Romy headed for the emergency food panels, picking her way over with painful hops on her crutch. Her section of the wreckage only held one of the emergency panels. The door sat wide open. Abandoning any logical order, she searched on hands and knees and found—to her heartfelt relief— the medical kit, water, and some dehydrated fruit lodged beneath the remains of the docking clamp. It was more than Romy had hoped for.

Back out on the grass, she took two small sips of warm water. Bafflement edged her thoughts as she wondered why she wasn’t already dead. Not that she was complaining. Was it her nanotech? Or was the strange smell from the trees cleaning the air?

She pushed that aside for now. The thought was immaterial when her knot was out there, possibly injured. All she could bear thinking about was that the others were alive and together. Her mind wasn’t capable of processing any other outcome of the crash. And that was why she was up and gathering supplies. Otherwise, she would be incapable of moving,

Romy would find her knot no matter how long it took. Or until she died from breathing the air. Or drinking acidic water. Or as the victim of slithering post-global-warming creatures.

She could spread the food from the battler across several days if she needed to. Despite her knowledge of Earth’s history, she knew precious little about survival here—and no one knew what was safe to eat here now. The research teams didn’t waste time with analysing food. Not when the Orbitos were yet to secure an inhabitable Earth. Who knew what was safe for consumption now, a century and a half after The Retreat.

The surrounding area was mostly flat. Sparse bush covered everything else, a mixture of the pleasant-smelling trees, dry leaves, and shrubs. The sun was overhead, and Romy knew this meant it was the middle of the day. In the distance sat a small rise, the highest ground she could see. The air rippled in the distance, making it impossible to tell how far away the hill was.

After an internal debate, Romy returned to the craft. She cut away a portion of parachute and fashioned a knife from a sharp bit of wreckage, using a strip of parachute for the handle. Take that, slithering creature!

She almost cried when she found more water, though no food—hopefully the others had plenty on their side.

And after further debate, Romy cut a large length of extra parachute for shelter and warmth—life in space had taught her it could go from blazing to freezing in an instant.

Fashioning straps from the chute rope, she hoisted the makeshift bundle filled with her knife, food and water, and parachute shelter onto her back and picked up her crutch. Romy paused under the shadow of the still hissing and sparking battler.

What if the others came here while she was gone?