by Beth Revis
“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.
“I — oh,” she says when she sees me.
“Yes?”
“Um… Is that wise?”
“What?” I follow her gaze. “The robe? Eldest wore it.”
“Yes, but…”
“What did you need me for?”
“I think everyone’s here now, sir,” she says, squaring her shoulders.
For a moment, the robe seems to swallow me. I force my spine straighter and head to the door. It zips open.
A wave of silence washes over the entire crowd — those standing nearest the door cease talking immediately, then those behind them follow suit. And it is a crowd. I’d never realized how big over two thousand people looked when they were all looking at you.
Their eyes all follow me as I cross the short distance to the dais the Shippers have set up for me.
“You chutz!” a voice bellows across the crowded room.
The people in the room seem to move as one to make a path — and marching through that path is Bartie.
“What right do you have to wear that robe?” he shouts. His face is red, even the tips of his ears.
“I’m—” I stop. I can’t say I’m Eldest — I never claimed that title. And the robe is for an Eldest only.
In the end, it doesn’t matter that I didn’t have anything witty to say to Bartie, because once he gets close enough to me, he knocks me aside so forcefully that I stagger back against the wall.
“The frex?” I say, but my words are drowned out by Bartie’s voice.
“Are we going to put up with this?” Bartie roars, turning to the crowd. “How can this child dare call us all together and parade in Eldest’s robe? He’s no Eldest — he’s no leader!”
And they cheer him.
Not all of them, certainly, but enough. Enough to make the sound of their support swirl inside my brain, soaking into my memory like water into a sponge.
“We deserve a new leader. One chosen by us!”
I grab Bartie by the elbow and spin him back around to face me. “What the frex do you think you’re doing?”
“Your job,” he sneers.
“I can do it myself!” I shout back.
“Oh, really?” He pushes me, hard, and I stumble back into the wall. Bartie’s talking in a quieter voice now — and everyone is listening to him. He’s evoked a truer silence than I did. When they quit talking for me, that’s all they did, but now they’re not just quiet, they’re listening to him. Listening to his every word. “What have you done since Eldest died? Nothing.”
“I took you all off Phydus!”
“Not everyone wanted to be off Phydus! What did you do for them? Let them huddle in their homes, scared. Let them die in the streets. Did you even notice how many of us aren’t here? Have you noticed how many people don’t work? How many have broken down, are scared, are alone? Do you even care?”
“Of course I care!”
Bartie takes a step back, looking me up and down, measuring me. “You can’t be Eldest if you’re still Elder,” he says finally in a voice calm and quiet, but still loud enough for everyone to hear. “And,” he adds in a voice so low only I can hear, “you can’t be Eldest if you care for Amy more than Godspeed.”
I don’t know if it’s because of his sneer or because a part of me is afraid he’s right, but I rear back and slam my fist against his face with all the force I have in me.
Bartie looks shocked for a second, but then he recovers and throws an uppercut that catches me under my chin. My head jerks back so hard my neck pops, and my teeth snap over my tongue. I taste blood inside my mouth, and droplets of dark red stain the top of the Eldest Robe.
The entire crowd surges forward, and the silence they held before is broken. A chant erupts near Bartie and me as his closest supporters shout, “Lead yourselves! Lead yourselves!” Shelby’s voice screams out over the chanting, directing orders to the other Shippers. I move to help her, but Bartie nails me in the stomach. I double over as Shelby jumps into the fight to defend me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do much good. As she’s blocking Bartie, one of his lackeys rushes forward and slams me against the wall. My elbow cracks against the metal, and I hiss in pain as I draw my leg up and knee him in the stomach.
I race to the da
is and leap over the small step.
“Enough!” I roar.
Apparently it’s not.
This is what I’m king of: a whirling mass of humans who either hate me or ignore me.
I jab my finger into my wi-com — wincing, because the sudden movement makes my elbow hurt more. “Direct command: Tonal variation. Level two. Apply to entire ship.”
Now they look at me, some of them with the same look they reserved for Eldest.
“End tonal variant.” I disconnect the wi-com link. “I didn’t call you here to lord over you!” I shout. “I called you here — oh, frex, just follow me.”
I shove my way through the crowd and throw open the hatch in the floor that leads to the Shipper Level. I lead the way down the ladder and head directly to the Engine Room. Shelby calls after me, but I ignore her — she’s going to tell me that this is a forbidden area, that I shouldn’t do this — but they deserve to see. They have to see.
I open both Bridge doors, and the people pour inside. I hear shouts of wonder and amazement from many just at seeing the engine — only the first-level Shippers have ever come this far. Not everyone will fit on the Bridge, and Shelby and the first-level Shippers man the room, directing people where to stand, cutting off the entrance when the Bridge becomes too crowded. Other Shippers jump in to help, sending the message down the crowd that everyone will get a chance to see.
I roll my thumb over the biometric scanner and open the covering that hides the windows. The metal panels fall away slowly, revealing first a sprinkling of stars that soon give way to the glow of the planet spilling its light over the edges of the windows, brimming with promise and hope. I forget about the crowd. I see only the swirling white over blue and green. This is the world, the whole world, and it’s ours.
“We’re going home!” I shout.
For one second there is ringing silence throughout the Bridge.
Then the chaos returns — but instead of fighting and shouting, there is cheering and screams of joy. Some of the people surge forward, their arms outstretched. They can’t even reach the window, but they’re straining up, as if they think touching it will make the planet more real. The Shippers rush forward to create a barrier and protect the control panel.
