They allowed themselves half a minute of drinking in the swirling clouds—including the spiral of a hurricane above the blue of the ocean. It was a little too early for wildfires, at least. Naomi was grateful not to see the grey plumes visible from all the way up here. It had been night when they took off, and from their position, the Atalanta had already seen two sunrises and sunsets. In orbit, they were travelling more than 17,000 miles per hour over the Earth’s surface. Five miles a second.

“Lebedeva. Lovelace.” An edge in Valerie’s voice.

The astronauts continued their journey. They passed the bridge. Hart and Hixon waved, and Valerie made a shooing motion. The ground must be closer to launching than she was letting on.

The construction hub was ugly compared to the ship. All dark, gunmetal grey, inelegant modules clamped together. Minimal life support. It wasn’t meant for humans.

Valerie had chosen their launch date carefully. Construction was finished, the robots on the hub either shut down or shipped back to Earth. Those were still Hawthorne property, and Valerie had made damn sure they couldn’t be turned on remotely.

Ten giant bolts connecting the starboard side to the hub. Ten bolts keeping the Atalanta from flight.

Lebedeva and Naomi took their tools from the transparent kit at their belts, clipping more tethers to their waists. They’d be using long, large ratchet wrenches, not much different from what they’d use on Earth except for a larger wheel so they could twist easier with their gloves. Lebedeva took the closest connection and Naomi moved along to the far end.

Earth spread below them, sunset deepening back to night. They were over Asia—there was the little finger of Japan and Korea, the sprawl of China. Shocks of light from Tokyo, Beijing, Seoul. The cities were bigger, buildings for accommodation and business, but also vertical farms. Sea walls protected the changed coastline as best they could, and more walls bisected landmasses in a futile attempt to stop the next wave of climate change refugees who had nowhere else to go. So many millions of people far below them. If the Atalanta didn’t make it, all those lights would darken.

Naomi braced herself, using a rail as a foothold so the torque wouldn’t twist her around with the wrench. Each connection had a dozen smaller bolts in turn, and each took at least a hundred turns to loosen. They pocketed each bolt in an empty container so they wouldn’t be floating within the vicinity of the craft when they left. Before long, her hands hurt despite the padding of the gloves. Sunset brought back the night and she cooled again despite the EMU’s protection. She adjusted the temperature of her suit, using the mirrors at her wrists to read the backward-printed controls. Her elbow joints grew stiff.