My pod hissed open ninety years too soon. A calm voice from the ship said, "Crewmember Vey, the others have voted. Unanimous. You will be left on the planet below." I sat up, freezing and dizzy. There was no planet on any chart out here. Through the window I saw it anyway: green, cloudy, real. "Why?" I croaked. The ship said, "They asked me not to tell you."

Forget arguing. I had maybe minutes. I told the ship, "Show me the drop pod they're using to dump me." A map lit up: the pod was two decks down, already loading my gear. If I got there first, maybe I could control where I landed. I started running.

I slid into the pod and slammed the hatch. The ship's voice filled the tiny space. "Crewmember Vey, this is not your assigned launch time." "Too bad," I said, and yanked the manual release. The pod dropped away from the ship like a stone into the dark.

The pod hit hard and skidded through wet grass. When the dust cleared, I climbed out into warm air that smelled like rain and something sweet. The planet was quiet. Then, on the far hill, lights blinked on one by one, moving toward me. I wasn't alone, and they knew I'd come.

The lights formed a ring around me but came no closer. One drifted forward and hovered at eye level, pulsing softly, like it was asking permission. I held out my hand. It settled into my palm, warm and weightless, and a calm voice filled my head: "We chose you because you would listen." And finally, I did.