Orion looks up at me and grins, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re welcome,” he says.
Part of me thinks this is a great thing, killing Eldest. He was a tyrannical dictator. He was cruel. He never saw anyone on this ship, even me, as a real person.
But he’s also the man I’ve lived with for three years, the one who had the biggest hand in raising me, and the one I always used to think I could turn to.
And now he’s just a gooey mess.
I want to ask why, but I know why.
Despite myself, my eyes fill with burning tears. He was the closest thing to a father I had.
Orion sets the bucket down. He walks toward me, his hand outstretched. I take it without thinking—my eyes are still on Eldest’s motionless body.
“I knew you’d be on my side!” Orion says, churning my arm up and down in an enthusiastic shake. “I wasn’t sure—you’d been under Eldest’s thumb for so long, and you didn’t respond to the unpluggings like I thought you would—but I just knew you’d be on my side in the end. ”
“Your side?” I shift my blurry gaze from the dead Eldest to Orion—who, as the Elder older than me, is technically now the Eldest of the ship.
“When I started saying I didn’t like the way of things, Eldest sent me to Doc. Told him to stick me on the fourth floor. Didn’t he, Doc?”
Doc nods mutely. His eyes are wide with shock, or terror—I cannot tell which.
“Doc was my friend, weren’t ya, Doc?”
Doc doesn’t nod this time, just stares down at Eldest’s body. “I thought, with enough Phydus . . . ” he whispers. I turn my face away from Doc. He always did think that anyone could be cured if he threw enough drugs at him. Doc never believed people were more powerful than medicine.
“Couldn’t let Eldest find me, so the first thing to go . . . ” Orion raises his hand to where his wi-com should be, and he mimes clawing at his neck. When he opens his hand, I see a snaking scar across his thumb. “It was terrible. Worst thing I ever did, ripping that out of my own flesh, with my own hands. Felt like I was ripping my soul out. ”
There is silence in the room, punctuated only by the occasional drip of Phydus on the ground.
Orion continues. “When Doc saw the wi-com dot was gone, and since Eldest hardly ever leaves the Keeper Level . . . it wasn’t hard to hide the truth from them. The old Recorder had . . . an accident, and I blended into my new life. ”
“Why didn’t you ever tell?” Amy asks, her eyes locked on Doc.
“I didn’t know,” Doc whispers apologetically to Eldest’s body. “I thought—I’d hoped—suicide. ” His eyes raise to Orion. “I thought—that night, at the Recorder Hall. That was you. ” He pauses. “But it had been seventeen years . . . . ”
“You could have found me if you’d just gone next door. You know, the whole first year I stayed hidden, behind the walls, sleeping with the wires and pipes. Bu
t then I realized you and Eldest weren’t even looking. I just had to give myself a new name, a new home, and the idiots you made accepted me without question.
“But,” he continues, turning to Elder, “I always felt bad. About what I knew Eldest was doing. So much about this ship is wrong. ” His eyes bore into mine. “You’ve only just scratched the surface with Phydus. Have you learned about the ship’s engine?” I nod. “Good,” Orion says. “And you knew about the mission, obviously?”
“The mission?” I say.
“The real mission behind this ship?”
“What do you mean?” Amy asks. She walks over to me and weaves her hand in my mine, giving me her strength just as I gave her mine when she cried.
“Have you never questioned why we’re here?” Orion asks me, ignoring Amy.
“To operate the ship—”
“The ship is on autopilot. It can get to Centauri-Earth without us. ”
“To—”
“No,” Orion cuts me off before I can begin. “Whatever Eldest has told you was a lie. He kept much from you, after I betrayed him. No, there is only one reason why we’re aboard this ship, and that reason lies beyond this door. ” He points to where the cryo chambers are, where Amy’s parents are.
“What do you mean?” Amy says again, her voice more urgent.