Page 10

CHAPTER EIGHT

I watch the rise and fall of Chelenko’s chest. Slow and steady. A visual reassurance that he continues to live.

His cheeks have lost any ruddiness. He’s sallow and pale and too still and it’s freaking me out. The artificial light giving him the look of a corpse.

I adjust the foil blanket I scavenged from the supplies inside Columbus, tucking it around him, mindful of the pliers jutting from his hip. I know enough about human physiology not to pull them out, especially in space, where blood could float off and pool anywhere.

He’s in a sorry state. More asleep than awake. I worry every time he drifts that it’ll be the last time. That he won’t find his way back.

Brushing his hair back from his forehead, his skin feels clammy. Sticky from dried blood. I wipe my palms against the leg of my flight suit, creases line the front of it, but I am past caring.

“Alex?” his gruff voice splutters.

“I’m here.” I shuffle closer, holding one of his hands in my own.

“Still alive.”

“Of course. We’re getting out of here in one piece.” I glance down at the pliers, quickly slicking my eyes back to his. Forcing a small smile, “Mostly in one piece.”

He grunts in an almost laugh.

“How are you?” He asks.

“ How am I? ” Terrified. Exhausted . “Surviving,” I say.

He nods gently, his eyes fluttering shut once more. “So quiet.”

“Quiet? I suppose with the hatch shut it blocks out a lot of noise.” I say.

The droning from the Russian modules is muted. The air recyclers are muffled. The rabble of the crew is gone. Leaving behind nothing but the sound of our breathing and a slight hum of electricity. “I thought you’d enjoy some peace and quiet for once.”

“I like sound of people.” His breath labours as he speaks. “Happy.”

“I didn’t know. I always thought you liked the solitude.”

“Silence is sadness.”

“Chelenko, I never pegged you as the sentimental type.”

“No.” He pauses for a moment, long enough that I wonder if he’s drifted into sleep once more. “My mother… always quiet. Always sad. ”

“Your mother? I bet she’s waiting to hear from you real soon.”

“She is dead.”

“I’m so sorry, Chelenko.” I inhale. “My mother died too. Cancer. Yours?”

“My father.” His voice nothing but a soft murmur.

I look down at his half-exposed chest, at the intricate silvery scars weaving across his torso, at all the hurt. Did his dad…

“Your scars…?”

He nods. “A gift from him.”

That’s horrific. Barbaric. Who could, who would…? “That must have been hard.”

“Alex, spasibo . For being with me.” He squeezes my hand. I barely feel the pressure.

“We will get out of here together ,” I promise, hoping that I'm not proven a liar.

He nods again.

“And I’ll make the crew throw you a party. It’ll be loud, and in your face, and you’ll hate it.” I laugh as a tear tracks down my cheek.

“Happy people.” Is all he manages before he slips back into slumber. His gentle breathing is a soothing lullaby to my ears.

I release his hand, tucking it inside the blanket. Rising from the ground to survey the rest of the Columbus module .

Against the back wall there is a flutter of fabric, a tell-tale sign of my dwindling air escaping. I gulp back the fear of my reality.

Summoning work-mode Alex, I push off into the room. My eyes glide over the racks and cabinets, taking inventory. The first two transparent fronted cabinets are a non-starter, unless I want to release hundreds of glass shards to float about Columbus like tiny little mines.

The tool rack is over to the left, the contents a little more strewn about than before but still well contained beneath their velcro straps - stir friction welders, an array of wire cutters, screw drivers, wrenches… nothing finesse enough to open the door without risking the rest of the station.

Heat bumps against me like snubbing out a match against my skin.

“Shit.” I flinch, looking down at the small hunk of rock drifting away from my exposed ankle.

I resist the urge to kick the bloody pebble that got me into this mess. If the singed patch of skin is anything to go by, then it would probably just set my sock on fire.

The small meteor drifts onwards, forging its own path as it attempts to burn a small opening through a fabric supply crate. I push the crate forward, away from the meteor. “Last thing we need is a fire in here,” and watch as the small pebble continues on undeterred .

I look up at where I saw the meteor originally enter the station, reaching for the metal paneling. I finger the small hole, barely wider than my fingertip, and feel a faint suction against my skin.

“See, already found the problem. We’ll be out of here in no time.” I turn back to Chelenko’s unconscious form. “Nothing a little solder can’t fix.”

I grab the stir friction welder, line up the solder around the edges and fire it up. The metal easily heats, melting together to form a small scar in the metal paneling.

My lips turn up in a satisfied smile, “Got it.”

I twist around. A twinge in my abdomen makes me pause. Unzipping my flight suit, I give myself a quick once-over, using the reflection in the stainless-steel countertop to try to catch the state of my back.

Bruises as far as the eye can see. I look like I was in a paintball fight, and my team lost. Blacks, blues and purples mar my skin. An eerie map of injuries spreading around to my tummy and up to my chest. No blood - that I can see.

I stretch, my muscles protest, but everything appears to be in working order. Zipping up my flight suit again, I hide any injuries. I don’t want Matthias to worry. I don’t want anyone to worry, but especially him.

My eyes return to the doorway – the damn sealed hatch– searching for him through the glass.