Clarkesworld Magazine - Issue 50 by www.clarkesworldmagazine.com & N. K. Jemisin & Genevieve Valentine & Ryan Britt

Author:www.clarkesworldmagazine.com & N. K. Jemisin & Genevieve Valentine & Ryan Britt [Jemisin, N. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction magazine
Publisher: Wyrm Publishing
Published: 2010-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

The hairline crack is in the hydraulics panel. As Marika approaches it, moving hand over hand along the side rails, one bead of gasoline pushes through it and away.

“You won’t get home,” she says into her mic. “You’ve lost too much already.”

She doesn’t know if the connection is still live; she forgets if she turned it on or not, and her heart is pounding too loudly for her to hear a thing.

She grips the screwdriver in her free hand and gets to work. It’s familiar by now, and the screws come apart one by one, cling gently to the magnets in the fingertips of her glove.

The suit warms up with her work; her visor fogs. She tries not to panic. There’s not enough air to panic. (She disconnected — there wasn’t time for anything else.)

If she lets go of the handrail, she’ll vanish.

She imagines a darkness like the darkness of the boat on calm water, imagines stretching out a hand as she falls.

The screwdriver shakes; she clamps down with numb fingers to keep it from escaping, drags off another screw.

But it’s useless. Her helmet is fogging up from the inside now — she can’t see, she can’t see, and there’s not enough time left to hold her breath and wait for equalization, not enough oxygen left to hyperventilate and turn it into droplets big enough to see around.

She shoves the pick in at an angle, to avoid her eyes.

Three stabs before the visor cracks; another three before she can wedge the pick inside and wrench it out.

The shield winks once and spins gently out of sight, knocks away a scattering of gold where the coating has flaked off under the chisel.

She exhales, so her lungs don’t explode from the decompression, and turns to the bulkhead with shaking hands. She has to work fast — she forgets how long you can last before the darkness swallows you.

(You have fifteen seconds. Go.)

The last screw opens; the panel opens.

She slices the fuel line where it’s torn, shoves the healthy end of the hose back into the joint, throws the clamp shut. Stray gasoline floats past her in black pearls.

(She’s freezing; her lips are numb; when she blinks her eyelids crack, snap off, go flying.)

The panel begins to vibrate as the system kicks in.

(Seven seconds.)

She slams the bulkhead shut, fumbles three of the screws back into place. It’s all she manages before her fingers freeze.

Far away, Konstantinova is saying something about re-entry, about being out of time, she’s panicked, she’s screaming — but the last of the air escapes the suit, and then there’s silence.

(Marika breathes in; her lungs collapse.)

The ship is accelerating now, dragging her.

She pulls free.

The motion spins her slightly, away from the planet towards the sky. For a moment, the full view stuns her.

She thinks, It’s beautiful.

It’s the first time in her life she’s ever thought it.

(This is why: there is no seeing.

Now there is only the sky; she’s looking, for an instant, straight to the stars. This is the true geography.

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