Piece Simul ✔

Chapter 11-Tiptree-Neutral Planet

Tiptree boarded the aviator pod in preparation. The enclosed space, stark white surfaces broken by dark screens and switches, intimidated her.

Russ and Samuel waved as the airlock hissed and slid closed. The assignment was for seven hours, but she wouldn't see them again for seven days.

The count down occurred for Tiptree in slow motion, while the drop happened in a blur. 

She double-checked the incoming coordinates to ensure a proper landing. It was her first time operating an aviator, and she wanted to do it right. Basic training required 100 hours of aviator know-how, but she had spent double the allotment.

"Landing in one minute," the interface intoned, the aviator trembling slightly as if to prove the computer's words.

Passing through the atmosphere to Kevrun 9 caused on overload of the aviator interface. Switch lights flickered and died, and a slight shift occurred as the ship spiraled down to the surface.

"One, two, three..." Tiptree said, remembering what Russ had told her.

On "three", the machinery was supposed to light up, and the engines should've roared back to life. Except, that didn't happen. The panels and switches remained dark, cold.

Tiptree frantically depressed the "hard reset" button. Nothing. She slammed her fist on the emergency beacon, but without power, that didn't work either.

A reckless panic filled her chest. A dragging sensation rooted in her stomach, and moved to her throat. She couldn't breathe.

The pod continued a harsh freefall to Kevrun 9.

~*~

Her arm hit the corner of a metal casing.

Even sheathed in a starsuit, the blow hurt. Tiptree yelped, a dull throb lighting up from her elbow to her pinky.

As she searched the darkened cabin, she acknowledged that her arm was the least of her many worries. The pod had crashed, and hard. In the impromptu landing, she had given into vertigo and passed out for who knows how long. Luckily, the simulations had prepared her for this very scenario.

She extended her good arm until her fingers came into contact with a tingling hum.

"Disable particle bubble."

The humming ceased.

In the event of a crash, individual particle bubbles dispatched to protect passengers. If not disabled, getting stuck was a real possibility. Though Tiptree was grateful for the tech, she wasn't keen on being the next Bubble Boy.

Laughter gurgled from her mouth. It rang with relief, with a side of unhinged. Tiptree clapped a hand over her mouth to stop it. Maintaining control was part of the preparation.

I can do this.

She continued to mumble the mantra, over and over. The search for her ansible proved fruitless. The wreck had destroyed the small dash, and other bits of tech, including the ansible. Tiptree took in deep breath. Prep training, remember?

Even if all the tech was destroyed, the black box couldn't be. The small onyx rectangle was tucked under her box. Tiptree snatched it up and pressed the red button on top. A light beside it began to blink. Her little green, winking savior.

Another relief-laugh threatened to bubble up. She tapered that shit right back down.

The last thing on the crash-checklist was stay effing put. That's how Russ had said it.