Amy looks up as I approach, and her mother follows her gaze. “There are only a hundred sleeping bags,” Amy says.
“How is that not fair?” Although Amy and her mother sounded angry before, now her mother speaks with bland, carefully measured words.
Amy breaks in. “Mom, this is Elder. You guys haven’t officially met. Elder, this is my mother, Dr. Maria Martin.” I don’t think Dr. Martin needed an introduction to me. She doesn’t do more than nod in acknowledgment of my presence, and the polite mask over her face doesn’t reveal her true thoughts. I can only guess at what Colonel Martin has told her.
Dr. Martin smoothes out the sleeping bag over Amy’s cryo chamber even though it doesn’t need it. Underneath her own cryo chamber, I notice the sample jars of glowing sand that she collected before returning to the shuttle. I can’t help but stare at them, wondering—like Amy’s mother—just what it is that makes the sand glitter like stars.
“The FRX provided the basic resources we would need when the ship landed and we woke up. There’s only a hundred, enough for each of us,” Dr. Martin says. “How was the FRX supposed to know how many people there would be when we landed? Besides, they knew they were leaving, didn’t they?” She turns her attention to me, still wearing the blank expression of civility that fell over her features earlier. “Of course Elder and his people packed their own supplies and made their own preparations. They’ve had centuries to be ready for this moment.”
I think of those last few days before the shuttle launched. It was chaotic. Everyone was still reeling from the riot in the City and Bartie’s decision to stay. Some people came to the shuttle at the very last minute, running to the entrance in the pond just before I closed the door, carrying only a handful of things with them. No one brought a bed. And the few who brought blankets or quilts brought them more as heirlooms than as things to sleep with.
“There are two extra,” Amy says. The two sleeping bags meant for Robertson and Kennedy, the ones Orion killed. “Elder can take one. And maybe Kit can have the other?”
I shake my head. There’s no way I’m going to sleep better than my people. “We’re fine, Amy,” I say. “Your mother is right. We should have been prepared when we left.”
Amy opens her mouth to object, but her mother cuts her off. “There, see? The shipborns are fine; he said so himself. Now get ready for bed.”
I can tell that Amy wants to argue, but I shake my head, just a fraction. I don’t want her fighting, not for my sake, not over a sleeping bag. Amy steps forward, reaching for my hand—I don’t know whether she wants to follow me back to my side of the ship or keep me on the Earthborn side—but I know my place on the shuttle, and she knows hers. I reluctantly sidestep out of her grasp and walk over to my people. Dr. Martin wore a mask to hide her wariness when she talked to me; I can wear one now to hide how much I’d rather be with Amy.
13: AMY
Brrk! Brrk!
I shoot up, tangled in the sleeping bag, as an alarm blares throughout the cryo room and red warning lights flash in the ceiling.
“What’s going on?” I ask my mom, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
Dad’s already racing across the cryo room toward the bridge. A second later, Elder follows him. I throw the sleeping bag off my legs and leap up, running to the hallway.
Emma Bledsoe catches me as I reach the door. “Let Colonel Martin take care of—” she starts, but I jerk free of her and skid down the hallway. She follows at my heels.
“What is that?” I shout over the sound of the alarm. Dad looks up as Elder types a code on the bridge control panel.
“The shuttle’s going into lockdown,” Elder says, cursing as the alarm continues despite the codes he’s punching into the computer.
“What happened?” Dad roars, and for the first time I notice Chris standing by the door.
“I was on duty all night, sir,” he says, flustered. “No one was here. It just started going off.”
“The shuttle sensors are messed up,” Elder says. “It’s detecting rapid pressure changes.”
“But the pressure isn’t changing,” Dad says, holding his hand out as if he expects the air pressure to suddenly drop.
“I know,” Elder says. “That’s why I said the sensors are frexing broken.”
“Can you cut off the damn alarms?” Dad shouts.
“Lockdown in fifteen minutes and counting,” the computer’s voice cuts in before the alarm continues.
Elder throws up his hands. “Even if I could fix it, there’s no way I could get it working again in fifteen minutes. That door is going to seal one way or another.”
“For how long?”
Elder shrugs in frustration. “I don’t know. It depends if the problem is coming from the sensors themselves or if there’s something else wrong.”
“We’ve got to get everyone out, then,” Dad says, frowning. His frustration is evident, but that’s hardly fair. He can’t expect Elder to know everything there is to know about the mechanical operations of a shuttle that’s literally centuries old. Dad glances up at the sky, and I remember the horrible screeching cries of the alien birds, the huge dents on the side of the shuttle. Could they have somehow caused the sensors to go off-line?
Emma seems to be thinking along the same lines. “Sir,” she says, “but what about the planet’s native wildlife? Any alien presence could be a threat to the population.”
My father looks deep in thought for a second, but then Chris interjects. “The negative ramifications of confining the ship’s crew and our own to the shuttle for an indeterminate amount of time, with limited food and water and without any restrooms, will be a bigger threat than anything the planet could plausibly present. I can assure you, sir, that the biggest danger lies in trapping everyone in the shuttle, not evacuating it.”
Dad whirls around. He’s heard enough. “Chris, Emma, get the evacuation started now. Everyone—every single person—must leave the shuttle. Immediately. All military is to aid with evacuation, then pick up as many weapons as they can carry on the way out.”
The computer adds, “Fourteen minutes, thirty seconds.”
“Hurry!” Dad shouts.
“I’ll try to buy us more time,” Elder says, turning back to the computer.
I want to help him somehow, but I know I’d just get in the way. Instead, I race after Emma. The military is already up and waiting for orders. As soon as Emma tells them what to do, they scatter, pulling people into the hallway and ordering them to the outside door. The people from the ship near the hallway are the first to go—too surprised to object, I think. The scientists try to bring their equipment with them.
I run over to Mom. “There’s no time,” I say, pulling the microscope out of her hand. Honestly, a microscope?
“Amy, what’s going on?” she asks impatiently, as if this were all a prank that I orchestrated. The alarm pauses while the computer announces, “Thirteen minutes before lockdown.”
“We have to go. Now!” I say.
“Why?” Mom picks the microscope back up.
“The doors are going to seal!” I shout as the alarm resumes. “You’ll be trapped inside!”
Mom blanches. “For how long?”
“I don’t know!”
Mom finally gets the message. She drops the microscope on the table and starts pushing the other scientists toward the hall. The door has seal locks, strong enough to keep out the vacuum of space. We’re stuck on a planet with only the possessions we carry—if that door locks and the computer malfunctions, there’s nothing we can do to open it again.
The shuttle will become a tomb.
“Go! Go! Go!” Emma screams at the group of shipborns clinging to the wall. I race over.
“We have to go!” I shout.
They look at me, confused. They’re willing to listen to me before Emma—I’m not one of them, but they know me at least, and trust me . . . sort of. But they don’t understand that the shuttle’s turning against them; they see it as their only source of protection.
“Go to Elder—he’s just outside, you have to get out!” Something in what I say must penetrate—they follow the scientists already evacuating toward the door.
Once some people begin to leave, others follow. Emma and the military have resorted to physically picking people up and throwing them toward the hallway. No one’s moving fast enough.
The alarms dim as the computer says, “Eight minutes and counting.”
We’re never going to get out in time. There are too many people too scared to move. Too scared to leave.
Kit grabs me. “Tell Elder that these people are staying!” she shouts.
“What? They can’t!”
“They’re not leaving!” Kit says. “They’re petrified! It will take weeks before they’re ready to leave the shuttle!”
“They have to go!” I scream at her as the alarm blares incessantly. “If they don’t, they might not ever get out! The shuttle will trap them inside!”
Chris, Emma, and a few more of the military approach the group that is backed against the wall. Their eyes are terrified, open wide and flashing white as their gazes dart left to right. A woman close to me has her back flat against the metal, her hands gripping the raised rivets along the side. Her head is slammed against the wall, and a trickle of blood leaks over her left arm—I recognize her. This is Lorin, one of the women I stitched when the ship first landed. She’s thrown herself so violently against the unforgiving surface of the shuttle that some of her stitches broke.
“Lorin,” I say in as calm a voice as I can muster while the alarm blares. “We need to go.”
She shakes her head, eyes wide, mouth forming soundless words.
“We have to,” I say. I glance at the others backed against the wall. They’ve never lived without walls—but I can’t let them die behind them, either.
“Enough of this,” Emma growls, knocking me aside as she grabs Lorin’s wrist and starts to forcibly drag her from the room.
Lorin screams, pulling against Emma with all her body weight. She stumbles, and Emma drags her on her knees for a few steps before Lorin is able to wriggle free and run all the way to the other side of the shuttle, back against the wall as she shakes her head no, no, no.
“Seven minutes,” the computer interrupts.
“You guys get to the armory,” I say. “We need all the weapons we can carry. Kit and I can take care of the remaining people.”
Emma looks as if she’s about to protest, but she throws her hands up in resignation and leads the remaining military personnel to the armory.
“How—?” Kit starts, but I cut her off.
“Where are the green patches?” I scream, my voice already hoarse from trying to speak over the alarm.
“What?” Kit shouts back.
“Phydus!”
Kit scrambles for her med bag, yanking out handfuls of green patches. Willing or not, I smack a patch on each of the remaining people who refuse to leave the shuttle. Better to give them a small dose of the hateful drug than leave them here to die. They shuffle toward the door—not fast enough, and I scream at them to hurry.