The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(45)

“When you’re ready to get out, don’t forget to hit the button inside the tank. If you don’t, I won’t know to come and get you.”

The button in question was a small red dot, impossible to miss, even in the dark.

“I’m ready. Close the lid.”

The lid was on a pneumatic hinge, it closed slowly, with a hiss.

The blackness was complete. Nothing but blackness. She waited for a few moments, expecting her eyes to adjust, but she still couldn’t see a thing except for that ridiculous red dot.

Relax, she told herself. You’re doing an experiment, nothing more. You’re used to experiments. Not a problem.

She did some square breathing, then tried to empty her mind. Let go, she told herself. Let go.



Nevaeh was back on the space station. Her mission specialist, Gary Verlander, came out of the mess with a grin. “Hey, Nevaeh, today’s the big day. Are you ready for our walk?”

“I am. Let’s go!”

They high-fived and set off for the mission, propelling themselves down the hatches to the space lock. Being able to move in three dimensions was incredible, and her adrenaline and excitement made it feel even more like flying.

She executed a perfect somersault and put herself into the right position to move feetfirst into the control room. Verlander followed.

It felt like it took them almost as long to get into their suits as they would spend outside, going through the innumerable checks and balances to make sure they wouldn’t die when they stepped out into space away from the safety of the station. Walks were an event. She’d never been on one before, and she was excited. She’d heard it was incredible out in nothingness, only infinite space. This, this was what she’d spent her whole life working toward. The views from inside the space station were amazing, sixteen sunsets and sunrises per day, orbiting the earth every ninety minutes, incredible, yes. But knowing you were actually in space, standing on the edge of infinity; it had to be mind-boggling. She was so ready.

They strapped her tools to her body and guided her to the airlock. They waited patiently while the airlock depressurized. Finally, the outer doors opened and she was free, Verlander floating alongside her.

The blackness, infinite blackness. It beckoned her. If she’d been an emotional woman, she might have cried a bit with the joy of it, but she knew tears could cause major issues inside her suit, messing with her Snoopy cap and affecting her vision, so she refrained.

She stepped out carefully, watching her hand placement. There was a constant patter of communications from mission command in Houston, everyone checking, double-checking, triple-checking that things were nominal.

They were. She kept her breathing regulated, her heartbeat steady. This was what she’d trained for.

It took a while to get into position, but once they were there, they began the task—they were to run wires between modules. It was painstaking work, slowed by their clumsy suits. They’d rehearsed it, knew every step of the next seven hours, but still, it required constant focus. She didn’t want to screw up.

Several hours later, they were finished, and started back. Nevaeh took one last look out into space, then turned for the ladder. She moved too quickly, and her hand slipped. Without warning, she was spinning, her body twisting, sailing away from the space station. She felt the small tethers holding her close to the station suddenly snap. Her heart rate spiked, but she kept calm, focused. She knew what to do. She had the long tether attached to her suit, they could use it to reel her in. She tried grabbing at the line but missed. She was shocked when there was a sudden tug. Verlander’s tether had crossed hers.

The unexpected pressure caused her main tether to snap.

There were roars in her ears, instruction from every quarter, but Nevaeh froze. This was unthinkable. Impossible. She started to panic, tumbling now, free-falling, and there was nothing to stop her. She was free of the space station, of her tether, she was dead. Verlander was watching her with horror etched on his face. The voices kept calling her, but they were a jumble, she no longer understood them.

As quickly as she’d frozen, she pulled it together. There was a third failsafe. She activated the SAFER—her mini jet pack that could propel her back to the ship—but nothing happened. She smacked the button again and again. Nothing.

All the precautions had failed.

She could hear the calls now, mission control giving instructions—she heard Franklin Norgate’s voice, tried to listen, but something was wrong with her ears, nothing made sense.

She shut her eyes, accepted she was going to die out here. All she felt was numb and embarrassed she’d screwed up so badly. And that’s how it would go down in space history. The astronaut had screwed up.

Then, suddenly, there was a sort of ringing in her ears, then another voice, no, more than one voice, it was as if all the voices in the world had come together and coalesced into one.

You are not going to die today. But you must tell them we’re here.

She had no idea who was speaking these bizarre words, but she reached out blindly, astounded when her thick glove met with something hard. The spinning stopped. She opened her eyes but all she saw was the same blackness of space. Still, her field of vision was limited, she couldn’t see anything except what was right in front of her. But she was nothing. There was nothing. Only space.

She saw Verlander, hand outstretched. She was maybe fifty feet away from him. It was impossible. But then, she felt a gentle push at her back, and she was moving slowly, so slowly, back toward Verlander and the hand rung that meant life.