IN SPACE

0 NC, Day 0, Hour 12

Miriam tried to scratch her calf through the suit, carefully. Elena‘s voice said, “You ready?”

“Yes.” Miriam moved up the ladder and undogged the overhead inner lock door, its latches still carrying layers of slimy preservatives.

“Wait till I’m clear,” Arnell‘s voice warned her. The clank of a bulkhead door rang in Miriam‘s helmet. “Now, go. I’m on you.”

The latches resisted until Elena found a notched prybar and edged them out of lock position. Miriam forced some penetrating lube in them, waited thirty seconds; they came open with a shudder, flakes of decrepit metal scattering past her. She pushed a button; the door thudded, hissed, and then slid open for the first time in over ten thousand years.

“Good pressure. We’re going into the lock.” They floated along the ship axis; Elena flipped, closed the door, and latched it from the outside.

“Reclaiming air,” Miriam said, reaching to a pair of valves. Another hiss, then a click, and a hum; pumps started drawing away the remaining air in the lock.

“Check those suits again, and tether up.” came Arnell‘s voice.

“Mine’s clear.” Miriam snapped the steel tether’s shock absorber and swivel collar into a cleat in her suit belt. About two kilometers of cable on a reel gave them mooring, electric power, and communication.

“Mine too. We’re tied on. Suits are fine so far.” Elena tethered to Miriam‘s suit; any renewed axial turning of their huge ship would tangle any separate lines.

Miriam took a breath and held it. “Here goes. Unlatching outer doors.” They repeated their lock-door procedure; blackness greeted them, and there, turning before them in space just off the tanned disk of the moon Layo Lamba, was the small pockmarked craft.