Retracting their harness, Aspect launches themself across the cockpit, by which I mean they fall out of their upside-down chair and then lunge desperately sideways, crashing into one ofCharon’s walls with a heavy thud. Seizing hold of the appropriate storage closet, they proceed to toss sections of armor my way as fast as they can.
Whether by sheer adrenaline or the terrifying closeness of death, I have a peculiar bodily awareness as we plummet from the sky. Following Aspect’s lead, I drop from the inverted pilot’s seat and armor myself faster than I ever have, even when wildly excited to enter the Morpheus Market. Each armor piece snaps into place and expands to meet the others in rapid succession—the helmet blooms across my neck, the chest panel across the rest of my torso, gauntlets linking into my gloves, leg armor latching into my boots.
Charonisn’t big enough to have come equipped with an escape pod. In outer space, the likely intended environment for this ship’s design, a parachute wouldn’t have stopped suffocation, so we don’t have those either. Dayfolk armor has small propulsors at the back—not enough to qualify as a jetpack, but activated by a sudden fall, designed to prevent severe injuries from surface-world work accidents. Aspect’s feet have similar standard-issue mini-rockets. But will either be enough?
In a breath, I’m equipped to meet the planet’s uncompromising atmosphere. I just have to avoid being crushed to death whenCharonhits the ground. Terror tears at my stomach. I could survive the impact just to break a dozen bones, just to lie writhing and gasping in the gathering dark, wishing someone, anyone, even the damned Coalition, knew where I’d been left to die.
I could survive the impact just to look to my left and find Aspect an empty shell, unseeing optical processors forever staring up, up, up into the night.
“Aspect.” I meet their gaze, clinging to the nearest useless control lever for balance. “The dome is already compromised. I’m going to kick as hard as I can, right here. I’m going to jump. And I need you to follow me.”
“The probability—of surviving—such an—endeavor—is approximately—”
“We’re losing altitude. This is our only chance. On the count of three.”
“Koriiiii—”
“One.”
I brace the heels of my boots against the side of the dome.
“Two.”
I suck in as much air as possible and hold it, insurance against another building scream.
“Three.”
Swinging back, pushing all the strength of my body into the kick, I shatter the last barrier between us and the darkness.
The dome splinters in every direction, a glittering shower of destruction lit by the Shadowlands’ faintly blue glow. Jagged shards rattle and bounce off my armor; otherwise, I’d be tearing pieces from my arms, legs, maybe even my face, for countless sleep cycles to come.
Aspect follows an instant later, lurching through the carnage, arms spread in a defiant T pose as they, too, begin to fall. It’s a dreamlike descent, the ground so far below and so poorly illuminated as to be invisible. We’re spinning and spinning, dislodged from standard perceptions of up and down. I’m plummeting forever, nothing to catch my fall but a pair of thrusters meant to reduce the impact of slipping from a scaffold or tripping on a dune.
The thrusters at my back activate automatically. I barely hear them burst to life over the cacophony of the ship’s crash.Charon’s core form, somehow mostly intact, sails beyond me and Aspect entirely. I’m so disoriented that the ship almost appears to be falling upward.
If I hit the ground wrong, I may never wake up.
My directional perception is only reoriented because just above me,Charoncollides headlong with another rocky spire. Smoke and fire surge, the reinforced X ofCharon’s core frame screeching and warping; the smoke makes me cough even through my mask’s filtration, but the flames’ violent glow reorients my body. Hunks of plating rain down around us. One nearly knocks into my skull, no doubt heavy enough to knock me out cold, but I roll aside, just barely, its uneven edge scraping my armor as it veers past. The jets at my back barely feel like they’re slowing my fall. Aspect whips in and out of my peripheral vision, the speed of their own descent similarly impossible to track.
Has a two-thousand-foot fall ever been survived by any Pagonian? Let alone their illegally modified robot companion? I curl my head to my chest, arms around my knees, and aim to land on them rather than risk snapping my spine. Fully expecting the breath to be knocked from my lungs, I inhale as much as I can.
Then impact.
My armor takes the brunt of it, but the fall’s height and momentum send me careening across the rocky ground on my side, jostling on the uneven stone, one arm viciously pinned between my torso and the ground, my skin splitting and stinging and blood no doubt spilling behind my protective gear. I taste rust and salt in my mouth, too, and only then do I realize I’ve bitten my tongue between my gritted teeth.
At last my sliding comes to a stop. I roll onto my back, chest heaving for air, every limb thoroughly hating me. My vision swims, swirls. I can’t tell if the darkness all around me is the Shadowlands or unconsciousness threatening to steal me away.
“Kori.”
A warm metal hand tests the pulse at my wrist. I groan, confused, expecting Aspect’s chilly touch, but by comparison to the frozen wastes about us, their hand is practically heated.
“You’re”—I cough, hard—“okay?”
Okayis a stretch. Aspect’s head lolls at a corpse-like angle, locked into looking at me askance. Both their feet are smoking, the metal blackened, where their propulsion rockets fought so desperately to slow their fall. When they move to kneel beside me, they practically collapse to their knees.
I finally manage a full breath; it shudders through my entire frame. “I’m okay,” I say, mostly to myself. “I’m okay.”
Aspect tries to shake their head, but the servos just sort of scream. It’s stuck in that terrible hanged-man twist. “Kori’s arm—is not—okay.”
