With a sigh of relief he closed the hatch behind him. The valve had closed automatically, as he had entered a low pressure region.

Hastily he opened the suit to breathe. Desperation grew in his mindset.

Not fifty meters from the cryogenic chambers, he faced a nother obstacle.

Vacuum.

The tubes were not pressurised, and they couldn’t be sealed, so pressuring them was out of the question, even if the systems were operational.

For the tasks he had to perform in the last days and weeks he had to work with the ship’s schematics a lot, and had saved them to his glasses and his tablet, as well as commited them to memory. Grateful for that fact he opened them, because the memory core of the beta ring was surely anything but operational.

In case the population of the rings was killed the ship had, had the cryogenic chambers, with a crew of people to populate RV-p296. Those had to have had access to environmental suits, in case of catastrophic environment failure.

It took him a little while to get oriented in the almost completely dark room. Night google function on the glasses was helpful against the dark, but still it was tricky.

In a locker he found what he had been looking for.

Another hour passed until he was finalky all suited up.

Only then did he release the the hatch that opened to the transport tube. He was near a siphon, and in the distance he saw the faint glow of the stars in open space.

In the other direction a cloud of vapor, highlighted on his glasses as radioactive. Carefully he navigated his way to the siphon, pondered for a moment whether he should jump outwards, but decided against it. There was no telling whether he’d be found In time before the suit’s air ran out again.

Instead he managed to board the cryogenic tube, through an airlock.

He passed by a few of the chambers, not wanting to be in the forward sections where space debris could impact and kill him inside the chamber, not wanting to go too far back and end up eradiated, he stopped somewhere at the end of the first third.

There was an atmosphere, and it was at breathable temperatures, still he decided to remain in the suit, but turn of the internal supply of air.

“Please be out there, please be looking for me.” He sent a silent, whispered prayer to Horizon. Any Horizon.

After some time recalling his flight he felt the exhaustion weigh down on him. Worn out, by all that happened, and all that was happening still, sleep caught up to him.

Light, uncomfortable sleep in a chamber, that could easily turn out to be his coffin.

A loud noise went through the narrow chamber, tearing apart what ever dream Jake had been in. Was it the rescue?

Again the sound tore through the darkness. He tapped on his glasses, but got no response. The radiation must’ve worked its dark twisted magic on the electronics, making them little more than dead weight on his face. A light shone through the narrow window.

Rescue!

He wanted to yell, but his lungs felt heavy, even without gravity, all he could manage was a whimper.

Like in a feverish haze he saw the hatch open, arms and hands reached inside, pulled him out.

People. Normal people. They bore Horizon’s ID on their suits, but he couldn’t make out the names. Dragging and pushing him through the narrowness of the tunnel they kept talking, but he understood less than a few words.

Drunken, or feverish did not even come close to how he felt.

“We have him. His implant is cold, I suspect he is beyond our medical capabilities.” Sergeant Colm Becket pushed Jake from behind. At the end of the tunnel was a maintenance cab waiting. It had been dragged with a pod to the spine of beta, inserted, and guided towards the airlock at the end of the cryogenics tube, where it docked. With the cab they brought Jake to the pod, leaving the cab inside the beta wreckage.

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