I turn around and leave the solar lamp room, order Tearle to stop the rain, and then head down the hall. Now Bartie can’t com anyone. None of them can but me. At least Amy’s safely locked in her room.

As I cross the Shipper Level, I can feel them all watching me. The Shippers stop their work until I pass, eyes following me down the hall.

Before, I would have felt that their eyes contained questions and doubt, and that would have made me crumble.

But now, I don’t care. I’m taking the authority that should have been mine from the start.

For the first time in my life, I feel as if I am truly Eldest.

•••

Shelby and the first-level Shippers are waiting for me at the Bridge. I stride straight to them and lock the door behind me.

“What have the scans shown?” I demand. If it’s going to take a planet-landing to stop this shite from Bartie and his so-called revolution, I’ll land the frexing ship. But I won’t do it unless I know the ship can make it.

While Shelby brings up the scans on a floppy, I seethe. It’s irrational, but I can’t help but blame Orion for some of this. Maybe there really is something in his frexing clues that would get us to the planet easier, but the man was so loons he hid the information.

Shelby hands me the floppy. “All the scans indicate that the planet’s environment is habitable. The planet has water, breathable air, vegetation. . . . There’s nothing to indicate that we can’t land,” she says.

There’s a catch in her voice.

“What’s wrong?”

“Our records indicate that there are supposed to be a set of deeper-level probes on the Bridge,” she says. “We’ve looked everywhere and can’t find them.”

“Why do we need probes if the scans are clear?”

“We don’t technically need them. But—it’s in our records that the probes should be deployed. Besides, I’m worried. . . . Why have we been here, in orbit, all this time? Why didn’t we planet-land when we got here? And . . . not only are the probes missing, but so are the communication boxes.”

“The what?”

“There was a system set up to communicate with Sol-Earth. In our records, we have diagrams and manuals for operation and how to fix them if they break . . . but they’re not there. It’s not just that we lost communication with Sol-Earth—it’s that our only method of communicating with them is entirely gone.”

The other first-level Shippers all look nervous behind Shelby; they’re worried too. Something’s not right.

“Whatever the reason,” I say, “it doesn’t matter now. Now we’re at a point where we need to land. And we can. So we will.”

Shelby nods.

“Are you all prepared for planet-landing?” I ask.