Looks like the heat shield's good for one more trip, at least." She finishes with her handheld scanner and hooks it to her utility belt, then turns and waves at the redlit Launch Control room, high among the skeletal girders above us. "But if I don't come back, you can cry for the natives. "Not for me," I say, jerking a thumb over my shoulder towards the sealed airlock bay doors, amber lights strobing across the danger zone to indicate pressure integrity. "So if you don't come back, you don't want anyone to cry. Now it has new owners, and a very different purpose to the one it was designed for. Cold and dark, the station was mothballed for centuries, until the we beamed in and reactivated it. Everything on this station is ancient: the planetary colony abandoned space travel, along with most everything else, when they cut themselves off from contact centuries ago. She straightens up and checks over the ejection rail another time. "What do you think?" I ask, hoping for something to distract me from what's about to happen. She's little more than a shadow cast by the glare of the floodlights, so I can't see her expression. "I mean, do you want me to tell anyone if you. "Do you have any last wishes?" she asks, stumbling over her words. She pauses as she pre-checks the heat shield: she looks embarrassed. Attitudes, beliefs, and actions espoused in it bear no relation to reality whatsover.Īs I fasten my crash webbing Sareena looks at me and shakes her head. Please also remember that this is a work of fiction. If that is the case, please remember that there's an "off" switch attached: if you don't like it, don't read it. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
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