Planets that appear blue or green are not unusual. The mixed cyan hue is also far from rare, as many metal oxides can produce such colours. However, such vivid tones and sharply defined colour boundaries tell a very different story — just like on Xi P's homeworld, Lierus: blue water surfaces and cyan-green vegetation.

  Xi P straightens, renewed hope stirring within him as he taps the screen to zoom further into the optical scan. Upon closer inspection, differences emerge. The clouds here are greyish-white, not the faintly greenish hue of his homeworld, and the continents are completely different shapes. More captivating than these natural features, however, are the scattered points of light visible in the darkened region facing away from the star.

  "In summary, it can be concluded that whether diurnal or nocturnal, intelligent life forms will inevitably produce light sources visible from orbit once their civilisation reaches sufficient scale..." — from a paper whose author Xi P had forgotten.

  Unless this planet is undergoing a period of intense geological activity, these lights can only be the work of an alien civilisation. The distance is still too great for the telescope to provide a clear view. Nevertheless, this discovery alone is enough to reignite his hope for survival: if this world can sustain an alien civilisation, then he too has a chance to survive. Even if their atmosphere is dominated by chlorine, that is still infinitely preferable to a barren, lifeless rock. Perhaps they are hostile to alien life. Perhaps their technology is insufficient to sustain his survival... But what if they are both friendly and technologically advanced?

  'Hmm, the atmospheric spectrum shows oxygen and nitrogen... Excellent... I might even breathe directly there... Nah, better not to try.'

  'Calm down, calm down. Nothing's been confirmed yet. Maybe the ship malfunctioned because of them, but... Never mind.'

  Atmospheric turbulence and distance blur surface details, making it impossible to learn more about the terrain. More pressing than what to do upon arrival is the immediate challenge: how does he manoeuvre the ship there?

  Reopening the navigation interface, Xi P stares intently at the predicted current flight path. Incasus has been transported beyond the orbit of this planet's moon, just within its Hill sphere (Note 1). The ship is slowly descending towards the planet under the influence of its gravitational field. Given the uncertainties by the nearby moon, planets, stars, and current velocity estimates, the ship might crash onto the planet's surface or graze past at close range before re-entering the star's sphere of influence. Only time will tell.

  Note 1: A real-world space term. Roughly speaking, it refers to the region around a celestial body where objects are controlled by its gravitational pull rather than that of a larger body (like a star) they orbit.

  A quick estimate of the current propellant reserves suggests there is enough for minor orbital adjustments. By performing several atmospheric braking manoeuvres using the planet's atmosphere, it might be possible to enter a stable low orbit state in a few days. There is just one small problem: the Incasus was never designed for atmospheric re-entry. Direct contact with the atmosphere will almost certainly cause it to disintegrate.

  Hope remains, but he needs to think carefully...

  ***

  After tens of minutes of calculations, observations, and weighing the pros and cons, Xi P finally settles on a rough plan.

  There is simply no way to muster enough propellant for a direct insertion into a stable orbit, as the remaining supply is so scarce. However, when sufficiently distant from the target, even slight perturbations in velocity or direction could drastically alter the final trajectory. It would suffice to ensure a close flyby rather than a direct collision.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Of course, merely skimming past would be useless to Xi P, but the spacecraft isn't his only asset; the ship's manned lander, designed for low-gravity surface exploration, still has ample fuel. If the spacecraft first uses the satellite for a gravity slingshot deceleration, then separates the lander and uses all its fuel for retrograde thrust, this should just barely be enough to enter the planet's atmosphere at a "safe" speed.

  This plan is dangerous from start to finish. Squeezing that much delta-v would require the use of numerous unconventional methods. The ship's computer's estimates for the manoeuvres may be inaccurate, and it is extremely concerning whether the probe can withstand the extreme heat of re-entry. But he has no other choice now, unless he wishes to fade away silently in this pitch-black void of space. This is the only way. The success rate dwindles steadily as the spacecraft draws nearer to the planet. If he is going to attempt it, he must to act soon.

  He feeds the flight path into the computer. The first step is to pivot the ship towards the acceleration direction. Precious propellant cannot be waste on reaction control thrusters; instead, the ship will turn by harnessing the torque generated by a set of high-speed momentum wheels. For some reason, the previously quiet momentum wheels now generate deafening noise. Covering his ears, he waits nearly five minutes before the ship finally pivots 60 degrees towards the intended trajectory. Patting his ears, Xi P presses the engine ignition button with resolute determination.

  Several jolts, a few seconds of force-to-the-back sensation, followed by a piercing buzz. Xi P calmly silences the warning signal indicating the propellant is completely depleted. The planned orbital velocity still requires an additional 2% delta-v — a seemingly small margin that, in reality, means the difference between skimming the edge of the atmosphere and plunging headfirst into it.

  He isn't worried at all, though — this is all part of his plan.

  He grabs the ship's structural blueprints, suits up, enters the airlock and waits for the pressure to equalise. With a firm press of the release button, Xi P steps out.

  Every direct glimpse of the starry expanse in space is awe-inspiring, but this time, the starlight seems to possess tangible mass, pressing down so heavily that he can barely lift his arms. Forcing himself to dismiss this illusion, Xi P moves swiftly across the starship's hull with his magnetic boots. Despite his countless prior experiences, the intense sensation of heat enveloping him feels like his very first training session all over again. The ground crew who would normally provide guidance and information are now unreachable. In this oppressive state, Xi P reaches the main thrusters and begins his work.

  In space, the only way to change velocity (aside from the now-inoperable warp drive) is to jettison mass in the opposite direction. With the conventional engines completely useless, it makes sense to remove them — reducing the ship's mass while enabling them to... serve one last purpose....

  Xi P is immensely grateful that many of the ship's components are designed modularly. Following the instructions, he can easily dismantle them — and even reassemble them later. As the final seam is severed, the engine is completely detached from the hull structure.

  Taking a deep breath, Xi P slips through the gap into the very centre of the engine assembly. He adjusts his posture, arms bracing against the disengaged engine section and planting his legs on the ship's structural frame. Then, he pushes forward with all his might!

  "Raaaa!"

  The engine, which weighs dozens of tons, is initially pushed slowly, then faster and faster, until Xi P suddenly feels his hands go empty. Looking up, he sees the engine section flying further and further away. Taking several deep breaths, he knows this step is likely succeeded. By expelling non-essential materials from the ship and ejecting the entire engine section like this, the reaction force will accelerate the spacecraft slightly. The remaining delta-v should be only one or two percent.

  Returning to the cabin, he silences the relentless engine failure alerts and secures loose items. He then repositions the ship, aligning the airlock opposite the thrust, and dons the emergency breathing mask. He pulls the emergency vent lever!

  A violent gust instantly sweeps through the cabin, nearly hurling him out of the ship. Gripping the handles tightly, Xi P watches the remaining velocity gradually fill up.

  1%

  1%

  0%!

  With a loud clang, he slams the lever shut. The raging storm ceases abruptly. The ship's trajectory has shifted as planned and the first stage of the self-rescue mission is complete.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Xi P resolves to use this lengthy orbital transition period for further preparations — and a bit of entertainment. It will take a while for the oxygen partial pressure to stabilise, but once it does, he can remove his mask and savour the single high-grade cryodried meal reserved for mission completion celebrations. This could well be the finest meal of his remaining days...