1: AMY
“Wait,” I say, my heart clenching.
Elder’s finger hovers over the launch button. He glances up at me, and I can see the worry in his eyes, creasing the corners and making him look old and sad. The planet shines through the honeycombed glass in front of us—blue and green and white and sparkling and everything I have ever wanted. But the emotion twisting my stomach is fear.
Terror.
“Are we ready for this?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
Elder leans back, away from the launch button. “We’ve moved everything from Godspeed into the shuttle that we can take,” he says. “Everything’s been strapped down—”
“Even the people,” I say. We used the big, heavy-gauge tethers like the one Elder used to go outside the ship in a spacesuit to wrap the people as best we could around the cryo chambers, against the walls, anywhere we could to make sure they wouldn’t be tossed around like rubber balls when the shuttle lands on Centauri-Earth. It’s makeshift at best. I’m worried that our jerry-rigged seat belts won’t be enough, but it’s all we could do. We are as prepared as we’ll ever be.
But that’s not what I meant when I asked if we were ready.
I meant: are we ready for what’s down there?
Am I ready?
Probes were sent to the planet—many of them before Godspeed even arrived—and they all said Centauri-Earth was habitable. But there’s a big difference between habitable and home.
And there are monsters.
I shake my head, trying to clear it from the disturbing thought. The last probes all reported some sort of unknown danger, something Orion called “monsters. ” Something so bad that the first Eldest decided it would be better to trap everyone on Godspeed rather than land.
What’s worse? Monsters . . . or walls?
I spent three months trapped, the walls of the spaceship more cage than home. But at least I was alive. Who knows what the planet will hold, what new dangers we will face?
All I have now are questions, fear, and a big blue and green and white planet looking up at me.
We have to go. We have to face the world below. It will be better to die quickly with only the taste of freedom on our lips than to live long lives pretending not to see the walls that imprison us.
I tell myself, it will be worth it. No matter what price is paid, it will be enough to escape Godspeed. I tell myself these things, and I try to believe them.
Lights blink up at me from the control panel. Elder and I sit directly in front of it, a huge metal lever set into the floor between us. The main Bridge—the big room designed to control the entire ship—had six chairs and dozens of control panels, but this smaller bridge has only two of each. I hope it’s enough. I hope we’re enough.
I reach up—toward the window with the shining planet beyond or toward the control panel, I don’t know which—and Elder grabs my shaking hand.
“We can do this,” he says, no doubt in his voice.
“We have to,” I say.
“Together?”
I nod.
Both of our fingers press the INITIATE LAUNCH button.
2: ELDER
A computerized female voice fills the bridge. “Initiation of shuttle launch. ”
Amy sucks in a shaky breath.
“Probe relay with directional input detected. Manual or automatic landing sequence?” the computer asks. Two new buttons light up on the control panel in front of me: one illuminated with a red M, the other with a green A.
I push A firmly.