T-Minus Thirty Seven Minutes

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I couldn't tell you. It's part of the reason I like working on the outside of the station. Out here, everybody is deaf, not just me.

It's an antenna today. A lump of rock or cluster of ice crystals must have hit it as it hurtled through space, and the long thin metal pole snapped in two. Some console somewhere on the great hulking mass that is The Hestia registered an error message, and Max and I are sent out.

A shiny new antenna sits in my toolbox, telescoped down for easy transport. Max and I stand shoulder to shoulder in one of the maintenance airlocks, suited up. A small digital timer in the upper left corner of my face plate is counting down from fifty minutes. It started as soon as we sealed up the suits. It's my oxygen clock, to remind me how much air I have remaining in the suit. Decompression of the airlock takes about five minutes. I've been told that the atmosphere leaving the chamber makes a hissing sound. All I notice is the slight ballooning of my suit as the air inside it presses against the fabric, trying to expand to fill the emptying space. I watch the indicator light above the door, waiting for it to turn green.

Max turns to me. He is a good deal taller than I am, at least six feet, but as thin as a reed. His pale cheeks are smattered in freckles, and a little bit of his hair has escaped the side of his cap in a curly frizz of red. His smiles come wide and easy, and he's wearing one now as he leans over to me. I can see that he's saying something. A few seconds later, a text transcript appears on the inside of my face plate.

Max: Ready to help some GenCore exec get his soap operas back?

I laugh and roll my eyes. Trying to use sign language with spacesuit gloves is like trying to talk through a gag, so instead I make a ring with the thumb and forefinger of my left hand. A keyboard is displayed on my face plate. I swipe my eyes across it, focusing on different letters in turn. A sensor in my helmet tracks my movements and writes back.

Jules: Probably not one of theirs. Wrong section.

Max: Then what do you think it is?

Jules: IDK, man. Millions of people in this big metal can. Could be anyone.

Max: Aw, come on, you're no fun. Just guess.

My lips quirk to one side as I think, then I grin.

Jules: JJ's is close -- maybe it's his TerraLink.

Max: Don't even suggest that! He's supposed to get the Mars Europa championship game in today's data dump. The guys and I have big plans to watch it tonight!

Jules: And even bigger bets?

Max: Of course, and Baxter is going to be so mad when Leon Stylz carries Mars to victory. He bet me two week's wages they would lose!

Jules: Better fix it quick. Hate for boy's night out to be ruined.

The light above the airlock door blinks green. I hit a button on a side console, and the hatch swings wide. A massive purple and blue globe known as Artemis 4 dominates our view as we push out of the metal embrace of the Hestia. Swirls of color across the cloud layer are visible from even this high orbit -- signs of storms on its surface. Behind it, and in every conceivable direction, the sky is an ocean of starlight. With no light pollution or atmospheric interference, I can see the next arm of the Milky Way as a dense collection of stars spiraling away from us into the infinite. No matter how often I see this, it always takes my breath away.

Once we are outside the station, we are no longer affected by her gravity field. There is a pair of two meter long tethers attached to the waist of my spacesuit. I clip one to a ladder rung and the other to a convenient hard point. I float freely, enjoying the feeling of zero g. It's the absence of sensation. Aboard the Hestia, I can always feel the place. Between the gravity generators, power plants, and all the other machinery constantly running on a station the size of a city, there is always a low level vibration. It shivers up my boots into the soles of my feet. Out here, all is stillness.

Max follows me out of the hatch, and we take a moment to orient ourselves. He spots the broken antenna first and points with one long arm. It's 253 meters away according to my internal computer. I detach the tether from the hard point and reattach it to another ladder rung closer to the damaged array. I pull myself forward, about a meter, then I detach the other tether and move it forward. Detach, reattach, move, detach, reattach, move. It's slow, sure, but it makes for damn sure I can't fly off into space if one of my attachment points isn't as secure as I'd thought. Max and I have practice though. It only takes us eight minutes to reach our destination.

The array is supposed to be a large metal dish with a three meter long pole sticking out of the center. The antenna on this unit was shorn away about a meter and a half from the dish. A serialized code is stamped on the dish in bright yellow paint.

Max: Son of a bitch, it is JJ's bar! That's his sector code! How did you guess?

Jules: Haha! I'm a genius. Let's fix it so you don't miss your game.

I open my toolbox and we set to work. Max tends to chatter away while we are on a repair. I usually need both hands to manage tools or hold myself steady for finer work like wiring, so I can't respond all that often. He doesn't seem to mind.

Max: Man, poor JJ has been having a rough time of it this month. First that big shipment of beer from Europa got delayed in customs, then those XGen weirdos started protesting in his hall. It's really driven away a lot of his business. Now his TerraLink craps out? Guy just can't catch a break! Well at least we can fix it for him. I think the data dump isn't for another hour, if what he told me last night is correct. Oh man, last night! JJ got ahold of a real classic movie, I'm talking nearly ancient history, and played it for us. It's about this team of scientists stationed in the earth's arctic ring, and --

I can't type fast enough to keep up with his motor mouth, so whenever I have something to add, I start with something short. Max knows me, and will shut up long enough to let me get my words out.

Jules: Stop.

Max: Yeah?

Jules: The XGenesis people are still hanging out around JJ's place?

Max: Worse, they've started drinking there too. I think that might have been the last straw for some of the regulars. It's hard to relax while some lunatic at the other end of the bar keeps raving about how we are all brainwashed slaves of an evil megacorp. Especially when they talk about how they plan to push GenCore off the station entirely.

Jules: But Gencore owns The Hestia.

Max: Tell them that! They all talk about how they are going to retake the Hestia for the people, forgetting that without Gencore, most people on the station wouldn't have a livelihood. They are such a pain. Pass those pliers, will you?

Jules: They worry me. I have a friend in station security. Says that the threat they pose is real. Be careful.

Max stops fiddling with rewiring the base of the antenna. He looks at me, his expression doubtful. I see his lips move.

Max: Look, Jules, the XGens are just a bunch of rowdy malcontents. They aren't organized enough to do any real harm. If it makes you feel better, I'll keep an eye on them. And I'll pass the warning along to JJ. Alright?

I nod. I have to exaggerate the movement to make it clear with the bulky spacesuit. I touch my hand to my chin, then bring it down in front of me, palm up. The sign for thank you. Max turns away and begins work on the wiring again.

Max: Anyway, there's this team of scientists, all stationed up in the north pole -- or wait, was it the south? Doesn't matter, but one of them sees this dog --

A massive fireball erupts from the side of the station, just beyond the array. It blossoms into space, brighter than the system's own star. I grab onto a ladder rung and cling to it by instinct. My hands tingle with vibration through the material of my spacesuit. There's a shockwave travelling through the hull. A shadow rushes towards me, and I duck my head down. The debris clunks against my helmet, then spins into the void.

I blink my vision back into focus and look up. There's a ragged gash in the side of the Hestia, not 20 meters away. My helmet camera measures it at 316 meters long and 62 meters wide at it's widest point. I stare at it, eyes wide with shock.

Suddenly a message pops up on my faceplate, snapping me out of my stunned paralysis

Max: [audio unintelligible]

Max. He was just in front of me, now there's nothing. I spin about, raking my eyes in every direction looking for a drifting human shape. I see several, all not in space suits, all likely killed by the explosion, before I turn and see him.

A lone astronaut, tumbling backwards into the open starfield. One tether is still attached to a ladder rung that must have dislodged in the explosion. The other looks like it was cut by shrapnel. He must have been hit by something too, as his flight has a nasty twirling spin to it. In between one of these spins, I catch sight of his face.

They say no one can hear in a vacuum. I don't have to hear Max. Raw terror is written on there -- wide eyes, mouth open, neck muscles straining. He is screaming.

Max: [audio unintelligible]

I can't respond. There isn't time. There are protocols for an emergency like this. I flip to the command dialogue screen and slap the record button on the side of my helmet. I freeze. I stare at Max. One heartbeat. Two. Three. His eyes are darting wildly from side to side. His breathing is fast and erratic. Four. Five. Six. Something buzzes near my left ear. I type a command to my computer.

USER: calculate a flight path for primary object in recording.

COMP: Request received. Processing...

COMP: Processing...

COMP: Processing...

I clench my fist and try not to think about the gaping hole in the station.

COMP: Calculations complete.

A small chart indicator appears in the bottom right corner of my faceplate. Max's current position. I switch back to the chat with Max. Several messages have come through.

Max: [audio unintelligible]

Max: Please god I - [audio unintelligible]

Max: Help oh god I'm gonna --

Max: [retching sounds]

Max: [audio unintelligible] I don't want to die like this oh please [audio unintelligible]

Jules: Stop.

Max: Jules? Oh fuck, you're still there, thank god.

Jules: Will get a lifeboat. Have to go inside. Won't be able to talk.

Max: God, please, don't leave me!

Jules: I swear, Max. I won't leave you.

I glance at my oxygen clock. Thirty seven minutes. If I don't reach Max by then, I'll be bringing a corpse home.

Jules: See you in 30.