And then, the streaks of light snap back into focus. The crushing weight of gravity vanishes.
The Moon fills the viewport. It is a massive, cratered sphere of blinding white and deep, absolute black. It is beautiful, desolate, and entirely dead.
Approaching the Tycho crater, Morgan says, her voice tight. The Third Anchor is directly beneath the central peak.
The ship shudders violently as the gravity drive disengages. The chemical thrusters fire, a deep, bone-rattling roar that vibrates in my teeth.
We dive through the swirling storm of lunar dust. The hull groans, the metal screaming under the physical stress of the microscopic glass shredding the exterior.
The temperature in the cabin spikes. The lights flicker and die, leaving us in the harsh, red glow of the emergency strips.
And
