They come in twos and threes. They bring with them only what they can carry. They come with pieces of handmade furniture, an old cradle, a rocking chair, a spindle. They come with bags of cloth, or butcher knives, or scientific equipment. They come with nothing in their hands, and they stare at the planet through the honeycombed window and they cry. They go straight to the cryo chamber, where the others were waiting, not bothering to turn their heads a fraction of an inch to see what they will be facing.

They see me and they smile, they hug me, they touch my pale skin and red hair with wonder. They see me and they scowl, they curse, they say they’re only coming because their friend, their lover, their mother is going, and they’ll risk a new world to stay with them.

They scurry down the ladder, they jump on the floor, they spin in the bridge, they go to the edge of the window and touch the glass. They sigh when they reach the floor, their shoulders slumping under the weight of their thoughts, their skin flushed and creased with worry, with sorrow, with fear.

But the important thing is simply: they come.

Elder arrives last.

“That’s it,” he says. “That’s all of them.”

All of them willing to go.

He hesitates, and I run to him, throwing my arms around his neck. I don’t care about our disagreements, I don’t care about our fight—not for this one moment. Elder wraps me in a hug that lifts me up, then sets me gently back on the ground. “I’m scared as shite,” he whispers into my hair.

“Me too,” I whisper back.

He searches my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t answer him, and after a moment, he looks away. He knows what’s wrong.

“I have to take him,” Elder says.

“You really don’t.”

Instead of answering me, Elder pushes his wi-com. “We will begin launch in a few minutes,” Elder says. “We’re relying on autopilot. I have had some training on the operation of the shuttle, but . . .”

He doesn’t say that his training was little more than Shelby showing him the controls. Still, that’s more knowledge than anyone else has; only the top-ranking Shippers—the ones killed in the explosion on the Bridge—had any real experience with these controls.

“You should stabilize your belongings and find a secure place during launch,” Elder adds before disconnecting his wi-com.

We can hear the shuffle of movement from here. Elder closes the bridge door.

His face is hard, his shoulders squared.

He looks like a general about to go into battle, but without any armor or weapons.

He motions for me to follow him—we go to the control panel under the window.

“It’s worth it, right?” he asks, staring at the planet.