Beth Revis - A Million Suns

I go behind Shelby and roll my thumb over the biometric scanner on this wall, the one just like the scanner by Eldest’s door on the Keeper Level. This — like the roof over the navigational chart in the Keeper Level — must have been retrofitted into the ship’s design. Not part of the original, no — this must have been the Plague Eldest’s way of covering up the truth.

“Command?” the computer’s voice asks in a pleasant tone once it accepts my authority.

“Open,” I say, unable to keep from smiling.

And the metal roof splits apart.

Shelby screams and drops to her knees, covering her head. She thinks the ship itself is splitting open, just as I did when the roof on the Keeper Level opened up to reveal the light bulb stars. She thinks the Bridge will tear apart in explosive decompression and we’ll be sucked out into space, our deaths quick but painful as our bodies succumb to anoxia, our skin turning blue and our organs bursting.

I walk over to Shelby — my calm pace makes her quake more — and crouch down beside her. “Get up,” I say over the whirr of grinding gears as the roof folds out of the way. “You don’t want to miss this.”

I offer her my hand. I can feel her trembling in my palm, but she stands anyway. She searches my eyes at first — looking for something, I don’t know what — but I tilt my head up, and I see her do the same out of the corner of my eye.

Because the universe is there, above us, glittering through the honeycomb windows that cover the Bridge. The universe — the stars, the blackness between them — and the planet.

AT LUNCHTIME, I PRESS THE BUTTON IN MY WALL, BUT NO food comes out. I punch it again. It does no good.

My first instinct is that the food delivery system in my wall is broken, but when I step outside my room into the hallway, I can hear Doc shouting, even though his office door is shut.

“I don’t care if you think the people in the Ward don’t count, Fridrick!” Doc bellows. “They still deserve food!”

I slip back into my room and snatch the sonnet from my desk, but my heart’s sinking. This is more trouble for Elder — and for the ship. I think about comming him and warning him that no food’s been delivered to the Hospital, but his dead friend takes priority over lunch.

Instead, I make my way down to the grav tube to search for the stairs. There are two tubes, one near the City, one on this side of the level. My stomach twists at the idea of going into the City by myself, but considering how close this tube is to the Recorder Hall, I think I’ve got a better chance of finding the hidden stairs near it than the other one. If there even are stairs, I can’t help but think. I just hope I’ve got this clue figured out correctly.

The Hospital lobby is crowded as usual, but I keep my head down and my hood up as I weave through the people complaining about med patches. A few people look really sick — one woman is dangerously thin, with sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks. Another man keeps throwing up, holding a pail in his lap.

I take a deep breath of the recycled air as soon as I leave the Hospital — then immediately put my head back down. A group of people, among them the crowd that was arguing for Elder’s removal yesterday, are gathered down the path near the pond.

“And, once again, no food deliveries for lunch,” a voice echoes from the crowd. I glance up; Bartie’s in the center of the group, standing on the bench.

I resist the urge to run over and knock him into the pond. Bartie had always seemed nice and even quiet before this week, but as the ship spins more and more out of control, all I can see is him standing in the center of the storm.

As I hurry along the path, I keep my head down. Which is, perhaps, why I bump right into a couple heading toward Bartie and the group at the pond.

“Sorry!” the woman says pleasantly.

“Where are you going?” the man asks. I hesitate — just a moment. I recognize that voice.

Luthor.

I should have started running, but my brief pause has given Luthor time to touch my shoulder. I peek at him under my hood, careful to keep my face down. The bruises Victria and I inflicted on him are a nasty greenish purple. His left eye is still swollen; a dark red scab covers his split lip.

“Come with us,” he says, still not recognizing me. “Bartie’s talking about how we could move the ship to a system that’s more fair.”

He pulls me around by my shoulder. I try to jerk away, and my hood slips down. For a moment, I see surprise in Luthor’s face; then his eyes narrow to malicious slits.

The woman gasps as if I’m Quasimodo or something, but Luthor grins with all his teeth. The cut in his lip cracks open, shiny red, but he doesn’t seem to care. His grip on my shoulder tightens, and I hiss in pain.

“Come on,” the woman says. “The freak isn’t invited.”

Luthor releases me suddenly, pushing me at the same time, and I stumble on the path. Laughing, the two of them continue down toward the pond.

“It’s not like I wanted to go anyway!” I yell. The pair pause, their backs to me. Before they turn around, I race down the path toward the grav tube.

Fortunately, since this grav tube can only be used by Elder, no one else is out this way. I lean back, looking at the clear plastic tube that goes all the way up, through the ceiling, to the Keeper Level.

It’s stupid, but the first thing I want to do is push the wi-com on my wrist and fly up to Elder. I can’t get the taste of his kiss off my lips.

I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the wall behind the grav tube. I usually avoid the ship’s walls. From a distance, you can squint and blur out the rivets that hold it together, pretend that the sky-blue paint is sky. But when you’re up close, you can smell the metal, the same sharp taste in the back of your throat as blood, and when you touch it, it’s cold and immovable.

I rap my knuckles against the steel wall the same way my father tapped on the drywall in our house to find a stud before hanging a picture. Maybe the sound will clue me in to whatever’s behind the wall. For a moment, I flash back to the other time I beat against the walls, when I was crying and screaming and clawing at the metal, desperate to find a way out. Orion found me then, one of the only welcoming faces on the ship, and I thought I’d found a friend in him. Not a murderer.

I focus on the sound of my knuckles against the wall. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. There’s nothing here. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. What am I doing? I look like an idiot. Tap-tap. Taaap-taaaap.

My hand stills. Just to the right, a little off center from the grav tube dais, the wall echoes hollowly. I lean closer.

And then I see it. Faint, dusty, almost invisible.

A seam in the wall.

I run my fingers along the outline of what I now know is a door. There’s no handle or hinges that I can see, so the door must open inward. I push against it, but it doesn’t give. I lean in with all my weight, my shoes sliding on the ground, digging scar marks into the earth.

The door opens.

It’s dark inside.

The door doesn’t want to open more than a crack, and I have to squeeze myself inside. With the sliver of light from the Feeder Level pouring into the darkness, I can see a bigger handle on the side of the door, a stamped metal floor, a covered box on the wall at eye level.

And stairs.

I push against the inside of the door with all my weight, and the three-inch thick door crashes shut. For a moment, I panic and tug against the giant handle until the door opens back up a crack, allowing me to catch a whiff of grass and dirt from the Feeder Level. I can get back out. I sigh in relief and push the door shut again.