“Wow,” Victria mutters.

“Is this something else you’re going to use to coerce us? Another ‘grand’ scene like showing everyone the planet?” Bartie asks, and whatever in him that was friendly before is gone now.

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” I say loudly. “Let’s all go down.”

Amy twists the handle to the hatch. I skid into the pond, fighting against the sucking mud to reach her side. The others follow me in. I’m worried about them—should we let them follow us down into the unknown? But when Amy sees my face, she nods, once, as if telling me that they should come too. We lift the lid up before the water’s gone, and some of it sloshes down the hole. A ladder stretches into the darkness.

“Come on,” Amy says, pulling one leg free from the murky pond bottom and stepping onto the ladder. Before I can say anything else, she’s already climbing down.

I lower the hatch lid over my head. I don’t like the feeling of being trapped in the narrow space—it’s so tight I can reach out both arms and touch the sides—but the idea of leaving the hatch open is worse. If someone thinks to follow us down, at least we’ll have some warning when the lid is raised again. . . .

We climb down quickly, eager to be out of the confined space. As we reach the area between the levels, it gets even colder.

My breath comes out heavy, and the warm air bounces around the enclosed space. Chilly sweat drips down my back, making me shiver.

“Where are we?” Victria asks wonderingly.

“On a ladder,” Bartie says.

“I know that, chutz. I meant, in terms of the ship.”

“We’re going to find out,” Amy says as her feet hit something solid. “We’re here.”

We all jump down beside her. There’s another hatch—we spin it open, and a smaller ladder automatically drops down, stopping at the floor beneath. Amy goes down first, and I follow her.

This is a bridge.

It mirrors the one on the Shipper Level in miniature. The window is smaller, but it still faces the planet. Victria turns her back to the planet, but the rest of us all stand, still stunned speechless by the sight of the massive blue and green orb. It seems so achingly close. The control panel angles under the window, rows of desks behind it. I think about what Shelby told me, how—if all goes well, and if these controls work like the ones on the main Bridge—you can just hit the autopilot button on the front of the control panel, and the ship will land itself.

Propped up on top of the autopilot button is a floppy, already loaded with a mem card.

“The last vid,” Amy says.

“What is it?” Bartie asks, picking up the floppy.

I snatch it from his hands. My eyes question Amy—should we show them?

“All in,” she whispers, and even though I’m not sure what that phrase is about, the meaning is clear.

Everyone crowds around me as I swipe my fingers across the screen. I glance up once at the honeycombed glass window showing the planet, and the video begins.

<<begin video feed>>

“What is this?” Bartie asks, drawing closer.

Victria gasps. Amy puts her arm around her shoulders and squeezes as Orion’s face fills the screen.

He sits on a chair in front of the bridge. I glance up, looking at the real chair, the one in the middle. That’s where Orion sat as he filmed this, the planet cresting over his left shoulder, so bright that it cast Orion in silhouette.

ORION: Oh, Amy. I wish I didn’t have to show you this. I really do. Because . . . now that you’ve seen the planet, how can I ask that you turn away?

Orion glances behind him at the planet and sighs. Victria sighs too.

ORION: Because that’s what I have to ask you to do. If at all possible—I need you to turn away, lock this door, and never come back.

Amy’s mouth drops open, but no sound comes out.

ORION: Did you think the big secret was that we were here? That the planet is just on the other side of that window?

Orion shakes his head. I notice that Victria, her eyes glued to Orion’s face, shakes her head just barely too, the movement hardly noticeable.

ORION: That’s not the secret.

Orion reaches behind him and pulls out a sheaf of papers.

“This is what he has,” Bartie says, picking up a sheaf of papers from where they were resting on the control panel. The edges are curled and the pages are dusty, but these are the same papers Orion holds on the screen.

Orion clears his throat, then reads, holding the papers up so the camera can show the report.

We all lean over the sheaf of papers Bartie holds, reading along with Orion’s gravelly voice.

Date: 328460

Ship Status: Arrival

Ship Record: Godspeed has arrived at Centauri-Earth 248 days prior to expected planet-landing. Preliminary scans indicate that the planet is life-supporting, with appropriate gravity, air quality with sufficient oxygen levels, and liquid water. However, additional scans have proven that the planet is already inhabited. Not by any creatures we can tell are sentient, but the life-forms seem . . . aggressive.

Date: 328464

Ship Status: Orbital

Ship Record: We have continued to scan the planet. The life-forms on the surface have been confirmed. Visual probes indicate that the planet is habitable but inhospitable. Our current weapons do not seem a sufficient enough defense against the creatures on the surface.

Date: 328467

Ship Status: Orbital

Ship Record: Crew is restless. It is the opinion of our top statisticians and scientists that we should not fulfill our mission for planet-landing at this point. The surface is too dangerous. Communication with Earth has been severed. We cannot expect aid from other sources, and we cannot defend ourselves outside the ship. We will conduct a vote with the crew, explaining the situation. It is my recommendation that the crew remains on board the ship where it is safe. Our needs are provided for, and the ship’s external engines can be redirected to internal maintenance.

Date: 328518

Ship Status: Orbital

Ship Record: Mutiny. The ship’s crew did not see the logic of staying aboard, despite my protests. There has been significant loss of life. My scientists, however, have developed a method of influencing them to obedience.

 

Amy and I look up at each other. “This is the Plague, isn’t it?” she asks. “This is where Phydus came from. This—this ‘captain’—he’s the first Eldest.”

I nod.

“Shh,” Bartie snaps.

Date: 328603

Ship Status: Orbital

Ship Record: A way of life has resumed with increasing stability. The crew is once more submissive. We will work on rebuilding our numbers. In the event that communication can be resumed with Earth or aid otherwise received, we can still commence with planet-landing. Until that point, with conservation and careful production, the internal functions of the ship should subsist for countless generations.

 

Orion sets the papers down on the control panel at the front of the bridge in the exact same spot Bartie found them.

ORION: So, that’s why we can’t land. I’m not a frexing chutz; I get what’s going on here. The Plague Eldest was right to keep us on board the ship. I’ve seen the armory—you’ve seen it too. There are weapons there. . . .

Orion shakes his head in disbelief. My eyes are on Victria.

ORION: Amy, surely you know that those weapons aren’t normal. . . . If the Plague Eldest says that there are monsters on Centauri-Earth that those weapons can’t kill . . .

He shakes his head again.

ORION: And besides, think about it. Think about those weapons.

Orion leans forward, closer to the camera. All four of us lean in closer too.

ORION: You think those frozens in the cryo chambers are going to use ’em? Frex, no. That’s what we’re here for.

Orion stands up, walks to the window, stares a minute, comes back.

ORION: See this?

Orion picks up the camera and angles it to show ten empty circles on the floor. As one, all four of us look up, over to the far wall and the ten hollow depressions in the floor.

ORION: That’s where the probes were. After all the ones the Plague Eldest sent, every Eldest after that sent down another probe. They’ve all come back with warnings, that we can’t live on Centauri-Earth without a fight. A fight we’ll probably lose. A fight the frozens will make us fight.

“That’s when he decided to kill them,” Amy says. “All the frozens, after I woke up—that’s why he unplugged them. You were getting close to the truth, even if you didn’t realize it, and he was afraid of what they’d do.”

I meet her eyes. “That’s what he told us. That’s what he told us all along. He wasn’t lying.”

Amy scowls. “He was lying about some of it. I don’t care what he says, my father wouldn’t—”

“Shh!” Bartie shoots us angry looks.

ORION: We ran out of probes a couple of gens ago. I don’t know how long the engines will last now, how long we can stay here, in Godspeed. This is the contingency plan.

He raises both hands, indicating the cryo level’s bridge.

ORION: If the engines fail, if life support falters, if Godspeed can’t protect us anymore, then—and only then—we can leave the ship.

Orion’s eyes stare directly out of the screen.

ORION: Amy, I could tell from the start: the thing you cared most about was the truth. When I first met you, you were crying at the wall, remember, and I told you everything was going to be okay, and I could tell—you weren’t going to just accept what I said. You were willing to face the truth, even if it hurt.

I glance up at Amy; she’s even paler than usual.

ORION: Well, this is the truth. What you do with it is up to you. I don’t know what choice should be made—Eldest thought I knew too much; he was scared of what I would do—and I was scared too. Still am. That leaves you. Now that you know the truth, Amy, you have to decide.

Orion takes a deep breath. Amy holds hers.

ORION: Is the ship so bad that you have to face the monsters below? Is it worth the risk of your life—of everyone’s lives? If the answer is yes, then begin the planet-landing. Use this shuttle if you have to. But. But if Godspeed can still be your home, if it’s possible to stay on board—do so.

Amy lets out a long, shaking breath. Almost as if he heard her, Orion glares down. She bites her lip, her whole body focused on Orion’s next words.

ORION: This is the last resort.

The screen fades to black.

<<end video feed>>

64

AMY

I LET THE FLOPPY SLIDE FROM MY FINGERS AND WATCH AS IT wafts to the floor.

“Does this mean,” Victria says slowly, “that we get to stay on the ship? Forever?” Her eyes flick to the windows behind us, the planet on the other side.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No.”

“The only part of the ship that’s damaged is the Bridge. We could stay . . . here. . . .” Elder’s voice trails off under my flashing glare.

“The monsters? You’re worried about the monsters, or whatever it is that’s on the planet?” I roll my eyes. “Look, I’ve seen the armory. I’m not worried one bit. That captain? He was just scared. Or he didn’t want to let go of his power. Look at him—he just assumed it would be bad and then hid all the evidence about the planet and set himself up as king of the ship. What kind of nepotistic megalomaniac does that? He didn’t care about landing, about escaping, as long as he kept his power. And he’s had every single person on this ship convinced of the same thing, including you!”