More and more people—those who’d been waiting on the sidelines—join the shouting crowd. Stevy’s body becomes a banner of revolt. His lifeless form is passed around, raised over the crowd, roiling over the hands of the people like waves.

“Enough,” I say.

“They can’t hear you.” Doc’s eyes are flashing, but his face is stony.

I press my wi-com. “ENOUGH!” I roar, and this time, every single frexing person on the ship hears me.

“The ship is now on curfew. Go to your homes. Do not leave them. The Shippers will be enforcing this curfew tonight. Everyone—everyone—is to leave the City streets, leave work, and retire to their own homes.” If Eldest were giving this sort of order, he would have spoken with cold authority. But not me. I’m so mad I’m shaking, and I can’t keep the quiver of anger from my voice. I turn my attention now to the mob in front of me, even though this com is going out to every single person on board the ship, “Look at what you’re doing. Look at how you’re treating the body of one of your own. This is disgusting. Leave him here so Doc can send him to the stars.”

Silence.

“Go. Now,” I say, and my voice sounds exactly the way Eldest’s voice used to.

They go.

They grumble, and they scowl, and they mutter curses . . . but they go.

Marae moves silently beside me. “They still fear you,” she says.

“They fear the past. They still remember Eldest.”

“It’s enough. It worked, didn’t it?”

But I don’t know if it did. Because I might have just enough authority in my voice to send them all home, but now what will they talk about behind their closed doors?

Chapter 28

28

AMY

WHEN I GET TO THE ELEVATOR AT THE HOSPITAL, MY HAND hovers over the 3 button, but at the last second, I press 4 instead. I don’t want to hide in my room. If something is wrong, if I need to be somewhere safe . . . I’d rather be with my parents. Besides, the cryo level is one of the safest places for me on the ship. Although Elder told everyone about the level after he took the ship off Phydus, few of them cared to see it, and fewer still can access it with their biometric scan. On the fourth floor, I race down the hall and roll my thumb over the scanner. As the elevator to the cryo level opens, my wi-com beeps.

Even though his voice has to travel all the way from my wrist, I can hear Elder’s roar of “ENOUGH!” through my wi-com. I raise the communicator to my ear, but the sinking feeling in my stomach has more to do with Elder’s message than the descending elevator. Someone has died.