As soon as the shock passed and Genevieve could do anything more than gape at the trees surrounding them, she turned on her heel and darted back into the ship. Part of it was adrenaline-fueled practicality—she wasn't going to just wander off into the woods—but the rather larger and more embarrassing part was something like the opposite of claustrophobia. The abrupt landing had cleared a space of trees, and the sky was just...too big. Too much. To know that there was nothing between her and...whatever was out there...
She wondered if her ancestors had felt the opposite way, boarding the first ships for the rest of their lives. Like everything was too small.
It didn't even occur to her to go looking for weapons. Ginny's hands shook as she pried open the coffin-like case pod she'd woken up in. There had to be something. No proper ship would put people in enclosed spaces without some kind of—
There. A zippered pouch in the interior padding. It took her a few tries to grab the zipper properly in nerveless fingers, but she got it open, and quickly unpacked its contents for inventory. A tool to break glass—could be useful as a tool but hardly as a weapon, unless she suddenly grew the muscles of a grav-ball player; a tiny booklet meant to calm anyone accidentally spaced, which, although useless in its original intent, she kept for the paper; and exactly three packets of beige nutrient-rich gruel. She supposed that if you were floating through the vastness of space in only a stasis pod, food was the least of your worries.
Which—another thing that had occurred to her as soon as she opened her eyes, and Genevieve once again had to wring her hands together to stop them from shaking. These were stasis pods. Which meant they had been asleep for years, possibly decades. Which meant her family—
No. She couldn't think about that now. Not if she didn't want to go into a downward spiral of depression and panic, and that wasn't a very productive use of her time. With a hard, sharp tug, she ripped the pouch from the seams of the padding, put the items back inside, and zipped it back up. The fabric was strong, somewhat waterproof—it couldn't hurt to take with her.
Next, she headed for the belly of the ship—not the room filled with pods, but one adjacent to it, what looked like a break room. Squinting, she perused the walls until she found what she was looking for—a red square set into the wall. She tapped it, the same gesture she'd used to open countless doors on Port Hope, and, predictably, nothing happened. Staring for a second, Ginny shook herself before using the glass breaker to pry the panel open. Avoiding the occasionally sparking fried electrics, she smiled shakily as she found what she was looking for—a white case with a red plus mark on the side, a symbol that had persisted through centuries of humankind. She tucked the first aid kit under her arm, resolving to inventory it later, and carefully checked each and every cabinet and wall panel—all empty. She'd hoped for at least meager crew rations, and yet...nothing. She frowned for a moment before turning back.
Genevieve emerged, blinking, back into the sunlight, only to find what looked like the beginning of either an orgy or an argument. She sort of hoped for the latter.
"Um," she started, then winced, squaring her shoulders and trying to overcome the aura of inconspicuousness she'd carefully cultivated over the years. "Just—just something I found, but—in the lining of the pods there's a little bit of food? And some tools. So, um. Nobody panic just yet," she finished with a weak smile, clutching her salvaged package to her chest.
