And there it is. Doubt. They trust the drug more than me.

“I’ll take care of the people,” I say, my voice firm. “You take care of the ship.”

“But Eld — Elder,” Marae says, resting one slender hand on my arm. “Why bother? They don’t need to be anything but workers. We don’t need them to be anything else.”

“I understand what you’re saying.” I grip the edges of the floppy.

I don’t tell her that I’ve thought of all of this before.

I don’t tell her that’s why I carry the wires to the Phydus machine around in my pocket every day.

Instead, I say, “What we need is a police force. Like they had on Sol-Earth. I need people who I can trust, who can help me ensure that everything runs smoothly.”

Marae stands straighter. “A poe-leez force?”

This time, I’m the one who swipes the floppy and starts tapping on the screen. After a moment, I hand her an article about police and social sciences. She scans it briefly, then hands it to Shelby.

“Basically, I need people who can help enforce the rules. Investigate crime, stop people from doing wrong. If there’s trouble, I’ll need backup.”

“The Shippers have always been obedient to the Eldest system. We will make sure the system does not fail. In whatever capacity it becomes.” She means: she’s willing to try using police instead of Phydus. I’m not confident enough in her words or my position to ask what will happen if my latest suggestion fails.

I know the first-level Shippers better than nearly anyone else on this ship, even though I’ve only worked with them in the months since Eldest died. I can read their faces. Haile and Jodee and Tailor are nodding along with Marae, eager to accept this role. Prestyn, Brittne, Buck, and even Second Shipper Shelby look wary. I know they will follow Marae, though, even if they wouldn’t follow me. And while Marae sometimes still tries to boss me around because I’m younger, she never truly forgets my position as Eldest, even if I won’t take the name.