“Amy,” I say, “we have to let them decide for themselves.” I touch her knee, bringing her gaze back to me. “We’re going.”

A tentative smile spreads across her face. She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “Oh, Elder,” she says, and it comes out in a rush, like a breath of relief, “you’re going to love it. Being on a world without walls. There’s so much . . . so much that you’re going to see. Trees—great big, towering trees. That pond—it’s tiny—there’ll be an ocean on the planet. Clouds. The sky—the sky. You’ll see birds. Birds!”

I laugh. “I’ve seen birds! We have chickens.”

“No!” Amy’s voice rings with music. “Those chickens aren’t even proper chickens. I’m talking about real birds! Birds that tweet so loud you wake up in the morning before your alarm clock. Birds that soar and swoop and fly!”

With that, she jumps up, twirling with her arms raised. She ends her spin facing me, her eyes alight. “You have no idea how wonderful it’s going to be!”

She sees birds and freedom and oceans.

I see the armory, with piles of explosives. I hear Orion saying, If Godspeed can still be your home, if it’s possible to stay on board—do so.

“Yeah,” I tell her, smiling as best I can. “It’ll be brilly.”

Amy collapses in her chair. She’s giving me this look that says, You have no idea, and all I can think is that neither does she. Centauri-Earth isn’t the Earth she came from. She doesn’t know what’s down there, no one does, the only one who had a clue about it was Orion, and it scared the shite out of him.

“What if he’s right?” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but she knows immediately who I’m talking about.

“It’ll be worth it,” Amy says immediately, not even pausing to question herself.

“But—”

“No. It will be. Whatever is down there . . . Maybe it’s too dangerous. Maybe we won’t survive. I don’t know. But I do know I’m leaving. I won’t die on this ship. I cannot live surrounded by walls. Not now. Not anymore.”

Not now that she’s seen through the honeycombed glass. Not now that the planet is within her grasp.

“Maybe it’s a good thing some are staying,” Amy says, more serious now. “There will be less trouble.”

I meet Amy’s eyes.

She narrows hers.

“Orion is . . . he is going to be left here, right? We’re not taking him to the new planet, are we?”

“Amy—I can’t leave him here.”

“What?”

“Orion’s coming.”

“If we left him here, he could be unfrozen. He could live here on the ship.”

I hold myself very still. “He’s going to be unfrozen anyway. The timer can’t be stopped, just delayed.”