“See? All you have to do is push these two buttons at the same time, and it will deploy.” Oscar pointed at a pair of buttons four centimeters apart on the controller device in my gloved hand. A wire ran from it to a connection point inside one of my suit’s arm pockets.

“I don’t take it off first?” I looked up at him through my open helmet. “How does it wrap around me?”

“The shell is a memory shape composite. Once it starts to unfold, it snaps everything into place. You need to curl up as tightly as you can, though. It may not work right if you’re flailing around. Once it’s set up, the guidance unit will start, and then the thrusters will fire. At the same time, the heat shield material will fill the bag, so that you don’t burn up on reentry.”

“Me? I’m not using this thing!” I looked at my husband in protest.

“Yeah, I know,” he laughed. “I just saw the idea in an old book, and I decided to build one. Now, the parachute is also built in, and it will drop the reentry pack and open a drogue to keep you stable in freefall. When you get low enough, the main will open. You can steer it by pulling on the blue handles on each of the risers. When you land, pull on both risers together to slow down. The red handles are to cut the chute away, so it doesn’t drag you on the ground. Don’t pull those while you’re in the air.”

“What an insane idea,” I laughed. “Who in their right mind would want to ride down from orbit in one of these things? I’m not about to try it.”

Oscar grinned and shook his head. “Beats me. I’ll let someone else try it, once we get settled, of course.”

“Yeah, right after we have the emergency services established,” I quipped.

“True. I did program it to land at the new downport’s coordinates, by the way. Oh,” he exclaimed as he looked at his tablet display. “I’m due on the bridge in twenty minutes, and I need to shower and change first. Can you put the reentry pack back in our equipment locker when you’re done here?”

“I have to wear it for the next hour?” I raised my hand as he started to answer. “It’s fine, I’m in microgravity here, anyway. I’ll take care of it.” I tugged at his suit to reach his lips with mine through our open helmets. “Love you.”

“I love you, too. Don’t overdo it with our kids aboard!” He grinned happily.

“Go on,” I answered with a matching smile. “I’m just floating around and counting stuff. I will be fine.”

“Okay, I’ll see you at dinner,” my husband said as he pushed off towards the forward bulkhead airlock.

“Bye!” I called after him. I watched him go for a moment, and then I turned to my work of inspecting supplies containers for my education and training department. Once we had the more essential items unloaded and the buildings set up, these containers would be offloaded and sent groundside. There, Oscar and I would begin building our new home.

An hour later, I closed the inventory window on my tablet and tucked it in my suit pocket. Since the external cargo bay doors had no airlocks, we all had to wear our spacesuits whenever we worked here. The suits also had twelve hours of air, water, and even a few food packets if we were stranded. They were somewhat bulky, but I certainly understood the reasoning for them. Using one of the containers as a handhold, I oriented myself and pushed off toward the forward airlock...

“Anna, hang on!” Oscar shouted in my helmet communicator. “Get the reentry pack!”

“What...” I started.

The ship lurched under me, sending me down and to the left toward the hull. I slapped my visor closed in pure reflex, and a tremendous noise overrode my helmet’s audio sensors. The hull around me twisted and buckled, and suddenly I was being propelled into the outer hull.

Only, the hull wasn’t there anymore. A gaping hole swallowed me up, and I saw the system’s star blazing in my face in the instant it took for my visor to darken. I tumbled wildly, and I screamed as I realized I’d been ejected into space! Flashes of light and darkness disoriented me, and I struggled to keep my lunch down as I tried to make sense of what was happening.

“Think!” I yelled into my helmet. “Calm down!” I took a breath and spread my arms and legs in a bid to slow the tumble. One of my favorite pastimes was to play games in microgravity, and so I was able to regain some measure of control. I looked around, and my heart sank.

A huge, expanding cloud of debris hung where my ship, my home, had been moments before. Thankfully, most of the debris was headed away from me, and the few pieces that were close seemed to be moving with me. Whatever had happened, I was certain that anyone who wasn’t in a space suit was dead. None of the small craft we carried were visible, either, and my gut clenched as I took in the disastrous scene.

“What do I do, now?” I started to cry, and then I willed myself to stop. I couldn’t wipe away tears in the helmet, and they could blind me. I refused to die a blubbering mess, and I took a deep breath. “The reentry pack!” I still had it on my back! I took a deep breath, fumbled the remote from my suit sleeve pocket, and mashed both buttons. Remembering Oscar’s instructions, I curled into a ball and waited.

I felt a series of bumps and vibrations though my harness, and I opened my eyes to see a bowl-like structure form around me. It surrounded me so that, if I lay flat, my body would be below the rim. Above me, a rectangular box about a meter long and thirty centimeters square clicked into position, held there by three telescoping tubes.

The remote buzzed, and then a message came up in my helmet display. “Entry burn in thirty-two minutes, Anna. Hang in there, Honey!” I laughed in spite of my dire situation. Oscar had obviously programmed the remote to access the suit’s comm system for personal data. Then, the display said, “Stabilizing burn,” and the package above me flared to life. A trio of small thrusters burned for a few seconds, and my tiny conveyance stopped rotating. I looked around as best I could, and noted that I was facing retrograde in orbit. The planet turned below me, receding away as I raced along. The debris cloud was reduced to a series of sparkling flashes in the distance as sunlight reflected off the particles. I resolutely tore my eyes away, and focused on my own survival, and that of my unborn children.

I was three months pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl. We’d had extensive genetic workups, and the children were free of as many recessive and otherwise unwanted genes as our science could provide. All of my companions were chosen from the best genetic stock, as we were intent on breaking away from the rest of humanity and starting again elsewhere. Our ship had been sent to this star system by a massive installation we imaginatively called a gate. Ships travelled that way every day, but our departure was different.

Our destination was a closely held secret, as we, the parent organization, had discovered this nearly earthlike planet on the other side of the galaxy. The survey crew had used a small gate to travel back with the news, and, a year later, here we were. We entered orbit only three days ago, and so we hadn’t yet disembarked anyone to the surface. That was supposed to happen tomorrow, and now it never would.

In short, I was alone, and, with my children, the sole survivor of my expedition. No one else knew we were here, and so there would be no help for me. Once again, I struggled to not cry as the thoughts rolled through my mind. I realized I was thirsty, so I reached for my water straw and sucked in the cold liquid. I sighed and lay back to wait for the entry burn. There was nothing else I could do, after all.

A few minutes later, another message appeared on my visor “Entry burn in 30 seconds”. The number changed as I watched, counting down to zero. Right on time, the thrusters above me flared to life, their exhaust directed outward past me. The sensation was lighter than I expected, and there was no real sense of deceleration. The display changed to read “Entry burn complete. Prepare for atmospheric braking”.

Gradually, the pressure against my back increased as I descended deeper into the atmosphere. Soon, I was up to my normal weight, and wisps of what looked like thin orange smoke began to stream past me. The thrusters would flash occasionally, and the pack began to vibrate as the pressure increased.

As the atmosphere took hold of me, my world devolved into a haze of vibration and pressure, while sheets of plasma streamed past me. My suit began to heat, and my environmental display squawked a warning as it struggled to keep me cool. Finally, the pressure eased, and I felt the sensation of freefall returning as the shield slowed. Then, yet another message appeared on my visor. “Prepare for separation and drogue deployment”. “Shit!” I breathed.

I barely had time to note the black sky above me, and the blue, white and brown planet under me before the thruster pack partially disengaged, flipping me face down. The shield disengaged from my harness, dumping me out into the open sky. I spread my arms and legs, this time feeling the air pressure as I plunged groundward. I lurched as the drogue chute popped open, and I took a breath to settle my nerves.

As I fell, the sensors in my suit reported the outside air pressure, from which, had I had the proper tables and a calculator app, I could have calculated my altitude. My mind cleared again, and I looked at the landscape where I was about to land. Below me, a large ocean stretched out behind me. Straight below was the coastline, marked by wide beaches and rocky cliffs as the landscape changed from mountains to forested hills, moving from right to left. Further right, the land leveled even more as it reached a broad river valley. The river emptied into the sea in a wide delta, also to my right. The mountains and river valley continued far inland, and then I knew where I was.

Oscar’s programming was right on target, bless him. I was over the expedition’s chosen landing site, which meant that it was the best location on the planet for a new city to start. We, or the staff assigned to make that determination, would have considered natural resources, weather patterns, and other data from the survey team, as well as our own observations. One thing was for certain – I would soon find out if they were right.

My visor showed the message “Main parachute deployment in 10 seconds.” I blew out a breath and waited. Right on time, the main parachute blossomed above me, and my cheeks sagged as it dragged me to a gentle descent. I looked up to see that the canopy was fully deployed, made very sure to take hold of the blue handles, and then I looked down to see where I was going.

The good news was, I was over land. The bad news was, I wasn’t going any further inland, even though I was flying that way. If the wind got any stronger, or if I turned, I’d end up in the water. All I could do was steer the canopy, pointing it into the wind, and hope for the best. The next ten minutes crawled by, and then I was closing in on the beach. As I descended, the wind slowed just enough for me to make to dry land. When the ground rushed up at me, I yanked down on both risers. I thumped into the surf right at the edge of the water, and rolled to take the impact on my side instead of my chest and face.

I struggled to rise, but my chute started to drag me into the water. I flailed around for the cutaway handles, and I convulsively jerked at both of them. The dragging motion stopped, and I clambered to my feet in knee-deep water. I turned to see the parachute blowing out to sea as it slowly collapsed, taking it well out of my reach. I turned again, and staggered out of the water onto the soft sand. My suit sensors said that the air was breathable, so I opened my visor and breathed in the salt air. I made it across the beach and onto a patch of grass, where I sank to my knees and started to weep.

Sometime later, after I had composed myself, I sat down and took stock of what I had with me. The list was short: my spacesuit, containing a battery with about eight hours’ power remaining, a personal first aid kit, a liter of cooled water, and four food packages that provided a days’ nutrition each; the pack and harness from the reentry kit, my one-piece jumpsuit, my ship’s access card, a belt, socks, panties, shoes, a bra; my tablet, which had survived the landing, containing my personal library of data files and music. The tablet could be recharged from the spacesuit’s battery, and it had a stylus if I wanted to write or draw with it.

“Well, shit,” I sighed as I looked around. “Okay, the first thing is to conserve power for the tablet.” I shut the spacesuit’s systems down, and then did the same with the tablet. “I have lots of books, but only as long as I can access the tablet.” Talking to myself helped me think, so I indulged. “I have food for now, but I need clean water and shelter. The suit can protect me if needed. The landing site was about three kilometers inland and a kilometer on this side of the river. I’m about ten kilometers away.”

I continued my self-dialogue as I stepped out of my spacesuit, carefully rolled it, and stored it in the parachute pack. I started walking down the beach, staying close to the tree line, where the sand was firmer. Two hours later, I came to a more open area, where the trees gave way to grassland near the river. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, and I guessed that I had another hour to explore before dark. Although I didn’t want to use my rations, I was too exhausted to consider looking for food or potable water.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and I knew I needed shelter. A dense copse of trees drew my attention, so I went to investigate. The trees were a mix of evergreens and deciduous varieties, and I settled into a clear spot under them. The idea of looking for food was appealing, but I needed to study the advance team’s report before venturing out.

The team had gathered data on the system, and on the planet itself. It stood to reason that our leaders wouldn’t have chosen a hostile place to settle, and the report bore that out. I would be able to eat the plants and animals that grew here, and the weather was comparable to old Earth. Those were rare qualities by themselves, but, in all of mankind’s explorations, only one other Earthlike planet had been found besides this one.

I was lucky to be here, I knew. If any of a list of factors had been different, my children and I would be dead. I’d dreamed of finding a new world, where I could build a life for my family. Now, though, I was still struggling to come to grips with my situation. I powered off my precious tablet and tucked it away in my jumpsuit. It contained information that I would need to survive, and what my children would need to begin building a life for themselves. So, come what may, I needed to have it.

When darkness fell, the stars came out, along with moonlight from the planet’s moon. There were two moons orbiting this planet, one large one, and a small one at the planet-moon L-4 point. The night came alive with the sounds of insects and other creatures, and I was both scared and fascinated as it enveloped me. I settled into a thick carpet of fallen leaves and needles, and began to think about what I should do.

First, I needed to provide for my basic survival needs; food, water, and shelter. The area where I’d landed had, thankfully, been extensively surveyed and mapped, so I wouldn’t have to explore on my own for a while. Second, I would need tools, such as a knife. Third, I would have to gather enough of these things to care for my children when they came. My pregnancy would make it more difficult for me to work, and I would be weakened for some time after the births. Fourth, I needed to ensure that the most critical information contained in the tablet was available after the device’s battery ran out, or if I lost or damaged it.

My thoughts shifted to a litany of things that could go wrong. What if the births were difficult? What if a hurricane or flood came through? What if some predator found me? What if, what if, what if? The short answer was, I would die, and my children would die, too. I had been spared my husband’s fate, and he had entrusted our children to my care. After studying the map and report on the tablet for a while, I stored it away, and drifted off to sleep with these thoughts in my mind.

The next morning, I awoke just after dawn. On my way out of the trees, I picked up a weathered branch that was just the right size for a walking staff. I’d had some basic self-defense training, which included how to use a few improvised weapons. The report said the river was brackish for a half kilometer inland, but the streams that fed into it were safe to drink from. The nearest stream was about three hundred meters away, and I started towards it.

By midday, I’d found a water source and a selection of fruits and berries that were safe to eat. I resolved to save my rations for emergencies, and to gather what I needed. To that end, I loaded as much food as I could store in the bottom of my pack, along with several handfuls of dry grass. Next, I needed shelter. Without tools, I would need either a cave or a lean-to made from fallen branches. The stream ran down from a ridge line footed by low hills, all covered by vegetation. Pictures of the area also showed rock outcroppings, so there might also be caves present.

It took me most of the day, but I finally found where the stream ran down a steep outcropping and through a series of large rocks. Next to the stream was a slightly higher area that appeared to be an old streambed, until the stream was rerouted by a rock fall sometime in the past. There, I found a small cave, sheltered under an overhang and partially hidden by several large rocks. I approached carefully, staff ready, but it was empty and apparently unused by anything dangerous.

Satisfied, I spent the next hour gathering branches and arranging them into a bed. I decided against attempting to build a fire, since it was early spring in this region, and the nights were tolerably warm. I ate some of the food I’d gathered, studied more about the local area, and then bedded down for the night.

Over the next three days, I carefully explored the area around my new home. The nearest food source was a kilometer away downstream, although the fish in the stream were plentiful – if I could catch them. Following the survey report maps, I located outcroppings that contained iron ore, copper, and tin. More importantly, I came across a small deposit of obsidian rock. With some work wielding a lump of granite, I was able to chip out several blades, including three large enough for spear points. Now, I had knives, a broad blade I could use for an axe, and something to protect myself with.

So, with my new tools, I set about building my home in the cave. I learned to start a fire, first with a lens scavenged from my spacesuit’s exterior light, and then with a bow I made from sticks and vines. From there, I gathered clay from the stream’s banks, and fashioned pottery for cooking and food storage. My diet expanded again when I found a variety of wheat growing nearby. I ground the grains into meal with a mortar and pestle, and made flatbread.

The outcropping that sheltered my cave stood above the trees, where it was nearly twenty square meters of gently sloping rock I reached by climbing up and around one naturally terraced side. I put that area to use for drying the fish, grains, and vegetables I gathered, along with evaporating sea water for salt. The most frustrating experience was learning to use a bow. After much trial and error, I was finally able to produce a useable bow. After a frustrating month of smacking my arm with the string, missing everything I shot at, and breaking two staves, I finally brought down a deer. Thankfully, I had an entire book about hunting, so I was able to prepare the meat and hide for later use.

The deer kill brought another problem, though. I’d seen tracks in the area, so I knew there were canid predators about. Sure enough, I had visitors the night after I’d killed the deer. Thankfully, I’d hung the carcass high in a tree, and my cave was well protected by the jumble of rocks and small outcroppings near the entrance. Using my bow, a spear, and a makeshift torch, I ran the pack of dog-sized creatures off after killing one and wounding two others.

As spring gave way to summer, I gathered food and stored it away. My growing belly slowed me more as the months went by, but the urgency of the impending birth pushed me even harder. The tablet was a lifesaver, as I was able to pick and choose the techniques and devices that I could make or use, and that would benefit me most. I learned to make rope, twine, and thread, tan hides for garments, and how to preserve food. I found a plant that produced soap, and I made candles and an olive oil lantern. My home featured sturdy log wall sections and a wooden gate built between the outcroppings that held predators at bay. I had a pottery wheel, and molds to make adobe bricks that I used to make a stove and an oven.

I had to recharge the tablet every two weeks, which in turn drained ten minutes’ power from the suit. The calculations worked out to eighteen months’ operation at that rate, but that was a problem for another day. I needed another way to record information, and so I learned how to make paper using flax fibers. After some experimentation, I was able to make paper flexible enough to roll into loose scrolls. Using it, along with honey-based ink, I started writing lesson plans for my children, covering reading and mathematics first, from a grade school level. I knew that I would have to teach them to read and understand numbers first. If I could not, well, that was one of those what-ifs I couldn’t control.

When fall came, and the seasons on my new home planet were a bit longer than standard, I was heavily gravid, to the point where I could walk only with difficulty. I had accumulated food, water, and what supplies I could find or make. I had a deer hide blanket, a pile of small animal hides I’d washed, and several cloth swatches I’d made from my spacesuit’s lining, which I’d boiled to sterilize them. I’d also boiled a pair of obsidian scalpels, some hand twisted twine, and homemade forceps if I needed to extract one of the babies. I had plenty of water in several clay bowls and pots, and even some ice I’d found in a nearby crevice. My contractions started early one morning, and my water broke at noon. I made sure to bar the gate, and then I sat down in the birthing bed I’d made from woven reed mats and reed pillows stuffed with straw.

The labor was the most painful thing I’d ever been through in my life. I sweated, screamed and cursed through it, and then I had two wet, squirming, crying, absolutely perfect babies in my arms. I’d stripped off my clothing, of course, and I used every scrap of cloth and cleaned hide I possessed to clean them and myself enough to finally rest. I passed the placentas, placed them in waiting pots, and made sure my babies were taking my milk.

The next few days were a blur of feeding and cleaning the babies, and forcing myself to stand and refill my water containers from large jars I’d placed near the cave mouth. Thankfully, I didn’t experience any complications, and I made myself not use the precious stock of medication I had on hand. I made sure to eat and drink to keep my milk production up, as the children ate voraciously.

I’d used the tablet’s allotment of power ruthlessly since I’d landed, reading about how to make everything I had, and how to live without everything but what I could make. I worried constantly about that eighteen-month limit, but I simply had to learn how to live better. There was so much that I just couldn’t do without help, though. Things like metalworking and building houses required more strength than I had, and I’d considered it too risky to attempt while pregnant. I had the information on how to build a log cabin, make charcoal, and build with stone and brick, but it would take me several times as long to accomplish with my lesser physical strength. As my children grew, they would be able to help, and then we could have some of those things.

Through the fall, I hunted and gathered as much as I could. The deer, rabbits, and other animals had grown wary of me, but I in turn had learned much about hunting and stalking. Even the canids had learned to give me a wide berth, and they never ventured close to my home. I had two nice vests that they had donated to my wardrobe, and they apparently didn’t want to add to my sartorial splendor. I laughed out loud at the thought while I carefully cleaned the last deer kill I’d probably make before winter set in.

I’d learned that it rained regularly in this part of the world, but not so much to make the area prone to flash floods. I heard and saw huge thunderstorms far to the north, and two months ago, the river rose by a half meter for a few days as the water became silty and a few uprooted trees floated by. The reports said that tropical storms were possible here, but I’d not yet experienced one.

When winter closed in, the temperatures would drop to zero for a few days, and then warm to 25 or so for another few days to a week. On the warm days, I fished and dug potatoes I’d found, and otherwise lived on what I’d stored away. The work was hard and endless, but the two little ones resting in my home were ample reason for me to push on. Honestly, I don’t know that I’d have pushed so hard to survive without them. They were my hope, my future, and I would die – and live – to protect them. Yes, everyone feels that way about their children, but my circumstances added a deadly earnest will to that instinct.

When it was evening, or too cold to hunt, I sat with Oscar and Hope, as I’d named them, and wrote their lesson plans. I was a fair artist, so I would illustrate my documents with animals, plants, and other things, adding to the material. As I completed a volume, I’d place each page in a fired clay sleeve, and then the sleeves into purpose-made pots. Once the pot was full of sleeves, I would pad it with straw, carefully seal the top, label it by painting on the outside, and move it to a storage space at the cave’s rear. This job was made easier by candles and simple olive oil lamps, both seasoned with flower oils to make my cave-sweet-home smell better.

By spring, the children were taking their first tottering steps, and I started making clothing and shoes for them so they could venture outside. They were a handful, and seemed to need all the attention I had to spare. At the same time, they were used to me having to leave them alone when I went out. I was thankful that I’d made the walls and gate, as now they worked to keep the children in, as well as to keep everything else out.

It was then that I started my journal. I made up several sheets of paper into a stack, which I covered with thin, carved wood planks, and bound it with sinew using a bone needle. In it, using the ink I was steadily improving upon, I began writing my story. I told them about the world I’d come from, how their father and I decided to come to this planet, and how the plan had gone terribly wrong. I wrote about Oscar, his appearance, his manner of speaking, and his foresight in building the reentry kit that saved my life. I made drawings of the ship, portraits of Oscar, and illustrations of the things and people I once knew. I drew pictures of them as they slept and played. I wrote about how I survived here, telling about pottery making, fishing, and learning to hunt with bow, spear, and snare.

Days passed to weeks, and weeks to months as my children grew. I designated the anniversary of my landing as the first day of the first month of Year Two, otherwise known as Landing Day. It was hardly original, but it was my calendar. Lessons about the calendar and timekeeping went into my lesson plans, and I made a calendar attached to a wooden plank and set it on the side table I’d lashed together for the cave. By that calendar, the year started in early spring, which was fine with me.

I’d been concerned that the spacesuit’s battery would be unable to charge the tablet after eighteen month’s use. During the winter and spring, I used it sparingly, mostly to take a few pictures of the children. Then, while I was removing another section of the inner lining, I made a startling discovery. The suit had a small solar panel array built into the power system! I yelled with happiness, which brought Oscar and Hope running to see what I was excited about. While I knew the panel wouldn’t last forever, it would power the tablet and the suit’s other systems for as long as the electronics held out. By now, I’d make a special wooden case for the tablet, and had sternly instructed the children to not play with it. While it was waterproof and quite rugged, I wasn’t talking chances with it.

Oscar and Hope continued to quickly grow in stature, knowledge, appetite and propensity to find trouble. Their lessons about how to live safely were sternly given, and reinforced with swats to their bottoms, for this world was utterly unforgiving. By their first year, they were walking and speaking a few words. They’d learned to open the gate, and Oscar had taken a tumble down the hill that scared both of us nearly to death. I’d gone fishing near the cave, and here he came down the hill. Thankfully, he was uninjured, and I moderated my scolding when it was apparent that he needed none. He was resilient, just like his father, and, by their second birthday, both kids were able to scramble around like puppies.