11
The first thing Keltie did was let her hair down.
She threw her hair ties on the floor.
She dressed down to her white tank top and shorts.
She rooted around the salon and gathered her food in a pile on the floor.
Tuna. Tuna. Tuna? God, more tuna!
Peanuts.
Canned fruit—cocktail blend, with the weird cherries she hated.
Evaporated milk.
Cheddar slices.
She tallied everything, divided it into the tiniest rations she could.
Enough food for a week.
Long enough for a rescue crew to find her. She could even miss meals and make the rations last even longer.
Water supply was clean. It would last her a week, too.
She climbed into the rafters of the ship, into the cramped crawl space illuminated by starlight, and checked the oxygen filters.
Decent shape.
Kepler’s atmosphere had bee
