My feet slam into the ground, a dust cloud rising steadily to my waist. I stare at the ground for a moment, kneeling down to rub a pinch of it between my fingers. A small sheet of it clings to my gauntlets, and I frown. Gravity here feels… less, my feet nearly leave the ground as I stand. I unseal a small portion of my armour, bringing in a small amount of trapped air that I move to breathe. I cough, the air freezing in my lungs, I wobble on my knees, then double check the insulation of my armour.

  [… You aren’t going to like the answers I’m about to give.] Page remarks. I pretty much expect that most days… I think back, taking a small breath to calm myself. How bad is it? [Bad… that bit of air you breathed? It’s thin, probably only half atm, even if we ignore that, there’s almost no oxygen in it, or at least none as far as I can tell. It’s also very… very cold outside.] I noticed. I think back, grimacing.

  I look around me, dust all as far as I can see, uneven across the ground where craters mark points of impact. So… no real atmosphere, no plants, no food… I leap into the air, looking around. No water… Something else catches my eye in the distance, I log its location. Basically we’re pretty screwed.

  [Now would be a great time for a higher power.] Page notes in agreement. [Which we might find at that downed ship you spotted.] Good to know… I think to myself. So… how long can we last with only the air in my armour? [I would estimate it to be roughly ten minutes, extended further without the nanomachines and minimal excitement. The adjustments I’ve made to the Liaen’s material properties might hold out the cold long enough before it reaches critical temperatures.] No bloody pressure.

  Lights flash in my eyes as I make my way over, streaking across my vision. Well… that confirms even more troubling things. I note to myself. It’s hard to gauge how long it takes to reach the ship, three minutes? Five? All I know is that the chill is penetrating the armour, much more slowly thanks to the thin atmosphere, but it’s happening all the same.

  It’s a spaceship, dark grey in colour, shaped kind of like a fighter jet, but much larger, clearly not meant for breaking orbit. Some kind of landing craft maybe? I muse to myself, stepping into through a large hole formed by the crash. Inside it is a mangled mess, cables peek out between the walls, a table lies shattered against the floor. Two members of the ship’s crew are… streaked against the walls and floor. Looks like they were hurled across the room from the other end… It’s consistent with what I’d expect in a crash, but I don’t have time to ponder the circumstances.

  I start rummaging through the ship, slowly and meticulously combing the ship for supplies. I find some food and frozen liquid of some kind, setting them aside as I look out for what’s actually going to keep me alive for the next few hours. Finally I stumble across a set of space suits, still impeccably sealed despite being strewn across the ground… and several air tanks. Dread rises up from my stomach, I don’t know how long it’ll take me to put this on.

  Calm… I take a breath. First things first… check the tanks. I honestly can’t tell what half these symbols are, but from the way there are different colours I can only imagine that they carry different things… I detach a bit of my armour, fiddling with the entry port until it spurts a jet of vibrant brown gas. Definitely not this one. I note, fiddling with the next one. Colourless, promising… I cross my fingers, bringing in a small amount and bracing myself as it lashes at my lungs. Fuck.

  [Oxygen, pure.] Page notes as my eyes water and I clutch at my chest. [That’s the one, attach it to the suit.] I nod, taking small, shallow breaths.

  The suit is made up of what appears to be five distinct pieces, torso and limbs separate. I pick one that’s at least a size larger than me, any smaller and my armour wouldn’t fit under it. I ignore the undergarments, couldn’t put them on even if I bloody wanted to. I crumple my armour, bringing it as close to my skin as possible, and grimacing as the chill settles in. Fumbling with the suit, a relieved smile crawls onto my face as the control panel on the torso lights up. Okay… the batteries in this thing still work… Good… I pull on the trouser like segment, squeezing my way into it between curses. I’m starting to feel a little lightheaded, there’s an itching in my throat and lungs, like a burn slowly spreading down.

  I shake my head, pulling myself into a torso too large for me. I fumble for the joint, trying to figure out how it locks together, something clicks, and I tug at it a few times to make sure before I move on to the helmet. I nearly black out as I tug the gloves on. They click into place, and I let out a sigh. I lean back, looking down at the gauges, there’s one that’s completely flat, I jiggle the dials, praying that that gauge is what indicates air pressure. One of the dials causes the suit to hum, and I start to feel the suit warm. For a moment my eyes jerk to the front of the ship, and a hoarse, coarse voice calls out to me. Panic spikes, and my breathing quickens as I reach for the Aedolon. Page calls out to me as I fumble for my waist.

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  [Turn the damn dial!] It screams into my mind. My fingers fumble across the box, and one of the dials swirls, a whoosh of air whistles past my ears. [Open your armour. Do it now!] It screams some more. I raise my hand to the side of my head. Don’t shout. I mumble to myself, I let my faceplate disengage, as frigid air assaults my face. I take a shuddering breath. God…

  [If there is one, he hates you.] Page remarks, its voice is fast, the panic sharp against my mind. I’m fine, for now. [Keyword, for now.] Page says. [We’re stuck on what I can only assume to be a moon, with no transport, no shelter and no civilization in sight.]

  Makes me regret leaving. I sigh, leaning my head against a wall. Well… at least we know there are oxygen breathers in this universe. I look down at the suit controls. Page, how likely is it that that’s the power supply readout? I ask, my eyes settling on a series of five lights. Only the leftmost one is lit up, an angry pulsing red.

  [Abysmally likely.] Page concedes. [Just sit here for a bit, let the nanomachines work your lungs, then we can start praying for a real miracle.]

  How bad is it? I ask. Page doesn’t directly answer, they just print a readout onto my mind. Ouch. I think to myself, letting my head fall against the wall. I guess I’ll… take a nap while I heal, wake me up once we’re ready to move, or the suit fails, or something… I think back. [Sure the oxygen deprivation hasn’t done permanent damage to your brain?] Page asks drily. If it has you’d be the first to know. I close my eyes.

  I’m woken up by a touch, a hand pressing against the spacesuit helmet, shifting it. I open my eyes, my hand tiredly reaching up to push it away. There’s a flurry of movement ahead of me, as someone stumbled back, slamming into the walls. They fumble for something, producing a wrenchlike tool that they raise, and I snap awake, drunkenly lurching to my feet. Movement is… tough, slow in the suit, especially with my own armour beneath. The object slams into my arm as I raise it to block, crushing into the helmet, I shut my eyes as I hear the glass crack, the force knocking me to the ground.

  Cold air rushes in, hissing as it forces itself into the cracks. I raise my hands to the helmet, trying in vain to block the gaps. I cough, crawling away from my assailant, awkwardly stumbling to my feet as I head deeper into the ship. Behind me there’s a flurry of voices, and a few clangs of metal. I walk faster, focusing as I attract my faceplate into position to cover my face, sealing off the air.

  Lungs? I ask, terse, looking down, the light on the torso of my spacesuit barely even flickers now, what scant warmth it provided is quickly dissipating, the cracks in my helmet filling the suit with chilling cold. [Healed, barely.] Page replies. [I don’t know if it’s lucky or unlucky that they came across you.] I fiddle with the locking mechanism on the suit, grimacing as I tear off a gauntlet. Depends if they’re hostile, they sure didn’t seem dressed for combat… I slump down against a wall, no breath in the armour… after I pressed it against my skin I’d just forced it all out. I force down the imminent panic attack, trying to still my heart. Footsteps sound behind me, and I turn, reflexively raising my right arm as I awkwardly try to enter a stance. Too damn stiff. I’d probably trip over myself just trying to throw a damn punch.

  Whatever it is has its hands raised, fingers splayed out, certainly not a human hand, but I’ve seen too much to let that worry me. Is the act supplication though, or a stance of its own? I run my eyes along its body. No… no it’s not, unless their physiology defies all reason they’re breaking too many tenets of combat. I slowly lower my arm, gauging their reaction. They take a tentative step forward, reaching out a hand. I ignore it for now, gesturing towards the exit. There’s an awkward shuffling as we keep each other in sight throughout. Though once the rest of their group comes into view they relax ever so slightly.

  One of them points at my missing gauntlet, rapidly saying something to the rest of the team. They stare at me for a moment, then gesture for me to follow them. A small vehicle sits outside, looking like a six-wheeled van, the group loads up their equipment, gesturing for me to take a seat on the cargo. They lash my waist against the cargo, to my consternation, but there would hardly be a way to keep me on otherwise. I snap off a piece of my armour while they aren’t looking, fashioning a blade to cut it if the need arises.

  [No point, you’ll probably collapse from lack of oxygen in less than a minute.] Page notes. [We’ll just have to have faith that they aren’t going to sell us off or something.]

  I nod, grudgingly, hell… if they didn’t have oxygen on the ship I probably wouldn’t be waking up either way. I lean back, carefully removing the now useless space suit, the trousers were locked on thanks to the cord securely lashed against my waist, but that wouldn’t get in the way of getting me air. I tap one of the people sitting ahead of me, and they jump a little as they turn to look at me. I gesture to the mask, highlighting the sections of the helmet they would need to tug and press on to remove it with both my fingers and painting across it by changing the Liaen’s colour.

  They nod cautiously, seemingly disturbed, and I lean back, interlacing my fingers and placing them across my chest as I let Page bring me into a deep, dreamless sleep.