A Million Suns

distributed to the ship’s population.”

And now I understand what the black patches are for. A quick death, rather than a slow one.

16 AMY

I PROP HARLEY’S LAST PAINTING UP ON MY BED AND STAND back. His laughing eyes are even with my own, but there’s no Mona Lisa — like illusion that he’s looking at me.

“So,” I say aloud to painted Harley, “just where is this clue Orion says is here?”

I’m hesitant to touch the paint — I don’t want to do anything to damage it. Instead, I scan the painting with my eyes, looking for some hidden message from Orion.

I get lost in the image — there’s Harley’s face, and the stars, and the tiny koi fish swimming around his ankle. There are all the memories. How can someone I knew for so short a time have left such an indelible print on my soul? Seeing him look this way, so happy and free, makes me remember that something about Harley, that spark, that joy, that something that makes me wish he was still here, now.

I force my eyes to unfocus, to look past the image and into the paint. But there’s nothing there.

I run my hands along the paint-splattered sides of the canvas. Nothing.

Then I flip it over.

I’ve never really looked at the back of the painting before. But now that I do, I notice a faint, almost invisible sketch made with a piece of charcoal or pencil from the looks of it. I squint, lean in closer, then pick the whole painting up and hold it up to the light.

A small animal — this isn’t Harley’s sketching; his pictures were much more realistic. This cartoonish creature looks a little like a hamster, but with huge, exaggerated ears… a bunny. And beside it, a circle… or, rather, a flattened circle that’s more of an oval. In the center of the circle is a tiny square that looks like one of those super-thin memory cards Mom had for her fancy camera. It’s stuck to the canvas with something tacky, but when I slip my fingernail under the edge of it, it pops right off.

I hold the object up on the tip of my index finger. Black plastic encases a thin gold strip of metal woven with silver threads of circuitry. What is this? It seems so familiar. I turn it over, but the other side is just hard plastic.

And then it hits me — I have seen something like this before. I rush to my desk and pick up the small screen that showed Orion’s first video. Connected to a small port in the corner of the screen is an identical piece of square black plastic. The thing from the back of Harley’s painting is like a memory card… if I could just figure out how to swap it with the one already there.

I squint at the back of the painting again, hoping for some other clue. And there, just under the sketch, are tiny words, barely legible.

Follow me down the rabbit hole.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” I say.

It takes Elder about 2.5 seconds to reach my room after I com him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, skidding through the door.

I laugh at the way his eyes search my room, looking for a dragon to slay for his damsel in distress. “How’d you get here so quick?”

“I was in Doc’s office.”

The laughter fades. In the quiet, I’m reminded of the name he called me, freak, and the shape of Elder’s lips as he formed the word.

“Listen, Amy, I’m sorry.” I start to open my mouth, but Elder continues. “Seriously. I never meant to say that. I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” I say, looking down at my hands. It’s silly for me to dwell on one word said in anger when we have the whole ship to think of.

Silence spreads between us, but at least he doesn’t look away from me.

“So,” Elder says finally, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I say. “Just… strange. I found this.”

I hold out the small black chip I peeled from the back of Harley’s painting and the screen I found in Dante’s Inferno.

“A mem card and a dedicated vid screen!” Elder says, laughing. “I haven’t seen these in years! Floppies pretty much replaced them.”

“How do you use this mem card thing?” I ask, offering it to him.

“A dedicated vid is just a digital membrane screen,” Elder says as he gently pops out the original memory card and replaces it with the new one. The square chip snaps to the screen as if there was a magnetic pull between them. “It’s like a floppy, but you have to have a mem card in the back to make them work.” He places the old mem card on the edge of my desk, then flips the dedicated vid over and swipes his finger across the screen. A glowing square pops up.

“Here, let me,” I say, taking the video screen from him and pressing my thumb onto it. The glowing box fades away, replaced with a video that starts playing automatically.

“That’s… that’s the cryo level,” I whisper. The angle makes it look like security camera footage.

Elder shakes his head. “That’s not possible; the cams down there were destroyed before Orion started to…”

Started unplugging the other frozens.

For several moments, nothing happens on the screen. I’m just about to ask Elder if it’s paused or broken when there’s movement at the corner of the video.

A shadow first, snaking across the floor like a clawed hand.

And then…

“That’s me,” Elder whispers.

I glance at him, unsure of why his tone is so high and worried.

“Let’s — uh. Let’s not watch this. I don’t think we should watch this.” His hand moves to stop the video, but I snatch it away.

“Why?” I demand.

Elder bites his lip, worry smeared across his face.

The Elder on the screen creeps forward. There’s no sound to the video, which makes it even weirder when on-screen Elder stops as if he’s heard something. After a moment, he turns to the square door that looks like it belongs in a morgue. He twists it open and slides the tray out.

And then I’m not looking at Elder anymore. I’m looking at me.

That’s me, frozen in ice. So still. I look dead. Horror curls my lip. That’s my flesh, my body. Naked. That’s Elder, looking at my naked body.

“Elder!” I screech, and smack him upside his head.

“I didn’t know you then!” he says.

“I didn’t know you were such a creeper!” I shout back.

“I’m sorry!” Elder ducks away from me.

The Elder on the screen looks up suddenly, drawing our attention back to the video. But after listening, head cocked like a worried bird, the Elder on-screen dips his attention back to me. He raises a hand — I notice that it’s shaking slightly — and places it on my glass box, just over where my heart is. Then he jumps — clearly startled by whatever sound he’s hearing in the background — and dashes off-screen.

“You just left me there?” I ask. I knew he had, he’d confessed it to me already — but to see it like that. To see me, left there so carelessly, helplessly.

Elder looks miserable. He’s not watching the screen at all; he’s just watching me, this look on his face like he wishes I’d scream and punch at him and just get it over with.

But I’m not mad anymore… at least, I’m not as mad as I am sad. And slightly disgusted. I don’t know how to put into words that sick, bile taste on the back of my tongue, so I don’t say anything, I just turn back to the