Chance Jones

Above the Sky

A dim emergency light dyed the small airlock in a soft red glow as the astronaut
wrestled his way into the ships single functional Extra-Vehicular Activity suit. Brackets
on the wall held the bulky suit in place while he calmly opened up each section and
merged himself into it. Once he had finally secured the enclosed helmet, he disengaged
the safety locks and began to drift free of the brackets. He could only feel this fact
through the sensation that he was no longer bound to the wall, as the only things he could
see were the internal visor of the helmet and the blank screen on the suits closed
faceplate.
With a twitch of his fingers, the astronaut tapped a button on the inside of the
suits gauntlet and the screen lit up with video of the airlock captured by cameras set into
the exterior of the helmet. A moment later, the EVA suits computer began to purr softly
as it flared into life. Ghostly green images appeared on the clear polymer of the internal
visor as the suit began to report data on both its condition and that of the astronaut. The
computer chirped with dissatisfaction when it found itself unable to connect to its sister
on the ship. That was to be expected, the ship was in dire straits after all.
Just at the edge of Earths orbit, the mining ship had been hit by a piece of microdebris which had presumably found a weakness in the impact plating and severely
damaged one of the ships sensitive systems. The main computer had shut-down, then the
power supply failed. The ship was adrift in the void and soon the life support systems
would consume all of the backup power. These facts were the only companions the
astronaut had as he waited for the airlock to cycle. The persistent hiss of escaping air

faded as the sound found no medium through which to travel. Finding it impossible to
function, his suits external microphones clicked off and the astronaut was left isolated in
the bubble of atmosphere surrounding him. Encased in a suit with no connection to the
outside, trapped in a crippled ship, and unable to speak with another person; for a
moment he felt the freezing terror of claustrophobia. He breathed in deeply, marveled at
the strangely clean air circulating through his suit, and slowly exhaled. The astronauts
gloved hand reached out to open the airlocks external door.
The screen in front of his visor showed an endless abyss of ink swirling with the
lights of distant stars. At once, the suits computer began to watch those stars too, and
then it set about calculating his position in space. The machine hummed quietly as the
astronaut pulled himself out of the airlock. He oriented himself with the ship,
straightened up, and found himself standing on a precipice in the void. The sleek alloy
hull of the long, cylindrical spaceship stretched out under his feet for dozens of meters to
his left and right. Looking up, or rather, out from the ship at a ninety degree angle; he
could see only an endless horizon littered with scattered lights.
His suit gave a pleased chirp and projected a wireframe graph of the ship and his
position relative to it onto his visor. A yellow arrow flashed onto the edge of his vision to
alert him of where his homes sun was burning in the distance. Knowing where he must
not look in order to avoid being blinded, the astronaut raised a hand to tap the release tab
on his faceplate. At first, all that could be seen was the once again blank screen on the
inside of the faceplate, then the panel swung upward on a hinge and he peered into the
void with his own eyes. The computers readouts remained imposed on his internal visor,
but the flatness of a screen in front of his face was now replaced by the vivid depth of the

space which seemed to extend outward without limit. The claustrophobia which had been
threatening him was lost in the vastness of that expansive vista. He didnt have time for
petty personal fears; so many other things mattered so much more.
Gently, the astronaut raised his heels from the surface of the ship and pushed off
with the front of his boots. Effortlessly, he floated away from the ship. None of the
lifelines were long enough to allow him to traverse the entire hull from this airlock, so he
would have no tether preventing him from drifting off into infinity if he made a mistake
and no way to siphon oxygen from the crippled ship if he took too long.
Thats what it meant to leave the Earth, to leave behind the bonds which bring
safety and enter a new environment in which there were no boundaries or limitations, yet
which also sought constantly to freeze or boil ones blood, rip the air from ones lungs,
and bathe ones cells in violent tides of radiation. To even survive here required some
constructed shell like a ship or suit; one had to be more than human.
Even to do something as simple as revolve himself around the ship, he needed to
rely on the gas jets extending from his suits backpack. A twitch of his gloved fingers
brought forth a release of pressurized gas from the jets which he used to gain angular
momentum. As he wound his way around the surface of the hull, he scanned it for signs
of damage. Every scratch and dent on the ship stood out under the scrutiny of his gaze.
He had to check every last centimeter. After one revolution around the ship, he raised his
left arm and held it parallel to his center of gravity with the jet encased in his forearm
pointing in the same direction as the ship. With another twitch of his fingers, a burst of
propellant fired from his arm and began to push him into a spiral down the length of the
ship. All he heard was the subtle hiss of escaping gases reverberate through the interior of

the suit. The astronaut would check every millimeter until he found the damaged section
or suffocated.
Three minutes and fifty-seven seconds had already passed since the astronaut had
activated the EVA suit. A winking green counter reminded him constantly of the passage
of time. Since then, how much of the ship had he covered? If he increased his
momentum, he might miss some sign of the damage. If he moved too slowly, he risked
running out of oxygen before finding that sign. Doubt made his eyes dart back and forth
over the hull, checking and rechecking every detail. The more time passed, the louder the
sound of his heart pounding in his ears became. With each new crescendo from his chest,
the astronaut yelled an even louder encouragement in his own mind.
After nine minutes and twelve seconds of searching, a hole in the ships
toughened exterior appeared in front of the astronaut. The jagged wound was smaller than
his own fist. He reached down with his left hand to take a tool from his thigh pouch and
held a sphere housing a snakelike camera up to the hole. With his right hand he used a
control stick extending from the tool to direct the device into the damaged hull. Images
from the camera flowed through its coils, into the circuits on his right hand and onto his
visor. He guided the roving eye deeper while the suits computer mumbled excitedly as it
mapped the torn interior and compared the result to the ships blueprints. One minute and
twenty-three seconds passed as man and machine worked together to create a glowing,
three-dimensional image of the damage which appeared before his eyes. He retracted the
snake-camera and took up another tool. To replace the broken parts and reconnect cut
wires, he would have to rely on an eyeless snake. Using skill, intuition, and the map
overlaid onto the hull by his visor; the astronaut acted without being able to see inside the

tear.
What he had to do was clear. It could be done before the limit on his time would
be reached. All that was left was to do it. The astronaut took a deep breath and held it as
he gave the control stick gentle nudges. After a few seconds, he stopped to exhale and
wait for his heart to calm. Even the slightest jolt from beating heart or shifting diaphragm
might transfer through his arm and ruin his careful movements. Thousands of hours spent
practicing manifested in the hand deftly directing the device as it cut and soldered,
replaced and repaired. The expectations and trust of the other crew members, the mission
control group, the company management and shareholders, the investors and taxpayers,
and all of the people on Earth whom looked up at the stars with hope in their eyes would
be resting on him, but that weight had no meaning here. His only enemy was himself. If
he conquered doubt and fear, all that would be left would be a machine. Like his suit or
the ship itself, he had been built to achieve this goal. The astronaut shouldered everything
and completed his task without fail. After sixteen minutes and forty-eight seconds, the
ship was repaired.
Instead of attempting to synchronize with the ship which had its systems restored,
his suit withdrew its complicated display and showed him only the words, Simulation
Complete, and the total time it had taken him to complete the exercise. A hundred
meters away, the screens comprising the walls of the underwater practice tank switched
from a recreation of space to a dull grey which lit up the astronaut, the model ship
suspended in the middle of the pool, and the harnesses which perfected the illusion of
weightlessness. A section of the east wall changed once more to reveal the monitoring
room on the other side. Technicians busily read results data on his performance into the

astronauts ear. He didnt listen to them; he didnt need to. He knew he had done it. There
was no longer any sense of training to become ready; he was ready to carry the weight of
humanitys hopes into the stars. The only person in that room to whom he paid any
attention was the personnel director. That brusque old man was staring into the tank, right
into the astronauts own eyes. They shared a moment of wordless exchange before the
impatient veteran shouted his verdict,
Send him up.
The astronaut tapped a button to turn off the microphone in his helmet, then let
out a triumphant roar which morphed into rolling laughter. The loud sound of his own
celebration echoed in the enclosed suit as he waved excitedly at the technicians, still
glued to their displays, and the director whom had recognized him as worthy of walking
the same path which the old man himself had once given his all to tread.