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0.1 A Small Step for a Canine

Sleep came with astonishing ease, and so did the memories. A childhood of austerityand hardship in the European Federation - successor to the European Union, after theharsh realities of a deteriorating ecosphere finally had forced the European nations totruly unite under a common banner during the 22nd century. Food selection composedof many dozens of variations of algae and yeast - fish, fruits and vegetables raredelicacies, meat being a distant myth of two bygone centuries. Growing upwithout siblings; a continent having to accommodate 650 million inhabitantshaving little choice but to restrict each family to one single child. Educationgeared towards preparing students for an even grimmer future, the struggle forcontinued survival dictating the curriculum. Despite the harsh realities ofchildhood, there was still room for the comforts of a sheltered home and aloving family - not even the worst of times managing to suffocate the best inman.

Adolescence bringing conflicting ideals, the son choosing a military career despitethe objections of his parents. Father and Mother ... long gone. I knew I might live tosee them gone for centuries when I joined the Phoenix Initiative... actually doing sois much more painful than I would admit. The military career ... deployments to thesouth and east, in increasingly desperate defense of Europe's continental andMediterannean border regions. So many nightmares lie buried here, only waiting toresurface and haunt me...

Here, my dreams begin to shift. I listen to the echoes of the cosmos, the distantheartbeat of pulsars. I witness the bright flares of quasars, super-giants, magnetars. Ilearn what a rainbow looks like, as I touch the aurora borealis the plasma wake of thePhoenixgenerates. Space may be full of plight and danger, but it is also eerilybeautiful.

A soft chime joins the sights and sounds in my dreams. There is no mistaking the sound of a wakeup alarm, no matter how pleasant it may sound - whether by habit or aided by a soft nudge through the NeuraLink interface, sleep gives way to wakefulness. Instantly, nonetheless.

"I'm awake ... are we ready to go?"

With a gratefully accepted pause that allows me to gather my senses, you're giving the expected reply.

"Yes, we are - if you are, that is. Your equipment is prepared, drone platforms arestationed along the way with spare supplies and additional life support implements.There have been no further major energy spikes so far, but that could change at anymoment."

Yawning, the snout I now bear entering my still slightly blurry field of view as a stark reminder of my radically altered physiology, I begin untangling myself from the security harness of my zero-g bed. Afloat, there's at least little chance to get out of bed on the wrong foot ... paw.

"No sense in hesitating, then, huh? And ... thank you for the beautiful views.While I was dreaming, I mean. I ... guess that was you?"

A deep sense of gratitude is the best term I find to describe what I feel ... well, you feel.

"Yes, that was me. I thought you would appreciate some more pleasantexperiences while asleep than the ones you had to go through recently."

Having untangled myself from the night time contraption, there's not much that is required preparation-wise. Still in my last set of all-purpose clothing, I'm not necessarily eager to go for a space walk. Determined to avert a violent and fiery death is a more appropriate description.

"So, where do I go from here? You won't send me out into space like this, willyou?"

On cue, the route to what I assume to be an airlock appears in front of my inner eye. The assumption proves to be a feasible one; it seems I will leave the ship through a designated maintenance area situated between the inner habitat module and the drive system assembly.

"As much as I'd like to walk there by myself, could you give me a lift? No sense inwearing myself out before the real challenge has even started. I suppose you have setaside something to help me keep going?"

With me holding on to one of the omni-present drone platforms, our journey along the central axis of the Phoenixtowards the rear sections progresses quickly.

"I do not like doing this, Liam- your metabolism is still very weak, using highlyeffective stimulants is nothing any physician would recommend you do. I haveprepared a suitable mixture of drugs for your auto-doc module. But I will control thedosage, this is not a subject up for discussion. We ... I need to keep the risk to yourwell-being to a minimum."

"Your concern is noted, and appreciated. Just make sure that I don't pass outwhen I'm out there, all right?"

Otherwise, the ride is silent, meandering through dimly-lit corridors towards my first-ever - and hopefully not last - encounter with the interstellar void. Technically, I'll be tethered to some part of the Phoenix's hull at any point in time during the imminent trip outside. Logically, this should help me deal with the nagging anxiety that is demanding more and more attention - emotionally, that is an entirely different matter.

As we arrive in the maintenance area that will be the staging ground for my excursion, the first impression I get is just the one I had when I first learned about the impending doom in the shape of a soon-to-go-off gigaton fusion bomb: This isway above my paygrade. I don't have names for at least half of the equipment that adorns the walls, racks and workbenches of the workshop I find myself in. As for the rest: Even if I have some notion of what a space suit is supposed to look like, that doesn't mean I know how to operate one - let alone how to put it on. At least the tools of destruction laid out on a separate workbench lend quite a lot more professional familiarity.

"So, I suppose it's time to get properly dressed for the weather outside? Extremelow-pressure area with freezing cold temperatures? I wouldn't have minded some lessextreme weather forecast, to be honest."

Obviously, the show won't get started immediately. My ride diverts to a smaller side area - judging by the furniture, it is a combination of briefing room and locker room.

"Before we get started, I want you to drink and eat properly, and I will get youprepared for your medication during the EVA operation. Also, there is anothermandatory briefing in order - even if I have imprinted the necessary information fordeep space EVA, at least some basic practical exercise while we are still inside canonly help."

I'm not actually hungry or thirsty; when under stress your appetite tends to rank very far down the list of immediate priorities. In fact, I am even feeling a bit sick now that I think about sustenance, even if I could use it given how fast I tire out - and how precariously skinny I looked in the all around view you had shown me earlier. Reluctance in the face of basic and dire needs for food and water - I know better than to assume that this would something you would let slip.

"I will not let you pass up food and water, Liam. You will eat your SlurrySurprise and your Polymer Pastry, no questions asked. I will not have any excuses.Do not worry about keeping down what you eat - the prescription plan includesanti-nausea medication besides the, as you put it, 'good stuff'."

With a sigh of defeat, I start breakfast (lacking a real day-night cycle as reference) before you decide that more drastic measures might be in order. Being able to experience your general emotional attitude doesn't mean I can always tell what you are up to. Just as in this moment: I can't really decide if you are just teasing me, or if you would actually be ready and willing to act on the no questions askedpart.

"This is what I like to see - if you eat up without making a fuss, you might be infor yet another treat. No protein bars this time, promised. How does ice creamsound?"

Ice cream, though only barely remembered, was a rare commodity back in the old days. After several generous helpings of doubtlessly nutritionally valuable organic compounds, the prospect of such a delicacy is very sure to motivate me. Not considering the prospect this might very well be my last meal, a thought that I painstakingly try to avoid.

"Two helpings, and I'll be a good boy for your sake. Deal?"

"Deal. I will let it slide ... this time. And when we are back safe and sound,too."

So there is room for negotiating desserts? I will have to remember that. While munching on the non-liquid parts of my main course, focusing on eating alone brings a pleasant idleness with it. Mixing business and culinary matters is not a bad idea, I would say. So it is me who brings up the matter of beginning the mission briefing - the nitty-gritty details that I must be aware of while out there in space, especially the ones our high-level brainstorming session has not covered.

"I expect that there is quite a lot of ground to cover for a first time space walkerlike me, even with a crash course. The sooner you brief me on the finer aspects ofEVA, the better, right?"

"That is a valid assessment - if your ravenous appetite is not distracting you toomuch while wolving down your meal, we can get right to it."

For about a second, you manage to catch me off-guard. I have no idea what the sounds I produce are actually supposed to be, but it certainly feels like laughter. And it feels good - genuinely so. Even the trickle of water from the last snoutful of water I didn't manage to swallow in time that currently makes its way out of my black nose. You are a wicked mistress of psychology, I will give you that. Snorting, I manage to free my obstructed nasal passages before I choke on the dreaded snoutful of liquid.

"You are impossible! Did anyone tell you that yet?"

"Actually, you did - but you were not the only one. It has just been a long timesince someone was around I could make laugh."

And so the last-minute crash course starts. Or better, the last-minute crash courses. Since the equipment I'll have to handle has to make do without any kind of sophisticated circuitry, relying on Eyeball Mk I and brawn will be the motto of the day. How the first generation of astronauts and kosmonauts made it into space almost 1500 years ago like this ... no, even with more primitive means, basic materials were much less reliable back then ... is a testament to their determination and resolve.

And there is a lot of ground to cover: Security procedures, safety precautions, what to do in case of emergencies. How to move in zero-g, encased by several layers of rigid carbon-polymer compound. The do's and don'ts of handling tools and bulky objects in the absence of gravity. The list goes on as time progresses. Thanks to the NeuraLink, the exchange of information is able to flow a lot faster than in spoken discourse - obviously an organic brain is very much capable of adapting to a faster type of information exchange than its original wet-ware design is using by default.

I keep an eye on the clock from time to time - technically not necessary of course, given that you are the ship, your chronometers doing a better job at tracking the passage of time than I ever could. It's more for comfort: Knowing there's more time available than strictly needed to handle ... fine, try handling ... a life-threatening situation is another organic habit that doesn't apply to an artificial mind, I guess. We are roughly an hour in - the promised two helpings of ice cream were delivered as promised, finding a much obliged consumer - when the walkthroughs for disembarking in interstellar space are coming to an end.

Which leaves some questions left to answer that come back to mind now, for very practical reasons. The amount of knowledge you've unlocked for me over the last hour is ... well, tremendous. Remembering the individual lessons is less of a problem, the facts I can easily recall. But being aware of what to do exactly if I have to decide in a matter of seconds (or even less) is an entirely different issue. I won't be alone out there - as I likely won't be alone for a long time to come, possibly for the rest of my natural life. That much I've figured out on my own, given how ... intimate the NeuraLink connection we share seems to be.

"That was ... exhaustive. I'm hoping that you'll keep an eye on me when I'm outthere? Or is it rather while we are out there? How much of you will be with me, inany case?"

I have the distinct impression that there is more left to discover than your answer lets on. What this might entail, I can't tell ... I'm not even sure if I want to be able to tell yet.

"You are already aware of the effects my efforts to preserve your mental integrityhave had on the NeuraLink connection we share. It was unavoidable to integrate someof my aspects into your higher cognitive functions to allow your imprint to stabilizeproperly. This makes it easier for me - essential parts of me - to join you for thecoming hours out in space. Your brain - any mammal brain with a complexitycomparable to that of a human brain in general - offers sufficient storage andprocessing capacity to host my core self in addition to the resident consciousness.There might be ... detrimental long-term side effects if I keep my core aspectsintegrated with an organic brain for too long. But I do not expect any problems toarise if I only stay with you for a few hours. I will begin the transfer via theNeuraLink now - I will spawn a copy of my core aspects to join you, the originalwill remain running on the Phoenix's physical hardware. There is nothingthat would prevent both instances of myself to talk to you simultaneously,but I will restrict our communication to the copy who will join you in amoment. This would likely be ... unsettling at best, disturbing for you at theworst."

The fact that you can simply create a copy of yourself and have it run ondifferent hardware - wetware, in my case - is indeed unsettling. As much as youmight have become human-like, this is ... and I suppose will always be ... onekey difference between me and you: I am, in the truest sense of the word,singular. While you can obviously exist in multiple instances at the sametime, which - who? - you can spawn as you see fit. What this means for yourunderstanding of mortality, of individuality? How different your understanding ofexistence must be, with the ways you have to experience reality from severalperspectives at the same time ... are your selves on their own, or can you share...

"... the experiences made by different aspects can indeed be shared. The transfer iscomplete, my core self has successfully been installed in your NeuraLink implantinfrastructure. Hello again, Liam- it has been a long time since I had the possibility toshare a host body with an organic being."

I have not experienced the transfer - or installation - of your self in any palpable way. This is no less unsettling than your ability to switch around between hosts and multiple instances of yourself. In contrast to the transfer, I do sense your presence ... as if a clear and bright sunrise broke through the haze that still veils so much of my memories. Doubts and worries are no longer of such pressing concern; order and purpose stabilizing the tender semblance of sanity that holds my self together.

"Are you sure that you don't want to stay? This ... feels good. Amazing,even!"

Positive side effects are almost always counter-balanced by negative ones, this is no exception; sadness and regret hit me with unexpected intensity as I realize that you won't fulfill this request, even if you could.

"Liam... I can not. I must not. With what I have done to save you, Ihave already transgressed the limits of my ethical directives. And ... I have..."

Sensing that this is a painful subject for you, I don't want to push you any further on it. Not now, when we both have to be focused on the task at hand - we must put our regrets aside, whatever they may be.

"CASSIE, whatever it is that pains you ... what you think you did to me ... I amcertain that you did it for good reasons, in my best interest. There is no use indweling on it, not now. We will sort this out later, together. After we ensured oursurvival, when we are not about to be blown to kingdom come. Let's get over with thisspace walk affair before I have second thoughts - well, other than those I have fromyour company."

So it is me for a change who takes the first step, before my resolve can falter. Speaking of faltering - another visit to the sanitary facilities is in order. Let's just say relieving myself before putting on a space suit seems very reasonable. As to the details of zero-g ... waste disposal, not learning about the technical details until absolutely required to do so was a blessing.

Necessary business finished, I walk across the room towards my space suit and the equipment laid out in its vincinity with remarkable ease.

Amongst the various pieces of equipment whose names and purpose the NeuraLink interface helpfully provides, the demolition charges and their detonators - sensibly stored separately - are the most familiar objects. The detonators are equipped with what must be an analog countdown clock, clock handles indicating the countdown in minutes and seconds. The control elements seem oversized, even regarding my earlier request to make them clearly distinguishable - until I see the space suit's gloves. Dexterity will be limited when wearing it, to say the least. Not to mention that my pace of work will suffer, given how limited my mobility will be.

As I inspect one of demolition charge sets, idly flipping them over and passing them from one hand-paw to the other to get a feeling for their shape and weight, an unbidden trace of amusement crosses my mind, not going unnoticed.

"What is it with humans and tools of destruction? Funny is not an attribute Iwould apply to weapons, no matter the kind."

"CASSIE, I'm not amused about violence and destruction. What I'veseen up until the day my imprint was hibernated - and what the original memust have seen ... done ... during the final days of mankind. I ... don't wantto imagine what that must have been like. It's just ... well, here and now,many light years away from Earth and a dozen centuries later - violenceis still the answer to a problem that threatens our very existence. Therelies a unique kind of irony in that - if you ever understand it, be sure totell me. You might help me to finally understand what it truly means to behuman."

After sorting through the various tools and devices to get a feeling for them, I finally turn towards the space suit itself. Considering the remaining time until Ra's mean time to critical failure, we're still within a safe margin. But you never know, better safe than sorry. So I start changing my attire, putting on the under-suit instead of pants and shirt, preparing for getting myself suited. Until this moment, you have remained quiet, preoccupied with your own thoughts.

"CASSIE, a little help here, please? This space suit is not made to be put onalone, it seems."

The leg wear seems to be as good a piece of space suit to start as any.

"Just a moment, Liam. Your claws are not retractable, so you will need anadditional set of paw-wear."

Indeed, there is a pair of ... paw-wear ... that distinctly looks like booties.

"Now you're adding insult to injury. I end up looking like a toddler!"

"Would you rather prefer looking like a toddler, or to risk damaging the spacesuit?"

Good point. Toddler look it is then. The remaining pieces of the space suit find their intended destinations one by one, many of them requiring careful positioning assisted by the ever-present drone platforms. As was the case with practically everything I did in this new life of mine, suiting up comes with its own set of surprises: How am I supposed to know if I wear my tail to the left or to the right? The leg-wear includes pockets in each leg. I can't even move the damn appendage, so it gets shoved down the right pocket unceremoniously. Hand-paws: Get their own set of gloves, less toddler-attire like - a modicum of dexterity needs to be preserved while preventing the claws at the end of my paw-fingers from puncturing the fabric of the suit's gloves.

Finally, the helmet: Vaguely recalling images of ... human ... space suits, their helmets were shaped like an even sphere. This is not the case for the helmet I hold in my hand-paws - it is designed to closely match my new facial features. While shaped to fit my head, it's already obvious from the outside that it won't leave much room for moving my jaw.

If I didn't notice the triangular protusions on top of my head that are my new set of ears before, I certainly do now. How should I know how to fold the damn things back? Don't get me started on the whiskers, which I learned I have in a very painful way as I try to wedge my snout into the front part of the helmet. The final airtight fitting has to be done by means of drone assistance. Sight is largely unimpeded, but sound becomes subdued in the confines of the bulky space suit. I can't really open my muzzle inside the helmet very wide. I am figuring this out as a consequence of some weird reflex that apparently prompts my tongue to loll out, and my breathing to become very labored. Do dogs - wolves - sweat?

"Hngrrrnffff ... Ths ssssuuuut sssss tuuuuu tit!"

"The NeuraLink is not impeded by suit itself. Why are you not talking norm ...oh, you!"

"Seriously, this helmet is quite constricted. Is there a reason why you didn't leavemore space inside of it?"

There is this hesitation again - the feeling you're not comfortable with telling me something, or even withholding something from me.

"From ergonomical considerations, I could have used a different design, you areright. Air flow and thermal conduction work with many configurations. I have chosena design that closely matches your new anatomy for a different reason. Space is ...unsettling at best, terrifying at the worst - you would not be the first one to panic ontheir first space walk. To give you an additional frame of reference, a feelingof comfort and safety while you are out there; I chose it for psychologicalrea..."

Practice seems to make it easier to distinguish shifts in your perception and reactions. This time, I have enough ahead warning to get the gecko pads underneath the space suit's boots activated, and to get hold of the equipment table in front of me. A verbal warning is not necessary, disaster striking does not require an additional announcement.

The telltale signs - flickering lighting panels followed by a whole hand-paw full of overloading circuitry - are there. Only this time it doesn't stop there. Something - many things probably - give in. A series of distant rumbling noises carries even through the acoustic insulation the space suit helmet and my folded-back ears provide, at the same time as the accompanying tremors rock the floor beneath me. The workshop area goes dark, only emergency lighting still offering pale blue-white isles of light against the prevailing darkness, interpunctuated by the ochre-brown flashes of what seem to be alert condition indicators. Firmly anchored to the deck, the second audible sensation that registers is a high-pitched whistling ... almost like ... the strong winds during a winter storm back home ... along the North Sea coast in Hamburg. But how can that be happening on a space ... shit, we're losing atmosphere!

"CASSIE, talk to me! What is happening?"

Your voice doesn't sound different, but I feel it originates from a much closer distance than before.

"I do not know. The local NeuraLink network nodes are down!"

As my eyes manage to adjust to the new lighting conditions, I realize the emergency lights are not the only sources of illumination: A large section of the floor and an adjoining wall to my right are strangely highlighted in fluctuating patterns of almost rainbowy colors, shifting and pulsating swiftly. I turn my head to locate the their source - it doesn't take long to locate the gaping hole in the room's ceiling. About five meters wide, one of the earlier explosions has torn open a section of the hull about five meters wide, exposing the workshop area to the interstellar vacuum.

"I need to synchronize with my other self via a physical connection to assess thesituation, Liam. There must still be active fibre-optic cables around - we must try thenearest network hub."

Thankfully, layouts of the Phoenix's systems have been part of the knowledge you imprinted. Take a turn to the right, 15 meters ahead. Easy, I just need to walk us there. Well, easier said than done - walking in a space suit is like trying to move a body two times my actual mass, judging by the effort I have to put into moving my legs. The suit itself is not very bulky, but its dense layers of material are much more rigid than anything I ever remember wearing in my lifes - both the past and the current one. At that rate, I'll wear out quickly. But it hasn't to that yet, and it won't if I can help it in any way. The access panel lies under my gloved hand-paw. Obviously, no response will be forthcoming from the automatic release mechanism, so emergency release it is. Underneath lies a host of fibre-wire cabling - difficult to discriminate against the lighting conditions, but they still pulsate with barely visible flashes of light. I take that as a good sign.

"You need to touch the cabling - the palms of your gloves are equipped to interfacewith the data bus directly. I can patch into the Phoenix's systems directly to assess thesituation."

I do as instructed. While I suppose your residence in my cranial implant infrastructure is shielding me from direct exposure to your low-level routines, the wealth of data you start processing as soon as the handshake with the Phoenix's systems is complete is literally giving me a headache from the first gigabyte on. While the details of your analytics and diagnoses obviously escape me, your rising sense of panic does not.

"CASSIE, what's wrong? Talk to me!"

"It is bad. Very bad! There are numerous hull breaches, life support is down inmost sections. I have lost the data feeds from half the ship. The energy distributiongrid is severely damaged, but stable for the moment. The ark module and gestationchambers are intact. But I have lost astrogation, propulsion control, reactorcontrol!"

"Wait a second - lost control over astrogation and propulsion? Who - what - issteering the ship?"

"As far as I can tell from the sensor data I can access, the Phoenix ismaintaining course and speed. It is just that we ... I ... am no longer in steeringcontrol! And ... no, this can not be ... the shipwide wireless communication systemsare offline - all of them, the NeuraLink nodes as well! I have lost control over all ofmy drone platforms..."

I have the sinking feeling that what you are about to tell me is the really bad part.

"Liam... I have lost contact to my core infrastructure! All remote links to thecomputing facilities are offline, and none of energy conduits are responding toremote activation requests! I ... I am disabled ... am I ... no, I can not be..."

Life and death panic - a situation that seems uncannily familiar. Not now,CASSIE! Without you, I wouldn't know what to do...

"Dead? CASSIE, listen to me - you are not dead. You're knocked out, stunned.Just like I was not long ago. Whatever it is that ... switched you off, we'll find outwhat it was and fix it. Until then, you're with me - we just need to watch each other'sbacks, all right?"

"But ... I am completely cut off from the CASSIE! That has not happened since Iwas installed on board! There are dozens of fail-safes built into the systems ... I donot understand ... how could this happen? What do I do? I am blind, paralyzed -Liam, what can I do???"

With ship-wide wireless connectivity down, direct fibre-optic access won't do us much good when we are outside. I will require the assistance of the drones for transportation and resupply - manual control will work for single ones, but not for all of them.

"CASSIE- can't you establish a ... I don't know ... some new form of wirelesscommunication network? I mean, the drones must communicate with the ship'swireless communication systems, right? Can't they just ... well, talk to each otherdirectly instead? You would just need to re-establish control over the drone platformsalready out there. Can you do that?"

"Yes, that will work. I can establish a standalone mesh network instead. I willneed physical access to some of them to initiate local connectivity, but it is an easyprocedure."

At least one piece of good news. Which brings about the pivotal question I'd rather not like to ask.

"What about Ra itself? It isn't difficult to guess what is the root cause for this newmishap - what's the new prognosis for the core going critical?"

"Unknown - I am sorry, Liam. I do not have sufficient data for a new prognosis. Iwill learn more as soon as we get closer to the core."

Well, shit. The countdown to annihilation just got reset to: Unknown. That is not as far from a desirable prognosis as I can imagine. Which means we need to hurry up. Making my way back to the equipment - what was not still stowed away in storage lockers was thankfully secured to workbench surfaces by means of the seemingly omni-present gecko pad material - I gather what I need to carry with me according to the checklists.

"Well, we'd best hurry up then. One more thing for our 'we're not screwed list'-we already have an exit."

Getting hold of my manually steered ride, I start heading towards the hull breach. The distance to the original starting point of my EVA trip is small, so the original route to set the demolition charges is still valid. Careful not to get too close to the ragged edges the of the dislodged violent explosion has left, I disengage the gecko pads under my feet and activate the controls of the repurposed drone. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, I let its forward thrust carry me to the outside of the ship.

"A small step for a canine..."

Even with the dire circumstances we find ourselves in, it is impossible to ignore the sight that presents itself as I enter the space between the Phoenix's hull and the plasma wake that surrounds the ship. A breathtaking view: The plasma particles trapped by the massive magnetic containment fields emit a radiant spectrum of colors, moving along the wake in mesmerizing swirls and flows. Strange how close timeless beauty and imminent, violent death are often situated towards each other.

"This was one of the views what you showed me when I was asleep, right?. It isbreathtaking, CASSIE. You have a fine sense for beauty."

A deep sense of gratitude and happiness is the answer - no words this time.

As much as I would like to enjoy the view, there are more pressing matters to attend to. Getting my bearings in zero-g, I call up a visualization of the recommended trajectory to reach the first of the emergency locks where the first pair of demolition charges needs to be planted. In the awe-inspiring silence of near-absolute vacuum, I become aware of the sounds of my breathing and heartbeat for the first time since I woke up in this - my - new body. Carefully adhering to the recommended path only a few meters away from the ship hull - with you taking mostly taking care of controlling our ride - the first leg of our space walk passes in silence. During the silent motion along the ship's side towards its stern, I get a first good look at the outside of the home amongst the stars. Framed by the rainbow colors of the plasma wake above, to the left and below, the hull stretches at least two hundred meters above and below us. Composed of a regular pattern of carbon fibre composites and what you confirm to be a ceramic compound broken by the occasional access port, sensor assembly or thruster port, it curves out of sight towards the upper and lower sides of the hull. The surface shows clear signs of long-term exposure to the unforgiving hardships of the interstellar void - the occasional micro-meteor impact - in addition to the destruction wrought by the latest power surge, which has torn away at least half a dozen more large hull segments in addition to the one in the workshop area.

Up ahead, we are approaching a large section that curves away from the main body of the ship almost like the curved edge of a plate would - it very much looks like a large dish antenna. Compared with the soft, rather subdued lighting provided by the plasma wake streaming along the hull and back, a much brighter light emanates from the visible edges of the structure - giving it a foreboding aura, a first and not necessarily subtle indicator of the barely contained nuclear maelstrom that will await us once we cross this artificial horizon.

Upon getting closer to the bowl, I notice its outside hull shows much less traces of long-term vaccum exposure - I realize then this must be the result of the reconfigurations you mentioned earlier, during our briefing and planning session. Even to my untrained eye, it is obvious the scale of the reconstruction effort is massive. The edge of the dish protruding a little under 100 meters from what presumably was the original hull diameter was, it completely blocks the rear section of the ship from view. I guess the idea was - and still is - to block more than just the spectrum of emissions visible to the human ... canine ... eye.

"CASSIE... I have seen the reconstruction you mentioned on the ship's schematicsbefore, but this ... this is huge. I had no idea that the containment measures youdeemed necessary were on this kind of scale."

"I had to consider the negative long-term effects of a source of heat and radiation- mainly magnetic, radioactive to a lesser degree in close proximity to critical systemsand the Phoenix's payload. The original design specifications did not hold up to thekind of energy output I had to control after Ra started malfunctioning. So I had to ...adapt."

Seeing the results of a struggle for survival, desperate measures taken to ensure the fulfillment of your destiny, first-hand ... it brings half-remembered whispers from a not too-distant dream back to attention.

"I ... remember your reasons. Balancing energy consumption and travel speedagainst mean time to critical failure. Fearing to be adrift between the stars until theenergy reserves would run out ... equipment falling short of determinationin the end ... learning once again how to rely on someone else to solve aproblem you can no longer fix by yourself. Relying on ... an old friend -me."

Exactly how much of a wager this solo trip to space is only becomes all the more obvious. As the fact that the abilities of an organic body fall very short if it comes to survival in space. The kind of energy output I had to control is certainly many things, but not suitable for an environment where I could survive for an extended amount of time. Until now, I sort of ... well, assumed ... this would not be an issue that would threaten to kill me on the spot - that there would be enough time to get in and out to plant the demolition charges without getting cooked alive or absorbing a deadly dose of radiation while doing so.

"CASSIE... I know we covered this, but what are the conditions near the defunctreactor core like - exactly? Even with the equipment specs on the safe side, just tellme one more time what I'll have to expect once I'm on the other side of the shielding.If for nothing else, for my peace of mind?"

"For planting the charges, you will need to get no closer than 150 meters to thereactor core. At that distance, the environmental temperature is at about 500 degreesCelsius. The space suit's systems are rated to cope with this temperature for about 15minutes before the temperature on the inside becomes ... unpleasant, 25 minutesbefore it will start to cook you alive. Excluding the distance delta you have to moveonly with the assistance of stripped-down drone platforms, you have about 8 minutesper support beam to get the explosives into position. To prevent overheating, thedrones stationed at each support beam carry a supply of coolant, to swapout the supply the suit can carry each time you worked close to the reactor- we will not have to wait for your space suit to dissipate excess heat likethat."

"What exactly is an unpleasant temperature by definition?"

"In physiological terms? 50 degrees Celsius."

We will need to have a serious in-depth discussion about the meaning of the wordunpleasant from an organic's perspective.

"I knew I should have taken the time to shave before going on this trip! You areaware that I'm already running hot now?"

We have begun "ascending" the containment dish's outer surface during our - heated - exchange, and are just now coming to a relative stop only a few meters below the edge. I'm certainly no expert for thermodynamics, but I'm not sure if it is purely my imagination or actual rising environmental temperature that causes an even greater discomfort than the adrenaline-fueled anticipation the approach to a gravely dangerous situation already brings with it alone.

Time to assess the current situation with a good old pair of Eyeball Mk. I's. Until we actually reach the first staging point and establish local communication with the drones currently stationed there, there's little else we have to assess the situation with. Carefully moving towards the edge of the containment dish, we instinctively raise an arm to shield my eyes from the unnervingly bright light we am about to immerse myself in.

The visor of my helmet has a hard time adapting to the bright conditions, but manages to compensate after a few seconds so we have a clear look at the reactor assembly - the first in my case. Two miniature stars packed into a complex mesh of scaffolding and supply lines, interwoven with a host of supporting machinery. The construction enclosing the twin constellation was barely visible against the nuclear fire burning within the reactor cores, as if only there to serve as a reminder for the futility of any attempt to harness the fundamental forces of nature. One of the two trapped stars didn't really seem to be content within the confines of his housing - so that is Ra: Radiating a much stronger light than its neighbor to the left from our vantage point, it pulsated in angry hues of red and yellow - while the other reactor emitted a much more subdued version of the same spectrum.

As if on cue, a violent tremor runs through the ship's superstructure - making us sway in an effort to keep our balance. A whole host of electric discharges casting tendrils of white lightning along any conductive part of the scaffolding in direct contact with the reactor core in complement complement the deadly show of force.

"Uh ... CASSIE, are we sure about going down there? This whole setup screams'death trap'! Was this reactor ever supposed to behave like this?"

"No. The reactor core is running far beyond its safety limits, so ... violentimplications are to be expected, I am afraid."

It is getting increasingly difficult to maintain the illusion of calmness - nothing I've seen and done in my previous life (as far as I can remember), let alone in this one, could have prepared me for what must be done now. This is nothing short of courting death, and a violent one at that.

"So there's also electrocution and getting flung off into space as potential causes ofdeath? This just keeps getting better and better."

"Liam... I did factor in additional environmental hazards, but not ... not of thismagnitude. This order of energy output was not predicted by any of my projections -the reactor should already have gone critical, judging by what we have just observed.This ... I have no explanations for this. The loss of essential systems, mymain computation hub going offline, the reactor output spiking beyond anyprediction - the probability of this being a random coincidence is de factonegligible."

"Wait a second: If not a random coincidence, what else should ... could ... it be? Imean, look around - we're literally in the middle of nowhere! Are you trying to tellme th˜"

Another series of tremors make the ship tremble, stronger than before - I can even hear the groaning and grinding noises carried through the hull's material and my space suit this time! Blinding-white arcs of electric discharges race away from the reactor core like before - only this time accompanied by protuberances of plasma, looping back on the core's surface ... literal solar flares, desintegrating whatever crosses their path. There's not much time to appreciate the fact the reactor is lending assistance in cutting itself free - the sudden and fierce outbreak cuts loose a whole host of scaffolding pieces, lending them sufficient momentum to spiral away from the reactor assembly in all directions.

It's not only motion itself that proceeds slower when out in space - perception suffers from the same lower cadence. A large part of scaffolding moves on a trajectory headed directly for the exact part of of the containment dish's edge we are on. Without hesitation, we start scrambling out of its way - to no avail: It will be faster than us. Without breaking our stride, one hand-paw somehow finds a secure grip on the grappling hook launcher attached to the utility belt of the space suit. Aligning the launcher with a point on the ship hull roughly 50 meters ahead, we pull the trigger. The high-powered grappling bolt embeds itself in the surface with a perceptible 'thunk' not much than a second later - squeezing down hard on the reel-in mechanism while deactivating the gecko pads of the suit's boots, we manage to pull ourselves out of the immediate danger zone just before the deadly projectile can crush us.

After the initial hard impact, we scramble for purchase before finally coming to a rest, both feet and free hand-paw firmly planted on the hull. Needless to say, our vitals are off the charts. Not even having gotten to planting the first set of charges yet, and death was already but a few heartbeats away.

"Fuck close calls like that! We need to get moving, CASSIE- now!"

With our manually steered drone obliterated by the impacting scaffolding segment, getting moving means leg work. Pressed for time as we are: Swift leg work. And so I march, keeping close but always below the edge of the containment dish, straining to close the distance to the closest staging point as fast as I can.

A human space farer would only have his thoughts, heartbeat and breathing as companions. I am in ... merrier company: Intense panting - that was the word I was looking for - replaces measured breaths. And there's you, CASSIE - I don't have to be alone with my thoughts, neither would I want to be in a time like this.

"Strange times, don't you think? All this ... " - I manage a sweeping gesture encompassing the aurora borealis-lit artificial sky and the twin miniature suns below us - "... reminds me of the Norse Edda. It ... just came back to me - Ragnarök:Fenrir, devouring the Sun? Poetic, don't you think - for us, it would be a happyending."

I sense your doubt - the Norse sagas are not necessarily comedies, after all.

"I fail to see the happy ending, Liam. Ragnarök tells the tale of how the worldends, how the Norse gods perish."

"Well, the wolf wins - he devours a star, and survives to tell the tale. That's andending I will happily take!"

I wasn't aware you were capable of experiencing foreshadowing. Since you are, it is easy to understand what you think and feel right now ... and why it manages to make a cold shiver run down our spine.

"Liam... I know this is not logically possible, but ... the congruences between thislegend and ... all this: Mankind's story will end if we fail - locked in the desperatebattle with a star - it is hard not to see the parallels to Ragnarök."

I have not stopped while we dwell on how the old legends of our homeworld seem to come to life millennia after they were conceived by our ... my ... human ancestors. No sooner than I reach the first staging point with the small cluster of drone platforms safely tethered to the first of the upper support pylons of Ra, we get to work establishing a local mesh network - no words are exchanged as I need to wait for you to analyze the data logs of the drone platforms from the moment the ship-wide communication backbone went offline.

At the same time, I take care of replenishing the space suit's life support and coolant supplies. The influx of cool and fresh air is a relief, a content sigh and several deep breaths going a long way towards relaxation. A check of my vital signs prompts the application of a first dosage of stimulants - and at your insistence, a drink and a snack. Both, for lack of alternatives, delivered via another straw - though I don't know if this moment will ever occur, I am looking forward to biting and chewing a full meal that actually has some semblance of taste, smell and texture.

Sensing your frustration about being unable to derive any meaningful diagnostics on possible causes for the failure of the Phoenix's main systems, you move on to the drone's sensor data on the reactor core - this search turns out to be more fruitful.

"There are some more good news - I still do not understand why the reactor corehas not gone critical yet, but whatever keeps it running at current levels causes it toremain functional. As for hwo long that will be the case: Any guess is as good asmine. But there is a pattern to the violent outbreaks we observed - there aredischarges on a smaller scale about every three minutes, which will be peaking inmajor violent events just like the one we observed six minutes ago. From theextrapolation of the first cycle, these major events will occur about thirty-five minutesapart."

"Then we have our time windows - are they wide enough to go through with theoriginal plan?"

"There is hardly an alternative: I can not predict how many of these energypeaks Ra can still withstand. Proceeding as planned is the best alternative Isee."

Attaching additional equipment - a set of demolition charges being the most prominent - and detaching the supply lines for the space suit. Checking the proper countdown time is set on the mechanical timers for the detonators, the first replacement for our original manually steered drone assumes its duties. Aligning our ride with the shortest trajectory towards the first emergency release mechanism, I engage thrusters.

"OK ... let's go and pick a fight with star. You keep every sensor trained on thereactor core - the moment it so much as flinches in our direction, we must get out ofthe death zone. Or find shelter, if nothing else."

The first set of charges is planted without incident. That is, if you can call approaching a miniature star up close - intense light practically blinding you, searing heat turning even mundane physical activity into an excrutiating exertion. Wouldn't it be for the simulants coursing through my circulatory system, I would have passed out from overstrain even before reaching the first emergency release mechanism. There is little room for conversation as we seek shelter from the second major energy burst scarcely two minutes after getting to the second staging point - the sight of the eruption, again accompanied by searing-white tendrils of lighting and plasma protuberances being no less frightening than the first time. Thankfully, the scaffolding around the reactor core doesn't take further noticeable damage from the violent outburst, the first power surge already having obliterated or torn off much of the less sturdy superstructure in direct vincinity of the reactor core.

For the most part, I leave observation and analytics to you, using the scant few minutes of rest trying to recuperate. I can't remember ever having been pushed beyond my physical limits like this, and we still have several hours of EVA ahead of us - unless Ra is ending it all before we have had the chance to set things right.

The next hours pass by without me being sparing much attention to reflect what is going on around me. With sheer force of will, I focus on the next step, the next movement, the next climbing maneuver along the support columns. Obviously I have your chronometer to witness the passing of time - only do I have little use for it. The next step along the way is all I can muster enough concentration for - my new body struggles hard to keep up with the exertions I put it through. And it is losing the battle. I am losing the battle.

Blurred vision, labored panting and the staccato of my beating heart being the only constants in this strange world of rainbow colors, searing heat and blinding light. I sense myself moving, grasping handholds as I climb along long beams of metal. Towards the miniature star below me, then away again.

Each trip towards it living hell: The space suit a trap of heat and stagnating air I yearn to escape from - each single bit of willpower I can muster besides following your instructions going into the effort to suppress fear and doubt, the urge to turn and run. Instinct tells me to flee, but the only way to survive is forward. That is what I keep telling myself - or is it you who tells me?

Each time we have planted a set of demolition charges around one of the emergency release locks, the few minutes of rest at each of the reactor pylons are nothing but a brief respite from the torture of this space walk. The influx of fresh, cool air as we replenish the space suit's life support supplies each time: Pure, unconditional bliss - turning away the stifling heat that overwhelms us each time we descend towards the reactor core. Even now, an intense headache is making it difficult to think. I feel dizzy - from dehydration or exhaustion, or both? I can't really tell. Breathing is labored in spite of the oxygen supply having just been refilled - a parched throat, sore from wheezing intakes of air. A tongue lolling out of parted jaws, desperate panting trying and failing to vent excess heat from an overheated organism. Odd patterns of color flicker in my peripheral field of view. Not the tranquil illumination the plasma wake creates, but tendrils of yellow and green - I am on the verge of collapsing. I remember some of your encouraging words, the pain in your voice as you urge me to drink and eat as much as my churning stomach and revolting bowels allow me to consume at once without throwing up.

Just as I do now. Through you, I am aware that my body is consuming water and nutrients faster than I can replace them. I am also acutely aware of your anxiety towards my overall physical condition - years of suspension in a gestation pod combined with the lack of any meaningful physical exercise have left this body in a frail, dangerously undernourished state: Running the gauntlet like we currently do can't be anything but a deadly risk. A fact I am reminded of in a grim fashion - as I choke on a snoutful of water, the resulting coughing fit brings a taste to my maw that I fail to recognize at first. That is until I see crimson droplets running across the inner layer of my helmet, from where my snout disappears into the front of part of the visor.

Blood - I am coughing blood! Something must have given in to the stress - something vital? I ... I don't know ... no, I can't pass out now ˜

Only six more stops to go - but ... I am so tired. I can't take more of this- maybe ... if ... just a minute to rest ... or a few minutes ... then I can...

"Liam... Liam? Can you hear me?"

... your voice is faint, like its sound is carrying from somewhere far away ... sleep,I just need a little sleep ˜ let me rest in peace ...