A Million Suns (Across the Universe 2)

“Why would I?” I say.

“You’re from Sol-Earth. These were made there. ”

I laugh, a short, bitter bark. “The whole ship was made on Sol-Earth; that doesn’t mean I know anything about it!”

“But—”

“There’s a manual,” I say. A thick metal-and-glass screen connected to a coiled cord hangs on the wall. Maybe it once worked as video instructions or an interactive guide, but the cord is frayed and the glass cracked. Under the monitor, though, is a thick black book. Good thing it’s pretty hard to break a book. I pick it up and flip to the first page. Two-thirds of it isn’t even in English. The part that is in English is so complicated it makes my eyes cross. At the end of the book, though, is a step-by-step illustrated guide of what to do to operate the space suits. I guess the builders of the ship made sure the people on the ship could use the suits even if their language somehow evolved or something else went wrong.

As I hand the manual to Elder, I notice that it had been resting on another book.

“What’s that?” Elder asks me, but he’s more interested in the manual than the slender book

I found beneath it.

“The Little Prince,” I say, reading the title aloud. It’s such a small book that the huge manual hid it completely. Could this be another hint from Orion? One page is dog-eared, and I turn to it. The colors are faded, but it’s still possible to decipher the illustration in front of me: a giant king dressed in a robe embroidered with stars sits atop a tiny planet.

Below the illustration, a line of text is circled and recircled, over and over.

“I,” replied the little prince, “do not like to condemn anyone to death. ”

“Well, that’s ominous,” I mutter. The text reminds me of the threat I made last night. Clearly the little prince never met someone like Luthor. I glance up at Elder. I should tell him. But . . . now is not the time.

I lift up a folded piece of paper that’s been slipped inside the book. My hands shake as I unfold it—I recognize the feel of this paper, thick and glossy.

Sonnet XXX, the clue that was lost. Or stolen.

The text on this page is riddled with lines and a note. “Look at this,” I say, turning to Elder.

Whatever interest Elder had in discovering the next clue is now gone. His entire attention is focused on the space suits. I grin at him; he looks like a kid who’s been told he can get whatever flavor of ice cream he wants from the shop.

I carefully tuck the ripped page into my pocket and turn to the operating manual. It’s obvious Elder couldn’t care less about old books and hidden clues while we’re looking at space suits.

“There are two kinds of suits—one for extended exposure and one for moderate exposure. The brown ones are smaller and easier to use, but you’re only supposed to use them for about two hours or less. ”

“That’s fine,” Elder says, going to the cubbyholes. He picks up a body suit, and it’s not so much brown, as in the picture, but bronze. It sparkles in the dim light of the room, and when he shakes it out, dust mingles with glitter.

“The moderate suits have an underlayer of protection against outside elements and hazardous temperatures,” I continue. “Then you put on the outer suit over that, for insulation and more protection. The outer suit seems to just snap on, then you connect gloves and boots over that. This looks crazy simple,” I say. “I thought a space suit would be really complex. ”

“The other ones, the ones for long exposure, do look more complicated. But if Orion’s right and the problem is obvious, I should only need the short-exposure suit,” Elder says. “A little help?”

He’s already discarded his own clothes—they lie in a heap on the floor—and he’s zipped himself into the bronze underlayer.

“Uh—no. No,” I say, striding over to him.

“What?” he asks.

“NO. You are not going out there. No way. Not with a flimsy suit you only know how to use because of an illustrated guide. No. ”

“Amy, it—”

“NO. ”

“But—”

“Don’t you remember what happened to Harley? Space isn’t a field on the Feeder Level! It. Will. Kill. You. And this?” I pinch the silky underlayer with my finger and let it snap back against his body. “This isn’t good enough. You can’t just throw on a suit and jump off the ship!”

Elder looks at me doubtfully, like a child frustrated with an overprotective mom. I don’t care. I lean in closer to him. “You’re too important to risk. ”