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.

ORION: I may know Eldest’s secrets, but he doesn’t know mine. He hasn’t figured out where I’m hiding or how. He’s been watching me on the wi-com system, but I’ve figured out how to trick the signal, make it look like I’m at the Hospital when I’m not.

Orion raises a hand to his left ear and gently touches—but doesn’t depress—the button there.

ORION: He doesn’t know about this place. But it’s not enough. I might have to . . .

Orion’s fingers seize over the wi-com, his nails scratching the skin and leaving pink welts in their wake. I glance at Amy as she touches the bracelet wi-com on her wrist with one finger, a worried frown on her lips.

ORION: But the secret . . . it should stay a secret. No one should know this. Not even me. It’s . . . too much.

Orion stands and begins pacing. His feet come off camera and on camera; his voice fades in and out.

ORION: I don’t know what’s frexing right anymore. Do I tell the truth? Or is the lie better? . . . And what about . . . ?

Muffled sounds echo as Orion moves away from the camera.

ORION: I can’t cover it up. Someone may need to know—there might be a time when we have to . . . But the floppy network’s not safe . . .

I strain my ears to make out the indistinguishable sounds in the background—Orion’s muttering something, words I can’t make out over the sound of his footsteps marching back and forth in front of the camera. He picks up the camera, and a jumble of images wash over the screen. After a moment, he turns the camera back to his face, now cast in shadows.

ORION: I’m leaving this for whoever finds it. If something happens to me . . . if Eldest . . . you know. Well. If something happens to me, I figured someone ought to know.

Orion takes a deep breath, then opens his mouth to speak.

The video cuts off abruptly.

“That’s it?” Amy asks.

“No, look—there’s more.”

Scrolling words fill the screen again.

That was a long time ago, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Amy, you’ve seen the truth for yourself. You’ve seen the weapons. You know—you must know—that if we need weapons like this, then whatever’s on Centauri-Earth isn’t worth it. Lock up the armory, forget the passcode, and walk away.

32

AMY

“WELL, FREX,” ELDER SAYS, LEANING AWAY AND LOOKING AT the blank floppy in disgust.

I look up at him inquiringly.

“All that floppy did was prove that he was paranoid—and that this whole clue-chasing thing has been pointless.”

“Pointless?” I pick the floppy up and stand as well.

Elder nods. “Pointless. I was hoping to learn how to restart the engine, but all we get from this vid is some big secret that Orion decided not to share with us. He sent us on a chase all over the ship to find clues that lead to a door that he just tells us to lock again. You don’t get much more pointless than that.”

I nod, folding the floppy and slipping it into my pocket. “There is definitely something sketch about this,” I say as soon as the last words fade to black.

“Sketch?”

“You know, weird.”

A wry grin slides across Elder’s face. “Every time I think I know you, you say something so . . . strange.”

“Ha!” I punch him on the arm. “I thought we’ve been over this before: you’re the one who speaks sketch.”

Elder pushes the heavy submarine-like door closed, and I make sure the door does lock behind us—but I’m not going to forget the code.

“I think Orion was scared,” I say, following Elder down the hall.

“He was loons.” Elder’s voice is bitter. “That was filmed around the time Eldest tried to kill him, and it’s clear he’d already lost it. Orion was paranoid—”

“He had a right to be paranoid.” I can’t help it; I touch the smooth skin behind my left ear, remembering the way Orion had scratched his skin in the video. What did it take for him to dig deeper into his skin, to rip the wires from his own flesh? I glance at the wi-com encircling my wrist and swallow back bile at the thought of how it was those wires, dripping in gore and blood, and . . . ew.

“It’s weird, though.” I pause, thinking. “All the rest of the videos have been on that mem card thing. This one was already loaded on a floppy, sitting in the armory. None of the other ones had text. And none of the other ones were that old. That video was made just before Orion faked his own death. Maybe someone, I don’t know, messed with it.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Elder frowns at the video. “Look, I get that Orion made these vids for you, and you feel like you have to solve his frexing riddle. But we’re going to have to figure out how to live on this ship without whatever stupid message he left for us.” He runs his fingers through his hair. He usually does this when he’s thinking, but there’s anger in the way he does it now, as if he’s only doing it to stop himself from punching something. “We have serious problems to deal with—and this was just a frexing waste of time. The engine isn’t going to fix itself. Orion’s just distracting us from the real problems.”

I bite my lip. Orion didn’t leave a message for us; he left it for me. And it was something about getting off the ship, I know it. The key to fixing the engine, the reason for the delay—something. Something important.

Besides. How much longer can we go on like this?

“Hold on,” Elder growls, and then turns away from me, jabbing his wi-com button on the side of his neck with such force that it looks like it hurts. He speaks in a low voice for a moment, then shouts, “What?!”

“What is it?” I ask softly, putting my hand on his arm.

Elder jerks away from me. “What?” he says again into the wi-com. “I’ll be right there.” He presses the button behind his ear again and glances at me before taking off down the hallway toward the elevators. “I’ve got to go,” he says.

“Why? What’s wrong?” I have to jog to catch up. “Elder, what’s wrong?”

“Bartie’s causing more trouble.” Elder slams his fist into the elevator call button. “I can’t waste my time with this anymore,” he says.

“It’s not a waste,” I say softly.