by Beth Revis
I head straight to the grav tube. As I go, I see others running too, hiding, going for their homes or the fields, racing, like me, to some kind of shelter. A man pulls a woman behind him into the butcher’s block. He grabs a cleaver and stands in the doorway, daring anyone to attack. Another woman collapses on the steps leading to her home, clutching her stomach and screaming.
As the grav tube sucks me up, I see the chaos spread out before me. The Food Distro is truly in flames now, the smoke heavy and black, already making the painted sky above it gray.
My eyes adjust slowly on the Shipper Level. It seems dark compared to the brightness of the solar lamp on the Feeder Level. And quieter. While the Feeder Level was all boiling action, the tension here feels like a dense fog.
Shelby rushes to me; she’d clearly been waiting for my arrival.
“What do we do?” she asks.
The entire level seems to come to a standstill as everyone waits for me to answer.
“Get the first-level Shippers—meet me at the door to the Bridge,” I say.
“But sir—what about the Feeder Level?”
“That’s an order,” I say. “Immediately.”
I stare her down. I try to assume the cold, impassive face that Eldest wore so well, the look that demanded obedience. I don’t know if I can make that face work, even though Eldest and I share the same DNA. I should be able to arrange my features—the same as his—into an identical look of power and command, but the more I think of it, the more I feel like a little kid trying on Daddy’s shoes.
She does it, though. She pushes her wi-com, gives the orders to the First Shippers, and then strides down the hall toward the Bridge.
Before I follow her, I have some coms of my own to make.
“Com link req: Bartie,” I say, pushing my wi-com.
A moment later, Bartie answers my com.
“You’re going to destroy us all,” I say.
“You opened the door.” Bartie’s voice is strained, as if he’s running—running from the mob he himself created. “I just pushed them through it.”
50
AMY
I HEARD THE WI-COMS FIRST.
Then I saw the smoke.
Then I could hear, far in the distance—the sound of the ship in revolt.
Elder coms me and at first I’m relieved—at least I know he’s escaping the mob—but he sounds as if he’s running—fleeing—and the com cuts out before I can say anything.
I run straight to the Hospital, to the elevator, to the cryo level.
It is silent here, and cold.
Above me there is rage, and fire, and chaos.
But here: stillness and ice.
I pull my parents out at the same time, relishing in the feel of cold metal on my skin, the ch-thunk sound the cryo chambers make as they settle on their stands.
“Today,” I whisper, “I miss you.”
I know it’s stupid, I know it’s pointless, but there is still within me a tiny part of my mind that believes my parents can fix anything. Even a mutinous ship, even people who are tearing apart the only home they’ve known. Even me, caught in the eye of this storm.
Elder said the ship would be landing soon, a voice whispers to the piece of me that still cries for them.
When the ship lands, they’ll be woken up anyway. Why not wake them up now?
Why not?
Why not?
Why not?
51
ELDER
THE FREX AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH A SHIP IN REVOLT? IF they’d just listen, we could be discussing preparations for planet-landing. Instead, the people seem intent on ripping the ship apart at the seams.
I storm into the irrigation room first.
“Drop the strongest rain program we have,” I order the Shipper on duty, Tearle.
“Elder,” Tearle protests. “That has the potential to cause minor flash floods on the streets.”
“Do it,” I order.
“How long should the rain be?” He sounds reluctant, but he moves over to the water controls regardless.
“I’ll tell you when to stop it.”
I go across the hall to the solar lamp operations. The solar lamp is automated, but the level of heat is regulated by one Shipper, a mousy woman who looks as if she’d be more comfortable on one of the farms. Her name is Larin.
I take out a floppy and pull up the security vid feeds from around the City. The vids show the Food Distro—the rain is flooding it, and the fire is already turning into smoldering ruins. I swipe my hand across the screen to vids of the farms, the Greenhouses, the main street of the City. People are fighting and screaming through the rain. Although there’s no sound on these vids, I don’t need it. I know what a rebellion sounds like.
“I want you to cover the solar lamp,” I tell Larin. She’s been watching me, worried, waiting for my command.
“It’s the middle of the day, Elder!” She looks at me as if I’m crazy.
I suppose I am. The solar lamp is never cut off, but a heavy metal screen covers it during the ship’s version of night. It’s all scheduled, so dark time lasts exactly eight hours and only happens when it’s the proper time. Not now.
“Cover the lamp,” I order again.
“But—”
“Cover it.”
She stands up and crosses the small room to the control panel. Larin’s fingers hover over a switch. She mutters something.
“What was that?” I demand.
“Maybe Bartie is right,” she says clearly.
I stride across the room and slam my hand against the switch. Beneath us, the Feeder Level is plunged into darkness. But here we’re not. I lean in close to Larin’s face. If Marae were here—frex, if Eldest were here . . .
She stares back defiantly.
Then looks away.
“Uncover the lamp,” I order.
Her hand shoots forward, flicking the lamp back on. She stares back at me, hoping that I’m about to leave. But I don’t. Instead, I wait another minute.
On the floppy, the vids show the people staring at the sky, trying to peer through the torrential downpour to see the solar lamp. It has never gone dark other than at scheduled nighttime. At least I’ve shocked them enough to stop the fighting.
“Cover the lamp again,” I say.
She hesitates, but doesn’t protest this time.
I watch the screens black out once more.
And I push my wi-com and do an all-call. “Attention, all residents of Godspeed. Everyone on board the ship—every single person—is to report to the Keeper Level Great Room this evening at dark time.”
“Bring back the lamp,” I tell the Shipper when I disconnect the wi-com.
She flips the switch immediately, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me.
I press my wi-com button one more time. It won’t take Bartie long to come up with his own sort of all-call, something about how I have no right ordering everyone to come to me or something like that.
“Wi-com, Eldest override,” I say. “Authorization code: 00G. Disable all communication; exception: Eldest device.”
I turn around and leave the solar lamp room, order Tearle to stop the rain, and then head down the hall. Now Bartie can’t com anyone. None of them can but me. At least Amy’s safely locked in her room.
As I cross the Shipper Level, I can feel them all watching me. The Shippers stop their work until I pass, eyes following me down the hall.
Before, I would have felt that their eyes contained questions and doubt, and that would have made me crumble.
But now, I don’t care. I’m taking the authority that should have been mine from the start.
For the first time in my life, I feel as if I am truly Eldest.
•••
Shelby and the first-level Shippers are waiting for me at the Bridge. I stride straight to them and lock the door behind me.
“What have the scans shown?” I demand. If it’s going to take a planet-landing to stop this shite from Bartie
and his so-called revolution, I’ll land the frexing ship. But I won’t do it unless I know the ship can make it.
While Shelby brings up the scans on a floppy, I seethe. It’s irrational, but I can’t help but blame Orion for some of this. Maybe there really is something in his frexing clues that would get us to the planet easier, but the man was so loons he hid the information.
Shelby hands me the floppy. “All the scans indicate that the planet’s environment is habitable. The planet has water, breathable air, vegetation. . . . There’s nothing to indicate that we can’t land,” she says.
There’s a catch in her voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“Our records indicate that there are supposed to be a set of deeper-level probes on the Bridge,” she says. “We’ve looked everywhere and can’t find them.”
“Why do we need probes if the scans are clear?”
“We don’t technically need them. But—it’s in our records that the probes should be deployed. Besides, I’m worried. . . . Why have we been here, in orbit, all this time? Why didn’t we planet-land when we got here? And . . . not only are the probes missing, but so are the communication boxes.”
“The what?”
“There was a system set up to communicate with Sol-Earth. In our records, we have diagrams and manuals for operation and how to fix them if they break . . . but they’re not there. It’s not just that we lost communication with Sol-Earth—it’s that our only method of communicating with them is entirely gone.”
The other first-level Shippers all look nervous behind Shelby; they’re worried too. Something’s not right.
“Whatever the reason,” I say, “it doesn’t matter now. Now we’re at a point where we need to land. And we can. So we will.”
Shelby nods.
“Are you all prepared for planet-landing?” I ask.
Shelby straightens her shoulders. “I’ve gone over several sims with the first-level Shippers. We are good to go.”
I glance at the elaborate control panels at the front of the Bridge. “It looks complicated.”
“It’s not. Actually, there’s an autopilot—” Shelby finally leans up and points to the center of the long control panel, where there are only a few controls. “The ship is designed to land itself when directed. The rest of the controls are for if something goes wrong. This?” She points to a large black button. “Initiates the planet-landing launch.”
“But you said the engine’s thrusters weren’t working.”
Shelby laughs, and there’s relief in the sound of it. “They’re not—but we don’t need those. There’s a different set of thrusters with a separate fuel system for planet-landing—short, high-powered burst thrusters just for breaking orbit. It doesn’t matter at all that the main thrusters are out. We’ll . . . never need them.” There’s wonder in her voice. She’s only just realizing just how much has changed with the introduction of this planet.
“So, I just push this button,” I say, pointing to the big black one, “and we land?”
“Technically. But it’s not as simple as that,” Shelby explains. “You’d need that throttle to help direct where the ship goes after re-entry. And there’s always the chance that the re-entry doesn’t go smoothly; then you need—” She indicates the rest of the Bridge. “But don’t worry. Me and the other Shippers know how. And the controls work. Our records indicate that we’ve had to use the Bridge controls at least six times throughout the flight—we crossed an asteroid belt many gens ago, and our ancestors before the Plague had to adjust the flight plan.”
She meets my eyes and, despite herself, a grin spreads across her face. “We’re going to land this thing, aren’t we?”
“Oh, yes,” I say. “But before we do that, I’m going to show everyone what they almost lost.”
52
AMY
WHEN I CLOSE MY PARENTS BACK UP IN THE CRYO CHAMBER, I think about everything I wish I could tell them, but all I say is: “Soon.”
I think about returning to my room—my grumbling stomach would appreciate it if I got something to eat—but I doubt there’s any wall food at the Hospital, and I can’t reach Elder on my wi-com.
Part of me wishes that instead of coming here by the elevator, I’d explored the stairs I’d found with Orion’s clues. I’m desperately curious about where they lead—surely they go to the last locked door—but even though no one but me knows about the stairs, I’m half afraid to go down them without Elder.
Instead, I go to the hatch that leads to the stars. Maybe I can see the planet through the bubble-glass window if I look just right.
That’s odd.
The code for the door is Godspeed, or, on the numbered pad, 46377333. But the little window over the keypad already shows numbers: 46377334. The numbers fade to an error message: INCORRECT CODE. As the message changes back to the wrong numbers, I look inside the hatch.
Someone’s lying facedown on the floor.
My eyes widen. I clear out the incorrect code and type in the right one, opening the hatch door.
My heart drops. I know who this is. My hand flies immediately to my wi-com, and I try first for Elder, but the stupid thing just beeps uselessly. I stare at the body on the floor, my stomach churning. I can’t seem to catch my breath.
“Luthor?” I ask tentatively.
I try to com Doc too, but I can already tell from the stench that it’s too late.
I roll the body over. Green patches line his arms from wrist to elbow.
I look for the message Elder told me had been written across some of the victims, follow the leader. But there’s nothing here. Just patches and death.
His eyes are open, glassy. They stare straight ahead.
His body is stiff. Cold. He’s been dead awhile.
He died down here, probably before Elder gave his announcement about planet-landing. He died without knowing hope. He died cold and alone, blocked from the light of the stars, on a hard metal floor, surrounded by walls.
There’s nothing I can do. He’s dead.
I glance back at the keypad by the door. Whoever dumped his body in the hatch meant to type the code and open the outer door, sending the body out into the vacuum of space. They messed the code up on the last number and left the body by accident.
I bite my lip, trying to think who would do this—and what I should do if I figure it out. Does Luthor’s murderer deserve punishment? He tried to rape me, he did rape Victria, and he would do it again, given the chance. He’s been pushing for a rebellion not because he believes in any ideal of democracy, but because he thrills in causing chaos. He never showed any remorse. He didn’t make a mistake—he was evil, and he knew, and he relished in it.
I remember the rage in Elder’s eyes when I told him what Luthor had done, and how he went away for so long after.
No. No.
I force my mind to think of the future.
Planet-landing.
Fresh air.
My parents, awake and with me.
No more walls.
I turn my back very deliberately on the body and walk to the hatch door. I shut it, trying as hard as possible not to catch sight of the body through the bubble window.
I start to type the correct code into the control panel by the door.
G-o-d.
I pause.
Under my tunic, the gold cross necklace weighs heavily against my neck, as if it would like to pull me down, down. I feel the disapproving gaze of my parents, frozen and locked away in their cryo chambers. This—this is covering up a murder.
A murder of a horrible man who deserved to die.
But a man, nonetheless.
But he deserved it.
I think about Victria’s tear-streaked face.
I can’t do anything; he’s already dead.
I could tell Elder.
But what if I’m right and Elder—
Very quickly, I type out the rest of the code.
The door flies open; Luthor’s body flies out.
>
He’s gone.
Forever.
53
ELDER
I GET TO THE KEEPER LEVEL ONLY A FEW MINUTES BEFORE the solar lamp is due to click off—at its proper time—and I rush straight to Eldest’s room, swing open the door of his closet, and pull out the Keeper Robe. Stars are sprinkled across the shoulder, a planet along the hem. This robe symbolizes every hope and dream my people have ever known. And I’m going to make those dreams come true tonight.
I push my wi-com and do an all-call. “Everyone on board Godspeed is to come immediately to the Keeper Level,” I say, then disconnect the link. I don’t want to waste time on words.
I slide the robe off the hanger and slip it over my shoulders. Before, it felt like the robe was too big for me. Tonight, I stand straight and tall, my chest puffed out, and the robe fits perfectly.
In a few minutes, I can hear people start to arrive. Amy won’t be here; there’s no way she’d come among a crowd of this many people—and while I’m glad she’ll be safe in her room, I wish I could walk away from all the other residents of Godspeed and take her to the Bridge myself, just the two of us.
The people’s footsteps are heavy on the metal floor, and their talk is loud, totally unlike the quiet, polite whispers that filled the Great Room the last time Eldest called a group meeting.
It will take a while for everyone to arrive. I can hear Shelby and the other Shippers organizing the group, making sure there is enough room for everyone. The Shippers are also, I know, stationing themselves among the people most likely to cause trouble. In the meantime, I sit down on Eldest’s bed. I breathe in. I breathe out. I don’t want to have to speak, not to everyone, but words will be required. I will have to do this.
There’s a knock on the door. I walk across the room and open it. Shelby slips inside and shuts the door. I wonder how she knew I’d be here rather than in my room, then realize—she probably always assumed I’d be here. This is the Eldest’s room, and whether I take his name or not, I’m still him now.
