Chris nods confidently; he must be a technological expert or something. “Fine,” he says, “but first you should see this. ” He hands Amy’s father a clear cube that sparkles golden with light reflected from the inside of the shuttle. When Colonel Martin notices me staring, he slams the bridge door shut behind me.
I try not to gag when I enter the cryo room. I hadn’t let myself really notice the stench before, but it’s been less than twenty-four hours and already the shuttle is nearly unbearable. Nearby, one of the older men—Heller, the one who stuck up for me against Juliana Robertson—shifts uncomfortably. “Frexing stitches,” he says, touching the ragged wound on his leg.
“Nothing to do but try to sleep,” the man beside him says, his broad-brimmed hat already covering his face.
Heller grunts and rests his chin on his chest.
They have the right idea. Now that the shuttle doors are closed, the only things left for us are worry or sleep, and I’m sick of worrying. It’s not easy to sleep on the hard metal floor, though.
There isn’t enough room for everyone to lie down, especially since there seems to be an invisible wall between my people and the Earthborns, so my people try to find ways to sleep sitting up, leaning against the curve of the shuttle or each other. Opposite us, the Earthborns have lowered the tables made from their cryo trays, clearing them off and making beds using blankets and sleeping bags they extract from a storage compartment under the floor. It’s not ideal, but it’s luxurious compared to the living conditions just on the other side of the shuttle.
I wish I could do more for my people—something.
Without really thinking about it, I find myself heading over to Amy. When I reach her, though, I see her and her mother arguing as her mom spreads sleeping bags over the tables of cryo chambers 40, 41, and 42.
“It’s not fair,” Amy tells her mother.
“What isn’t?” she asks, smoothing down the bag.
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. ”