AS SOON AS THE HATCH DOOR SHUTS, I REACH FOR THE handle, but it has to re-pressurize before it can open. Through the window of the hatch, I see Elder’s body thunk against the floor as gravity returns. I pound on the door with both fists, but he doesn’t so much as twitch. He lies there, motionless, his face obscured by the helmet.

An eternity later, the lock clicks and I fling the door open. I drop to my knees at Elder’s side and turn his body over so he’s flat on his back. His arms and legs are limp; the shell of his suit is clunky and in the way.

The helmet first. Elder’s head pours out of it and thunks on the metal floor.

“Elder,” I say. “ELDER.” I slap him, hoping for something, but—

I jab my wi-com and com Doc. “Get down to the cryo level!” I scream into my wrist as I attack the shell armor of the suit, ripping at the latches and stays around Elder’s torso, breaking it open to reveal his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Doc asks. His voice is breathless over the wi-com, as if he’s already running.

“It’s Elder!” I shout.

“I’m on the Shipper Level, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Hurry!”

I bend down to Elder’s chest—he’s not breathing. My hair falls across his face, into his slightly open mouth, but he doesn’t flinch.

I don’t know if this will work—I pray it will, but I don’t know—I tip Elder’s head back—his skin is so cold—pinch his nose, and breathe into his mouth. I did this on a dummy once after swim lessons in Florida when I was a kid, but the dummy was plastic and an unrealistic mix of hard and soft—nothing at all like the warm wet of Elder’s mouth. I do two short bursts of breaths—Puff! Puff! Then I lean back on my knees, fold my hands over each other, and press down on his chest.

Push, push. Push, push. Push, push. Push, push. Push, push. Push, push.

Push, push. Push, push. Push, push. Push, push. Push, push.

Push, push. Push, push. Push, push.

Push, push.

Puff! Puff!

Push, push.

Push, push. Push, push. Push, push.

Push, push. Push, push. Push, push. Push, push. Push, push.

Push, push. Push, push. Push, push. Push, push. Push, push. Push, push.

Nothing.

Pushpushpushpushpushpushpushpushpushpushpushpushpushpush.

God, why isn’t this working?! Am I doing it right? I can barely remember that one hour of CPR training so long ago—what if I’m hurting him?

I lower my head to breathe into his mouth again. I have to swallow back a sob. I won’t cry.

He’s not dead. I won’t let him be dead.

Puff!