Page 27 of Full Speed to a Crash Landing

I just need to reach—

Another quake. I don’t feel it, suspended by the jetpack as I am, but Iseeit. The pillars of stone tremble and slide, a whole chunk of the opposite rock face falling down. I just register it out of the corner of my eye as my fingertips touch the edge of the box. The quake shifts—this time in my favor—the box sliding into my grip. I seize it and curl my arm around it, bringing the box close to my chest. Tilting my head up, I redirect my jets—

The rocks that crashed down hit the lava flow. Molten rock doesn’t splash like water, but the impact roils a heat wave my way. My jets slip—

Worst-case scenario.

Regular jets can’t handle being this close to lava, and whilemyjets are better, they’re not perfect. Everything fails sometimes. I have the box, but it’ll mean nothing if I can’t get out of this hellish canyon. What should be a simple grab-and-go mission would turn into hours of excruciating climb if my jets fail now . . .

Perfect,I think.

I kick the controls, hard, slamming higher to avoid the lava, my left side bouncing off one part of the still-undulating cliff face. The cry of pain that escapes my lips is real, black smearing my arm even though I don’t break my tense grip. The seismic activity is fading already, but my direction’s off, a blur in my helmet as my jets sputter. Alarms blare—I’m losing altitude, the temp’s rising, the stabilizer’s offline. I keep my left arm curled around the box, the hard edges pressing into my suit, as my right hand flails, my boots skidding off the obsidian rock, black flakes falling down before being swallowed by bloody red.

My left boot hits a sharp angle, and my foot wedges inside a crevice at the same time that my hand grabs a rock that doesn’t crumble in my grip. More alarms flash over my visor; my vital alerts. Elevated heart rate, adrenaline spike, overheating.

“Ada.” I hate how Rian’s voice drifts so softly, a question, full of fear. He’s not sure I’m still alive.

“Here,” I gasp.

“Holy fuck,” he says.

“I know.”

“Can you—”

“I got it,” I say.

“You—I don’t care about the box, Ada, you almost died!”

“But I didn’t,” I say. “And I also got it.”

There’s some cursing. A lot. It’s kind of impressive. He’s been taking lessons from Magnusson.

“Okay, okay,” Rian says, regaining composure. “You have the box. Can you get back up?” Slight emphasis onyou, even though I know he meansyou with the box,no matter what he said before.

I tentatively check my position. I’m stable, about fifteen meters above the lava flow, more than triple that away from the nose of the ship. I shot off at an angle when I ricocheted in panic; I’m farther away from both theRoundaboutand the shuttle we took to get here.

“Jetpack’s offline and unstable,” I report. I can hear him take a breath, but I interrupt. “I don’t have time for whatever you’re going to say.”

Exhale. “What can I do?”

I press my body against the rock wall, but then test my right foot against a nearby ledge. It doesn’t give. I let more weight shift, and even if my legs are spread wider than is comfortable, I feel pretty firm.

“I’m going to have to climb up, and I need both my hands.” While I talk, I work on the box. It’s a thermal protection unit, but Rian said the contents were small. I break off the first layer and let it drop below, carefully peeling up the top.

Nestled inside the box, under sheets of thincraft wrap, is a cryptex drive.

“Sure hope whatever’s on this unit is worth all the trouble,” I mutter.

“It is,” Rian says gravely. His voice is tense. I like to think it’s because he’s worried I’m about to die, but maybe it’s because I’ve taken this little drive out of its safe house. “Ada, it...” He stops talking, and I stop moving, the weight of what’s unsaid making me freeze. “Ada, that device? It’s going to helpbillionsof people. It’s going to help Earth.”

He hesitated when he said “Earth,” a slight sibilant hiss before he veered away from adding in “Sol” before the word. He’s not from Earth—I swear he’s got a Rigel-Earth smirk behind those lips—but he knows I am. He knows that I know what Earth is like now, how much it needs help. How much the people need help. He knows that I’m a looter, and by now, he’s surely got a strong hypothesis that I’m not the most ethically inclined person, and now he’s hoping that I care enough about my homeworld to focus all my ill-gotten skills on getting myself and the drive out of this canyon.

Some people think we should just let Earth die. It’s run its course, and the damages of pollution, climate change, and corruption cannot be undone; that’s what some people say. They don’t care about how it’s not exactly easy to just relocate billions of people, how the answer isn’t to let an entire world of people die just because others think the place they call home isn’t worth the effort to try to save it.

I guess it’s a good thing for Rian I’m not one of those people.

“Got it,” I say. “Don’t die. Or, if I do, toss the drive up first.”

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