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I’m halfway down the hall when I remember the armory’s still open, and even with a gun in hand, it’s still not safe. I turn back and start to shut the door when I notice something: a floppy flashing near the shelf of explosives. I set the gun down and pick up the floppy.
Orion’s face fills the screen.
This video wasn’t done on the staircase. Instead, Orion sits in a chair bolted to the floor in front of a long, curved control panel. The room is dark, but I can see something glittering in the background.
This must be the Bridge, although it’s much smaller than I would have expected.
ORION: Amy, you’re nearly at the end. You’re nearly at the choice you need to make. Have you seen it yet? The planet?
No. Not yet. But I know it’s there.
ORION: Do you see now why I need you to decide? Because you’ve been on a planet; you’re the only one on Godspeed who’s been on a planet. And so you’re the only one who’ll be able to judge whether or not it’s worth it.
Orion touches his neck, his fingers sliding against the bumpy scar where his wi-com used to be.
ORION: Before—before Eldest, and everything else . . . before this [indicates scar] . . . I thought that the truth was an important thing. I’m not so sure now. Maybe it’s better if we all remain ignorant. I know I would be happier not knowing.
And to think, I’d nearly allowed myself to forget about Orion’s clues in the face of Elder’s discovery. The planet just seemed so much more important than this mystery. Now I’m filled with curiosity.
ORION: But, perhaps, there are reasons why you need to know the truth. This ship is old. Eldest sent me outside to help with repairs, and I know that Godspeed is showing her age. So—maybe it’s time. Time to get off the ship.
Orion leans forward and picks up the camera. The image wobbles, scanning the cramped, small area and the solid metal floor before spinning around toward the control panel.
The camera focuses on the window. The image, blurry and bright, adjusts into focus. Through the honeycombed glass window, a curving, glowing ball of green and blue crests over the horizon of the ship.
I touch the small screen, making the blue and green of the planet on the screen look like an ocean’s wave heaving and flowing.
ORION: When I first discovered Godspeed was in orbit around Centauri-Earth, I wanted the whole ship to know the truth. I tried to tell them. I tried to tell them eve
rything. And because of this, Eldest tried to kill me.
Orion turns toward the window and stares at the planet. His scar is prominent on the screen.
ORION: He didn’t kill me, though. I escaped. I hid for . . . for a long time . . . and then I snuck into the Recorder Hall. I integrated myself back into the ship. But it was in the Hall that I found even more secrets and lies. And it’s because of this that I’ve decided to hide the truth, just like Eldest.
Orion’s face turns back to the screen.
ORION: There’s still the contingency plan. That’s still here. If the ship has to land, it can. If you haven’t figured it out, the last thing you need can be found in Godspeed.
Orion pauses, staring straight at the screen, as if he’s given me some enormous clue. But Godspeed is huge, and everyone is already making preparations to leave. How am I supposed to find one tiny clue in the whole ship?
ORION: But if it doesn’t have to . . . if there is any way to survive without landing the ship. You must. You must. I can’t protect this truth forever, I know that. You have to. If there’s any possible way for this ship to survive, you must do whatever it takes to stop the planet-landing.
What is Orion saying? I thought the whole point of his messages was to bring me to a point where I could make some big important choice. But now it’s like he’s saying the opposite.
ORION: No matter how bad things are on the ship, if you’re not dying out, if the solar lamp still works . . . stay here. And make sure the ship stays too. Amy, you’re my little contingency plan—but that’s just it. You must only lead the ship to the planet as a last res—
Orion doesn’t even get the last word out before his face disappears into loud static. I’m so surprised that I almost drop the floppy. The abrupt cut-off makes my stomach twist with dread, a feeling that doesn’t go away when the static fades to black. Heavy white letters scroll over the dark background, spelling out a phrase I’ve come to fear.
Follow the leader.
The video cuts off.
That phrase—follow the leader. The static. The fact that this video was on a floppy, not a mem card. This clue must also have been tampered with. I don’t know if Orion’s message continued—maybe he was going to tell me the code to get behind the locked door?—but I’m certain he wasn’t the one who left those words.
I look up now, carefully examining the armory. Before, I’d rushed in there looking for someone. Now, I look for something . . . and I find it. An empty shelf, a row of missing explosives.
“Oh, God,” I whisper, my hand unconsciously going to the cross at my neck.
