True passengers / Chapter 6: I wake up

I wake up because it’s hard to breathe. Damn, it feels like it’s boiling hot around me. Did I mess up when I connected the thermocouples? I crawl out of my makeshift shelter, but it’s not much easier “outside.” My head hurts like crazy. And the air feels heavy and empty.

Oxygen. What an idiot I am. All cryocapsules have a completely closed system. Air is pumped into the compartment only to maintain normal pressure and temperature. No one was supposed to breathe it, so there are no regeneration systems. Imbecile. While I was preoccupied with what to eat, where to sleep, and where to shit, I completely forgot about the air. Degenerate!

With an effort of will, I try to regain my composure. Especially since my life probably depends on it now. Trying not to make any unnecessary movements, I return to the “hut” and take my spacesuit out of the locker. It’s extremely inconvenient to get into it alone: according to protocol, your partner helps you. Unfortunately, poor Barbara can only help me morally now, setting an example of calmness and coolness. Damn! It’s heavy and stiff. Why did they bring them at all if we’re flying to a fully explored world? Apparently, in case the ship suddenly falls into the water. Finally, I climb into the spacesuit. I close the fiberglass helmet visor. After signaling that it is sealed, the microcomputer turns on the built-in compressor. A stream of pleasant, slightly cool air hits my sweaty face, which I greedily suck in with my mouth. Excellent!

Now I need to get back to setting up my dwelling. Although doing this in a bulky spacesuit is no fun at all. You feel like a bloated, mentally retarded, oligophrenic baby, unable to move. The small screwdriver keeps falling out of my inflated glove. Damn it! I can’t bend over normally or even kneel comfortably. Only by falling on my side like a sack of shit and lying on the floor like that can I unscrew a dozen screws and open the bottom panel of my cryocapsule. Carefully, trying not to damage anything, I pull out a tangled web of wires, tubes, and hoses. It feels like I cutting the belly of some animal and rummaging through its guts.

The idea is simple. The cryocapsule constantly saturates the liquid in which the cosmonauts are immersed with oxygen and removes carbon dioxide while we are in stasis. If I disconnect the inputs and outputs of the oxygen regenerator, pull them out, and connect them bypassing all the control electronics, I’ll end up with a pretty good… Air freshener. Yes. You still can’t call this fart machine an analogue of a life support system. But I’ll go crazy before I can do all this with my swollen claws. Fucking spacesuit… Calm down! Calm down. Calm down… Okay. What to do?