The outer airlock hatch cycled open, and the universe swelled into a deep pit of terrifying, crystal-clear clarity.
Four hundred miles below, the Pacific Ocean was a curved shield of deep cobalt, marbled with swirls of hurricane clouds that looked fully motionless from sky-high height. The sun, raw by ozone or cold air, was a blinding magnesium fire suspended against velvet blackness. Where its light struck the white hull plates of Station Aegis-One, the metal reached one hundred and twenty degrees. Six inches away, in the razor-sharp shadow of the main solar boom, the heat plummeted to one hundred and sixty degrees below zero.
Arthur stepped onto the outside narrow high walkway, the magnetic solenoids in his boots locking onto the punched holes in silver-steel alloy with a sharp, shaking-sent clack. He reached up with his left gauntlet to dial his visor’s photo-reactive tinting to eighty-five percent, cutting the searing solar glare down to manageable soft glow. The inside of his helmet was fully quiet except for the rhythmic whoosh of the oxygen scrubbers and the steady, thumping rhythm of his own heart.
Beside him, Grimm emerged from the pressure drop entry hall. The hound’s claws clicked rhythmically as his heavy local gravity pads gripped the bare hull. In the total empty pocket of space, Grimm’s dense carbon fur lay flat, locked beneath a high-pressure bio-barrier generated by his own dormant Fenrir marrow. His amber eyes, protected by see-through nictitating membranes that filtered out the blistering bright purple glare, swept…
