The ship’s movement knocks Janice Okwembu onto all fours.
She staggers to her feet, leaning against the wall, trying to control the nausea. There’s a blur of movement on her right, and one of the Earthers shoves past her, pushing her out of the way.
Okwembu tries to stay calm, but she can’t stop her hands from shaking. She barely makes it to the corridor hub before she stumbles again. Her green flight jacket is bulky, but she can feel the frigid floor plates through the thin fabric of her pants.
The asteroid was supposed to have held up, dissipating the massive heat and shock wave of re-entry. Every calculation they did showed that the vibrations wouldn’t start until they were deep into the atmosphere. But they got it wrong–a missing variable, something they didn’t take into account. The asteroid is fracturing, leaving everyone on board the ship to scramble for the escape pods.
She looks up. Mikhail Yeremin, the leader of the Earthers, is at the other end of the corridor. His greasy hair frames a face locked into deep panic. In that moment, it’s as if he doesn’t even recognise her.
He vanishes, ducking out of sight. Okwembu curses, tries to get to her feet, but the ship lurches again. The back of her head smacks into the wall, and bright stars glimmer in her vision.
There’s a hand reaching for her. It’s another Earther, a young woman–one of those who went outside the ship, using plasma cutters to shape the asteroid. She’s wearing a ship jumpsuit two sizes too big for her, and her eyes are bright with fear. Okwembu grabs her hand, lets the woman haul her up.
The movement of the ship stops, just for moment, then becomes more violent than ever. Okwembu goes over backwards. The Earther reaches out for her, misses, her fingers brushing the front of the fleece she wears under her jacket.
They snag on the lanyard around her neck.
It pulls tight, the cord pinching against Okwembu’s spine. The hold keeps her upright–just–but it’s stretched to breaking point. The woman’s hand is wrapped around the green plastic data stick at the end of the lanyard, her knuckles white. Any second now, it’s going to snap right off.
With an effort of will, Okwembu balances herself, planting her back foot on the floor. The pressure on her neck drops, and the woman lets go of the data stick. It bounces against Okwembu’s chest.
“You OK?” the woman says, trying to hustle her along, holding her by the shoulder. She shakes loose. She’s got her balance back now, and she’s feeling calmer, more focused. “I’ll be fine. Just go.”
The woman wavers, then bolts. Okwembu’s hands find the data stick, holding it tight.
For the past week, while they prepared for re-entry, all Okwembu has done is scrape data, putting every scrap of information she could onto this one little stick. None of them know what’s down there, what it’s really like on the planet’s surface–all they have is a garbled radio message, talking about how part of the planet has somehow become habitable again. So Okwembu spent her time downloading everything off the ship’s antiquated operating system–water filtration methods, studies on the best soil for growing food in, atmospheric data, reactor blueprints. Maps and charts and graphs, petabytes of information. She doesn’t know if any of it will be useful, or if she’ll even be able to access it on the ground, but she’s not going down without it. The Shinso Maru is worth nothing now, but its data is a price beyond jewels.
The lights in the ceiling are flickering, and the few Earthers she does see are panicked, moving like mindless insects. Contempt boils inside her, but she tells herself to stay focused. Contempt can become anger, which can mutate into panic. She can’t afford that. Especially not now.
The escape pods are a short distance away, and Okwembu moves as fast as she can.