A Million Suns

“There,” Doc says, “the regeneration process is beginning.”

“What?” I snap.

“Really?” Victria says, turning.

And that’s my chance. Elder’s not the only one who’s been carrying things in his pocket — I still have Phydus patches of my own. In one swift motion, I rip one from its packaging, slap it on Victria’s arm, and snatch the gun away from her unresisting fingers.

Doc eyes me, trying to determine if I’ll shoot him.

“It’s too late,” he says, almost casually. “I’ve already begun the regeneration process.” The light above Orion’s face stays green. “Even if you shoot me, he’ll still wake up.”

I move slowly to my right, near Bartie, but even if I could rip the patch off him, the Phydus would still be in his system. No help there.

“Amy, you’re being ridiculous,” Doc says in the same sort of voice he used when we first met, when he threatened to drug me for the rest of my life. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“I am,” I say. “I don’t want Orion ruling this ship.”

“There’s a chance Elder won’t use the escape shuttle, you know.”

And he’s right. I do know it. I saw the reluctance in his eyes, the way he protested my immediate reaction to land the ship.

“I have faith in him,” I say. And much more than that, I think.

Doc shakes his head as if I’m a student who can’t answer the homework question correctly.

“You don’t think I put all my faith in Victria, do you?” he asks, sneering over the word. And he pulls out his own gun. It sits weirdly in his hand. Like Victria, he’s unsure of how to hold it. Still, it’s not like a gun is hard to figure out. The killing end’s pointed at me, and that’s enough.

I widen my stance, making my feet even with my shoulders. I was raised with guns like a proper military brat; my father made sure I knew how to protect myself, to treat weapons as tools, not toys. I’ve never been more grateful for the Saturdays at the target range than I am now. I breathe out and feel the cool metal of the trigger under my finger.

“You can’t kill me,” Doc says.

“You’re right,” I say, and pull the trigger.

67 ELDER

I SEE IT ALL IN SLOW MOTION, WITH EVERYTHING FUZZY around the edges. The bang from the gun bursts out; a cloud of acrid smoke evaporates quickly, leaving behind only the smell of copper and burning. Doc crumples, an explosion of red erupting from his leg. Amy dives forward, soaring through the air, smacking a pale green patch on Doc’s arm.

Another bang. Another gun. Doc’s gun.

Another burst of smoke and blood.

Amy crashes down, clutching her arm. Dark red blood seeps through her fingers.

She pulls her hand away, presses her wi-com. Shouts.

She staggers to Victria. Drops to her knees beside the body.

I see it all but can’t move, can’t react. Everything’s so heavy and slow. I just stare as Amy screams, choking on her own sobs. Amy presses both hands into the blossoming red stain across the front of Victria’s tunic. Blood leaks out of Amy’s own sleeve, but she ignores it, intent on putting pressure on Victria’s wound.

I move my head and stare impassively at Doc. His dull eyes meet mine. The green patch on his arm ensures that he just lies there, ignoring the bullet in his leg.

I turn back to Amy and Victria.

“NO!” Amy says.

Victria’s hand reaches toward Doc. No. Toward Orion.

“NO!” Amy screams again.

She throws her weight against Victria. Blood pumps between her fingers, spurting out in bubbles of crimson.

“No,” Amy whispers.

Victria’s hand goes slack.

My face is wet. I raise my hand and touch my cheek. The tears drip from my fingers like the blood dripping from Amy’s.

68 AMY

MY HANDS ARE SOAKED IN BLOOD. IT’S STILL WARM, JUST LIKE Victria’s body. I move to shut Victria’s staring eyes, and some of her blood — or my blood, I can’t tell which — drips on her face and slides down her cheek. I don’t close her eyes. Let her stare at Orion.

I stand, wiping Victria’s blood on my pants. I pull down the neck of my tunic, staring at the bleeding wound in my left arm, just below my shoulder. Doc fired the gun as he fell. The bullet grazed me — and killed Victria.

I shut my eyes, trying to block out the image before me, but all I can smell is gunpowder and blood. I push my wi-com again. Kit answers immediately. “I found the hatch,” she says, breathless. “I’ll be there soon.”

I rip the green patch off Bartie, who is standing closer to me, but I don’t wait for the light to return to his eyes. Avoiding Victria’s body, I cross the genetics lab to reach Elder. When I peel the med patch from his neck, I leave a line of red on his skin.

I bury my head into the soft spot between Elder’s chest and arm. My blood seeps through his shirt, but I don’t care. I just stand there, willing myself to be as emotionless as he is, even if it’s just because there are still trace amounts of Phydus in his system.

When I feel his arms raise and wrap around me, I break. I sob into his chest, wild, loud, uncontrollable sobs that leave me breathless but still aren’t enough.

“What the frex happened?!” Kit shouts from the doorway. Her eyes are wide and shocked, jumping from Bartie to us to Doc and finally to Victria.

She drops to her knees beside Victria, ignoring the blood that seeps into her trousers.

“It’s too late,” I say.

Her eyes rove across the room, and at first I’m worried that she’s too shocked to do any good. I realize, though, that she’s evaluating all that’s happened and all that needs to be done. She closes Victria’s eyes. I’ve heard people say that dead bodies look like they’re sleeping. But not Victria. She had peace and serenity when her eyes were focused on Orion, but now that they’re shut, she looks well and truly dead.

Kit reaches into her pocket and tosses me two pale yellow patches. “Antidotes for Phydus,” she says, moving immediately to Doc.

“Don’t give him one,” I warn. Kit opens her mouth to protest, but when she sees my look, she nods.

“Perhaps it would be best for him to stay on Phydus,” she says in a worried voice. “He must be in a lot of pain, and the Phydus will dull it.”

“I don’t care about that,” I say, my voice cold and hard. “But keep that patch on him.”

Kit’s hand hovers over Doc’s wound, and she searches my eyes. Finally, she nods slowly, understanding my meaning. She cuts off Doc’s pant leg and bends to examine the wound — right where I aimed, just below his knee. Blood pulses from the bullet hole.

I rip open one of the yellow patches and rub it into Elder’s skin until I see him wince in pain. He blinks, his