A Million Suns by Beth Revis Page A

dwell on one word said in anger when we have the whole ship to think of.
    Silence spreads between us, but at least he doesn’t look away from me.
    â€œSo,” Elder says finally, “what’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing’s wrong,” I say. “Just . . . strange. I found this.”
    I hold out the small black chip I peeled from the back of Harley’s painting and the screen I found in Dante’s
Inferno
.
    â€œA mem card and a dedicated vid screen!” Elder says, laughing. “I haven’t seen these in years! Floppies pretty much replaced them.”
    â€œHow do you use this mem card thing?” I ask, offering it to him.
    â€œA dedicated vid is just a digital membrane screen,” Elder says as he gently pops out the original memory card and replaces it with the new one. The square chip snaps to the screen as if there was a magnetic pull between them. “It’s like a floppy, but you have to have a mem card in the back to make them work.” He places the old mem card on the edge of my desk, then flips the dedicated vid over and swipes his finger across the screen. A glowing square pops up.
    â€œHere, let me,” I say, taking the video screen from him and pressing my thumb onto it. The glowing box fades away, replaced with a video that starts playing automatically.
    â€œThat’s . . . that’s the cryo level,” I whisper. The angle makes it look like security camera footage.
    Elder shakes his head. “That’s not possible; the cams down there were destroyed before Orion started to . . .”
    Started unplugging the other frozens.
    For several moments, nothing happens on the screen. I’m just about to ask Elder if it’s paused or broken when there’s movement at the corner of the video.
    A shadow first, snaking across the floor like a clawed hand.
    And then . . .
    â€œThat’s me,” Elder whispers.
    I glance at him, unsure of why his tone is so high and worried.
    â€œLet’s—uh. Let’s not watch this. I don’t think we should watch this.” His hand moves to stop the video, but I snatch it away.
    â€œWhy?” I demand.
    Elder bites his lip, worry smeared across his face.
    The Elder on the screen creeps forward. There’s no sound to the video, which makes it even weirder when on-screen Elder stops as if he’s heard something. After a moment, he turns to the square door that looks like it belongs in a morgue. He twists it open and slides the tray out.
    And then I’m not looking at Elder anymore. I’m looking at
me
.
    That’s
me
, frozen in ice. So still. I look dead. Horror curls my lip. That’s my flesh, my body. Naked. That’s Elder, looking at my
naked
body.
    â€œElder!” I screech, and smack him upside his head.
    â€œI didn’t know you then!” he says.
    â€œI didn’t know you were such a creeper!” I shout back.
    â€œI’m sorry!” Elder ducks away from me.
    The Elder on the screen looks up suddenly, drawing our attention back to the video. But after listening, head cocked like a worried bird, the Elder on-screen dips his attention back to me. He raises a hand—I notice that it’s shaking slightly—and places it on my glass box, just over where my heart is. Then he jumps—clearly startled by whatever sound he’s hearing in the background—and dashes off-screen.
    â€œYou just left me there?” I ask. I knew he had, he’d confessed it to me already—but to see it like that. To see me, left there so carelessly, helplessly.
    Elder looks miserable. He’s not watching the screen at all; he’s just watching me, this look on his face like he wishes I’d scream and punch at him and just get it over with.
    But I’m not mad anymore . . . at least, I’m not as mad as I am sad. And slightly disgusted. I don’t know how to put into words that sick,