The unreasonable request is so utterly ridiculous that Vasko cannot put into words just how absurd it really is. There is no way he’s just going to toss someone out an airlock and hope that they’re caught before they’re forever lost in the great wide emptiness of space. That is the definition of insane, and probably evil, and perhaps also just straight negligent.
“No,” he answers bluntly, not even willing to entertain the option for a minute. “But I can jump with her and get her to a safe pickup spot.”
“I understand, you’re right, it’s just too much to ask…” Amina does not immediately catch the context of the rest of his statement. “You mean to say you’re extravehicular activities certified?”
“Yes.” With all the fumbling in his pockets, Vasko produces his wallet with his various licenses on cards inside it. Having actual cards instead of relying on mismatching data structures for all the separate systems he might need to display them in has always been helpful in the past. And here he is, showing off his EVA certificate right next to his pilot’s license and his Venkyke citizenship card.
It’s even up to date. He hasn’t allowed his continuing education credits to lapse, even though that expense certainly ate into his budget for getting his ship out of the impound lot.
“I could kiss you. But I won’t, because that is disrespectful.” Amina straightens and then gives him another quick hug. “Let me get that suit for you instead.”
Amina doesn’t walk back to the locker with the emergency spacesuits. She flat out runs. And the remaining two are still there when she arrives, which is as it should be and she should expect. With their luck, though, she half imagined that the remaining two suits would be full of holes or child sized. They are not. The suits will fit. They’re as functional as one could hope. There is nothing that currently requires her fear except the chance that Adah’s tourniquet will loosen inside the leg of her spacesuit and she will bleed to death before anyone notices.
And on that particularly optimistic note, Amina gracelessly hauls the extra spacesuit to her volunteer.
Vasko is still talking to Adah, as if keeping her company is the most important thing in the world. When Amina hands him the spaceship pants, he wriggles into them with practiced ease, sliding his boots down into the enormous covers and kicking their magnets into action to tighten the fit and make moving easier. Sliding the gusseted knees up his legs, he triggers similar magnets in his base suit and on his belt.
The magnetic ring that should hold the emergency suit tight against his chest as well has long since fractured and fallen off of his top. The arms of the suit fit correctly snug, but the chest puffs out like a balloon around him. Before putting on the helmet and securing the gloves he accepts the project manager’s clipboard from Amina and reviews the crazy set of instructions the two ships have for him to follow.
Vasko sucks in one last deep breath of poorly circulated air before securing the helmet and flipping the switch to go to the external oxygen source tank attached to the back. The compressed air hisses as it fills the helmet.
He scoops Adah up into his arms, and is thankful that he cannot hear much of anything through the thick layers of protective fabric and glass that will very soon be all that separates him from a very ugly death.
Amina pops the hatch to the interior of the airlock and he steps inside. The airlock conservatively removes the station’s preciously hoarded gasses before opening the outside gate. With the gate open, he spots the two ships spinning beneath him.
Vasko does not want to be caught in the engine discharge of that great behemoth of an air breathing predator. As per the instructions, he says a brief prayer for safety and steps delicately off.
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The spin that generates the sensation of gravity aboard the Moldy Donut creates a force equivalent to almost precisely 1 G of force. As theirs are both human colony worlds, both Venkyke and Anzion had ample motive to build the gate between them with conditions most favorable to the comfort of their human colonists. For that reason, when Vasko steps off the station, he continues to fall at a rate that is mathematically precise and calculable by both the humans and the computers aboard both of their rescue vessels.
In addition, the emergency escape suits include tiny adjustment thrusters around the chest. Their fuel supply is limited to a few exceedingly brief bursts of force, but this is not Vasko’s first hop off of an object in space. He is able to orient himself to the target without changing his positioning. He avoids creating any additional spin and saves the fuel in case it’s needed on the landing.
Adah clings to his inflated chest with every ounce of her failing strength. Guarded against any risk of losing her and completely failing his purpose for having stepped outside in the first place, Vasko has already clipped their buddy system tethers together.
Haulin’ Sass adjusts her course to correctly intercept. Her skilled pilot is particularly careful to adjust her course such that when the ship bumps into Vasko’s feet, it’s an incredibly gentle nudge. He sits on top of her cockpit, looking through the heavily reinforced window at the crew.
And now for the really tricky part - getting from the exterior of one ship to the interior of the other.
This calls for more math, and a better plan than just jumping and hoping for the best outcome instead of the outcome that results in spinning off into the void and not being seen again until your corpse hits a delicate solar sail and cripples the ship of an innocent bystander. Vasko isn’t bitter about the unintended consequences of other people’s space debris, no not at all.
Well, maybe a little bit. But if you’re going to toss hunks of titanium at high velocities through space at each other, you should at least do your neighbors a favor make sure you do not miss. It’s only polite.
Sitting on the freight tug’s central window, he can see right inside to the people manning it. The three men wave and give him very encouraging gestures as they maneuver the little ship into a position very close to the truly enormous war machine. At this distance, Vasko is properly impressed with its sheer size, and is significantly intimidated by the menacing power of its rear engines. That is not something he wants to accidentally hit at the wrong angle. His magnetic boots keep him gently secured to the tug as it maneuvers.
Adah stirs against him, and through the transparent dome of her helmet he can see her wincing in pain again.
The ship beneath them vibrates as its own small engines rotate to make tiny adjustments to its course to perfectly match that of the Something Something Light the Atmosphere on Fire. Now that Vasko can read the ship’s name from its hull decorations he finds that it is most apt. Something Something Light the Atmosphere on Fire’s other hull decorations include a cartoonish depiction of a planet with a ring of fire and a rat with its tail on fire. There must be some kind of in joke involved with that one.
Like an enormous proboscis, the Haulin’ Sass extends her crane arm toward the other ship. Vasko can faintly hear the creak of the mechanisms through the suit’s contact with the vessel.
As he waits, he looks away toward his beloved Danijela. He wishes he could be aboard her familiar cabin, spending time in the cool quiet of his cozy home among the steady light of the stars.
For Adah, space is a great, vast silence. Without direct connection to the ship beneath her, she does not hear even a muffled version of its groaning effort. She clings to Vasko’s inflated chest and listens to the faint hiss of the oxygen exchange tank. Sitting in near total silence, she is startled to hear something else in the deep quiet.
Muffled by the layers and layers of fabric and plastic and steel, Vasko is humming. It’s not to her. It’s a tune without words, and it fills the deeper silence with a comfort she cannot name.
The Haulin’ Sass’s pilot’s first attempt at connecting with Something Something Light the Atmosphere on Fire is a near miss. The second attempt is an abject failure. On the third try, the arm reaches the exterior of the larger ship and its enormous magnet, designed for grabbing shipping containers, instead grasps onto a much larger target than usual.
Something Something Light the Atmosphere on Fire opens an airlock and Adah can suddenly see the light at the end of the tunnel her vision has narrowed into.
With the magnets in his boots to hold him secure, Vasko carefully crosses over the crane arm to the warship’s open portal.
Crossing the threshold, Vasko places his burden into the arms of Something Something Light the Atmosphere on Fire’s waiting marine medic team. The gray-uniformed marines whisk Adah away into the belly of the the great monstrous machine.