“We don’t know what’s going to be on Centauri-Earth,” Amy says, already defensive. “It could be aliens, or it could be nothing. It could be monsters or dinosaurs. We could be giants on the new world. Or we could be mice.”
“Better to be armed mice, huh?” I say, picking up a filmy bag that protects a revolver.
“I know this looks bad.”
“It looks like everything Orion said before was true,” I say.
“It’s not,” Amy says immediately, but how does she know? I can see her thoughts warring — on the one hand, she believes absolutely that her father and the rest of the people from Sol-Earth would never use the weapons spread before us, but on the other hand, she can’t deny that the weapons are here. And they seem so much more… I don’t know, violent than I expected.
I head to the other side of the room, where the largest weapons are stored. I recognize torpedoes and missiles and bazookas from the vids of Sol-Earth discord Eldest showed me. A shelf lines the back of the room, cluttered with small round things, small cakes of compressed powder carefully packaged in clear plastic.
Amy picks one of the powder cakes up. “These look like toilet bowl cleaners we’d use on Earth, the kind you’d drop in the back of a tank.” She turns it over in her hands, the heavy plastic package crinkling. Then she notices my confused expression. “Oh, yeah, the toilets here don’t have tanks.”
On the bottom of the heavy, clear, thick-plastic packaging is a warning label etched into the container:
Anti-agricultural Biological Chemical
For use with Prototype Missile #476
Range: 100+ acres
To employ: See Prototype Missile #476
FRX
FRX… Financial Resource Exchange. The group that funded Godspeed’s mission in the first place.
On the next shelf is a similar cake-tablet, but this one is black, and the label on the bottom calls it an Anti-Personnel Biological Chemical.
I put the things back on the shelf cautiously, careful not to set anything off. It takes all the strength I have not to throw them away, hurtle them as far as I can, shove them all out the hatch.
“Don’t tell me you still think this is all for self-defense,” I say. I don’t want to pick a fight with Amy, but surely she can see these weapons are extreme. “This is chemical warfare. It’s preparation for genocide.”
“My mother’s a geneticist and every bit as important as my father in the military,” Amy counters immediately, but her voice is guarded, and I don’t know if it’s because she doesn’t want me to question her beliefs further or if it’s because she can’t bear to let herself doubt them. “If the FRX was intent on wiping out all life on Centauri-Earth, then why would they enlist a biologist to help? Why have a scientist who studies life if all they want to do is kill everything? There are twenty-seven people in the military — but seventy-three who aren’t.”
I nod at her. She’s right. Of course she’s right. But that doesn’t mean Orion’s wrong.
Amy turns her back to me, surveying the armory. She gasps.
“What is it?” I ask.
Instead of answering me, Amy bends down and slides a mustard-colored blister pack off the shelf. “This thing looks like half a softball,” she says, handing it to me. I turn the blister pack over and read the warning label on the bottom.
Warning: explosive; mild irritant
Explosive Compound Formula M
Range: 10 feet
To detonate: depress top center;
detonation time: three minutes
FRX
I put it back on the shelf as gently and quickly as I can, turning to see what Amy found under the blister pack.
“Look!” Amy says excitedly, waving a floppy. “The next clue!”
I lean over Amy’s shoulder, wondering if this new vid will be about the weapons we’ve just discovered or if it will help us fix the ship. “Why did he use a floppy instead of a mem card this time?” I ask idly.
She shrugs. It doesn’t matter — here’s the next clue, and we’re one step closer to finding what Orion hid before we froze him. And one step closer — I hope — to discovering just what that secret is.
And if it has anything to do with bringing the engine back to life.
I barely dare whisper the thought in my mind — but — there’s no denying the fact that Orion knew much more than any of us thought he did, and it somehow revolves around the stopped engine. This giant secret he keeps hinting at — it must be the key.
“Ready?” Amy asks, swiping her fingers across the screen.
Instead of seeing Orion sitting on stairs and talking, though, the screen remains black. I lean closer. Amy’s grip tightens, making the floppy curve.
“Why isn’t there a video?” she asks. “Did I do something wrong?”
I shake my head just as white words start to scroll across the black screen.
You’ve made it this far. That’s good. I expected nothing less from you.
First, I have a question for you. Why do we have these kinds of weapons?
“That’s exactly what I’ve been wondering,” I mutter.
“Mm?” Amy asks, her eyes bouncing from word to word.
“Nothing,” I say.
There has to be a reason for it. You have to be asking yourself the same thing I asked Eldest: If we are on a peaceful, exploratory mission like Eldest said — why are we armed for war?
Eldest never really answered me. It’s for when we land. That’s all he’d tell me. That the frozens have a reason for needing this kind of weaponry. But you don’t have guns like these unless you plan on killing something. It’s either us or them — whoever, whatever is on Centauri-Earth.
Either way, we — all of us born on the ship — are going to be caught in the middle when we land.
The last words fade to nothing but black, and then static fills the screen, quickly replaced with an image of Orion on the bottom of the big staircase. This video is different from all the other videos — not just because it was prefaced with scrolling text, but because Orion is much younger here, maybe twenty or so. The camera films at a crooked angle, and Orion reaches out and readjusts it. He keeps looking around, as if nervous to be discovered.
ORION: I just learned the secret. The big one.
“He’s younger here,” Amy says.
“He looks like me,” I say.
“No, he doesn’t.”
He does.
Orion leans forward on the steps, closer to the camera.
ORION: This is bigger than the cloning, bigger than Phydus. It’s the reason for Phydus.
“He sounds like me too.”
Orion swallows hard. A few moments pass before he speaks again. Amy casts a worried look in my direction, but I ignore her, focusing on the way Orion chews on his bottom lip.
ORION: Eldest doesn’t want anyone to know this secret. I don’t think he even wanted me to notice, but…
Orion speaks in a hurried voice now, low and urgent. We both lean forward too, neither of us breathing as we strain to hear.
ORION:… the outside of the ship needed maintenance. He told me to send First Shipper Devyn, but instead, I did it. I–I saw what he wanted me not to see. He’s angry. Angrier than I’ve ever seen him. I’ve thought before that he might… But this time, I really think… I might have to…
The camera pans to the left, behind the staircase. A bundle of supplies lies open on a makeshift cot, along with a few sealed boxes.
ORION: I’ve been preparing for a while. Ever since I first saw the icy hell in the cryo level. Ever since I learned about the cloning. I know I can be replaced. It won’t take much for Eldest to follow through with his threats.
The camera pans back to Orion, who looks defiant. He looks, I think, like me.