He paced himself. His breathing was steady, but his hands shook as he opened the airlock storage and drew out the gear. The gloves slid on easily, and he felt a slight pressure as they sealed themselves to his jumpsuit. The helmet was slick and comfortable, and from it snaked a single hose down to the small oxygen tank strapped to his belt. He attached the safety cable to his harness. His suit connections were sound, and he took a deep breath. He swung the mechanical unlock switch on the outer door.

“Lester! What are you doing!” Hendrix shouted through the door. “Just sit tight dammit—We're going to let you in as soon as—”

The outer door opened. Lester climbed into nothing.

He crawled along Strelka's catwalk. Its struts branched from the outside of the station and wrapped far around out of sight. Beyond, the solar panels that powered Strelka stretched way out, looming in the dark like the long, moonlit fans of palm trees on foreign shores. Lester flicked on the crossed lights of his jumpsuit, but the catwalk got no brighter. He breathed to keep his heart from racing.

“Our mission is over, Lester.” The voice coming through his helmet was Hendrix's voice, but it felt wrong—too sure of itself to Hendrix's voice, maybe. “What's the point of reaching the edge of the solar system if Earth is gone forever?” Hendrix asked.

Lester was breathing too quickly. He couldn't see his hands in the dark. He twisted around delicately and, through the obstruction of his visor, managed to just make out the yellow and black markings of the airlock a good ten meters behind him. He couldn't see the maintenance airlock, though he knew it lurked somewhere in the black ahead. He closed his eyes. Delicately, he began edging forward.

There was a soft static in his ear, and then a female voice—Nina's voice—cut in on the main station channel.

“Strelka, we are moving forward. In just a few moments, main thrust will cut in and we will be on our way back to Earth. Hold on tight. And congratulations, everyone. We're going home.”

A dull rumble cut through the catwalk and shook Lester violently. His thick gloves slipped free of the station, and he lunged for purchase. He only succeeded in twisting in place. As the station began to drift out from under him, a gentle tug at his waist found him towed in its wake by his safety cable. He forced his raspy breaths to slow and he clenched his shaking fists. He would be okay; the cable hadn't snapped. They were going to bring him back in.

Familiar voices were echoing congratulations in his ear. Alex Mack thanked Hendrix for organizing the takeover. Someone was clapping.