Every Inch a Hero

No one can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. The science behind it was certainly sound enough. She’d calculated probabilities only an hour ago, running the stats in her head pre-launch, various scenarios (helmet com active, accidental spacing, true vacuum) accounted for. Not that she planned to do any screaming, today or any other EV day, but the physics comforted her like nothing else.

An object in motion in zero grav stays in motion. Fascinating and calming, even as the bay door of the station’s training pod flashed green, yellow and then red lights before hissing open. Sound inside the station made logical sense, the atmosphere and encapsulation within the structure trapping the release of pressure in the hydraulics needed to retract the door. She shifted in position, the two trainees ahead of her already moving forward to the black expanse revealed on the other side in fearless strides. She fell in step, the tether between her and Alex just ahead of her, Patrice right behind, a lifeline she wished she didn’t so desperately need.

For every action… she stopped at the red line at the edge of the bay’s open door, the curve of Cronin IV’s pale blue surface visible just past the gap, its first of six moons, Sares, cresting the horizon of the planet to her right. Panic formed a ball of heat in her stomach, choking off her air for a moment, but her training planned for this. They thought of everything. And she has her own ritual to lean on.

An equal and opposite reaction, her mind whispers. Laws of the universe to the rescue.

“Listen up!” Training Captain Johnaton Morris appeared in her periphery, drawing focus, his dark gray EV suit outlining his tall, broad-shouldered Marine frame, mag boots firmly planted on the deck this side of the red line. “First EV is a corker, so dig deep and suck up, cupcakes.” No one said anything, the Australian’s heavy accent now familiar and even welcome despite his attitude. “You flinch, your team suffers. You hesitate, you’re a problem.” She knew all of this already, intimately. Their squad had been training together for a month now. Not everyone in her life may have agreed with her choice to leave Earth for the space corps, but standing there, looking out over the curve of an alien planet, there was suddenly nowhere else Marigold would rather have been.

The realization exhilarated her.

“Condon, step off.” Davis Condon had been chosen squad leader for this exercise despite her best efforts. Not that Marigold allowed herself to begrudge the decision. There would be other opportunities to prove herself. Today was about teamwork. She caught herself holding her breath as the big Scot she’d come to respect detached his mags and took his first step out into space, Alex Ridges right behind him. Marigold moved in time with the pair, feeling her tether tighten just slightly before the tension released, Patrice at her back. There was a moment of hysterical indrawn breath as she passed over the red line and then…

Bliss.

Marigold’s heartbeat registered on her helmet’s HUD, red line flashing a warning of her increase in blood pressure in the lower corner of the clear mask, but that was to be expected so no reprimand came through the com for her stats. The freedom of that first instant had her inhaling a long, slow breath, cheeks aching when she realized she was smiling.

No, not just smiling. Beaming like the distant star that dominated this system. Marigold allowed herself a brief look around before refocusing on Alex’s narrow back and the task at hand. Their spacewalk to the small ship waiting for them just beyond the station’s orbit felt like a parsec to travel, though she knew from training it should only take them five minutes to transverse the distance once the last of their squad exited the bay.

“Wedgewood clear,” Sandy’s low voice said, her calm quiet precise.

“Squad in transit,” Davis said in his thick brogue. “Sound off.”

“Ridges clear,” Alex said, his lovely tenor lilting over the com.

“Attwick clear.” Marigold couldn’t stop grinning. She glanced back over her shoulder, catching Patrice’s matching maniacal smile, the sunlight reflecting from her friend’s visor making her look like some demonic creature about to erupt with joy.

“Hempshaw clear,” she said, then laughed. “Fucking clear, y’all.”

A trickle of matching chuckles answered her. Marigold fully expected Davis to shut it down but was relieved when he let it pass. Maybe he was just as delighted by the experience? The release of tension certainly helped her focus more fully, as the last two of the squad sounded off.

“Yuko, clear.” Rami Yuko’s soft response was followed by, “Wedgewood, confirming all clear. Squad clear.”

"Delta squad," Morris said from the safety of the cargo bay, "cleared for spacewalk."

“Let’s get this done, people.” Davis’s baritone comforted, sounding calm and relaxed, amused, even. “Without the fucking cursing, if you please.”

More laughter. Marigold let herself giggle, adrenaline surge fading, muscles dissolving into a jelly-like state of trembling that had her stats dinging again. But a few slow, measured inhales settled her heart rate and oxygen levels enough she was in the green before anyone could comment, though not everyone was so lucky.

“Hempshaw, watch your breathing.” Davis had access to all their stats.

“On it, yer lordship,” Patrice said, her teasing tolerated at the worst of times and this was the best. “Kinda breathtaking, that’s all.”

“Amen, sister,” Rami whispered.

They all murmured their agreement. Because damn if it wasn’t true.

By the time the five-minute transit ticked by, Marigold had lost none of her awe and joy. If anything, it had only increased. She was where she was meant to be, that much was absolutely certain to her now. No more need for laws of motion or tried and true physics idioms to keep her mind clear. If she never had to go back inside, she’d be a happy Marine.

She had one last, brief heartbeat of distraction as Davis’s hand reached for the clamp dangling from the waiting ship, to smile at the sun, the second moon rising, the horizon of the beautiful planet below split between day and night over the endless oceans their new allies called home. One last, glorious moment in space, a part of the universe itself, while her squad commander’s voice said, “Condon, landed—”

And then.

The bright flash behind her preceded the blow, but not by much, Marigold grunting as the pressure compressed around her, something striking her and grasping for her as a shockwave sent her tumbling, spinning. It had to be Patrice, swearing in her headset, her words lost in the flash of terror as bright as the light that blinded Marigold. An object in motion, she had only a breath to take in the explosion erupting from the bay of the station, the twisted line of her fellow trainees, before she tumbled, head over heels, into Alex and then Davis, impacting the ship so hard she heard something crack.

As the station burst outward in a silent gush of multi-colored light.

She didn’t scream. Not yet. Screaming was for later.

If there was a later.