Gasping over the alarms in her ears, Emma pulled the handle to blow the explosive bolts on the hatch. It was the only way to get the fire under control, even though she knew that it was ultimately a futile effort. Her capsule’s systems were shot, the oxygen reserves nearly depleted, and most of the provisions had been destroyed.

Compared to that, Joris IV’s total lack of an atmosphere seemed almost trivial.

When the hatch blew, Emma scrambled outside. It was as much instinct as anything; she knew in the coldest part of her brain, the scientist part, that she was already dead and just hadn’t realized it yet. As the last bits of atmosphere inside the capsule blew away, and the parachutes settled under their own inertia, she settled against the still-warm side of her little craft.

And that’s when she heard it: a voice at once familiar and impossible.

“Mom?”

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