Free Spark: A Sky Chasers Novel by Amy Kathleen Ryan Page B

whimpered.
    Stiff with terror, he pushed his vessel as fast as it would go toward the hull, holding out the clawlike grippers of his suit, praying under his breath, “Come on, you bastard, you son of a bitch. Let me live.”
    He felt his grippers contact the hot metal of the exhaust tunnels, and activated the magnetic arm, which clamped on to the hull.
    Seth didn’t know how long he clung to the outside of the Empyrean, gulping air, gritting his teeth, willing himself not to break into a million pieces and cry like a baby. His heart flung itself against his rib cage again and again.
    “You’re not dead,” he said savagely to himself. “Don’t be such a goddamned coward.”
    Sweat poured into his eyes. He checked the temperature gauge in his helmet; it flashed a red warning signal. The last thing he wanted was to release his grip from the hull, but he had to or he might burn up. He rotated the arm until his thrusters were pointing downward again, careful to get the angle just right. Then he engaged the thrusters until he felt the familiar g-force on the soles of his feet.
    “One, two, three,” he whispered, and the grip released.
    As slowly as he could, Seth guided the OneMan back to the starboard side and found the engine room hatch again. He lowered himself over the hatch controls, attached his tether to the hook by the door, and, with a badly shaking hand, hit the manual release lever on the small hatch.
    An explosion of debris caught him in the face. He lost his grip on the door and he was blown backward.
    I’m dead, he thought with detachment, but when he had the courage to open his eyes, he saw that his tether had held and that he was hanging over the engine room hatch.
    “There shouldn’t have been any air in there,” Seth said aloud. “Dad vented it the day he…” He couldn’t finish the thought. His voice was shaking, and he took four deep breaths to try to steady himself before this next, terrifying part. “You’re going to do this fast,” he said to himself.
    He called up the command to release his helmet from the outer shell of the OneMan, but his finger hovered over it.
    “I’m not going to die,” he said to himself, then repeated it, more firmly. “I won’t die.”
    He enabled the command, and the outer seals released with a hiss.
    The absolute cold of outer space hit him like a bucket of liquid nitrogen, and he forgot how to breathe. His mind felt flattened. I can’t do this, he told himself, but somehow he slithered out of the metal cavity, holding on to the ship with one aching hand. He left the shell hovering from its tether outside the engine room as he pulled himself through the doorway, and then he closed the hatch behind him.
    It was just as cold in here as it had been outside. Seth took four agonized, jerking steps toward the computer array and, with hands that shook so hard he could barely control them, found the command to repressurize the room.
    Air rushed around him, enveloping him in warmth. He collapsed into a chair, huddled in a ball, helpless against the mad spasms in his muscles, and waited for his mind to turn back on.
    But he couldn’t wait long. Already the air inside his suit was overmoist and stifling. He’d have to be quick.
    Teeth still clacking, he took his first glance around. Somehow it was surprising that the lights still worked and the signal buttons still blinked on and off. Everything appeared to be working, but even with the blowouts, there would still be a fine coating of radioactive particles clinging to every surface. To breathe them in would significantly shorten his life. Someday this room would have to be meticulously cleaned with specialized equipment. Until then, it was a no-man’s-land. Any maintenance to the engine would have to be done from the outside; Kieran better hope that pushing the engines so hard wouldn’t result in total engine failure. Seth shook his head in frustration. For a smart guy, Kieran frequently acted like a fool.
    This