“We shouldn’t be here,” Orion says.
“We had to—” Elder starts to say again, but Orion cuts him off.
“No, you didn’t. ” He coughs, a wet, hacking sound. “You saw that planet and you couldn’t stay away. I know. I saw it too. But I had the sense to keep our people on Godspeed, safe. ” He coughs again, blood splattering his puffy lips. “Guess I’m not worthy of seeing it now that we’re here. ”
There is so much longing in his voice.
And for the first time, I realize that I have something in common with Orion.
“I have my own reasons to be sorry,” Orion says. Elder looks as if he wants to speak, but he can’t seem to get any words out.
Blood dribbles freely down Orion’s chin now, and his eyes are leaking. He’s falling apart in front of us. “I never watched them die,” he croaks, echoing my earlier thoughts. “Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have let them drown. ”
“Orion,” Elder finally says. “We need help. ”
Orion’s hand pats the table, feeling the edges. “So . . . tired . . . ”
“What can you tell us about the monsters on the planet?” Elder asks, urgency in his voice. Orion’s dying—but we cannot let him die with his secrets still hidden.
“Slaves or soldiers,” Orion says. He sinks against the table, lying down, his legs dangling over one side. “I told you . . . slaves or soldiers. ”
“Not the frozens,” Elder says. “I’m not talking about the frozens. I know how they’re dangerous. I need to know—what about the creatures on the planet? What did you know would be waiting for us if we landed?”
Orion’s body wheezes—another laugh? Or something worse?
“Tell us!” Elder says, his voice rising. “You have to tell us! We need to know what we’re up against! People have died. ”
“So?” Orion croaks. “I’m dying. ”
“You have to tell us!” Elder grabs Orion’s arm.
It squishes under his grip, and Orion’s mouth sucks in air for a scream his throat can’t give life to. Elder snatches his hand away as Orion’s body spasms with pain.
After he’s stilled, Orion speaks. His voice is weaker than before. “Don’t tell me you didn’t find them?” He coughs, a dry, papery sound. “Oh, little prince, don’t tell me you didn’t follow all the clues. ”
“We don’t have time for clues. ” Elder’s voice is pleading; he sounds as if he’s about to cry. “Just tell me. ”
Orion struggles to sit up again but can’t. Instead, he turns his face to Elder. His blind eyes are closed, the effort to keep them open already too much. “Show me the world,” he says, making an effort to make the words come out strong. “Please. ” There is no begging in his voice, just a simple plea simply stated.
Elder looks confused, taken aback. But I know what Orion means. He won’t talk unless we take him outside.
I stand and walk as quietly as I can to the door, motioning for Elder to follow. Elder pushes the wheeled table in front of him. The only sounds in the cryo room are of us walking and the table rattling over the metal floor.
And Orion, panting, on the table, holding on to life for this one moment.
When Elder pushes the table around the hallway toward the bridge door, Orion’s body slides on the metal surface. He gasps, something rattling in his chest, his blind eyes open wide as he spits blood. It’s not just the sides of his mouth bleeding now; there’s something inside him broken too.
We’d left the bridge door open when we’d entered, but I have to go through first, lifting the edge of the table and pulling it over the lip of the seal-lock door. If Orion’s guessed that there’s someone else with him beyond just Elder, he makes no mention of it.
Once we’re outside, he tips his face toward the suns. They’ve risen higher in the sky, just above the trees. His body seems smaller, shrunken in relief against the dull metal table, but his eyes are still wide and darting around, straining to see what’s happening. I pity him in this moment, but then I remember the way Theo Kennedy’s eyes were bloated and bulging in death, and the pity sours in my heart.
Orion raises his arm, reaching, his fingers splayed. He breathes deeply, tasting the fresh air. His body seems to be an extension of his flared nostrils; everything is centered on his sense of smell. A warm breeze swirls around us, and he tilts his head toward it. The wind makes the leaves of the forest rustle and shake, and Orion shifts his ears to the sound.
His body is focused on every sense left to him, absorbing this world as completely as he can.
His arm slowly lowers. The corners of his mouth curl up.
He sighs—and with that sigh, the last bit of life escapes.