Read Online A Million Suns by Beth Revis - Free Book Online

his hand, feeling the warm roughness of his fingers against my cheek. His breath shudders.
    I step closer.
    I look up, and he’s searching my eyes, just like he did after kissing me for the first time in the rain. “What are you looking for?”
    He doesn’t answer.
    He doesn’t need to.
    I know what he wants.
    And it’s not fair.
    â€œJust because we’re the only two teenagers on this whole ship doesn’t mean I have to love you. Why can’t I have a choice? Options?”
    Elder steps back, stung.
    â€œLook, it’s not that I
don’t
like you,” I say quickly, reaching for him. He jerks away. “It’s just . . .”
    â€œJust what?” he growls.
    Just that if I was back on Earth instead of on this damn ship, if I had met Elder at school or at a club or on a blind date, if I had my choice between Elder and every other boy in the world . . . Would I love him then?
    Would he love me?
    Love without choice isn’t love at all.
    â€œJust that I don’t want to be with you just because there’s no one else.”

11
    ELDER
    â€œBUT . . .”
    Â 
    But she’s already gone.

12
    AMY
    THE NEXT MORNING, I GO STRAIGHT TO MY PARENTS. I STARE at their icy faces until my eyes hurt, then I squeeze them shut. But whether I see them or not, the truth remains: They are frozen. I am not. And
Godspeed
is stopped.
    Stopped
.
    I force these thoughts from my head. Instead, I try to think of something to say to my parents, some memory I miss. But I can’t concentrate. I sigh, stand up, and slam my parents back into their cryo chambers. Nothing’s been right since Elder’s fight with me, and I can’t dwell on both their past and ours.
    It’s strange. On Earth, I’ve been called a lot worse than
freak
. But here, that word carries a different meaning, and when shouted at you by one of the few people you trust, it carries a different hurt.
    As I straighten, something digs into the side of my leg. I reach into my pocket and pull out the small rectangle of black plastic that I found yesterday in the Recorder Hall. I almost showed it to Elder, but . . . I couldn’t. When I got to the Keeper Level, I just wanted to be with him, without ominous messages from Orion to distract us. And then all I wanted was to escape from him.
    The black rectangle looks like a small version of a floppy, so I swipe my fingers along the top of it. A glowing box lights up in the middle of the screen. Words flash across it: RESTRICTED ACCESS
.
    I glance up. Without meaning to, I’ve meandered past the cryo chambers and toward the gen lab on the far side of this level. Beyond that door are vats of genetic material Doc and Eldest used to manipulate pregnancies during the Season, the water pump used to distribute Phydus . . . and Orion. What’s left of him. A frozen shell like my parents.
    I roll my thumb across the biometric scanner that locks the door to the gen lab and step inside once the door zips open. Someone’s placed a chair right beside the closest cryo chamber in the room, facing the thick glass window, like a Father positioning a chair to speak to the bedridden ill. I kick the chair out of the way so that I’m face-to-face with the man behind the glass.
    Orion.
    â€œI
hate
you,” I say.
    His eyes bulge, his fingers claw, but he can’t reach me. He can’t respond, he can’t blink, he can’t even move. He’s frozen, as good as dead.
    But I still hate him.
    This is Orion’s punishment. For the murders of the frozens and for the death of Eldest. When—if—the ship lands and the other cryogenically frozen people awake, they are to judge him for his murders and do with him as they see fit. That is the sentence Elder laid on him when he pushed the button to freeze him. But I know—in ways that no one else on this ship does—the real punishment is in being frozen.