“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.”