The war correspondents staggered out of the cabin reeking of vomit, only to find a long tunnel awaiting them. Three rows of bright white light tubes ran from the entrance deep into the interior along the gray-black alloy ceiling and floor. Heavy airlock doors were sealed tightly shut, completely separating them from the frigid vacuum. Yet the protection was far from perfect. The pressurized, heated artificial air was thick with the ozone smell emitted by the sterilizers, but after an hour of extreme turbulence, every war correspondent agreed it was far better than the sour, foul, stagnant air inside the cabin.
All the war correspondents were accustomed to traveling around Earth by aircraft, but this windowless craft offered an entirely different experience. At first, its speed pinned them so hard against their seats that they could not move. Then the violent ascent made every heart leap into their throats. The brutally direct climb was more than anyone could endure, and when they began floating up from their seats, some started vomiting violently. That triggered a chain reaction. Even though the craft's pressure maintenance and air circulation systems worked at full capacity, they could not completely clear away the sour stench.
Some were so humiliated by the situation that they even burst into tears.
When gravity returned and dropped them back into their seats, everyone looked terrible, like bedraggled stray dogs on a rainy day, reeking of garbage. Some regarded the journey as an intentional humiliation, much like the rebels' attitude toward war correspondents; others believed they had discovered the truth. The destination they had reached after more than an hour of travel seemed to have slightly lower gravity than Earth. Even after enduring such physical torment, they were still able to walk briskly down the ramp—though not all of them