He huddled at the cupola and waited.
Sirens blared and klaxon warnings bleated in time with the flash of red strobe lights and a monotone woman’s voice repeating: “Evacuate! Evacuate!”
He shook his head at the cluelessness of programmers. Who chose this particular word for the code-red recordings?
Evacuate to where?
The wall behind him warped and heaved, and it was as if the very apparatus was gasping for air. He slowed his own breath and tuned out the scream of bending metal and the meaning of the accelerated frequency of the voice commands.
He glued his eyes to the view. Finally.
His finger traced the line of green against blue and traveled inland to the approximate spec that was Bamboi.
Was anyone home looking up? They’d been so proud. The first of their own at the space-station, and … for at least another moment, the last astronaut alive.