Rake stayed silent for a few long moments. “I don’t know. Let’s hurry.”
Cavalon forced his trembling hand to remain steady as he dragged the plasma torch along the seam. He had to be quick, but he also had to be careful. Had to hold the flame long enough to form a solid bond, or it wouldn’t be enough, and it wouldn’t be a hermetic seal, and the station wouldn’t start, and they’d die, and a lot of fucking other people would as well. This was one of those low-pressure situations in which he thrived.
But this had to be it, right? The last leg on this ridiculous journey? Had to be. The only way out was through. Might as well focus it all into this moment, or it could really be his last.
Suddenly, all the stupid shit he’d gotten all worked up about the last two days felt even stupider—dumping acium out of warheads and cutting it out of fuel lines, throwing doors at Drudgers, and a walk-in-the-park EVA—compared to this one. Those were the days. Hours. Whatever. Fuck, it’d been a long day.
He inhaled a wavering breath as he finished the seam between the two and moved on to the top. Three edges down, two to go.
“Griffith, you read me?” Rake asked.
Griffith’s low rumble crackled on the comms. “Go for Bach.”
“You ready to do this?”
“Ready on your mark. Just let me know when you’re back inside and the hatch is sealed.”
Rake didn’t respond for a few long seconds, and from his periphery, Cavalon could see her looking outward toward the static flashes. “We’re not going to be able to wait for that,” she said.
“Rake, what?” Jackin’s voice cut through. “We can’t turn it on while you’re still on the hull.”
Rake’s haggard voice came back weirdly calm. “I think you’re gonna have to.”
Strangely, a sense of warm serenity flushed through Cavalon. His heartbeat steadied, so smooth it was almost imperceptible. Maybe he’d finally learned to control it. Or maybe it’d started going so fast, it’d melded into a singular, unending beat.
He moved on to the last seam.
For the next few seconds, he was vaguely aware of argument in the comms. Jackin and Griffith didn’t want to start it while they were still on the hull. Too dangerous, who knew what could happen? Mesa said it might be fine, might be safe. What did Cavalon think?
Cavalon thought nothing, because Cavalon’s world was fifty centimeters long, built of aerasteel and plasmic fire. He knew nothing else.
A moment later dread overwhelmed him, a wrong, empty feeling, painful and dark. It was too familiar—a heavy, weighted heart, like when your dad dies—the fucking worst, a physical pain. How could a force of nature make him feel this way? That was all this was, right? The edge of the universe? Just science?
Fuck that. It was here. He had to focus.
His world was thirty centimeters.
Then that first breathless feeling came again, like the air had been punched out of him. He could sense it pulling him away. No, not pulling. Falling.
Forward started to become up, and he began to fall away, anchored at that pesky center of gravity, off the hull and outward, into the Divide.
He stretched forward, keeping the torch close to the metal, but he couldn’t hold the tool steady and keep himself in place; he didn’t have enough hands.
However, he didn’t need to ask for help, because Rake had already started moving. She kept hold of the bracket with one arm, then swung out behind him. She pressed her chest to his back and grabbed onto the other side of the bracket with her other hand, trapping him against the hull. He could continue.
Ten centimeters.
A shower of static light flooded his vision, and he had to squint to keep his place with the arc of the torch. On either side of him, Rake’s hands vibrated. Or the whole hull did. Or Cavalon’s head did. No, it was her.