OBSIDIAN SKY

July 31, 2034
1227 GMT
251 miles over Mongolia

​

The noise of the air escaping the airlock was louder than she remembered it. 
   As the last of the remaining atmosphere rushed into the void of space, the dull roar filling Mary Ann’s ears peaked and finally began to fade. The relief couldn’t come soon enough—the excitement for what was to come slowed time to molasses. 
   When the pressure gauge finally read zero, the silence was welcome. The only remaining sound passed through her suit as the soles of her boots floated against the airlock’s inner bulkhead, each contact dampened like a buoy thumping the hull of a fiberglass boat. 
   It was finally time to open the hatch. 
   “There is a handle on both sides,” Mary Ann said as she rotated the mechanism. “That’s on purpose, in case we have to repressurize one at a time. If I have to leave you out here, you can still open the hatch and get back in.”
   “That’s comforting,” said Marc Meyers from inside the airlock. “Although I don’t think you mentioned that possibility before.”
   Mary Ann continued to work her suit through the round opening. “Don’t sweat it. It’s such a rare possibility I just forgot to brief you. Anyway, I have your tether anchored outside. You can release yourself and make your way out of the airlock when you’re ready.”
   For Mary Ann Schelling, a spacewalk outside an orbiting space station had become as normal as a day on the ocean bottom becomes for a deep-sea diver. Each locale extreme in its own right, never quite reaching the point of mundane, proving the invisible force of repetition could make ‘another day at the office’ happen almost anywhere. 
   Captain Schelling was a retired naval aviator and NASA astronaut, having already accumulated over seven hundred days on orbit—with almost ninety hours spent on over a dozen spacewalks. Much of her spaceflight experience had come thanks to her third career as a professional commercial astronaut and her command of three private astronaut missions. As she drifted effortlessly to the end of her local tether, she looked down at Earth and couldn’t help feeling more at home now than she ever did down below. She was in her element. 
   Back inside the airlock, her nervous client grasped his anchor hook with a gloved hand and hesitated. “Just to double check, you’re sure my tether is attached?”
Unlike his seasoned guide, Marc Meyers was still getting his feet under him, so to speak. A sponsored private astronaut representing the cellular biology department at UC San Diego, he was one of the first of the fee-paying astronauts to venture outside the safety of Juno Station. Though private astronaut missions were nothing new, it wasn’t until recently that private firms had included such a risky endeavor in the training program. 
   “Gate closed; hook locked, Marc. Your anchor is good to go.”
The overstimulated researcher disconnected himself then tumbled his way outside. 
   “Take a breath,” Mary Ann said in an assuring voice as she helped stabilize his suit. “Do your spacewalk adaptation maneuvers here, and when you’re ready, we’ll make our way to the samples.”
   “Copy.”
   She stole another moment to herself to take in the view. In truth, she found spacewalks as a private astronaut more enjoyable than those she’d done with NASA. The work was less complex, she enjoyed the autonomy, and without the pesky voice from Mission Control, the experience was much more peaceful. 
   She refocused on her task. Today’s job was simple: accompany the client, help him retrieve his experiment, and ensure he made it back inside warm and pressurized. She wasn’t an expert in biology, nor did she know every detail about the microorganism samples they were preparing to collect. She would simply get the biologist from point A to point B and back again. Whether Marc Meyers achieved his own objectives was of secondary concern. 
   “Okay, I think I’m ready to go do this,” he said, gripping the handrail. His eyes were wide and glued on the scene below. 
   “Come on. Look up here where you’re going. Check each handhold for micrometeoroid strikes as you go, and don’t slide your hands. The holes can be sharp and you don’t want a tear in your gloves.”
   Mary Ann led the way, moving at an easy pace across the metallic shell of their orbiting outpost. Fortunately, Juno Station was smaller than the International Space Station where she had done her own first spacewalks, so there would be no reason to rush. Still, she stopped frequently to see Marc struggling to control his momentum. 
   “Take it slow,” she said. “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. 
   “Wilco. Boy, this is fun, though, isn’t it?”
   She allowed herself to smile. The best part of leading customers on private astronaut missions was being reminded again how unique it was to work in space. This really is fun. 
   As they arrived at the sample site, Mary Ann attached her local tether and let go to rest her hands, then instructed Marc to do the same. She retrieved her camera and snapped a few photos of the sample site, along with a few selfies for social media—Juno, Inc. was insatiable when it came to promotional material. Finally, she picked up her local tether hook and informed her client it was time to get to work. But Marc hesitated. 
   “You alright? Let’s go, we can get more pictures when we’re back at the airlock.”
   “Uh-oh,” Marc said.
   “What do you mean ‘uh-oh?’ Marc, we don’t say ‘uh-oh’ on orbit unless we mean ‘uh oh,’ okay?”
   “Um . . . I think I might mean this one. I have a . . . I have an alert tone in my helmet.”
   Shit, Mary Ann thought, her fighter pilot instincts kicking in. Here we go. “Check your display module. What’s it say?”
   “It says BATTERY AMPS HIGH.”
   Shit, that’s not good.
   “Marc, listen to me, okay? You may have an electrical short somewhere in your suit. That’s bad when you’re swimming in a bag of pure oxygen. But we may be able to isolate it. First, I need you to take your fan switch to off right now.”
   “Won’t that shut off my vent flow?”
   “Just do it!”
   “Okay, it’s off. Now what?”
   “Now you need to open up your purge valve.”
   “And dump all my oxygen into space?”
   “Yes, without your fan running, carbon dioxide will build up inside your helmet and kill you. The good news is you have plenty of oxygen left to get back. But we need to turn back now before anything else goes wrong.”
   Marc fumbled with the lever on the side of his helmet. He’d shown he could operate it in training, but not under the stress of a real suit malfunction. Mary Ann couldn’t just watch. She moved herself beside him and opened the valve for him. 
   “What about the sample?” Marc yelled over the sound of oxygen dumping from the orifice next to his ear at two and a half pounds per hour. “Tomorrow’s vehicle docking is the last chance we have to send it home for analysis.”
   “Forget the sample. Let’s head back. Now.”
   Marc paused and stared at her for a moment. The look in his eye was a look of determination Mary Ann had not seen in her crewmate in all of their mission. Normally she would have been impressed by his sudden resolve. But at that moment, it unsettled her. 
   “I can get it,” he said. 
   “Absolutely not. This is life or death, Marc. Check your amps again.”
   “Ten amps. Is that bad?”
   “Shit. That’s what I was afraid of. There’s still a big current draw, which means the short wasn’t in your fan. Listen. You need to shut down your suit right away before you start melting wires. But before you do, I need you to understand that we are going straight back to the airlock, okay? Because once you shut down, we lose comms.”
   Marc nodded. 
   “Okay, I’m going to switch your power off.”
   She reached toward his chest and toggled the power switch. As soon as she did, the sound of his breathing disappeared from her helmet, leaving her in silence. 
   She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief knowing they wouldn’t be bringing her client and the multimillion dollar suit back well-done. That story would not be the sort of promotional material Juno, Inc. had asked her for. With a wave of her hand, she mouthed “follow me” and moved toward the airlock. 
   Marc looked back, disappointed. 
   What the hell could be so important about these damn samples?
   In two minutes she was back. She rotated her body around the circular EV hatch, instinctively facing her safety tether anchor to avoid wrapping herself in its metal cable. She connected her own tether inside the airlock, then turned, ready to connect the second spacewalker. But as soon as she turned around, her heart sank. Marc wasn’t there.  
   “God dammit, where the hell did you go?” she asked out loud, even knowing her voice wouldn’t reach his deactivated spacesuit. 
   To her surprise, she did hear a voice reply. Although it wasn’t Marc’s. 
   “Break, break. Mary Ann, I know this isn’t a great time, but we just got word of debris in our flight path. We’re going to need you back in the airlock in the next five minutes to repress in time to fly an avoidance maneuver. How copy?”
   Oh, this just keeps getting better. 
   Mary Ann glanced at the bottom of the EV hatch beside her, noting the handle on the outside. She was the only one on the crew trained to perform the avoidance maneuver. If she came in now, she’d have to leave Marc outside to fend for himself. But if she went back for him and didn’t make it back in time, they could all die. 
   She shook her head. Not today. 
   “Copy, Antonio. I’ll finish herding the cat and we’ll be in shortly.”
   Furious, she began retracing her steps, following the curve of the cylindrical airlock onto the space station’s hull. She continued zenith, away from Earth toward the blackness of space. As she moved, the sunlight reflecting off the structure momentarily turned golden before quickly fading away altogether. Earth now eclipsed the station as it moved into orbital night.
   Mary Ann paused to turn on her helmet light before continuing toward the sample site. She was almost back where she left.
   Where the hell is he?
   Finally, as she crested the module, Marc’s darkened helmet appeared from the backside. With her light illuminating him, Mary Ann could see that he was smiling. And he was carrying the sample container. 
   “Sorry,” he said with a laugh. “I guess I got a bit lost.”