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“Do we know more about how they died?” Elder asks, obviously on the same train of thought as me.
“The pteros. ” At our blank stares, Chris elaborates. “That’s what they’re calling those bird monsters. Pteros—short for pterodactyl or pterosaur or something. Because they look so much like dinosaurs. ”
I imagine what Lorin and Juliana’s last moments must have looked like—all claws and saw-like teeth. My lip curls involuntarily in disgust, and I force myself not to think about that.
“You should go,” Chris adds. “Your father hasn’t noticed you’re missing, Amy, but he will soon. . . . ”
I nod—my dad is going to be furious if he finds out I made my way back to the shuttle, especially after yesterday’s fiasco with the purple flowers. Wrapping my hand around Elder’s, I gently drag him away, back in the direction of the ruins, while Chris heads up the ramp.
“What’s he going to do with him?” Elder asks, looking back at the shuttle and nearly tripping on an exposed root.
“Who?”
“Orion. ”
“Bury him, I guess,” I say. “That’s what they did with the others, the ones who died during landing. ”
Elder frowns. He stops and starts back to the shuttle, then stops again and continues on the trail to the ruins. “I don’t like that,” he says in an undertone.
“What—what did your people do with the dead?” I ask, tripping over the question. I know that there was no religion on the ship, but I was never really clear on what happened to those who passed away. Harley’s death left no body, and I never saw what happened to the others. When I met Steela, an old woman who was killed merely for her age, Doc hinted that the bodies were recycled, but no one, not even Elder, knew about that, I think. And that was the closest I came to discovering the truth.
“We send them to the stars,” Elder says. “I’ve read about old religions and rituals. We didn’t make a display of it—no ‘prayers’ or anything. We might not believe in gods, but we all could see the beauty of an eternity floating free, away from the confines of the ship, drifting across the universe. ”
He swallows, and I notice that his eyes are very red.
“What are we supposed to do with the dead now that they can no longer fly away?” he asks. “Burying them is the exact opposite of setting them free in the universe. ”
“My mother told me once that a famous physicist said we’re all made of star stuff,” I say slowly, trying to remember the exact words of the quote. “That the particles inside us are the same that are in stars. Maybe it doesn’t matter if someone’s buried or floating in space; maybe they’re sent to the stars either way. ”
“They’re still dead,” Elder says bitterly.
“We all die someday. ” Maybe the only thing that makes that fact bearable is the idea that death is the only way we can return to the stars.
When we get to the edge of the forest, the people are already gathering into a crowd in the meadow that stretches between the trees and the ruins. They all mutter among themselves, the sounds loud but too indistinct for me to make out specific words. I don’t need words, though, to know what it is they’re feeling. Fear. I start to skirt the edge of the crowd, heading toward the buildings, but Elder grabs my hand and squeezes it. With a look, I know what he intends to do—stay here, where he is needed most. I nod silently and head off, dodging around clusters of worried, anxious people until I reach the buildings on the edge of the ruins.
“There you are!” Mom calls, relief in her voice. “Where have you been? Off with that Elder boy? You had me scared stiff! If you’re going to do something like that, at least take Chris or one of the other military with you. ”
“I was just—um—” I start, trying to come up with a lie. Mom hasn’t even noticed the tattered copy of The Little Prince or the voice amplifier I’m carrying. “Chris gave this to me to give to Dad,” I finally say, holding out the voice amplifier while slipping the book behind my back.
Mom bustles me into the first building.
I stop short.
Two bodies are laid out on the dusty floor. One body is covered—mostly. I can still see the shock of bushy hair sticking out from under the jacket that covers half of Juliana Robertson’s face, but that’s about the only thing that identifies her. She’s mangled and bloody in a carnivorous sort of way, and I have no doubt that it was a “ptero” that killed her.
Lorin looks as if she might be sleeping.
But she’s not.
“Where’s Dr. Gupta?” I ask.
Mom si
ghs. “We’re not sure, but . . . it doesn’t look hopeful. There were . . . pieces . . . of poor Juliana scattered around. We thought at first that Dr. Gupta was, er, among the pieces. But it seems as if he’s missing. ” I look up at her, hopeful, but the look on her face makes my hope die. “Or it could just be that there was nothing of him left . . . I mean . . . Amy, maybe he was . . . ”
“Eaten?” I gasp.
Mom looks grim.
