Enceladus

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

Manya wasn't about to find out. Every breath wasted was a few seconds of her life given to the great void. The stars had no use for the oxygen in her lungs but she still did. Manya set her breathing exercises into motion. Slow and measured.

It should have been a simple EVA; hull repair. Nothing she hadn't done before. And yet here she was, floating in the vast expanse of eternity with only a few minutes left.

The culprit? A snapped safety tether.

Of all fucking things, Manya thought, once she realized what had occurred.

After the initial bending metal gave way to a snapped tether, she was jerked sideways from the released tension and smashed into the hull breaching her suit’s integrity and relinquishing her communication to the Elysium.

She stared at the tether that floated before her. Once her solitary link to humanity; a long white umbilical cord, cut and useless. Inch by inch she drifted, knowing her chances to survive became slimmer with each passing second. The breach in her suit must have been less than a three-millimeter tear, she figured, or she would already be dead.

Fifteen seconds, breathe in—Hold—Fifteen seconds slow release. Slow, slow… The whirring of her suit’s mechanisms and her patterned breathing the only elements audible to her.

In the bottom right of her visor, she could still see the light grey hull of the Elysium, though its visibility began to wane the further she floated. Behind her, the icy, reflective Enceladus orbited outside of Saturn’s asteroid rings. She wanted to see it one last time. If she was going to die, she didn't want to look at the emptiness of space, she could do that anywhere, but she knew turning around would waste energy, and by extension, precious breath.

Enceladus was where she was to make her mark on the world. Over a dozen multicellular species had been discovered in the subsurface of the frozen moon via the 2034 rovers. Manya was to be one of the first humans to dissect and research an alien life form. Her name was going to be in every newspaper on earth, in every scientific journal, and in the mouth of every scientist—the ones that mattered to her at least.

She couldn't think of a more embarrassing exit.

This was the day they were to make contact. In a few hours, Manya—with the help of her crew—was supposed to use the Enceladian diver mech via remote access to retrieve specimens for examination. Equipped with a controlled tank, the Enceladian diver would ensure the survival of whichever species was captured by measuring the temperature and salinity of the water around the specimen at the time of capture. It would then adjust the temperature to match its initial capture temperature and salinity despite exterior influence. The specimen would then need to be brought up to the surface, then shuttled up to the Elysium.

None of it mattered if she couldn’t survive these next few minutes. Twenty seconds elapsed without the feeling of a hand grasping her wrist or arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her back to the ship. Once her communications were severed, the crew should have been notified at the exact moment. Were they scrambling to save her now, she wondered? Was someone out of the airlock already? Who would be the one to save her?

Amahle, she hoped. The entire crew was capable of any function on the ship, but Amahle— Amahle exuded an aura, one that Manya couldn't quite describe. But it made her feel warm and safe. And out in the cold emptiness of space, that was what she wanted most.

But Amahle had yet to come and Manya continued to drift further from the Elysium. Panicking would do her no good. She was desperate to shift her body to gain visibility of the airlock. But it made no difference whether she saw them come. They would make it in time or they wouldn’t. She closed her eyes to the stars. A single tear formed at the corner of her eye and stayed there, suspended by the lack of gravity. She wanted to wipe it away before it started to burn, but her suit blocked access to her face.

Forty seconds went.

There was a high probability that Manya was going to die. She accepted it. She hated it, but a scientist deals in facts. All that was left was to make peace.

Quick glimpses of her life had come and gone behind her tear-drowned eyes. Unlike the first tear, the others came from a place of happiness.

Manya remembered her first day of school; being frightened and trapped, surrounded by strangers. But then her father arrived, and the feeling of him lifting her high off the ground and embracing her was a level of comfort matched only a few times in her life. What she wouldn't do to hear his voice one last time.

Forty-two seconds.

Manya’s first kiss was exactly as it should be; with clammy, clumsy hands and lots of swirling butterflies. First contact created a spark and released all the good chemicals. Faith; her first kiss, her first love.

Forty-seven seconds.

She smiled and breathed in deep and slow. One… two… three…

She recalled the first time she saw the data from the 2032 rovers; bioluminescence and motion detected under Enceladus’ ice. She felt it was her one true purpose to explore the solar system. It’s no surprise that Manya’s acceptance into the ISRO (Indian Space Research Organisation) was her crowning accomplishment in adulthood. All her prior achievements sat at the foot of this mountain. Every day had become a new adventure, a new lesson. And yet, if it weren't for the ISRO she wouldn't be stranded with naught but a minute to live.

She thought of what would happen when her supply was gone; she would have ten to fifteen seconds before losing consciousness, then another minute before the end of her life. Manya imagined her lifeless body floating amongst the stars, the first casualty past Mars. Would Amahle cry over her pathetic carcass?

Fifty seconds.

Breathe out… One… two

Amahle.

Manya recalled their first meeting, they spoke for hours about how the ISRO and SANSA (South African National Space Agency) had surpassed NASA through cooperation. It didn't hurt that the United States was over-bloating its military and had less money for space exploration. Amahle showed Manya a meme of a man with a United States flag on their shirt looking disapprovingly at a sign that said "Space Exploration", then the same man looking passionately at a sign that said "Space Combat Drones".

Manya had to subdue a chuckle when she thought of the Amahle’s sense of humor. The thought of suppressing an instinct brought her back. She wanted to open her eyes and see her crew mates surround her as they helped her out of her suit. She knew reality was anything but. Behind her, a small moon, an asteroid belt, and around eight hundred million miles stood between her and the second largest gas giant in the system. She opened her eyes, her view partially obscured by the tears. She knew that she would be dead by the time they started to sting. Manya saw it as a small victory.

Fifty-five seconds.

Breathe in… One…

The second hand continued to tick away in Manya’s head, she wanted to rip the batteries out and pause until a solution was reached.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t…

She repeated the words like a prayer, and yet she had no faith. She knew that she had around a minute left before she lost consciousness.

Where are they?

Manya resented her useless crew mates. She knew that if she were notified, she would have been out of the airlock instantly. No one would be sitting out in cold space for more than a few seconds.

No.

Logic fought fear. She knew it would take at least forty-five seconds to get a suit on, and another ten seconds to get through the airlock. Then maybe another twenty seconds to reach her. She could only approximate her distance from the Elysium. If they were in proximity to their EVA suits, this shouldn't have been much of an issue.

Why wouldn't they be near their suits? Wait, no. Breathe.

Manya had to consistently steer herself toward logic. She couldn't be sure a crewmate wasn't already on their way, maybe they were stationed near the EVA suits. Fear was gaining an upper hand on reason as she was carried seamlessly through space.

Sixty-four seconds.

Breathe out…

More than half of her remaining life span had elapsed since she hit the hull, and despite her rationality, the terror of death sunk its talons deep. Manya knew this might happen, she knew that her mind would either comfort her or look for a solution in her final moments.

She wasn't comfortable.

Manya’s first sprained ankle occurred during a solo hike. She limped back toward her starting location, but she had gone too far, the pain weighed her down, and night came sooner than she anticipated. She found refuge in a stone shelter, but the sounds of the night kept her awake. Her phone had no service so she remained vigilant. She wrapped her ankle and carried on in the morning.

Seventy-five seconds.

Manya’s first love was also her first heartbreak: Faith. “It’s just… I see you as more of a friend I guess. It’s not your fault. Seriously,” Faith had told her. And yet it still hurt. It pained Mayna, even more, to see her dating someone new the next day. Had they already been talking? Had that year meant nothing to Faith? Manya never gained the nerve to ask.

Eighty-two seconds.

Inhale. One…

She could remember the night she was assaulted as though it was occurring just at that moment. A man had followed her home from university, dressed in dark clothing. His suspicious movement gave Manya pause. He slowed when she slowed and hastened as she did. When she realized what he was doing, she broke out into a full run. But the man was swift. He caught up to her and threw her to the ground. Luckily a passerby heard her screaming and threw him off and held him down until authorities arrived. She was horrified to discover that the man was someone she considered a friend, a classmate. It was some time before she stopped replaying the scenario in her head and looking over her shoulder wherever she went. Longer still before the nightmares ceased.

Ninety seconds.

Eight… nine…

Many stories from her past zipped around like some memory film reel, some indelible, others wandering around the confines of her unconscious mind. All of the events had two things in common; they were all traumatizing, and they all mostly healed with time. But Manya’s current predicament gave her no time to heal. Her past had given her no solution. Time was nearly up.

If there was an appropriate time for a panic response, this was it. Yet Manya remained as cool as she could.

Is this it?

She supposed it could be worse, dying among the stars was a rather poetic exit, even if the circumstances leading up to it were rather pathetic. She used her remaining moments to empty her mind and enjoy one last look at the trillion billion possible worlds before her.

One hundred seconds.

The air was so thin like she was breathing through a tiny straw. Her supply was almost all gone.

Then she felt it. A grasping sensation around her torso pulled her with some force, leaving her tears to drift from her eyes to the inside of her visor.

Finally.

Two realizations came to Manya in quick succession.

Not Amahle, she noticed immediately. This was followed by a cold, brief sadness. Still, relief. She wouldn't die today.

But as she noticed she was being pulled further from the Elysium with each second, fear replaced both relief and sadness.

Her second realization occurred.

Not human.

As Manya continued her trajectory backward, she had a better view of the Elysium. Amahle was reaching for her foot. Amahle was but a few feet away from Manya when her tether reached its max distance. Amahle and her outstretched arm seemed to shrink the further Manya was pulled. Smaller. Smaller…

Manya knew her time was up. She looked down to see some sort of black metal around her torso. Its grip was too tight for Manya to escape from. And while she knew that no one else would hear her, she did what she said she wouldn’t.

The sound of her screech filled her helmet as her eyes went dark to the vibrant stars.