"Decompression of section B2 has been detected. Decompression of B2 has been detected. All personnel please report to evacuation modules immediately." There was a short before the announcement continued, "Evacuation modules have been launched. Decompression alert! Decompression of B2 has been detected. If you have not made it to an evacuation module, please make alternative arrangements for evacuation."
Captain Roseanne Parker swiveled in her chair, "Who the hell designed this emergency system?" the Captain snapped. "Alternative arrangements? Like what? Praying? It ejected the escape pods before anyone could even reach them! How does that help?" She gripped the armrests, her eyes locked on the rapidly approaching planet. "What's our trajectory? Do we have any hope of making it down in one piece?"
"I'm trying, Captain! I'm trying!" the navigator shouted, his voice tight with strain. He had switched to manual controls, yanking back on the stick with everything he had. But manual wasn't exactly manual. The system still relied on hydraulics and electrical relays to translate his desperate efforts into engine adjustments. It wasn't the direct, mechanical control of old-world aircraft—it was a sluggish, reluctant approximation. And right now, it was fighting him every step of the way.
"Well, try harder!" she shot back, bracing as the ship shuddered violently beneath them. The deck groaned, the metallic screech of structural stress setting everyone's nerves on edge. "That surface is coming up fast."
Antonio gritted his teeth and pulled at the control stick, his arms straining against the failing hydraulics. The manual controls were, as usual, only marginally manual. The ship's flight assistant fought him every step of the way like a stubborn mule, deciding it would rather plummet to its doom than listen to a pilot. One of the science officers, an eager young ensign with more optimism than common sense, leaped from his station and grabbed the control stick alongside Antonio, adding his strength. The nose of the ship began to lift—barely. It was not lifting fast enough. Each second passed, and everyone knew what was about to happen.
The ship's voice chimed in again, ever helpful: "Emergency. Imminent impact in sixty seconds. Evacuation is mandatory. Evacuation is mandatory. Emergency deflection initiated. All evacuation modules have been ejected. Please find an alternate form of evacuation."
"Oh, sure," Parker snapped. "Let me just flap my arms and hope for the best!"
Antonio let out a long, pained groan as he fought with the controls. The ship was responding like a lazy housecat being forcibly removed from a sunbeam—slow, uncooperative, and full of spite.
"We're going in hot, Captain!" Engineering Officer Klaren shouted.
"I noticed," Parker barked, watching the ground rush up to meet them at terminal velocity.
"The emergency thrusters are firing! They're trying to compensate—"
It wasn't enough.
"Can we eject the passenger section safely?" Parker shouted over the chaos.
Chief Engineer Klaren barely glanced up from his console, his voice sharp and grim. "No! At this speed, their landing thrusters will overload. If we eject it now, they'll drop like a stone—worse than if they stay attached. They won't make it."
The emergency thrusters fired in a last-ditch effort to lift the ship, but it was like trying to stop an avalanche with a breath of air. The engines roared against the pull of gravity, but the planet wasn't letting go.
Outside, the atmosphere clawed at the hull, the friction turning the ship into a streaking fireball. The deafening roar of superheated metal howling through the sky filled every inch of the cabin. It was the sound of inevitability—the groaning, tearing shriek of physics winning a battle the crew had never stood a chance of fighting.
Inside, no one spoke. No one breathed.
For the briefest moment, they were suspended in time—weightless between salvation and annihilation.
One more minute. One more minute and they would have skimmed the treetops, turned a catastrophic crash into a brutal but survivable landing.
They didn't have a minute.
The lower decks hit first. The impact tore through the ship like a hammer through glass. Metal crumpled, twisted, and split apart with a wrenching scream, a cacophony of destruction echoing through the hull.
And then—detonation.
The explosion punched through the remains of the lower levels, blasting what was left of the ship back into the air. A shockwave rippled through the cabin, slamming bodies against restraints, rattling teeth, and hammering through every nerve like an electric current.
"Antonio, stabilize the approach! Bring us in for the best landing you can!" Captain Roseanne Parker commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos. She barely finished the order before she knew—knew—it was useless.
The control stick jerked violently, wrenching itself from Antonio's grip. He and the ensign tumbled backward as the resistance vanished, the stick wobbling freely—no longer connected to anything that mattered.
The ship had given up. All was silent except for a loud whoosh as they hurtled forward, untethered, momentum carrying them toward the inevitable..
The explosion flung them skyward, the ship tumbling weightless for a breathless moment—like a stone skipping across water, helpless against the forces that had sent it flying.
For the first time since the descent began, there was silence. No screaming engines, no wrenching metal, no alarms. Just the eerie stillness of freefall.
The tranquility was worse than the chaos.
They weren't in control. They weren't flying. They were falling.
A moment later, the treetops met them. The first branches shattered on impact, then the next, each one slowing the ship just enough to prolong the inevitable. The hull tore through the dense canopy, the friction ripping at its battered remains, dragging it down, down—
Then the ground took them.
Metal shrieked as it raked across the earth, scraping, crumpling, collapsing. A brutal, grinding impact, scattering debris over the raw scar carved into the planet's surface.
The ship lurched to a final, jarring stop.
Silence again. But this time, it was different.
The ship lay in ruin, barely recognizable from the vessel it had been. Twisted wreckage stretched behind them, a mile-long skid mark of torn metal and shattered trees—a brutal testament to their descent.