Her ears were ringing after the explosion.

She felt more than heard the sound of herself gasping, her chest heaving hard to pull air into lungs that had been deprived for . . .

She didn’t know how long.

But she was alive.

The bulkhead above her was curved, a dark utilitarian gray metal. She looked to either side, seeing that she was in one of the escape pods.

How had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was the massive sound, being thrown-

She reached up an arm, pain shooting through her, but she found she could move her left. Her right arm was stiff, immoble against her front, and she looked down to see that it was bound in a quick-cast. It must have been broken and someone had put her into it.

Looking down took a lot out of her, her head swimming. She probably had a concussion, which meant she had to stay awake . . .

But even as she thought that she felt herself drifting out of consciousness.

A beeping sound awoke her. It was a shrill, demanding noise, and she groaned, reaching for the console. Pain shot through her right arm as she tried to move it, and she suddenly remembered.

Sitting up suddenly, her head spun, but it settled after a few moments.

She looked down and saw two small plastic discs stuck to her midriff. One was an antibiotic and painkiller, the other was one of the precious medical nanos – machines as small as a cell that could be pumped into a person. They could repair damage, spur healing, even specialize into specific roles to keep vital organs functioning.

Someone had really worked hard to save her.

The painkiller might be why she didn’t remember much. That, or she’d suffered brain damage. In which case she could only hope that the medical nanos were up to the task.

Her limbs still felt like they weighed ten times more than usual as she got up, crawling towards the console that was still beeping at her. They must still be moving at more than one G, she thought.

“On,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“Maria’s Cog Pod #57, this is the Craton! Are you there? Give us a signal. Repeat, Maria’s Cog Pod #57 . . .”

It was an automated call, and she swallowed nervously as she activated the transmit button. A list of errors appeared in her HUD, only a few of which she understood. The transmitter had suffered some kind of damage, but as she swiped them away, she found that she still had a signal. It wasn’t that strong, but it was enough.

“Craton, this is Lily Brogan . . . Drone Repair Tech second class . . . I’m here! I’m alive.”

She didn’t know what else to say. She gotten emergency training, done a hundred drills, there were things she had to do.

She wracked her brain. She was in the pod and they’d launched . . .

Wait, they had, hadn’t they? She looked at the console, sweeping aside warnings and looking for course.

There! Bringing up the screen, she saw that they had launched away from the Maria’s Cog, a dashed line showing their course.

It was a dotted, flashing line through a three-dimensional space.

This was her forte; she worked with drones in space all the time, and her long experience made the image make sense. They were still accelerating, the pod’s fuel still burning. So it hadn’t been that long since they’d launched, the pod didn’t have fuel or reaction mass for more than ten hours of burn.

She began to search for more data to overlay, the work helping her understand what happened but also giving her something to do while she waited for an answer.

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The pod had only rudimentary sensors, and most weren’t working, but she was able to overlay the position of the Craton; they were broadcasting their locational data and she could triangulate it with the Maria’s Cog itself, which was still broadcasting – even if just gibberish. If they had continued on their course it meant she’d be getting a reply soon.

Placing the Maria’s Cog, she zoomed out. There had to be other pods near them, but something was off. She had been nearest to the port pod bay, but her location did not match that launch. It didn’t match any launch location for pods on the Maria’s Cog at all.

The locations of other pods was not a priority for any individual pod to track, though they did note other fast-moving objects for purposes of avoiding collisions. So if she filtered based on their likely velocities . . .

A series of dots began to glow. Some were debris whose velocity just fell into the right ranges, but others had to be the pods.

A pattern was clear. The pods had launched in droves from port and starboard.

But she was off-course. Nowhere near the others, which were on curved courses, designed to meet up a distance from their mothership, so that they could be picked up by rescuers easier.

Her course was curving the other way.

She scanned the data again, double checking, then triple-checking it.

But it seemed consistent.

She sat back, taking a breath. Fear was powerful, but this wasn’t a death sentence. The Craton had its own zerodrive, that was the only way it could even have been here to help them so quickly. Even if it took time to charge again, and her pod continued to fly off-course, they could collect her. It just meant she’d be out here for awhile . . .

But escape pods had survival rations and the basic facilities of life. A small medical drone, rations for ten for two weeks, air recyclers . . . She could survive.

Sniffing and wiping her face, she sat back. She just had to wait.

Her head was swimming again, and she felt like – no, she knew – she was forgetting something.

But she could not remember what.

----------------------------------------

“Of the ninety pods that are within our scope of operations, we have already determined recovery order,” Pirra said, her voice amplified to reach every Response Officer gathered.

Four full teams sat in the room, an amphitheater-like area with rising seating to let everyone have a clear view of her.

On the screen behind her, all ninety pods were highlighted in either yellow or blue. The majority were blue, which meant that rescue drones would be going for them. But some were in yellow; these were the special cases that would require unique operations to recover.

They couldn’t be sure of all the details just yet, but if there was a question, it was best to go in with a mixed team of people and drones than either alone.

“Sending assignments to each team now. We have ten pods we’re focusing on, which we’re splitting – Team One and Team Two will each take three, Teams Three and Four will take two each.”

The assignments went out, the officers of each team looking to each other, speaking quietly. She let them go a moment before speaking again.

“Due to the fact that the Maria’s Cog did not actually explode, the majority of her debris is moving relatively slowly,” Pirra said. She put a line on the large map.

“This represents the outer border of the largest debris. These objects are big enough that if they hit one of our shuttles or a pod, we can expect a total loss.”

That got some nervous chatter.

“The pods have been burning continuously since launch so that we can have as long a window as possible to get them out,” she said. “But our window is still tight – we will have just under one hour – fifty-eight minutes total to clear every pod.”

“Are we aiming to reorient and burn them towards the Craton?” Lorissa Kiseleva asked.

“No,” Pirra said. “We’re doing a connect and pop – put on a seal, open the pods, get the crew out. Our paths are optimized and the pods are relatively close to each other, but we’ll have just over two minutes to get any given pod emptied before we have to move on. If you have to go over that due to the injuries of the personnel within – you have to make it up on the next pod.”

Dr. Y stepped forward. “I will be remotely operating a drone on each shuttle to assist you in making medical decisions,” he said. “We are expecting contusions, lacerations, broken bones, and burns, both from typical fires and from radiation. All appropriate medical equipment will be on your shuttles.”

Pirra nodded to him. “Thank you, Doctor.” Her eyes went back to her teams. “At fifty-seven minutes I want every team to be done extracting and burning back. The debris threat is too serious for heroics. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the voices all said as one.

“Good.” She glanced at the timer on her HUD; their shuttles were almost, but not quite ready for them to board. “We have one minute for questions,” she said.

An officer stood. He was from Team Three, Pirra knew. “I know Teams One and Two are the more experienced, but you’ve got all the hardest cases for yourselves. If we finish ours first, do you want us to head for another on your list?”

“I cannot rule it out,” Pirra replied. “But most likely – no. I think you’re going to have your hands full enough. I know most of your team has never done a vacuum recovery like this before.”

Team Four’s leader cleared his throat. “How concerned are we about debris prior to the main field hitting?”

“It’s a possible threat,” Pirra said. “But not significant. Just orient your shuttles to minimize cross-section relative to the direction of incoming debris.”

No one else spoke.

“All teams, to your shuttles,” she ordered. “May the wind be at your backs.”