A Million Suns

behind.”

Elder motions for Bartie to come closer. Elder steps away from the center of the pond, and everyone’s attention shifts to Bartie.

“I wanted to say something too,” Bartie says through the wi-com system. “What Elder has told you is true. I was in the shuttle today; I saw it myself. And what he says about leaving things behind is true too. And…” He swallows deeply. “And I am one of the things that will be left behind. Godspeed is my home. I don’t want another. I’m staying here. And if you would like to stay here with me, you’re welcome to.”

My mouth drops open. I turn around, expecting the crowd to be shocked or skeptical, to think Bartie’s lost it… but a lot of them… don’t. They seem to agree.

They want the walls.

“Can we?” someone shouts.

“Is it safe?”

“It’s suicide,” I say under my breath, but I don’t feel so safe that I can shout back.

Elder crosses the pond and motions for someone to talk to him. The young woman nods and speaks to him, shooting glances at Bartie and the crowd behind her.

Finally Elder speaks again. “The scientists agree that the internal functions of the ship could last for at least a generation, maybe indefinitely if the biosphere is maintained and energy conserved.”

Conversation surges again through the crowd. Elder raises his arm — and they’re all silenced immediately.

“This is an important decision. Whatever you decide now — there will be no going back. Stay or leave — your decision will be permanent.”

He takes a deep breath.

“But your decision will be yours.”

71 ELDER

AMY CORNERS ME IN THE KEEPER LEVEL AT THE END OF THE DAY.

“You can’t be serious,” she demands.

“I can’t force people to go.” I roll my shoulders back, trying to ease some of the tension within them.

“It’s suicide! Godspeed can’t last forever — in a few generations, everyone will die out!”

“I’ve talked to Bartie about this,” I say, collapsing in one of the blue plastic chairs I’ve pulled into the Great Room from the Learning Center. “When the ship’s no longer sustainable, they’ll…”

“They’ll what?” Amy demands. “Make a suicide pact? Drink the bad Kool-Aid?”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Doc has an array of med patches. The black ones…”

“Kill?” She sounds disgusted.

“As humanely as possible.”

Amy throws her hands down and starts pacing around the Great Room. “This is ridiculous,” she says. “You can’t let them stay here! You have to force them to come! They’re killing themselves—”

I cut her off. “I’ve talked to the scientists. The ship isn’t going to disintegrate overnight. There will be enough energy to last for a couple more generations at least.”

“And then?” Amy demands.

And then black patches.

“It’s what they want,” I say.

“You’re the leader! Make them come!”

I wait until she stops pacing and faces me. “Amy, I have to consider more than just your opinion.”

She bites down as if she’s chewing on her words, then sits down opposite me.

“How many are staying?”

“About eight hundred.”

“Eight hundred?!” Amy jumps up again.

“About.”

“That’s…”

“More than a third of the ship,” I say.

“They’d rather die in a cage than live on a planet?”

“This is their home, Amy,” I say. “I know you can’t understand how Godspeed is a home, but it is.”

She sits back down, slowly. “You should make them go,” she snaps. “But,” she adds when I open my mouth, “I can see how they might want to stay. If they’ve never seen anything else…”

“Amy,” I say, “we have to let them decide for themselves.” I touch her knee, bringing her gaze back to me. “We’re going.”

A tentative smile spreads across her face. She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “Oh, Elder,” she says, and it comes out in a rush, like a breath of relief, “you’re going to love it. Being on a world without walls. There’s so much… so much that you’re going to see. Trees — great big, towering trees. That pond — it’s tiny — there’ll be an ocean on the planet. Clouds. The sky — the sky. You’ll see birds. Birds!”

I laugh. “I’ve seen birds! We have chickens.”

“No!” Amy’s voice rings with music. “Those chickens aren’t even proper chickens. I’m talking about real birds! Birds that tweet so loud you wake up in the morning before your alarm clock. Birds that soar and swoop and fly!”

With that, she jumps up, twirling with her arms raised. She ends her spin facing me, her eyes alight. “You have no idea how wonderful it’s going to be!”

She sees birds and freedom and oceans.

I see the armory, with piles of explosives. I hear Orion saying, If Godspeed can still be your home, if it’s possible to stay on board — do so.

“Yeah,” I tell her, smiling as best I can. “It’ll be brilly.”

Amy collapses in her chair. She’s giving me this look that says, You have no idea, and all I can think is that neither does she. Centauri-Earth isn’t the Earth she came from. She doesn’t know what’s down there, no one does, the only one who had a clue about it was Orion, and it scared the shite out of him.

“What if he’s right?” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but she knows immediately who I’m talking about.

“It’ll be worth it,” Amy says immediately, not even pausing to question herself.

“But—”

“No. It will be. Whatever is down there… Maybe it’s too dangerous. Maybe we won’t survive. I don’t know. But I do know I’m leaving. I won’t die on this ship. I cannot live surrounded by walls. Not now. Not anymore.”

Not now that she’s seen through the honeycombed glass. Not now that the planet is within her grasp.

“Maybe it’s a good thing some are staying,” Amy says, more serious now. “There will be less trouble.”

I meet Amy’s eyes.

She narrows hers.

“Orion is… he is going to be left here, right? We’re not taking him to the new planet, are we?”

“Amy — I can’t leave him here.”

“What?”

“Orion’s coming.”

“If we left him here, he could be unfrozen. He could live here on the ship.”

I hold myself very still. “He’s going to be unfrozen anyway. The timer can’t be stopped, just delayed.”

She kicks her chair back and starts pacing. Her hair swings out every time she turns like an angry swipe of a red blade.