My people glance at me, and I jerk my head to the other side of the cryo room. They head back, but I notice the way their backs are still stiff, their jaws still tensed. They remain ready for a fight. It’s not over, just paused.
Colonel Martin strides over to me, fury in his eyes. “This is what you call leadership?” he growls in an undertone. “This is what you call control?”
“No. ” I bite off the word, then add, “Sir. ”
Amy and her mother draw closer now that the fight’s over. Something in Colonel Martin’s face softens when he sees them.
Colonel Martin strides forward, drawing attention. “Everyone—shipborn and Earthborn alike—I have news. But first, a warning: if we don’t work together, we’ll never be able to survive this planet. ”
His words are loud and firm, but he doesn’t shout. Still, I watch as the fight leaves my people, and they let go of their anger in order to listen.
“We did find the probe, less than a mile away, at the edge of the forest we landed in. We were unable to communicate with Earth, but I am hopeful that we’ll be able to contact our mother planet soon. ”
He takes a deep breath. Every eye is on him.
“Further, we did glimpse the creatures that you’ve been able to hear from inside the shuttle. They are large, reptilian birds, and they do look predatory and possibly carnivorous. ”
At his words, a chill rushes across the entire crowd. This is every nightmare they’ve ever had about the planet made real.
“We must constantly be aware of the danger this planet holds. And we must fight that, not each other. ”
Colonel Martin looks around him at the chaos the fight caused—overturned tables and chairs, blood splatter, ripped clothing.
“It is clear that we will not be able to stay inside the confines of the shuttle indefinitely, d
espite the protection it affords us. To that end, our first missions will be aimed at survival: finding food, water, and shelter. Everyone will need to contribute to this task. Work will begin tomorrow. ”
He shoots me a disgusted look. “Don’t kill each other in the meantime. ”
11: AMY
Dad pulls me aside soon after he breaks up the disastrous fight. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asks gravely.
“The gen lab,” I say, jerking my head toward it. Briefly, Elder’s eyes meet mine from across the crowded, tense room. If we could only have one moment to ourselves, maybe we could start to make sense of this world. But Elder has nearly fifteen hundred people who need him to answer their questions right now. And I have one.
Dad follows me to the other side of the cryo room and doesn’t comment, even when the biometric scanner by the door recognizes my genetic signature. He waits for the door to seal shut behind us before saying anything.
“Who is that?” he asks, approaching the cryo chamber. Orion is caught mid-action, his hands clawing at the glass, his eyes bulging under ice.
“That’s the man who killed Juliana Robertson’s husband. And he tried to kill you too. ”
Dad turns to me. “There’s a lot that happened while I was asleep. I need you to fill me in. ”
I don’t have to ask why he’s asking me and not Elder. Still, I almost hesitate to speak. Am I undermining Elder’s position by telling my father what I know rather than insisting he talk to Elder directly?
No . . . no. My father needs to know the truth about Orion, and I know Elder would hesitate to explain all his faults. Dad doesn’t need excuses—he needs to know exactly why Orion’s dangerous. I explain, as best I can, who Orion is and why he thought murdering the frozens in the military might save his own people. I don’t tell him that Elder’s plan is for Dad and the rest of the frozens to judge and punish Orion. I make it sound as if Orion’s punishment is being frozen—I don’t want him awake, not even for judgment. I want him to live for centuries trapped in ice, just as I had to.
Dad shakes his head, trying to understand why Orion would let his friends melt to death. He reaches forward, tucking a stray lock of my red hair behind my ear. “You’ve been through so much,” he says, his voice cracking with regret.
My right hand goes unconsciously to my left wrist, rubbing it, retracing the area that was once, three months ago, bruised from being forced down to the ground, pinned between the dirt and a man who reveled in the evil he committed.
Dad wraps his arm around me. “The shipborns,” he begins gently, “they’re different from what I expected. ”
“They’re different from what I expected too. ”
“Anything that can help me understand them . . . ”
I release my wrist and swallow the words I want to say.