Three rapid beeps.
Pause.
Three rapid beeps.

The car’s open-door chime was pulsing in Cara’s ears, eyes closed, returning to consciousness. Liquid traveled up her ankles as the car sunk further into the dark.

“Cara, you are dying.”
Three rapid beeps.
“Cara, you are dying.”

Light. Dark. Light. Eyelids shot open. Horizon. Dark. Light. Her spacecraft was tumbling away from Proteus Seven.

In front of Cara, ablative cockpit armor was punctured and shorn off its hinges. The planet came into view every-other 3rd axial rotation.
Reaction mass solenoids: Offline.
Gimbals: Offline.
Her suit had retaken executive control of the life support tether.

“Cara, you are dying.”
“Cara. Hold still.”

The exosuit tensed, inflating internal bladders to immobilize its occupant, then punched through the chest wall, into the heart, to deliver a last wind dose of amphetamines and adrenaline.

“Cara. The fusion core is UNSAFE.”
“Cara. You have 10 minutes until expiration.”
“Cara. Acknowledge. PINNACLE scenario.”

The pilot felt a rush of air through her teeth as the hole in her chest was suctioned and combat-sealed.

“Acknowledge.”