As soon as Liu’s hand touched the imaginary key, the massive emergency switches fully swung open. They groaned, tiny bits of self-welded metal causing the switches to stick together just a little bit before being dutifully separated. CLUNK.

  >Initiating emergency magnet quench. Relay active. Dumping to Resistor Bank R-4.

  >Warning. Catastrophic thermal load on dump resistor R-4.

  Resistor bank R-4 quickly escalated from quiescent to red, then orange, then blazing yellow hot. Embers floated away, depositing on the nearby walls, while the resistor sagged. But it was not designed for a rapid quench. The resistor melted away from its contacts, great sparks arcing through the thin metal plasma before dying away.

  On the IR overlay, the U-bend on the zirconium plate flared into a tiny, star-hot point of light—a thermal spike so violent and brief the sensors could barely track it before it faded, leaving a lingering cherry-red glow.

  >Localized field collapse event. Open circuit on dump path detected.

  The magboots became their greatest enemy as the field convulsed as it dissipated. Grayson, Okeke and the engineering team were hurled into the void by chaotic magnetic forces, the tether snapping taut between the anchor at the railing and the latch at Okeke’s belt. The EVA team tumbled away in a silent, tangled ballet of terror. Then almost as quickly, the field had fully dissipated. They were now stranded at the end of a slowly waving metal rope, each gripping for their lives with the enhanced power of their suit.

  >Microstructural fatigue event. Plate R-120-5 Integrity: 82%. Single-Use Tolerance Exceeded.

  Liu watched, heart hammering. There was no explosion. The graded zirconia-zirconium composite of the electromagnet’s fluid channels had done its job, absorbing the liquid magnet’s fury. But the reactor plating was wounded, the dump resistor was slag and his team was dangling in the abyss. The repair had just turned into a salvage operation and a rescue.

  “EVA team. Report status!” Liu yelled.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Liu!” Grayson screamed into his audio processor. “You almost killed us!”

  “This is complicated, let me type this back to you,” Liu said nervously.

  >There was a liquid gallium vapor lock and thinning of the conductive channel.

  >If I did not quench the magnet, it could’ve caused a thermal runaway with the rest of the gallium vaporizing. Liu typed out slowly and deliberately.

  “I will deal with you later. Get us the hell out of here,” Grayson roared. “Who here knows how to deal with EVA emergencies on the outside?”

  The sensor feed showed the entire team

  The sensor feed showed the entire team suspended in the void, the rope wavering with each tiny motion. It must have been terrifying, staring into the black and knowing that only a thin metal cable separated you from oblivion, Liu thought to himself.

  into the void, the rope wavering with each tiny motion. It must have been terrifying, staring into the black and knowing that only a thin metal cable separated you from oblivion, Liu thought to himself.

  “I’ve done this before in systems defense,” Okeke said hesitantly. “We had to make do with lots of unusual EVA repairs back there.”

  An audible sigh was heard from Grayson.

  “Take it from here, Okeke,” he said in relief.

  Okeke immediately took charge with a command.

  “First, hold tight. Establish grip. We’re on a swinging rope with no down. Spread out as you move. Slowly. Very slowly. Your body mass will help calm the cable,” Okeke said with quiet confidence.

  “Acknowledged,” a small choir of voices spoke up. Grayson pulled himself forward first.

  “Just hold on tight. Force got transferred to my belt,” he replied. “I’m going to start retracting the cable and straighten it. Very slowly.”

  “What if the cable breaks?” one of the EVA crew asked nervously.

  “Then I’ll be on the float and will thrust back or die trying. And so will you. 80 m/s of delta-v. Good luck.”

  Grim acknowledgements were heard through the radio’s audio link. Okeke’s tether housing began slowly winding the rope into its damped interior at less than walking speed. He slowly floated inwards along a tightening rope.

  “Synchronize your movements. 2 at a time. What you do is open your hands, move your arm, then clamp your hands down. Then very, very slowly pull yourself towards your new location. Do not strain against the rope. You will simply float towards the direction of your tug. When you want to stop, use the sliding friction of your glove.”

  Okeke opened his left hand and extended his arm just slightly further to demonstrate. His left glove clamped down at the new location. He then released his right glove and gently gave himself a tiny tug. He floated glacially along the rope, the cable slowly receding into his belt, stopping with a single gentle touch to the rope with friction alone. Each other member of the EVA team followed his lead.

  “All right. Now go inwards. One at a time, spread out, slow. Slow. Do not, I repeat, do not panic or do something stupid. If you feel a vibration let it damp itself out against the suit. Let’s get further into the shadow of the frontal armor,” Okeke ordered.

  A chorus of static-filled affirmations came over the channel. They awkwardly and deliberately slid along the metal rope, stopping only to avoid collisions. The cable clanked against their restraints as it dissipated the remainder of its energy. It was a constrained float at crawling speeds.

  “I’m still shortening the cable. We’ll be fine. Plenty of oxygen still, no rush. Still have thrusters in case something happens.”

  >EVA suit average oxygen level? Liu queried.

  >EVA team oxygen range: 71%-73%.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  >Notice. Elevated metabolism increases oxygen consumption. Heart rate: 120-153 bpm.

  Plenty of oxygen is relative, Liu thought.

  After what seemed like an eternity, they had finally shortened the rope enough to resolve the entry door to the interior corridor. The door beckoned to safety.

  “Keep going. Gentle pull and float, damp out any twisting and turning by just letting go. You’re still hooked,” Okeke ordered. The crew nodded, carefully propelling themselves, synchroning their momentum. The cable grew shorter and shorter as it retracted towards Okeke.

  “Good. One more pull. Lieutenant Colonel, sir, you are first,” Okeke said. “Ready?”

  “Thank you, Okeke,” Grayson acknowledged.

  Grayson gave the rope one more gentle tug, propelling himself towards the railing. A wall of metal grew slowly in Grayson’s helmet feed, with the door growing faster and faster. Thrusters gave off a tiny, almost imperceptible puff of gas to keep his trajectory constant and his speed safe for contact.

  Thud. The magboots slammed against the skin of the Peacekeeper. Everyone cheered over the audio channel, celebrating their escape from certain death.

  Okeke’s suit pulled him slowly but inexorably towards the Peacekeeper.

  Liu breathed a sigh of relief. There was still a few hundred meters of marching, but they would be safely on the inside corridor, with its oxygen taps, magnetic plating and confined space.

  “Well, we’re back in. Still haven’t fixed the reactor,” Grayson sighed.

  “Sir, how do we fix it then?” Okeke asked in broadcast, breaking the silence of the march back to the airlock.

  “We’ll have to look at the diagnostic files. The inner zirconia lining probably has some microcracks. It can be regrown but it’ll be days, maybe a week of drifting. And we still have to redo the final optics,” Grayson said with a serious calmness.

  “How do we avoid this from happening again?” Okeke asked.

  “By not quenching the god damn magnet and kicking us into space,” Grayson said impatiently. “Won’t be a problem now though. Magnet’s dead until further notice. Next one is going to be a tethered thruster repair. At least we’ll expect to be floating.”

  “I will contact the Relativity and inform them of our progress,” Liu replied carefully.

  “No, I will do that. You’ve caused enough trouble today,” Grayson snapped back.

  Liu looked on in despair. “What do you want me to do?”

  Grayson’s voice gave out a weak chuckle over the radio link.

  “We’ll pull ourselves out. Don’t touch anything.”

  Liu endured a long wait of “not touching anything”. Thoughts raced through his head. He replayed the scene over and over again. Could he have done anything else?

  >Analyze alternatives. He ordered his personal implant.

  >Insufficient resource allocation for accuracy in speculative simulation.

  Another eternity of waiting, almost as if a judge was out for deliberation. Without the pulse of the reactor, there was near absolute silence except his breathing and heartbeat. Sweat beaded on his back and wicked into the hydrophilic fibers of his uniform. Despite a panopticon of sensors within the ship feeding data into Liu’s vision, there was nothing.

  The audio channel broadcast the airlock cycling with a final, condemning hiss. The moment the inner door slid open, Grayson was there, his face a mask of cold fury, his anger visible even through Liu’s sensor eyes. He tore off his helmet and threw it against the cargo bay, hitting the wall with a dull ballistic thud that reverberated through Liu’s audio input.

  Liu could hear Grayson and the other members of the EVA team storming towards his workstation, cursing as they bumped into bulkheads. Soon, the lieutenant colonel stood before him, flanked by Okeke and a few other engineers. Their foreheads were glistening with sweat and faces flush. Grayson’s nostrils were flaring and his blood pressure was almost visible on his face.

  "You almost killed us and disobeyed my order," Grayson spoke up first, cutting through the ringing in Liu's ears. "Consider yourself relieved. Effective immediately. Okeke, Schaefer, escort the captain to stasis.”

  Okeke and another EVA engineer moved to flank him. The other engineer was almost happy to grab Liu’s shoulders roughly. Okeke put a light hand on him. A hint of sorrow was present in his eyes, but his actions only showed cool professionalism. The message was clear without further words: compliance was not a request.

  Liu was shoved forward into the railing with Grayson and his escort team following shortly behind. He could see Grayson’s belt containing his command officer’s sidearm. The climb to the stasis deck was a silent funeral march. The familiar gray corridors felt like the walls of a prison leading to the gallows. This is it, Liu thought. This is what it looks like from the inside. No trial. Just a quiet deletion for causing too much trouble.

  The climb ended at the stasis corridor. The stasis chamber was a small hatch built into a large wall filled with identical hatches, like a miniature missile battery shrunk down to human size. One small hatch was already open, lit only with dim white light, a small change of palette from the ghostly green elsewhere.

  "Get in," Grayson commanded. One of his hands hovered near his holstered weapon. "The AI will evaluate you."

  He remembered his own casual thoughts a while back. "Wonder what happens to those who don't wake up?" A hollow laugh died in his throat. Now he knew. They were told to get in and simply never revived.

  He oriented himself, then looked down into the stasis hatch. Inside was a suffocatingly tight chamber, padded on 4 sides and a sterile metal panel on the last. Liu’s hands shook as he hesitantly reached for the guard rails. Okeke and the other engineer lowered their heads and shoved his shoulders into the open maw.

  Liu slid into the stasis chamber, rigid with terror. The air inside was cold, a shock that felt like the first touch of the grave. Then the hatch slowly slid closed like the gate of a mausoleum. He closed his eyes and breathed deep to wait for whatever came next.

  A small, flexible probe extended from the panel in front of him and brushed against his wrist like a metal tentacle. He shuddered. It’s just the life support and transdermal drug injector, he thought. Yet he couldn’t get the image of a lethal injection execution out of his head. The tentacle gently wrapped around his wrist and locked in like a handcuff.

  The lights cut out. Silence. Oblivion. All that was left was a flurry of meaningless green numbers on his tac glasses. He felt his spinal implant being interrogated by the ship’s life support AI and the oxygen concentration of the air fall, making him dizzy.

  >Vital signs within normal parameters.

  >Behavioral log under review due to officer flag.

  There was an unbearably long wait.

  >Speed up subjective time. Liu ordered in Neuronet.

  Peacekeeper’s AI immediately fired back a response.

  >Error, not supported during evaluation.

  Another long pause in the dark silence. Cold sweat poured down his spine.

  >Behavioral log investigation complete. Quench-Protocol-R120-5.

  The Peacekeeper’s AI pronounced its sentence directly in his brain with a detached, pleasant coolness.

  >Conclusion: Decision matrix- Optimal. Asset preservation- Maximized. Initiative- Unexpected. High degree of political alignment with command objectives. Command track capabilities noted.

  >Recommendation: Captain Liu Yang promoted to rank of Major. Effective upon next wake-cycle.

  >Congratulations, Major Liu Yang.

  The tac glasses numbers quickly became blurry and smeared into a field of darkening gray. Confusion was the last thing he felt before the void took him.