He looked back at Sarah. She wasn't pointing at the horizon anymore. She was drawing a circle in the dust on the glass. A zero. It wasn't "three minutes." It was "three seconds."
Elias keyed the internal comms. "Sarah, your suit radio is down. Use the hand signals we practiced. Are the stabilizers holding?" 10. Failure to Communicate
He checked the external monitors. Sarah was out there. She was supposed to be securing the perimeter sensors, but her tether was frayed, whipped by winds that could strip paint off a hull. She was gesturing wildly, her gloved hands slicing through the orange haze. He looked back at Sarah
He shook his head, pressing his face against the glass. He pointed to the stabilizer readout—a flashing red 'Critical'—and then to the manual override lever across the room. He needed to know if the exterior bolts were locked before he pulled it, or the whole module would shear off the cliffside. A zero
Elias reached for the override anyway, his mind racing. If he pulled it, they might stabilize. If he didn't, they were definitely dead.
The floor groaned. The last bolt gave way. As the module tilted toward the abyss, Elias realized her frantic gestures hadn't been technical reports at all. She had been waving goodbye.