Free Bastion Science Fiction Magazine - Issue 7, October 2014 by Manfred Gabriel Alvaro Zinos-Amaro Jeff Stehman Matthew Lyons Salena Casha William R.D. Wood Meryl Stenhouse Eric Del Carlo R. Leigh Hennig Page B

found at www.highschoolwithmoney.wordpress.com . He writes and resides in Western Wisconsin, where he lives with his wife, three daughters and a sweet black dog who doesn't understand what it means to sleep in on Saturday.
     

In the Space Between
    Jeff Stehman

    Stephen spun in darkness, ever backward, boots following helmet. It took him 14 seconds to complete one rotation. He'd checked. Twice. He always performed calculations twice.
    The view, limited only by the confines of his helmet, impressed even him. In the vastness between stars, without his ship to offer contaminating light, it was spectacular. He was one of the lucky few to have seen it.
    At least, that's what Mark had said before throwing him out the airlock.
    Stephen took some solace that, had their positions been reversed, Mark would already be dead. His panic-induced heart rate and respiration would have consumed his oxygen quickly. Many would consider that merciful; no reason to face prolonged existence in the crushing loneliness of the great between, without even matter for company. But not Stephen. He had the stars, and he had his mind. If he needed anything else to pass the time, he wouldn't have hired onto a survey ship. The question was, what problem to turn his attention to?
    In truth, Stephen doubted Mark's claim about a lucky few. Considering the rigors of interstellar travel and the number of ships traveling the deep, many others had certainly exited airlocks never to return. The question was, how many of their killers were sadistic enough to suit them up and saturate their blood before jettisoning them? An easy question to postulate, but a difficult one to formulate. How does one quantify the vagaries of the human mind without extensive statistical data? Doubtless the Bureau had such data, but the rank and file were not made aware of it. Even anecdotes of mental breakdown were hushed.
    He needed a better question, one not having to do with how his current situation had arisen, but the more relevant issue of what would happen next. Exempli gratia, what was the probability of an interstellar ship dropping out of e-space within, say, a kilometer of his present location? Infinitesimally small, to be sure, but the calculation could at least be structured. And that might be enough.
     
    #
     
    The fourth time Stephen had to reformulate epsilon based on the probability of mechanical failure on frigate-class ships while in e-space, he realized his calculations were slowing. He hit the light on his oxygen gauge. It showed red. Pity. He had hoped to set up the equation before—
    Utter darkness descended from above, blocking out a swath of stars. Several seconds later it slid below his feet, stars reappearing as he continued his rotation.
    "Huh."
    Fourteen seconds after it first appeared, it was back, perhaps larger. His mind was still struggling with what he was seeing, grasping at a slippery thought, when it reappeared a third time. This time the ship's lights were on, illuminating the hull. Stephen watched the ship slide beneath his feet. He checked his oxygen level again, then activated his helmet light and wiggled his fingers in front of his visor.
    It seemed the near-death hallucinations were kicking in early. No reason not to go along with it.
    Stephen's course carried him toward the ship, a Bureau scout. When he was close enough for it to eclipse the sky, the airlock door just aft of the rotating cabin opened. The light within blinded him.
    A single chuckle escaped him. "Into the light."
    He held up a hand to block it, unwilling to drop his shield as he spun toward the ship. He kept his eyes on the handholds drawing near. They would be within reach.
    Clarity was fading, but there were no calculations, just survival. His gloved hand closed around metal.
    Stephen pulled himself along the rungs toward the open airlock. He was breathing deep, grabbing for oxygen. His visor seemed to be growing smaller as his vision narrowed. He reached the doorway, spotted