Doc’s com arrives just when I don’t need it to. I’d gone to confront Luthor as soon as Amy had told me everything he’d done. I’d never been so mad in my entire life. I can still feel the rage coursing through my blood, although it’s somewhat cooled now.

“Frex!” I shout. “All I’ve done is run across the ship from one place to another! I’m frexing tired of this!”

Doc’s silent on the wi-com a moment. “You won’t be doing that soon.”

For a moment, I think he’s talking about the planet, but no—I’ve not told him about that yet. Only Amy and the first-level Shippers know.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Elder, it’s chaos. It’s—mutiny.”

“Frex!”

“I think it’s Bartie, but—look, you’ve got to come out here.”

It takes me a while to get from the cyro level to the City, but I race as fast I can, driven by the urgency in Doc’s voice. I can tell before I’m at the City that something is very, very wrong. I hear it first—or, rather, I don’t hear it. I don’t hear the regular noises of the City, the undercurrent of sound that is always there during the day merely from the people living. Instead, muffled voices and footsteps reverberate.

That’s when I see it.

The Food Distro is at the end of the main street, and that’s where everyone’s pressing together. They’re all looking at one thing.

Fridrick, dead.

His body is plastered with so many med patches that they cling to his skin like scales. Someone’s taken a great swath of cloth, probably from a bolt in the weaving district, and hung it from the windows of the third floor of the Distro. Fridrick’s body hangs from the center, sagging the cloth down precariously, his arms and head flopped over the front.

In big bold letters painted in black across the front of the impromptu banner: Follow the leader.

“This is a message!” a voice roars. My eyes drop from the banner and the body down to the front of the Food Distro, where Bartie stands.

I realize that the people hadn’t been silent in order to observe Fridrick’s death. They had been silently waiting for Bartie to speak.

“Anyone who won’t blindly obey the leader”—he sneers the word—“will be dealt with! Have we not seen it with Stevy? As soon as he protested against Elder—dead!”

“Protested against me” is a bit of an understatement—the man beat me across the face.