Page 13 of Full Speed to a Crash Landing

I wait until she looks at me, and I meet her eyes. “It’s the only thing I own on this ship. It’s the only thing that’s mine.”

Nandina’s face is an open book, sympathy evident all over her features. She nods and passes the suit over to me. It’s awkward in my arms, but it is a comfort to have it. I know I can’t just jump out the porthole window of my bunk room, but at least if this ship is breached likeGlorywas, I’ll have my suit handy.

“I know it’s a little silly,” I mutter, hefting my LifePack on my shoulders like a backpack.

“No, I get it.” Nandina’s trying hard not to show her emotion, but it’s futile. She can’t help but wear her feelings out in the open. That’s what good people do. “But just so you know, if you need anything, anything at all...I can help you get it. We have lots of supplies on this ship.”

“Thanks.” I offer her a watery smile and turn to go. “Actually...do you have any data recorders I could have?”

Like I said, an open book. Her surprise is as clear as carbonglass.

“I just thought it may be nice to record some of my thoughts. You know...process it all,” I explain.

“Oh, of course!” Nandina reaches for a different storage cabinet. “Absolutely; I should have thought of that myself. I get so used to physical medicine, but emotional therapy is just as important. TheHalifaxis a job for me, but your ship was your home, wasn’t it?”

I nod, watching as she punches in a key code on the storage locker. Five digits, the last two are zero. On the table beside the locker, there’s a scanner.

“I cannot imagine what that loss is like. Journaling is a great idea, but I want you to know that I’m happy to talk as well. Like I said, both the body and the mind are important for full healing, and I’m here to help.”

She reaches inside and pulls out a data recorder. It’s a little thing, only about the size of my finger, but it’s capableof storing a lot of information. Audio, video, text. I check the side. It’s got an input port, too—if I had the clearance code, I could download every single bit of data on the ship’s computing services into this little recorder. Theoretically.

“Thank you,” I tell her.

“Of course. Also...” She hesitates. “I know Captain Io and First can be a bit...abrupt.”

“Oh, First is very snuggly.”

She smiles. “Just know that they’re fair. They get the job done, and the captain’s very strict, but they are fair. This is a good ship, a good crew.”

“Are you telling me that I can have seconds at every meal? Because that will earn you lifelong loyalty.”

“Absolutely,” she says. “And don’t let the captain bully you into thinking otherwise. Doctor’s orders.”

I give her a mock salute and then lug my stuff back to the room they say is mine. First things first, I check the life-support unit and the jetpack attachment and affix them to a hook near the door. All the tanks have been replenished, everything at max and ready to go. Nice. A full diagnostic proves all is well. Then I spread out my suit on the bed, meticulously going over every seam and line. Everything’s still solid, and the suit should be able to seal correctly. I could toss myself outside again whenever I want to.

As I said, my suit’s custom. When you scavenge alone, you learn that the two most important things to your survival are your suit and your ship. My ship’s been breached. I can’t afford to let my suit be anything less than perfect.

Not if I want my plan to work.

So, I hang it up beside the LifePack and check it one last time. Every seam. Every latch. Every connection.

What’s mine is mine.

There’s a small outer pocket on the chest of the suit, designed to be accessible while on black walks, just big enough for me to fit gloved fingers inside. I wonder if Rian or whoever scanned my suit checked the pockets. My odds are pretty even on that one. On the one hand, there wasn’t much time, and digital scans are quick and noninvasive. On the other, Rian doesn’t seem the type to miss anything.

Doesn’t matter either way. I made sure it was empty before. Now I put the data recorder into my spacesuit’s pocket instead, sealing it inside.

Last to be checked is my helmet. I run a quick analysis; the operational base of the suit is built into the inner shell of the headpiece. In the past two hours, someone’s downloaded all the external communications I’d logged. There aren’t many, I know that. Mostly me cursing and waiting to be rescued, a few logs from when I was recording what I’d found on the planet, data entries as I processed my finds and estimated value and buyers.

We’re too far out to make any meaningful contact with someone in another system. Even if I had sent a message to someone from here, it would still be pinging around the galaxy. Data is slower than the speed of light, unless you have an intergalactic transmitter, and while theHalifaxmay be rich enough for that, I’m not.

I think about the scanner on the table in the med bay. I’dbet real coin that scanner was used on my suit, checking for any trackers or outgoing signals. Probably Rian.

As if I’d make such a rookie mistake.

I see a flash out of the corner of my eye from the direction of the porthole. Oh, delightful—the crew Captain Ursula sent planetside is heading back up to the ship. I take the time to do one last check before I leave the room. I’m in no rush. It takes a while to dock a shuttle.

I get a little turned around but make it to the dock as the shuttle bay is almost fully repressurized. Both the captain and Rian wait at the bay doors; it’s automatically locked until the pressure and O2are back in equilibrium with the rest of the ship. Ursula scowls. Rian smiles. Fifty-fifty, not bad.

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