Flames exploded from the shuttle airlock, engulfing Nico and the woman in blinding white light. For only a second, through the painful dancing spots in my vision, I saw two figures wrapped in fire spinning away from the shuttle, snagging on the twisted end of the ladder, thrashing wildly, frantically, the material of their space suits melting away, the clinging fire and charred skin beneath—

The shuttle exploded.

It tore itself apart from the inside. Light burned through seams in the metal and punched through the windows of the passenger cabin. The force of the explosion shoved it away from the airlock, crashing into the opposite side of the docking area and tumbling wildly, burning as it tore into the space beyond House of Wisdom. Boudicca was shouting over the radio, hers the only voice I could discern in the chaos—then something hurtled across from the shuttle, a flash, a shard, debris—I wasn’t fast enough to react, to dodge to the side—it struck me forcefully, shoving me back into the airlock. My entire body felt the pain of impact.

Over the radio there was a wet, gasping gurgle.

A high wheeze.

And silence.

Fragment

The third field area is the most promising. Densely forested, although the hilltops and clearings have a symmetry to them that does not seem entirely natural. I’m thinking of basalt columns, writ large. You can bet the first thing I do when I get my boots on the ground is find out what’s under those hills. I don’t know how I’ll endure these last seven months to landfall. I don’t know how any of us will. We want to stand on the ground. We want to feel the sun on our faces. We want to hear the hum of insects, or whatever ecological analogue this planet has, all around us. We want to breathe air that hasn’t been breathed a thousand times before. Seven months. We’re counting down.

—FRAGMENT 2, MOURNFUL EVENING SONG VIA UC33-X

JAS

There was no sound. The suit radios had squealed and crackled, noises so loud they felt like needles in the ears, then a deafening pop—then nothing. Nothing. Only silence.

The red lights in the cargo bay flickered off, on, off again. I saw our captors moving frantically toward the airlock door, gesturing to each other, mouths moving behind their helmets.

Then, as quickly as it had gone, the sound was back, and everybody was shouting.

“You said you shut it down!”

“I did, I did! The system signaled—”

“Zahra!”

“Try them again! You have to try them again.”

“Oh no, oh no, oh no . . .”