We pass another door, and a few more heavy shadows, but I don’t spend any time on them. I plot my steps instead, remind myself I’ve got something solid under my feet.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt depth like this. I’ve threaded atmospheres, skipped the curve of air and dust. I’ve flown in Open Waters, put out into the void with nothing but a shell, my own second skin against the cold. I’ve drifted through skies so thick you have to go on instruments and gut, and I’ve put out into dark so deep that there was no sky at all, no up or down and no stars for reference. It gives you a little cramp in your throat, puts you on the edge of your saddle, but there’s a certain kind of mercy in not being able to see where you’re going. There’s no sense of height, nothing waiting for you when you fall. There are times when it’s better to be in-atmo, and times when it’s a hell of a lot worse. You’ve got something to hold onto, something solid enough to let you know that it’s there, even if it’s just air. At the same time, there’s a threat that rides with it. Screw up, make one little mistake, forget the rules for half a second, and terra firma’s waiting for you with open arms. It’s harsh, but fair. Hold tight, and keep your wits about you.

24.09

Hold tight, and fly with me.

The Eye is something else again. It gives and it takes away. There’s a breeze you can dig your wings into, but nothing to catch you when you fall.

We cross a bridge between a pair of cliffs, layers of Horizon’s skin, air-gapped and insulated. The space below us opens up, and I have to swallow hard again, keep my eyes straight and level. I watch Salt’s shoulders, try my best to keep my feet in line, but my eyes are blurring around the edges, and my throat turns tighter by the second.

Maybe it’s the last of medical’s cocktails wearing off.

24.48

Maybe it’s something else.

I feel both empty and open to the elements, all at once. Without the shell, without the wings to keep me flying, the engines to keep me on track, without the weight of metal and hydraulics—

Without all of that, I’m just meat and too much blood. Waiting for the fall.

It leaves me swaying. I have to take a breath to keep myself from choking. I roll myself through the jockey’s meditation.

My feet are inside boots.

Inside a suit.

27.93

And there’s a steel frame waiting.