Why is no one on this level, though?
Then I see the flashing red light on the engine itself. It’s massive, but the camera angle blocks most of the red glow. My mouth goes dry. I know what that glow means. The entire Shipper Level must be engulfed in a deafening alarm.
Warning us that the engine is going into meltdown.
I look closer. I can’t zoom in, but I strain my eyes to see through the pixels, to understand what’s happened. Amy leans forward too, her red hair sweeping across the screen before she brushes it back over her shoulder.
When Doc blew up the Bridge, the engine was exposed to space and the rapid decompression made by the vacuum sucking everything through the hole where the Bridge had been. The engine was built to last, but it was already old. It would have been easy for it to be damaged then—especially since, immediately after the Bridge’s explosion, I left with the shuttle. No one did work in those days, no one bothered to check on the engine. It could have been quietly malfunctioning the entire time. Some of the Shippers inspected the engine before I left, but how thorough were they? What if they missed something?
If the engine dies, Godspeed dies.
It’s as simple as that.
I move to close the screen. I don’t want to see this; I don’t want to live with this guilt.
I left my people to die.
The thought makes my hand twitch and, by accident, I bring up the video feed of the Hospital. I move to turn it off, but Amy grabs my hand. “Wait,” she says, staring at the screen.
I turn away from it. I don’t need the concrete face of the original Eldest mocking me.
“A robe of stars . . . ” Amy whispers. She tugs on my arm. “What’s the man in the statue wearing?” she asks.
I don’t need to look at it to answer her. “It’s the Eldest Robe. ”
Amy looks confused, and I remember—she’s never seen it. I wore it once, when I announced the planet to the ship, but Amy wasn’t there. She was afraid of the crowd, and rightly so.
“It’s a heavy wool robe that the Eldest wears on special occasions,” I say. I can picture it in my mind: the surface of the planet embroidered on the hem of the robe and stars stitched on the shoulders.
Stars stitched on the shoulders.
“Elder, The Little Prince!” Amy says, excited. “Remember? The illustration showed a king—the Eldest is like a king, isn’t he?—and Orion marked the heart of the robe—a robe with stars on it. ”
I stare at the statue. It was made of concrete, by the Plague Eldest himself. If there was a secret about the planet, it would have been a secret the Plague Eldest kept. He was the one who started the Eldest system, he was the one who decided not to land the ship on the planet when we arrived. Of course he had to have had a reason for why he didn’t land Godspeed—and what better place to hide that reason than within the concrete of the statue?
“It all fits,” Amy says, wonder in her voice. “The clue, the last clue, the information about what is going on here—it’s in the statue. ”
“In the statue,” I repeat. “In the ship, which is in orbit, in space. ”
Amy sighs heavily. Knowing the clue is there doesn’t help us at all.
Movement on the side of the screen distracts me from the statue. Someone’s walking down the path behind the Hospital, through the garden. The path curves, and the person is momentarily out of view, but a moment later he stands in front of the statue.
Bartie.
He stops, tilting his face up to the metal sky. The camera is in the perfect angle to capture him. His face is lined with worry and sadness, with dark circles under his eyes and a new scar on his cheek. He’s haggard, and his hair looks unkempt. There is no sign of his guitar. Taking the leadership from me has not worn well on Bartie.
“What’s he doing?” Amy asks, staring.
Bartie looks as if he’s talking to the Plague Eldest statue. I remember how I always used to stop and stare at the worn face. The Plague Eldest’s open arms are benevolent, and his face is so blurred of features that I would imagine it looked on me with sympathy while I was trying to decide how to be the leader my people needed.
Bartie reaches into one of his pockets. I think for a moment that he’s pulled out a floppy, but whatever he’s holding is smaller than a floppy and darker. Black. A black square.
A black med patch.
Amy gasps.
And I know what Bartie’s thinking, why he’s come to the Plague Eldest.