It’s awful, a nightmare. The camera shudders. Thunder makes the speakers vibrate, our ears ring. For some reason the lights blink on and off in time with the rhythm of a warning klaxon that never occurred during the first jump. Anis is clearly distraught, moving from monitor to terminal trying to work against the craft’s motherboard array and failing, her face a sea of tears, cursing, screaming at the ceiling, pounding keys and, when that doesn’t work, even the screens, but the WiSP will not be denied. After ten minutes she decides. She runs to the lifeboat bay, suiting up. From what we can tell she had foresight enough to stock the boat for an emergency, either during the ten-hour window or before. She internally primes the locks and starts disengagement. Forty-two seconds later her lifeboat blasts from the starcraft’s side and Anis Creighton-Shaw is never seen again.

How do I feel about WiSP? As you might imagine, I’ve been asked that question many times, particularly after the article, the bestseller, and all that followed. It’s been quite a whirlwind, not a time of deep contemplation by any means. I’ve met heads of state and royalty, and dignitaries by the hundreds. I’m sure you’ll forgive me. Yet, and perhaps only Juanita has come to know this, there are nights when I relive my time aboard the starcraft. The hollow thud of feet against the deck and muffled weight of reconstituted air in my nostrils. The chill dankness of cold seeping through my outerwear, a monotone chorus of machinery. I sometimes shudder, or if I’m asleep I wake gasping, the thrum of the drive fading. Or else I’ll be in the car and we’ll hit a bump, and I’m reminded of that final thunder before the WiSP brought Mimas 4 back against its crew’s will. I find myself wondering, what would I have done? Would I have been as brave?

Rocketing to Earth, orange flames licking our shuttle and lighting our windows like sunset, I was struck by jigsaw-piece thoughts that formed an odd type of picture. I turned them mentally this way and that, peering close, making conclusions even as I gripped my seat belt and prayed for guidance.