He stared at his hand. The back of his knuckles glinted in the pale like of the stars, there was a dried substance there. What was it?Saliva? Mucus? Vomit? He could not remember anymore. He fantasized that it was ice crystallizing on his skin. It was certainly cold enough in here for that,but it probably wasn’t true. He was actually this side of comfortably warm in his powered suit, for now.

The light of the stars filtered in past the frosty windows.Nothing big enough to close enough to reflect any real light meant that he should have been able to see the whole of the Milky Way from here, but the condensation kept forming on the panes and starting to freeze.

He checked the transmitter; still going. He reached out and turned the knob up on the internal speaker. His own voice rose in the cabin.”…calling all ships. Mayday. We have lost engine power and are running on batteries. Systems failing. Please assist. Transponder beacon channeled forty hertz above this signal. Repeat:” There was a very tiny but audible click as the electronics flipped back the beginning of the message. “This is the survey ship Coldridgecalling all ships. Mayday…”

He turned down the speakers. “We” was a misnomer now; it has been for a few hours. He didn’t want to change the message though, as it would drain further power from the ship’s ailing batteries. Besides, “we” made it sound like there was a whole lot of compelling reasons to save the ship, and not just him sitting here alone.

He was pretty hungry but didn’t want to eat. Those chemical heaters built into the food packages would be mighty welcome when his suit’s power ran out. The cold was the big enemy right now.

He had a huge ship filled with perfectly good air, and nobody but he was breathing it now. It would last him for weeks.

He floated over to the communications panel and wedged himself into a seat, folding some straps over himself to tether him while he slept.

He seeped precious heat out into the cold of the ship and the ship seeped it out into the void.