NEWMAN

Juliana Newman slept in space for the first time, just tied to the station. That was a particular piece of insanity, added to an insane situation. But despite their hypothesized plant-animal hybridity, they had finally crashed. Save for Yaytsev, who had slept during their original wake-up period in the first place, and was still somehow fresh.

So, they needed sleep like humans, and Juliana had taken mental note of the fact before they’d strapped on the station’s skin, to make use of the sun’s light and what looked like photoelectricity – for the magnetic manipulation – or photosynthesis – for energy.

It was kind of wild to realize that barely less than a day had elapsed since their first encounter with the Zone, and becoming something other. Becoming Spaceborne.

When she woke up, it was utter darkness, and for a few seconds, she panicked. She was just coming out of a dream, immersed in blue lights, with blue lines that intersected at angles that did not make sense. The blue light was not the blue of Earth’s oceans, the blue of Earth’s skies, but the unnatural blue of the lights from the Zone.

But there was a faint curve of light to the side, and she remembered she’d actually strapped under the station, facing the ground. The majority of the stars were behind her, hidden away even if she had literally eyes on her back.

She reached behind her, magnetic senses and grasp interacting with the station’s shell, and relaxed slightly.

‟Yaytsev?” she called out.

‟Welcome back. You’re first,” the answer came.

‟So, where are we?”

‟We’re in shutdown right now. My guess is that we’re over central America, heading toward East Coast. You’d have to ask Ivan or Shuko, maybe.”

She looked “down”, into the utter blackness, as the light curve at the edge slowly shrank. Any other time, the ground would be framed by strings of light, a smattering of lights that covered even Mexico. Even the deep parts of Africa were spattered with lights. But here?

Nothingness. Not a single light shone in the darkness. The Zone had extinguished all that, already.

‟No hexes?”

‟Only at the edges. And from time to time inside,” Yaytsev answered.

‟Inside?”

‟It’s like clouds. Sometimes, you get a bunch of those hexes, in what looks like a stable configuration. A small patch, detached from the rest.”

‟So, the edge is like clouds being chased away? An explosion?”

‟Who knows,” he said.

‟So, how’s the station coping?”

‟I spent time shutting down everything I could. There is stuff I cannot entirely prevent from rebooting when the electricity comes back, so I’ve tried to unplug everything I can. In case it ends, and we can restart everything.”

‟How big is the shutdown?”

‟It’s sped up again while you were sleeping. It’s probably a six thousand miles radius now.”

She winced inwardly.

‟Who’s still talking?”

‟Moscow stopped sending stuff. They shouldn’t be offline yet, but they’re no longer talking. There was still a link outside of the shutdown, and Japan has access, so they’ve asked for regular updates. But it’s mostly ‘we’re stable, thanks’.”

‟Do they know?”

‟They got telemetry, apparently. They know we blew open the station.”

‟And?”

‟They’re not even talking about it. To be honest, that’s very strange. It’s obvious we’re in zero-pressure, and they don’t even mention anything.”

‟You’ll have to ask Shuko about it, I think,” she chuckled, the laughter somehow translating over radiowaves.

‟Although they got silent an hour ago. Something about the last uplink that worked was close to being taken out. But based on the increasing speed, I think there was maybe an hour from spreading over their archipelago.”

The last bit of light vanished, and the darkness under was absolute. Until she spotted what Yaytsev had spoken about. Five tiny hexagons packed together, blue lines over darkness, and a faint aurora of blue coming. The structure seemed stable and was slowly coming up, far to the side of the station’s orbit.

‟Any more blue stuff?”

‟It plays very differently outside. It’s just a bath of light, not real lines like we got inside the station.”

She looked around. Even with the darkness, she could see the magnetic fluxes moving.

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‟Spotted you.”

‟I orbit in place, a hundred yards from the station. It’s a bit relaxing. It’s not quite flexing muscles, but it’s like light exercise.”

‟Everything about this Spaceborne form is a mix of weird and logical,” Juliana answered.

‟Now what?”

‟Unless anyone’s found a magic solution, we need longer-term plans.”

‟No kidding. Based on what I see on the acceleration, we got a day, maybe not much more, until it covers the entire surface of the planet.”

Juliana startled.

‟That fast?”

‟We have maybe twenty orbits tops. Or less, since it’s proving to be irregular. I won’t bet on more.”

‟So, what can we do while things work?”

‟I want to use the rest of the propellant,” he replied.

‟Uh?”

‟You said long-term. I’m thinking very long term.”

‟Okay. Explain.”

Juliana detached herself, flexing some flux lines. It was getting a bit easier. She started moving toward Yaytsev’s position while thinking about the term “long-term”.

‟We can’t know, but maybe the Zone will dissipate. Maybe it will decay. Once – if – that happens, we can restart it. If it’s still there.”

‟Oh.”

‟Yes. Without a re-boost, you get a couple of years of orbit top. Right now, it’s a good place to avoid debris, but it’s definitively not the right place to passively park long term. If we spend all of the fuel, right now, we can raise the orbit to where it won’t decay for decades.”

‟At the risk of more debris,” she noted.

‟Yes, that’s the risk. But we only have a limited window to make that decision. If we don’t, decay and reentry is not a risk, it’s a guarantee.”

‟Why are you asking me?”

‟Because you’re the commander.”

‟Things have changed.”

‟Maybe. But you’re the boss. You stay the boss. Who else will it be?”

‟Why not you?”

‟I’m sure Moscow wanted me to mutiny and take over. But let’s face it. We’re aliens, we fly on magnetic waves and all that. And if I land in Russia, I’m sure they’ll try to dissect me, even if they need an oil lamp to see.”

‟The American saying then?”

‟Uh?”

‟We must all hang together, or we will assuredly hang separately.”

Yaytsev’s lack of response betrayed his confusion.

‟Benjamin Franklin,” she specified.

‟Ah. Founding Father. It seems a fair quote, yes.”

‟It’s the best quote,” a voice came from near the station.

‟Frank?” she called out.

‟The one and only.”

‟Just awakened?”

‟I always wake up almost instantly. It hasn’t changed, apparently.”

Flux lines appeared, silhouetting the station somehow in the darkness of the eclipse. Frank Fuller detached himself from the station and started moving to their gathering point.

‟Looks like I’m going to break records. So many records today,” he said as he approached them.

‟I doubt Guinness will hear about it. Or anyone updates Wikipedia either,” she replied lightly.

‟Think about it. First sleepover in EVA. Most people in simultaneous EVA. Longest EVA. Et cetera.”

‟We’re cheating.”

‟Would Spaceborne count as people, you mean?”

Juliana fell silent.

‟We are. No matter what skin covers the inside, or even what’s inside… we are people. Once and always,” the voice of Shuko rose from aside.

‟Hear, hear,” Frank replied.

‟Looks like most of us are awake. Ivan?” Juliana called.

‟The lazybone will oversleep. No morning briefing to attend,” Yaytsev said.

‟Can we shout to wake him up?” Frank wondered.

‟I can poke him if you want,” Shuko replied.

‟Good question. Does it work?” Juliana wondered.

‟For science?” Frank replied, laughter tinting the voice.

‟Okay,” the JAXA – former – astronaut confirmed.

They didn’t have to wait for long. Shuko prodded the last crew member, not with shortened arms, but rather with a bunch of magnetic field lines. Without a visible effect, he got closer and used his triple-digit hands, to no more effect.

‟I must report failure,” Shuko said.

‟You’d get better results with a hot bulb of tea,” Ivan replied.

‟Ah. I amend my report, commander. It’s the eyes that got me.”

‟The eyes?”

‟Maybe it’s just Ivan, but he was sleeping with his eyes open. Or maybe not sleeping.”

‟I was. Until a Japanese barbarian decided to revive the Russian-Japanese war of 1904.”

Juliana had to smile internally. At least the crew was in good spirits. Considering the world was still ending. Speaking of which…

‟Okay, Yaytsev says we’ve got about a day left before the Zone – if it keeps up – covers the entire world.”

‟It was still almost perfectly circular when we got cut from Houston. Tsukuba Space Center didn’t have good data to add. And Moscow… the less said about the incoherencies they were sending…” Yaytsev added.

‟What’s the opposite of Seattle?”

‟Southern Indian Ocean? The Kerguelen, I guess,” Shuko replied.

‟It depends on when it closes down. We may have a view of it, depending on the time, since the orbit does cover the area,” Ivan added.

‟Well, that’s going to wait. Get back into the station all. We need to make sure everything that needs electronics or power to operate is in the right place for when there won’t be an end to the shutdown.”

Flux lines bent, and they started to descend on the station.

‟Yaytsev?” she asked, as the Russian stayed along her.

‟The burn?”

‟Oops, I got distracted, didn’t I? Yes, do it. You’re right.”

BARANOV

Yaytsev slid into the open airlock. He’d spent the sleep hours opening all the possible access points in the station. Without the requirement of an atmosphere, making everything as accessible as possible was something he thought was a priority.

Right on cue, small lights flickered. The shutdown border and eclipse's end, nearly together. That made things easier. He could feel his way through the station, caressing the walls with magnetic flux lines the way a blind person would move around. The feedback was almost tactile, even if the flux itself seemed to be visual.

The commander seemed of the opinion that their brains had been at least partially modified. The sensations had no real words to express in Russian or English, or even German, which was the perfect language to build new ones. But they were slowly becoming more… well, commonplace. Ordinary. Their minds were adapting. And fast.

Like them, he hadn’t noticed that he had four eyes and was using them until he saw the others.

‟Water stock intact,” he heard what seemed to be Frank reporting from somewhere else.

He slid into Central, and its dim lights. He dialed them up. There was no point sparing the power to charge batteries. The shutdown would wipe them before the next eclipse. He pulled a tablet, still tethered to its charging data plug, and powered it up. Once it finished booting, he briefly checked text messages, finding nothing. Moscow was silent. Then he remembered the last uplink to the TRDS network was down.

He brought up the controls. It looked like he still had full privileges over everything in the station. Either Moscow couldn’t revoke them, or they hadn’t thought or cared.

If he had lips, he would have whistled. It looked like he’d be able to get almost ninety kilometers of orbit, even if he had to do it in two steps. One right now, and one just before shutdown, to circularize the orbit. He almost started to calculate the new duration, before he checked himself.

Priorities. If he delayed, the orbit would be eccentric, and he wouldn’t get the expected.

‟Burn incoming in thirty seconds. I’m using max, we’re probably getting 5% G, so you will have drift on anything unsecured.”

Step two of remodeling, he thought. One was when he depressurized the station.

Then he stabbed the touch screen.