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was the one she needed to be in.
    The people inside it–Carver, Kumar, the other Earthers–all have skills that can be used on the planet below. Hale doesn’t. She can run, and she can fight, and as far as Okwembu is concerned neither one is particularly useful.
    It’s more than that
, she thinks.
You wanted to do it. You wanted to put her in her place.
    Okwembu closes her eyes, and the pod explodes away from the ship.

5
Riley
    I lose control.
    If the pod’s door wasn’t made of metal, if it wasn’t completely beyond human strength to do anything to it, then my fingers would be digging long channels in the surface. I kick and hit and hammer and try to wedge my fingers into the whisper-thin gap. I scream Okwembu’s name, but the only thing that comes back at me are the waves of vibrations tearing through the
Shinso
.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    It comes from beyond the inner airlock door. Syria is standing there, staring at me like I’ve gone crazy.
    He was a community leader from Outer Earth, from a place known as the Caves. He fought hard to stop the Earthers from taking the ship, but ended up here with them. Like Okwembu, I haven’t seen him since the day we boarded the
Shinso
. He must have been locked up somewhere else–there’s no way he would have helped Okwembu and Mikhail. He’s tough and wiry, wearing a bright red flight jacket, and his dirty hair is thick with knots.
    He works his way into the airlock and grabs me, then has to do it again when I tear my way out of his grip.
    â€œHey!” he says, grabbing my arm. “Are you crazy? There’s a second pod.”
    â€œMy
friends
are in there,” I shout back. At that moment, the word doesn’t seem adequate enough. Carver and Prakesh aren’t just friends. They’re everything. They’re all I’ve got left.
    Syria pulls me through the outer airlock door. It’s starting to shut, the mechanisms sliding the door closed. “And we’ll be right behind them,” he says. “Guaranteed.”
    The second pod is twenty yards down the corridor. Before I can blink, Syria hustles us inside, shoving me into a seat and buckling me in. I don’t have the energy left to fight back. The seat straps are tight around my chest and stomach. The shaking is getting very bad now.
    â€œRelease in ten seconds,” shouts the pilot from the front of our pod.
    â€œWe have to go now!” another voice says.
    â€œNegative. We need to give the other pod time to get clear, or we’ll smash into it,” the pilot says. I can’t see his face, just the back of his head. A woman opposite me is muttering something that sounds like a prayer, her eyes shut tight. The name of the pod is above her on the wall:
Lyssa
.
    I think back to Prakesh and Carver, tight on either side of me, our legs raised to kick down the locked door. All of us together, acting as one. I try to hold onto it, but it sends an unexpected spasm of anger through me–and this time I’m angry at myself.
    I spent a week with them in that damn medical bay, a week where I could have talked to them, a week where we could have straightened out where we stood with each other. I wanted to be with Prakesh, told Carver as much, but it didn’t stop the choice gnawing at me, making me wonder if I’d made the right decision. It didn’t stop me thinking about how I kissed Carver while we were dealing with the last few hours of insanity on Outer Earth. I had all the time in the world to say something, and I didn’t, and now I might never see them again.
    And on the tail of that thought comes another. Janice Okwembu took them away from me. When I see her again, I’m going to make her pay.
    I’ll find you
, I say, willing the thought to reach Prakesh and Carver, knowing it won’t and not caring.
I don’t care what happens. I’ll find you.
    â€œRelease!” says the pilot.
    But