Unlike those around her, the woman does not flinch or gasp as the ship strikes the water, skidding and sliding toward the island and kicking up a mighty spray of ocean. She does not falter as the resulting wave makes the dock shiver and sway beneath her feet, and she does not retreat when most of the crowd flees inland to safer ground. She holds steady, though she alone knows of the doom the ship might have brought to Nibiru.

But no death or danger comes from the fallen ship. No life does, either. The ship—Red Baron, as crimson letters slashed across one dented and scuffed side declare—bobs silently on the ocean’s surface after coming to its dramatic stop.

Soon the peacekeepers’ hoverboats approach, first circling the ship like curious birds, then closing in to investigate. They attach long ropes to the craft and climb aboard, a couple dozen of them stepping carefully across the wet and damaged metal. One finds an emergency hatch on the side, and two more use a laser device to cut it open.

Smoke billows out from within. A thick cloud gathers in the air, riding the wind toward the island. Most members of the remaining crowd cover their noses and murmur uneasily to their neighbors—except for the strange woman, who leans toward the smoke rather than away, straining to get a better look as the peacekeepers slip on protective masks and drop down into the ship.

Minutes later, the first few occupants are brought out in tightly sealed body bags, and the crowd bows their heads and murmurs in mourning. But their heads soon snap up again as new faces—living faces—are brought out into the sunlight. The peacekeepers parade a motley assortment of people across the hull of the floating ship: a pale Titan woman with a black rectangle on her arm, a handsome man with a head of curls and a lump on the side of his head, a grizzled and bloody old pirate with a broken leg and bits of duct tape stuck to his outfit, and more. Each of them is brought aboard a rescue ship and promptly put in handcuffs.

The crowd gawks and murmurs at the sight. Rumors swirl and spread. But the strange woman at the end of the dock does not move or speak, not even when time slides past and the crowd around her thins, many of the onlookers assuming that the show is over.

But the show, as it turns out, is not quite done. The hatch opens once more—this time surprising even the peacekeepers, who shout orders and rush to surround it. The first to emerge is a tiny young woman with a head of wild curls and a fierce scowl. Then comes a mountain of a woman, broad-shouldered and tough, who reaches down to help up the wounded man behind her and slips an arm around his waist to help him stand.