No one cheers.
We’re all too scared to tempt fate.
Then Tessa breaks. Voice shaking. “We’re all going to die.”
Shut up, Tessa, I think.I’m in the middle of trying to keep us alive.But I’m not mad at her. I just hate that she said what we’re all thinking.
“Not before I kick someone’s ass,” Piper mutters. She doesn’t even look up. “I call dibs on whoever designed this tin can.”
“This bucket’s so old, you’ll have to punch whatever’s left of his skeleton,” I say.
Quinn sighs. “Focus, please. The priorities of humanity, everyone.”
Dr. Patel doesn’t look up from Lila’s vitals. “We survive. We rebuild.” Her voice is flat. Worn out from carrying all of us. She’s triaging the future in her head already. But she’s planning for us to find a safe place to land.
So am I.
A hit to the hull knocks the breath from my lungs. The shuttle bucks hard, nose down, and I get a noseful of Piper's perfume. It's the good kind, probably rationed for emergencies. The world tilts. Someone whimpers, high and helpless.
It’s Reema.
She’s clutching her seed samples so tight her fingers have gone pale. She’s not even trying to brace. Just holding on to them.
She’s planning on survival. Dead people don’t need to grow food.
“Hey,” I call out, not loud, just firm. “We’re not dying. Not today. This ship is programmed to get us past the planetary defenses. It’s probably just debris. That’s what shields are for. Launch is always hell.”
Reema doesn’t answer, but her breathing slows. That’s good enough.
At the front of the cabin, Sloane taps the nav screen again. Her hands aren’t shaking as much. “If the programming holds, we’ll get through the defenses in five minutes. After that, the AI handles the rest. It will find a suitable course to a new planet.”
There’s another jolt. Dana swears. We slam into each other again. My knees knock hard against a bracket.
That’ll bruise.
My own hands are trembling now. Doesn’t matter. I keep checking the panel, listening for changes in the engine’s rhythm. It’s not good. But it’s not terminal. Yet.
Time slows.
Lila's ragged breathing. The scrape of Dana's bitten nails on the wall. Someone’s wrist pops as they flex numb fingers. All of it undercut by the dying-giraffe wheeze of the air scrubber.
Then Maya speaks.
“Anyone remember the first meeting?” she asks, voice dry as recycled air. “That speech they gave?”
Tessa groans. “‘You are the last line of hope for humanity.’” She says it like she’s quoting a B-grade movie she regrets watching.
"Yeah." Maya's voice drops. "Wonder if any of them are still alive."
Dana shifts, trying to unfold limbs that have nowhere to go. “If they are, I’d like to speak to the cruise director. This is the worst sail-away party I’ve ever seen. I didn’t even get my welcome champagne.”
Another shudder rocks the frame, along with a burst of light. It’s not debris. We’re being fired at.
Sloane mutters, “They spent all the money on fireworks.”
The red hazard strobes slice through the dark, painting our faces in flashes of ghost white and sharp shadow.
Sweat cools against my spine.
