He’d given up. He’d had to. The hatch wouldn’t open, no matter what he did, and he’d had to accept it. Now he sat back on the hull, staring at the stars, and pondered what to do next.

He was leaning towards panicking uncontrollably, but did think that should be kept in reserve. Like for when his oxygen tank showed zero, or his ass got frostbite, whichever came first. It even crossed his mind that perhaps he should push off from the plating and see if his momentum could carry him to the shuttle keeping pace with the Firefly.

“And how would Zoe cope with that?” he wondered aloud. “Seeing me heading for her, then splatting across the window like some bug? All wings and intestines.” He shuddered. “Probably not a good idea.”

Wishing he could ease the irritation caused by the sweat pooling around his waist, he glanced down at the air reading on his wrist again. Less than thirty minutes. So maybe it was time to consider panicking after all.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he said softly, watching the shuttle. “Miss Ben growing up. All the other kids we might have had. Then being able to show our grandchildren how to fly, and teach them all the bad habits you won’t let me teach Ben.” He sighed. “I miss you, Zoe.”

Then someone touched him on the shoulder.

“Gah!” he screamed, leaping to his feet so fast that he lost contact with the hull, and it was only that someone’s fast reflexes stopped him floating away.

The figure waggled a finger in front of him, chastising him, then pulled him closer so he could see through the faceplate.

“Frey?” he yelped.

She smiled at him, the internal lighting illuminating the planes of her face and making her features sharper. She mouthed something, but he couldn’t make out what it was.

“What? Can‘t hear you.” He tried to shrug inside the suit, but it barely moved.

She rolled her eyes at him, and he had to smile. Even out here, facing certain death, and she still got annoyed with him. He’d got them all trained well.

She leaned forward so that