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CHAPTER TWELVE

A faint vibration through the wall echoes overloud in the quiet of the Columbus module. I open my resting eyes. All appears the same.

Chelenko is asleep or unconscious. I choose to believe it’s sleep.

Mathias is working away, judging by the muted sounds of tapping I can hear from behind the still sealed doorway behind me.

“ Scheisse .”

“Matze?”

“Guess your boyfriend took his little spacewalk after all.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I pause, listening for the vibration again. “Luca is outside?”

I move towards the damaged panel at the far side, wishing the Columbus Module had a window so I could see what is happening out there. I rest my head against the wall, the metal ice cold against my ear. Nothing but a muffled vibration that could be drilling or even we lding.

My comms line crackles. “Knock, knock.” Yuri laughs.

“Alex? ” A voice calls .

“Luca?” I say, “Are you outside?”

“Si, Fiore. How are you? ” He replies.

Clayton interrupts, “Update, gentleman.”

“We’ve located a breach. Moving towards it now. ” Luca says.

“Moving towards it?” I ask. “What’s the noise I can hear then?” A thump against the outer hull echoes through and has me lurching back.

“There is a lot of debris out here,” Luca says. “Yuri, careful. Your line is caught.”

Another thump against the hull, and I'm scrambling over to the racks by the door. Rummaging through the boxes, hoping for a miracle. The comms break down into static, and I tune out what little I can make out, focusing on my search.

“What’s that?” Matthias calls out.

I look back at him, following the line of his pointed finger over my shoulder to the metal lockers. One hangs open with what looks like the leg of a space suit hanging out. “The suit?”

“You have a suit in there?” He jumps up, pushing his face to the glass, trying to examine the suit closely.

“It’s damaged. Been damaged forever. Since before I got up here. Yuri threw it in here so we wouldn’t get it mixed up with the others.” I say, continuing to search for something remotely useful.

“Damaged how?” One of his brows raises.

I shrug, “Does it matter how broken a broken suit is? I’m all for fixer-uppers, but that phrase is usually when referring to a house, or car…”

“Can you show me?”

“...or even that one time I got a bee in my bonnet about that rundown canal boat. Remember that?” I laugh.

“Alex?”

“Besides space suit design, really isn’t my forte.” I wouldn’t trust myself not to fuck it up . I prefer cold, hard steel, or carbon fibre, even plain old silicone. “What even is a space suit made from? Nylon-fibreglass blend?”

“Alex. Breathe.”

I turn to face him, taking a deep breath.

“Show me the suit.”

A snarky retort is on the tip of my tongue, until I see it - excitement flicking across his face, and something else. Relief?

Does he think this could actually get us out of here ?

My legs burn, muscles protesting as I push myself up, gently gliding over to the locker and its strewn contents. My body complains as I pull the suit from the locker, ignoring the stitch forming in my side.

It’s not heavy, not in space. If I had to guess, I would say the oxygen in the room has dropped enough that each breath has my lungs straining to get enough O2 to keep my muscles in peak working order.

Exhaustion is setting in. Or I got more banged up than I realised during all the excitement earlier.

I roll the suit around, inspecting it. It looks mostly intact, except for a severe tear in the leg.

“There's only one suit.” I point out, as I finger the torn edging of the fabric.

“One problem at a time.”

I turn back to him, my mouth dropping open, “Matthias, you cannot choose me over Chelenko.”

“Alex. Stop.”

“Just promise me, you'll get us both out.” I look down at Chelenko’s slumped form.

He sighs, scrubbing his palm over his face. “ Ja . I’ll get you both out.”

“Matze?”

He looks up at me.

“What are we going to do about the tear in the suit?”

“One problem at a time.”

The thumping outside halts. Silence reigns.

Before the muffled noise of grinding flares up and echoes through Columbus. The vibrations trigger tension in my stomach.

The overhead lights flicker, once, twice, before dimming to nothing. A click sounds before the emergency lighting kicks in, bathing Columbus in an eerie green hue.

This is beginning to play out like a bad movie .

They really could breach the hull further.

“Matze!” I shout out, as I dump the suit and launch myself back to looting the racks for supplies.

“On it.” He disappears from view for a moment.

I cut one finger on something sharp on a tray of sterile equipment. “Fuck.” The blood beads, surface tension making it cling to my fingertips. I put it in my mouth to stop the bleeding.

“If my options are running out of air,” and slowly drifting into an endless sleep, “or being ripped out into space,” where it's a race between all the fluid forcibly escaping my body, freezing, and asphyxiation, “ then I choose sleep, please.”

“We’re getting you out of there, Alex.” Matthias’ voice is firm, unwavering.

That is when I happen upon the holy grail.

I raise up the bright blue duct tape, giving it a quick kiss, before I'm back over to the still-sealed doorway. I wriggle my way into the suit, ignoring the burning in my ribs – at this point, all of me is one giant bruise anyway – and slide myself in up to my waist.

A broken suit is better than no suit , I remind myself as I take my blue miracle tool and wrap tape around the open rip on the suit’s leg.

Round and round.

Again, and again.

Until it feels tight against my shin. Ignoring the throb as my circulation fights against the restriction.

Round again.

One more for good measure, continuing until the end of the roll peels away from the cardboard cylinder.

I slap my shin, one last wallop to make sure it’s good and stuck. I flex my leg, testing the structural integrity of my quick fix.

“Matze, I’m ready to try the suit now.” I give him a small smile through the thick glass, hoping I don’t look half as unhinged as I feel. The low oxygen is really getting to me.

My arms strain as I lift the helmet up over my head, slotting it into place. Stupid anaerobic muscles struggling to complete the most basic of task s. I twist it clockwise, waiting for the telltale click and soft hiss of airflow.

“Sweet sweet O2, come to me.”

It doesn’t come.

“Fuck. It won’t seal.”

“I know who can help.”