Page 16

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Where’s Matze?” Reiter doesn’t answer me.

“I haven’t seen him for over an hour, although time is hard to gauge inside this metal coffin.” I laugh awkwardly. “What even is the time? All the consoles are locked out in here.”

I continue, desperate to fill the silence.

“Security protocols.” I force a laugh. “What the bloody hell do they think they need to protect from inside a room with no atmosphere is beyond me.”

“Are you finished?”

I fidget in my suit. My lower leg throbs beneath its duct tape bondage.

Reiter snorts. “Matthias is busy.”

“Busy?”

“He’s suiting up.”

“Woman, focus on the task.” Reiter barks through the glass.

I roll my eyes. Sir, yes, sir.

I lay out my soldering iron on the table, along with the rest of my supplies.

The air is starting to thin in here, each breath harder than the last. I don't know the full plan, but either way I think that five hours were an overly ambitious estimation.

At least getting to work, having a plan, it is invigorating. It spurs me on.

A few finishing touches and I’ll be....

“Done,” I call out.

Un-bloody-believable. I'm surrounded by millions of pounds worth of equipment, and in the end, duct tape and solder is going to save my life.

“ Fertig ?” Reiter looks up from the datapad. “Show me,” he demands.

I groan, lugging my suit-clad self over to the door. My O2 levels have dropped so low that every movement, however small, is a fight to make my limbs enact.

He inspects my handiwork before relenting. “Any water in there you can use to test the seal?”

My eyes cast over the refrigerated units along the back. The metal cabinets above are open, with the contents now strewn about. Half-broken beakers and measuring cylinders bob about in the weightlessness of space. Long gone are the fluids they might have contained.

I sigh, defeated.

Reiter gives the suit another once-over. “ Ja . It’ll do.”

Just the confidence boost I needed.

“What now?” I ask.

He frowns at me, his oval spectacles sliding down his nose as it wrinkles. “Put the helmet on. Naturlich . ”

He rolls his eyes as if I’m dense and not his intellectual equal.

Hell, he’s never even once spoken to me with anything but disdain, not sure why the threat of death hanging over our heads would change anything.

“But Chelenko…” I trail off as I look over at our fallen comrade.

He’s growing paler. The black, mottled bruising across his stomach is worse. Darker. Spreading.

I worry there’s internal bleeding. But realistically, what can I do about it inside here? Nothing.

Except try to get us both out of here, ideally in one piece, and live long enough for Doctor Hadfield to patch us back together.

I stare down at my duct-taped leg. “Is this really the best–”

“Put the helmet on.” Reiter barks again.

“We’re getting Chelenko out too, right?”

Silence.

“Matze promised.” I prompt again, seeking confirmation. Needing it before I agree to this.

“ Ja, Ja. Chelenko too. Put the helmet on.”

He watches me as I check the tape is holding before I reach for the helmet. I lift it up and over my head, slotting it into place. It clicks, but it doesn't lock .

I turn to Reiter again. “It won’t lock.”

He rolls his eyes as if that were obvious. “You know how to solder, richtig ?” He raises a brow at me.

He knows I do. But I’ll let the snark slide.

Taking a deep breath, I take the soldering iron in hand.

With one hand, I hold the helmet in the locked position, and solder it shut with the other.

Immediately, there's a hum as fresh oxygen starts to circulate.

I take a deep breath. Another. A few more.

I start to feel better, like a shot of caffeine after a long night at the lab.

I look over to Chelenko's prone body, then over to the door. “Now what?”

“Move Chelenko as close to the door as you can.”

“On it.” I reposition him, feet aimed at the hatch.

“Place the oxygen mask over his face and attach the tubing.”

Mist fills the room as the vents pour out more oxygen. I think oxygen?

I look at Chelenko. He coughs but then snores deeply. I quickly adjust the straps of the face mask around his head, connecting the tubing to it and tuck the other end into his pocket to stop it trailing behind.

“Done!” I call out.

“Wait here.” He turns and retreats up the corridor.

“What?” I demand, attempting to crane my neck to see up the corridor beyond the glass window. “Wait here? That’s all I get? ”

The room grows colder, even through the suit, which isn’t a great sign for the internal temperature regulator.

The computer chimes “ Depressurisation in progress.”

“Wait. Tell me the plan again.” The comms control on my arm blinks back a no signal symbol.

“Perfect.”

I bang against the sealed door.

“What the fuck is happening?” I shout. The sound echoes in the suit, ringing in my ears.

I knew this suit was a dud, but I didn’t realise it was actual garbage. I’m surprised it’s not been incinerated to make space for something of actual value. Space is a premium commodity.

“ Depressurisation Complete. ” The computer finishes, the chirpy voice almost comical considering I am one small step from death, and the cold embrace of space.

“They know what they’re doing. Matze is coming.” I repeat as a mantra to myself. “Everything is okay.”

It doesn’t feel okay. Tears would be tracking down my cheeks if I had any moisture in my body to spare. My stomach churns. Acid burns up my throat, threatening escape.

Thuds vibrate through the metal of the door. They’re coming from the hallway outside, growing nearer until a suit is at the door. White padded arms tapping at the console. The door clicks. The internal magnetic lock mechanism slides open. I wait with bated breath as the hatch swings open.

“Alex?”

“Here,” I call out, grabbing one side of the makeshift stretcher Chelenko is wrapped up in. His skin appears disturbingly teal against the white of my spacesuit’s glove. The rest of him is pale and washed out by the green emergency lighting.

Matthias crouches down, checking the oxygen mask over Chelenko’s face. He follows the tubing down to his pocket and attaches a canister to the end, placing the oxygen tank beside Chelenko.

He takes a sudden deep inhale. A little warmth returns to his cheeks as he continues to breathe. His chest rises and falls evenly as if asleep.

His extremities, however, are quickly purpling. His fingertips appear almost black. Necrotic.

Matthias turns to me.

“You came.”

“I promised I would.”

He gives my arm a squeeze before he bends to grab the other end of Chelenko’s bundled form, removing the velcro holding it in place.

The whole thing lifts, floating a few inches off the metal wall. He is starting to look more purple. Blue veins trace across his skin. Blisters form along his bare arms and exposed chest. I tuck his arms within the fabric, hoping it has a medical benefit instead of simply visually reassuring me.

We drag him out into the hall. No screams of pain this time. I’m not sure if the silence is better.

Matthias releases his side of the make-shift stretcher a few steps past the threshold. He bolts back to the hatch, tapping at the console to reseal the lab door.

The hatch moves. Painfully. Slowly. Sliding back into place with a firm clank.

We wait for the tell-tale metallic clunk as the magnetic locks engage.

The silence stretches between us, nothing but my deep breaths and a machine hum.

Click.

“Pesquet, now,” Matthias shouts.

“ Repressurisation commencing .” The computer chirps.

The suit starts to feel heavier again.

I look over to see Matze holding Chelenko, pushing him closer to the end of the corridor. The hatch opening there is now firmly closed.

“ Atmosphere secure .”

The hatch ahead is thrust open.

Doctor Hadfield rushes forward, soaring. She lands beside Chelenko, med-kit in tow. Her hands glide over him, searching. She chews on her bottom lip when she reaches the wire cutters.

“Stretcher.” She calls over her shoulder as she rummages through the med-kit. Pulls out a syringe. She taps her comms, “1mg adrenaline injected at 0947.” She stabs it into his chest, dropping the spent syringe. It floats. She starts chest compressions.

She adjusts herself, tucking her feet under the handlebars to steady herself as she looms straight down over him. She pauses, leaning down to breathe into his mouth.

“One, two, three…” She counts. Pushing her feet against the metal walls to plunge down on his chest. “...four, five, six.”

Pesquet arrives. Luca helps her with the stretcher as they place it beside Chelenko’s body. Not body. He’s going to pull through this.

At thirty, the doctor leans down again to give him two more breaths, puffing into his open mouth.

“Move him on three. One, two, three.”

Between the three of them, they shift Chelenko over to the proper stretcher. He doesn't make a sound, which has me panicking. The air inside my suit feels thinner.

Doctor Hadfield climbs onto the stretcher, tucking her feet under the metal frame as she straddles Chelenko's waist. Being careful not to nudge the wire cutters, she starts up chest compression again, continuing to count from where she left off.

“Let's get him out of here.” She looks to Luca, who nods and grabs the end of the stretcher, steering them down the corridor. He glances back at me, smiling, before Pesquet barks a command at him.

My throat tightens. I need to get out of this suit. I paw at the helmet, but it’s welded shut.

“Alex, Alles is gut ?” Matthias comes into view, he has the helmet off his suit, which just makes me panic more.

“I can’t breathe.” I choke out.

His brows furrow as he reaches for the solder clasping the helmet shut. Part of it crumbles in his hand, but the seal stays firmly locked. I gulp back the bile racing up my throat and threatening to ruin the inside of the suit.

My lungs burn. My dry throat hurts, as harsh as broken glass on gravel. Matthias grabs me by the shoulder, forcing the suit's console towards his face.

“ Scheisse .”

Without a second's hesitation, he rips the duct tape holding the torn leg of the suit together.

I continue to gulp, desperate for air. My vision is blurring. Matthias’ handsome face becomes harder to focus on as the black in my periphery grows closer, trying to envelope me in darkness .

A second later, I feel a sting on my arm, metal slices through my skin, and then a breath.

A small breeze crosses my face as I breathe deep the cool air.

Matthias pulls off the gloves of his suit, discarding them. He pries something metallic beneath the lip of my helmet and the visor. The lid flips open. I lurch forward, throwing up all over his lap. The bile clumps together in an ever-growing, swirling, green and yellow sphere.

He rubs soothing rhythmic circles along my spine, the touch muffled through the thick fabric, but it’s still nice. Familiar. Comforting.

He brushes my hair back from my face, holding it as my stomach continues to empty itself.

Nothing is left, and my body still convulses with each dry heave. My insides burn.

He doesn't speak.

And I appreciate the quiet reassurance his presence brings.

“I’m sorry.” I look at him, his suit is painted with sick. “I ruined your suit,” I say as I wipe away the tears streaming down my face. Snot bubbles out of my nostrils.

“I think I can forgive you.”

He dries my eyes, wiping away the tears, and snot, and God knows what other kind of bodily fluids I'm leaking.

One deep breath at a time. I rest my head against the chest of his suit. Listening as the clamour of the crew grows distant.

Slowly, I feel calm after the storm.

Someone moves towards us, their feet clattering off the metal footholds.

“How are you doing, Kiddo?” Clayton asks. I look up to see his hand resting on Matthias' shoulder, and a deep crease in his brow.

“Surviving.” We both answer.

I sit up, rubbing the bulky sleeve of the suit against my mouth before I smile at Matze. He smiles back, and then we both laugh.

Clayton frowns down at us, opens his mouth to speak, but simply shakes his head.

He grimaces at the swirling ball of vomit. Ripping off one of the waterproof fire containment bags from the wall, he utilises it to catch the fluids for disposal. Protecting the nearby electronics from any water damage and a potential mess.

Not like we can air this place out like a car when someone gets travel sick.

I can't help the laughter that bubbles up inside me. Hysteria finally taking hold .

I laugh. And I laugh and laugh, until my chest hurts. Tears stream down my face. My cheeks ache from all the smiling.

This is what life should feel like. Laughter, happiness, and hope.