Chris and I follow Mom down the ramp and into the forest. She goes the opposite direction of the path to the ruins, hoping the less disturbed areas will yield more chance of wildlife. Chris holds a rifle with a high-powered scope in front of him, and I notice that he not only has two handguns (one in his belt, one in a shoulder holster) but also carries grenades, knives, and a machete—that I can see.

“Amy!” Mom calls. I dodge around the trees to reach her. She’s pulling purple string moss from one of the trees, and I hand her one of the smaller specimen jars from the bag I’m carrying. “We’ve got several samples of these already—Dr. Card wants to see if he can replicate the neurotoxin—but I’d like to extract cells for a closer examination.”

“That,” I deadpan, “is so exciting.”

Mom hands me the jar. “Who knows what the DNA of this little guy can tell us!”

I squint at the plant. Although I know it unfurls to a flower nearly as big as my palm, right now it’s nothing more than a bit of purple string.

Mom resumes her work, scraping off moss and lichen and bark into jars. “Just one small area, and imagine the diversity of life!” she trills.

I try to see the world through Mom’s eyes, as if every single thing holds a new discovery, but then I stop in my tracks.

A terrible, wet, sucking sound creeps around the edges of the tree.

Immediately, Chris steps in front of me, slinging his rifle around in one fluid motion. Mom freezes, her eyes shooting first to me and then to Chris’s gun.

A cracking sound. Scratching, like something hard across dry leaves.

My heart’s beating so hard I can feel it banging against my rib cage. Something’s out there, and it’s big.

All I want to do is run away, but Chris creeps forward silently, his rifle raised and ready. I put the noisy specimen bag on the ground as quietly as possible. My sweaty hand pulls out the .38. I allow myself one moment to feel the gun, the heavy metal in the palm of my hand, the power behind it, and then I grip it properly, using both hands, one finger on the trigger.

Mom shakes her head at me but then stops, realizing the sense in having both me and Chris armed. She follows me as we move deeper into the forest and Chris glances back, signaling forward with his eyes.

A slurping, ripping sound leaks through the shadowy forest.

We’re close.

Rustling. Definitely animal.

I step on a branch that cracks loudly, and an unnatural silence descends on us. The animal, whatever it is, has heard us.

Chris pushes aside a branch.

And then we see.

Dr. Gupta—what’s left of Dr. Gupta—lies on the forest floor. A ptero, much smaller than the one that attacked Elder, cocks its head, looking at us as if we’re a curiosity.

It bends its long neck down, using its saw-like teeth to rip away a chunk of Dr. Gupta’s flesh. Blood and gore stick to the ptero’s beak.

Dr. Gupta blinks.

Dr. Gupta blinks.

He’s alive—he’s alive, and he can feel—he can feel—as the ptero eats him.

He’s alive.

The ptero bends its head down again to its meal. A horrific crunching sound echoes throughout the forest as the ptero shatters Dr. Gupta’s femur. The ptero shakes its head, worrying it like a dog with a bone, until the leg snaps off.

A small sound, a moan, almost drowned out by the sound of crunching bones, escapes Dr. Gupta’s cracked lips.

Chris and I both shoot at the same time.

My first bullet hits the ptero in the wing, ripping out a chunk of the thin membrane. The ptero drops Dr. Gupta’s leg and faces us. It opens its beak, foam and blood dripping from its mouth, and screams.

I shoot again.

The ptero’s chest bursts open. It crashes to the ground. Its leathery wings flop about, and it’s dead—I know it’s dead—but I shoot it again anyway, right in the skull.

I’m breathing heavily as I lower my gun, the smell of gunpowder mixing with the metallic tang of blood. I look at Chris and see that he’s staring at Dr. Gupta.

I realize then that it wasn’t the ptero he aimed for when he pulled his trigger.

A small round hole leaks blood down the side of Dr. Gupta’s skull.

26: ELDER

I can’t sneak past the military to see the lake for myself, not while it’s still light outside. And even if I wanted to inspect the tunnel, I wouldn’t be able to. Colonel Martin’s installed heavy metal panels on the collapsed ground, and his men have already erected the latrines over it. Colonel Martin acted quickly to cover up our discovery—just like he’s trying to hide the lake from us.

But I think I know how I can uncover at least some of his secrets.

My first instinct is to get Amy—I haven’t even told her about the crystal scale I found yet—but I’m trying to figure out what Colonel Martin is hiding, and he’ll definitely have suspicions if I drag her away from her mother.

I pass Kit on my way up the paved path that runs through the center of the colony. “Don’t forget to take care of yourself,” I tell her as she obsessively checks over the handwritten list of passengers we made after Lorin disappeared.

“I could say the same of you. How are you feeling after the tunnel collapse? And I saw you keep working after that, on the pipes. You didn’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” I say. I cannot ask my people to do work that I won’t.

Kit adjusts the white lab coat she’s gotten from the Earthborn scientists, and I notice her pockets are overflowing with med patches, most of them pale green. “We need to wean them off Phydus,” I say darkly, and even though Kit nods in agreement, she adds, “But not yet,” in a soft voice.

I leave her to her work, feeling guilty that I’m not helping more. Finding out what Colonel Martin won’t tell me is more important—I can’t afford to let lies and deception rule the colony the same way they ruled Godspeed.

I climb past the second level of houses built into the mountainside and am glad to see that my people have spread out a little more, daring to space themselves farther apart. No one’s on the third level, though, except me. I pause, looking at the few empty buildings, wondering what it was that made the original builders leave their homes. Did they die out—did the pteros kill them off—or did they move on? And how is it that they made buildings that are so perfect for us? That’s the real mystery, the nagging thought that no one’s really willing to address.

Without realizing it, I’ve reached the edge of the ruins. The last few buildings, the ones closest to the top of the mountain, are nothing but rubble. They look as if they’ve been blown apart by some force. The thought does not give me comfort.

I wonder what Amy would make of this discovery. Probably try to find a connection to it in The Little Prince.

I start climbing over the rubble. The suns are about to set—the sky is growing darker, the air cooler. If I’m going to find what I’m looking for, I need to do it while it’s still light outside.

I find a trail that leads me farther up the small mountain. Or maybe I’m tricking my mind into thinking it’s a trail—at best, this is just a path used by animals. I have to hold on to chalky, yellowish rocks and scraggly tree branches as I ascend higher and higher, grappling with the side of the small mountain.

And then I reach the top of the rocky plateau.

It feels more like a mountain now than before; I’m panting, completely out of breath, and my leg muscles ache. I don’t know how Amy can frexing enjoy running.

I look up and out. This is the highest point on the planet I’ve been to. For one moment, terror seizes my heart. I’m so close to the sky and so exposed on the rocky bluff that a ptero could easily swoop down and carry me off. But then my eyes drift across the landscape spread out before me, and I forget about my fear. I can see now more clearly than ever.

Which is exactly the reason I wanted to come up here.

The air grows colder as something passes overhead, casting me in shadow. My stomach plummets. When I dare to look overhead, though, all I see are clouds, not pteros.

From where I’m standing, to my left is the colony, and past it, in the darkening forest that sticks out like a pointing finger, is the shuttle. I can see the scar our landing created, the burnt-out spot that seems to glitter and almost glow in the dying light. My eyes trail along the edge of the forest, moving right, looking for what I know is there.

The lake.

I don’t see why Colonel Martin wants it hidden. The lake looks like any lake I’ve seen in pics from Sol-Earth, nothing more. It’s a perfect circle, maybe a mile in diameter. One edge borders the mountain, the other edge is pale yellow, the same sort of sandy soil that makes up the surface of this planet. The shallow water all around the shoreline is pale aqua, but the lake grows deeper and darker farther in, until the center is nearly black. It looks almost like an eye, staring up at me. I wonder how deep the water is there. The suns’ light glitters across the surface, making it seem as if the lake winks at me.

A scattering of pale pink dots wafts through the water. Fish of some sort, but not the quick, darting flashes of color like the koi from the pond on Godspeed. These fish are small from my viewpoint, but I’d guess in reality they are a half a meter or more wide, with even longer tendrils—or tentacles?—drifting behind them. They expand and collapse, expand and collapse as they float under the surface, but then the entire group of them darts sharply to the right, more suddenly than I would think possible.

I strain my eyes, moving closer to the edge of the cliff-like top of the mountain. What is so dangerous about the lake that Colonel Martin feels it needs to be kept secret?

Far, far past the lake is another forest made of darker, taller trees. And beyond that: mountains. The mountain I stand on is no more than a tiny hill compared to these jagged behemoths rising from the ground. They form a horizon that I cannot see past.

This world is so vast. And real. And I’m a part of it now.

Something glimmers—something between the lake and the forest. I can’t make it out—it’s too far out, and the trees are in the way—but something reflects from the light of the sinking suns at the perfect angle for me to see from my vantage point.

And then I realize: it wasn’t the lake Colonel Martin didn’t want me—or anyone—to find. It was the thing past the lake. The thing he found on the very first day but has been careful to hardly mention again.

The probe.

27: AMY

The gun is still warm in my hand as I stare, open-mouthed, at Chris.

“I had to,” he says, his strange eyes pleading for me to understand.

And I do. Maybe if it hadn’t been for the three months I lived on Godspeed, I wouldn’t sympathize, but I know Dr. Gupta was living through the worst possible nightmare, and there was no way he could recover from such a maiming. What Chris did was merciful, and it was right . . . and it was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.

I holster my gun and step forward. The muscles in Chris’s arms are bunched up and tight, but his hands are shaking as I take his gun.

“Thank you,” I tell him, hoping he can see the sincerity behind my words.