outside. An observatory or something.”
“It has to be on the other side of the last locked door,” I say. “Why lock an observatory?”
I step over to the wall floppy. Elder stays where he is, by the chair, but his eyes follow me. I place the now-broken model on the ground and zoom in on the blueprints on the floppy. I use both hands to manipulate the image on the screen, sliding over the cryo level until I get to the section that shows the locked doors. Not all the doors are marked — the armory isn’t — but behind the last locked door on the level is one word.
Contingency
“He keeps calling me — this — his contingency plan,” I say under my breath. I turn and meet Elder’s eyes, and notice there’s a spark in them again.
“This bit of glass here,” I say, picking up the model of Godspeed and pointing to it. I run my fingers from the broken Bridge to the bottom level of the ship. It’s the same basic shape, a beak protruding from the front of the ship. The only difference is that the cryo level beak is smaller.
On the replica ship, a tiny metal line runs along the bottom, all around in a circle.
“This isn’t Orion’s contingency plan,” I say slowly, turning the model over in my hand, “it’s Godspeed’s. I can’t believe we didn’t think of this before! What ship doesn’t have a backup plan? What ship doesn’t have an escape shuttle? It’s so obvious — the answer has been right in front of us the whole time!”
I carefully pull against the metal line on the replica Godspeed. The bottom half breaks apart from the ship.
Elder’s eyes widen. “The cryo level… the whole frexing cryo level—can break away from the ship? The entire level is an escape shuttle?”
I toss the bottom part of the replica — the escape shuttle — at Elder. It soars through the air in a graceful arc, free from the rest of the ship. Free to find a home on the new planet.
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… alth
ough 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.
>
“Wow,” Victria mutters.
“Is this something else you’re going to use to coerce us? Another ‘grand’ scene like showing everyone the planet?” Bartie asks, and whatever in him that was friendly before is gone now.
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” I say loudly. “Let’s all go down.”
Amy twists the handle to the hatch. I skid into the pond, fighting against the sucking mud to reach her side. The others follow me in. I’m worried about them — should we let them follow us down into the unknown? But when Amy sees my face, she nods, once, as if telling me that they should come too. We lift the lid up before the water’s gone, and some of it sloshes down the hole. A ladder stretches into the darkness.
“Come on,” Amy says, pulling one leg free from the murky pond bottom and stepping onto the ladder. Before I can say anything else, she’s already climbing down.
I lower the hatch lid over my head. I don’t like the feeling of being trapped in the narrow space — it’s so tight I can reach out both arms and touch the sides — but the idea of leaving the hatch open is worse. If someone thinks to follow us down, at least we’ll have some warning when the lid is raised again…
We climb down quickly, eager to be out of the confined space. As we reach the area between the levels, it gets even colder.
My breath comes out heavy, and the warm air bounces around the enclosed space. Chilly sweat drips down my back, making me shiver.
“Where are we?” Victria asks wonderingly.
“On a ladder,” Bartie says.
“I know that, chutz. I meant, in terms of the ship.”
“We’re going to find out,” Amy says as her feet hit something solid. “We’re here.”
We all jump down beside her. There’s another hatch — we spin it open, and a smaller ladder automatically drops down, stopping at the floor beneath. Amy goes down first, and I follow her.
This is a bridge.
It mirrors the one on the Shipper Level in miniature. The window is smaller, but it still faces the planet. Victria turns her back to the planet, but the rest of us all stand, still stunned speechless by the sight of the massive blue and green orb. It seems so achingly close. The control panel angles under the window, rows of desks behind it. I think about what Shelby told me, how — if all goes well, and if these controls work like the ones on the main Bridge — you can just hit the autopilot button on the front of the control panel, and the ship will land itself.