Shelby nods. “Before the mission, the probes from Sol-Earth indicated the planet’s environment was stable and could support life, but the first stage of planet-landing is to ensure that’s actually the case. I’m, well, to be honest, I’m a little worried. If the ship’s engine has been diverted for this long because we’ve been in orbit . . . why haven’t we landed already?”

My wonder at seeing the planet has slowly been replaced by this very question. It’s possible we’ve been in orbit since the Plague—perhaps the rebellion that sparked the Eldest system came about as long ago as that. Why didn’t the ship land before?

“Before we even think about landing, I want to make sure it’s possible,” I tell Shelby.

“I’ll do the scans myself. They should take several hours. I’ll know more then.”

“First,” I say, “we have to say goodbye.”

Shelby’s eyes drop to Marae’s body, still staring at the ceiling. She nods silently.

Shelby brings me a transport—a folded-up black box lined with electromagnets that work with the controls under the metal of the ship’s floors to easily carry heavy objects. She snaps the box open. It automatically spreads out, locking into shape, a large, deep rectangle with a circuit board on the side to communicate with the grav tube. This transport has been used for some piece of machinery—it’s dirty, scratched, and smeared with mechanical grease. I try to run my sleeve over it, but all I do is spread the dirt around. I don’t want to treat Marae’s body like a piece of broken machinery to be thrown away, but I can’t bear the idea of prolonging her funeral among the stars. I rush back into the engine room and grab some machinery towels to lay out on the transport.

And then it’s time to move Marae.

I lift her body by the shoulders; Shelby picks up her feet. We have to bend Marae’s knees and curve her back so that she fits completely in the box. We end up curling her into the fetal position.

Shelby’s slight body seems massive beside the shell of Marae’s. I didn’t know life took up so much space. Shelby bends down over Marae’s body, and it reminds me of the pictures of scavenger beasts from Sol-Earth, the ones that feed on the rotting flesh of carcasses.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” Shelby whispers to Marae. “But I’ll try.”

And she doesn’t look like a scavenger anymore; she looks like an orphan.

She bends swiftly, and I don’t know if she’s kissing Marae’s flaxen cheek or whispering in her ear, but either way, it’s not like Marae can feel it.