I was 1500 metres from the ground before the other pods came into view.

Three pods had deployed reserves instead of primaries. One reserve chute had suffered a catastrophic puncturing hit from a piece of debris and was spinning. That one, then. Drone Three was closest, so I took over.

Three hit the pod with a piton that drilled into its heat shield. Landing hard against the top airlock, I twisted the piton line through the chute anchor, clipped it to a belt mount and prayed the titanium weave would hold.

The thruster pack’s emergency chute deployed at 400 metres. The deceleration shock slammed me against the heat shield, but the line held for the final descent.

With some relief, I snapped my attention back to my own suit, still in freefall. One, two, three white impacts registered on cameras. 250 metres to make a choice.

One pod bounced across the waves, parachute still attached. That one.

I snapped the winglets back open and swept into level flight at 0015 metres. Spray clouded my suit’s exterior cams.