Romy rolled on her side and stood, careful to rest her whole weight on her left side. The trees had long limbs, which could form a makeshift crutch. She recalled that wood was a popular material from Old Earth. It always seemed odd to Romy, to cut down the very plants that gave you oxygen. Just another thing about Earth humans she’d never understand.

Hopping with some difficulty, she entered the tree line. One type of tree seemed more common than the rest. Its trunk was a greyish-white, the leaves a pale green. It made sense that the acidic water would cause changes in the plants, though not all seemed to be affected. Many showed patches of greenery amidst the pale yellow. She had no idea what it meant. Phobos was the one with the interest in agriculture and botany.

Tree limbs were strewn everywhere. And now that she was closer, Romy noticed a glorious smell—it was sharp and cleared her head. It came from the grey-white trees.

Romy reached down for a branch.

A sudden burst of movement from under her hand sent her reeling to the ground with a choked scream.

She pushed to stand on her good foot just in time to see a long, thin something sprinting off into the bush. No, it hadn’t sprinted—it slithered. A shudder vibrated through her. If that species had survived or evolved through global warming it was probably dangerous and very tough. And the slithering creature blended with the tree limbs as if it were one—she’d have to be careful.

In no time Romy had two crutches and a splint. With nothing to strap the splint to her leg within easy range, she made do with what she had. Romy had shoved the thin pieces of wood inside the skin-tight ventilation suit, on either side of her injured ankle. It would do until she got to better supplies.

Able to mobilise, she checked off mentally. Now to search her part of the battler.

When she hopped back to the ruined piece of the ship, she marvelled for the first time that their knot had survived the crash. The craft was shredded. Was it luck, or excellent design?

The battler was much easier to get into from the back. Romy pulled herself up over the serrated side, avoiding the curled pieces of aluminium. Adding a laceration to her list of injuries would be the last thing she needed.

The battler was a mess.

Romy had never seen a true mess. Even the knots where they were developed, with the jumble of tubes, tanks, and wires, were a systematic mess, all attached to medi-tech in the centre.

This was a chaotic mess.

It was strange, but she didn’t have a clue where to begin. What did you do with a mess? Even the orbito kitchens were ordered.

She frowned. Finding water had been her secondary plan. She’d start there.