“I’m clear,” he said.

“Copy,” Kronauer replied.

“RCS engaged.”

“Affirmative. Watch your velocity.”

Daryl exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the controls at his left hand. Banks of RCS thrusters fired in sequence across his suit, and he pushed away from the airlock. As he passed through the hatchway, perspective vanished. Walls and floors gave way to unbroken starfield. The symmetry was maddening. He closed his eyes, only for a moment, then reoriented. Thrusters fired again, and he found himself staring out across the modules. Easing forward, he drifted silently over the station, several meters above its surface. Or perhaps below.

Even at low velocity, it felt as though the modules were speeding by beneath him. He couldn’t make out surface details; no time to survey the shielding. Soon, his destination pulled into view: the service module. Around a ventral hatch, two astronauts in suits hovered, awaiting his arrival. 

“Good of you to join us,” Mishkin said, turning slowly to look at him.

“Good to be out here,” Daryl replied. He genuinely enjoyed EVA. “So how’s it look?”

“Difficult to say,” Matsushita replied. “Everything appears to be in order.”

Daryl scowled. “Then why won’t the clamps engage?”

“That, as you would say, is the ‘million-dollar question’,” Mishkin replied.

Space Station Gamma was new as far as stations went, but it had been orbiting Earth for nearly a decade. It was time to expand, and the latest expansion included several new lab modules. Unfortunately, the increase in habitable space required greater life support than their current system provided. That meant they needed a new life support system. The new system was currently affixed to the station’s robotic arm, which loomed over them, extending nearly twenty meters from the station.

Mishkin and Matsushita had been on EVA for nearly four hours, attempting to disengage the current system from the service module. Thus far, they’d had no luck, and Kronauer, growing impatient, had seen fit to send another crew member out to assist. Daryl was an engineer, and the commander hoped he would be better equipped to solve this pressing issue.

Activating his RCS, Daryl moved closer to the life support system. He pivoted slowly, rotating until his head pointed toward the module, allowing him to inspect the docking adapter more closely. He reached out, grabbing the clamps and wiggling each in turn. “Clamps look solid, mobile,” he reported. He lifted his left arm, extending it to scan the docking mechanism. “We’ve got connectivity. Current is good.” He lowered his arm, sighing heavily as he stared out into space. “I don’t get it,” he rasped.

“Perhaps,” Mishkin began, “we need to cut old life support system loose.”

Matsushita whirled toward him. “And risk damaging the docking adapter?” he squawked.

Mishkin appeared dismissive. “If system is not functioning, does it matter?”

“Alright,” Daryll chimed in, reining in the conversation, “we need a plan here. We’re burning O2 floating around like this.” He placed his hands on his hips, staring at the old life support module in frustration. “I don’t like it either, but cutting this thing loose might be the only way to go.”

“Are you serious?” Matsushita replied.

Daryll raised a hand, pointing at the lower end of the module. “Look: if we cut in just above the adapter, we can free the module itself, leaving the mechanism intact.” He paused, looking up at his colleagues. “At least that way we’ll get a better look at the docking mechanism itself.”

“It is not like we can do anything with old module still in place,” Mishkin observed.

Matsushita sighed heavily, scowling from behind his visor. “Guess we’d better get to work.”

The three distributed plasma torches, and took up positions around the module, carefully cutting through the outer surface of the docking mechanism. It was slow, tedious work: the station’s outer hull was composed of multiple layers of radiation and micrometeoroid shielding, and heat resistant. After an hour had passed, Daryll was sweating. He fought the urge to check his O2 levels obsessively; he knew he was sucking oxygen fast. Perhaps more pressing was the situation aboard the station: with their life support disconnected, they were breathing on borrowed time.

After an hour, Kronauer checked in on them. “How’s it going out there?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

“Almost there,” Daryll reported.

“Well that’s good,” Kronauer replied. “Because the air’s getting a little thin in here.”

“Keep your shirt on, boss,” Daryll replied, trying not to sound frustrated. “Just a little more…there!” He pulled back, smiling as the module floated free of its docking mechanism. He activated his thrusters, moving toward its charred base, as Mishkin and Matsushita eased it slowly upward. He squeezed in under the module, and peered at the docking mechanism. It didn’t take long to find the problem, and he cursed loudly.

“What was that?” Mishkin asked.

“I said, god dammit!” Daryll shouted. He moved out from under the module. “I found the problem!”

Mishkin and Matsushita gaped at him as he lifted his right arm, his gloved hand clasping a dark, billowing object.

“Is that…” Matsushita began, staring.

“A trash bag,” Daryll replied, flatly. “A goddamned trash bag.”