Christmas, 2067 by Michelle Browne
When the water collection system broke, it was just cold enough inside that it snowed.
By that time, she’d been wearing the enviro suit so long it was a second skin. There was still plenty of oxygen in her suit, but as little pellets of ice and flecks of snow rained down and pattered against her, she knew the end was coming.
She glanced at her datapad. Right now, it was just flashing up the time. Christmas in a couple of hours. Smiling through cracked lips, she wondered what her family was doing. Lightyears away from her, safe and watching the news, they probably were staring up at the sky, wondering about her. Probably.
She scooted over to a window, holding onto the bars and looking around. The pod was stuck—just barely in orbit. There was probably enough air and water to last her until the ship got here, but the planetoid below her was pretty dead. It would have been so much easier if help was coming from there…
She shook her head. No sense thinking about it. Woulda, shoulda, coulda; this was why hazard pay existed. Her sister had done enough bitching, but there was no unsigning her mining contract. Part of the job, the chance of being marooned like this. She floated along, tried to find the patch kit for the tube.
A roll of red and white hazard tape—it would have to do. The datapad said it was about minus thirty centigrade, with predictions of a temperature drop. Taking a thin white towel and patting away the ice and snow from the area, she fumbled to press the tape over the pipe.
A sudden memory of the smell of real Terran pine trees occurred to her as she looked at the candy-stripe tape. The instagrow tree, a crappy little thing, had been replaced with a real one, just for that year. The family had gotten lucky, had won a real tree in the lottery. Chopping them down was fineable and illegal by then, and they couldn’t afford anything other than the instagrows. Only the rich could have real trees. But that one year, they’d gotten lucky. They’d decked it in LED lights, every antique ornament in the house, bits of contraband plastic and tinsel…it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
Shuddering in the cold, she noticed that her breath was fogging inside the suit. Concerned, she tapped the pad. It was getting colder outside, and the moisture collectors inside her suit were acting up again. Good timing.
She sat down on the nook next to a porthole. She couldn’t really see anything except the blackness, but the inevitable cold sparkling stars out there. Hopefully, her rescuers would be on the way. Her datapad hadn’t lit up, though, which meant there’d been no signal from the main terminal. Help had to come soon, she told herself. The automated distress signal would have gone out. It would still be going out.
The alert light next to the door was red. She smiled, thinking of carols and the lights that would be on the tree. Bioplast poinsettas were always her favorite; she’d play with them until her mother told her to stop, until they fell apart.
She ignored the bodies at the other end of the capsule, behind the wall. Just sleeping, she told herself, avoiding it. Funny, but Xiao had been trying to drag her out for a dinner a couple weeks ago on the station. That was before the scramble for the pods, though. Now he floated, frozen, only metres away.
She’d lost count of the hours. Tapping her fingers on the wall, sleeping, checking on vitals, she could at least count on plenty of emergency rations. Well—could. That tear in the other end of the pod had put a cramp in things.
She forced her mind away from it and thought about snow. A tiny icicle hung above her. She tried to remember real snow, but it had been a long time since she’d shelled out for a day trip to one of the indoor skiing tracks. The kids playing and making snowmen and forts below the slopes squealed distantly as she’d rocketed downwards. Bailing, she’d pulled her mask off, laughing, to kiss—was that Marco? Yes, probably. Had been a long time ago. And a long time since she’d had a rich boyfriend.
Adrenalin coursed through her. She glanced down at the datapad. The oxygen in her suit was—no, was that a three? Really? It wasn’t an eight after all, then. Less time than she’d thought. A lot less. Was the pad malfunctioning? The suit? She couldn’t feel a leak.
Panic surged through her. The euth tabs were in the health kits, as per standard requirements. She bit her lip and thought about snow, staring out the window of the pod. Any minute now, she told herself, she’d hear someone tapping on the wall. No more brackish moisture collection or carefully draining water from the pod’s coolant and fuel system. No more boredom. No more nutrient pellets. She was surprised by what she had gotten used to.
A nap, she told herself. Christmas would be over soon anyway; the day had gotten away from her. And if all went well, she’d wake up to red and green lights, a concerned face leaning over hers. If all the union regulations had been followed, and the signal had been beeping out all this time. It was hard to think. She glanced up at the ice patch and settled back, closing her eyes. As she fell asleep, she thought about snow.