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this shuttle bay as robot vehicles ferry our stuff from newly docked freight shuttles. Everything is bundled in pallets, which then get unpacked before our eyes, sorted out, and distributed.
    Apparently, while we were all sleeping last night and then hanging out in our barracks half the day, our things were being located and delivered across ships to the proper places.
    At some point in the first hour of waiting, I recognize my familiar duffel bag and backpack unloaded by a hovering robot, and I feel a surge of ridiculous tears at the sight. I eagerly take my things—the last familiar things of Earth—and I rummage through them, touching precious books, trinkets, while Gracie and Gordie wait nervously for their own stuff to be delivered.
    Eventually we all have our possessions. Which means we have a fresh change of clothing and clean underwear.
    Which means we can get properly cleaned up at last.
    For the remainder of day one, we and the rest of the Qualified, take showers, eat in Atlantean meal halls, which unsurprisingly resemble Earth cafeterias except for the weird food (about which I will comment later), receive medical attention for injuries acquired during the Finals, and then keel over and sleep in our temporary bunks.
     
     
    W e are awakened the next day at 7:00 AM, UTC, by daylight illumination and Atlantean officers coming to the barracks chambers to give us an hour’s notice warning—our departure from Earth orbit will begin shortly.
    “There are large observation decks all along the perimeter of this ship, and you may stand and watch out of the windows as the Earth recedes,” an Atlantean tells us gently. And then he explains how to get there.
    Immediately there is general tumult. Naturally everyone is interested in seeing Earth for the last time, and there is a stampede of sorts. But another Atlantean blows a harsh whistle and we are told to line up in orderly fashion and be ready to go in half an hour, at which point there is a bathroom rush instead.
    I vaguely remember holding Gracie’s clammy hand as thirty minutes later we race in a big crowd of strangers through the great ship.
    “Okay, where are we going?” international voices sound all around us as we jostle.
    “ Pao, pao! Kuai! Zai na?”
    “Where exactly is this observation deck? What time is it?”
    “ Ta bu zhi dao! Ni zhi dao ma? Shuo shen ma?”
    “ ¿Qué dice? ¡No importa, ahorita, muévete!”
    “How much longer? This place is a maze!”
    We move in a fast jog for at least fifteen minutes, going through endless deck levels and corridors past sections of the ship for which we still have no words, until we arrive at the outermost perimeter. The narrow corridor opens suddenly into a vast panorama.
    Here we grow silent and stop.
    The outer hull of the ship is bathed in shadowy twilight on the interior, dimly lit with strips of violet plasma glow near the floor, while the ceiling is cast in darkness. The hull walls are fitted with large, floor-to-ceiling rectangular sections of unbreakable transparent material that looks like glass, spaced regularly every few feet. Through it we see a grand vista of black space sprinkled with crystal clear dots of stars . . . all around, hundreds of silver disks of the Atlantean fleet hover like blossoms in the sea of vacuum . . . and directly below, lies the hemispheric shape of a large bluish planet. . . .
    Earth.
    Gordie sucks in his breath. And Gracie clutches my fingers tighter, as we all stare.
    Logan stands directly behind me, looking grimly at the sight. Everywhere teenagers crowd near the display panels, looking out and beyond. There is mostly hushed silence and occasional reverent whispers.
    Minutes later, an androgynous machine voice sounds from the hull walls all around us. It is speaking Atlantean, then English, then repeating in other major languages of Earth in a delayed echo of seconds, like a strange linguistic chord.
    “ Commencing Departure Countdown in ten