So what? It’s only an extra year and a half. What’s the big deal?

I don’t have that much food.

This was a suicide mission. They gave us food to last several months, and that’s about it. I’ve been working my way through the food stores at a reasonable rate, but then I’ll have to rely on coma slurry. It won’t taste good but it’s nutritionally balanced, at least.

But again, this was a suicide mission. They didn’t give us enough coma slurry to get home either. The only reason I have any at all is because Commander Yáo and Specialist Ilyukhina died en route.

All told, I have three months of real food left and about forty months’ worth of coma slurry. That works out to be just barely enough food to survive the trip home with full fuel and a bit to spare. But nowhere near enough to last the five and a half years of a slower trip.

Rocky’s food is useless to me. I’ve tested it over and over. It’s chock-full of heavy metals ranging from “toxic” to “highly toxic.” There are useful proteins and sugars in there that my biology would love to make use of, but there’s just no way to sort out the poison from the food.

And there’s nothing here for me to grow. All my food is freeze-dried or dehydrated. No viable seeds or plants or anything. I can eat what I have and that’s it.

Rocky clicks along his tunnel to the control-room bulb. He goes in and out of the Blip-A so often now I often don’t know what ship he’s on.

“You make angry sound. Why, question?”

“I’m missing a third of my fuel bays. The trip home will take more time than I have food.”

“How long since last sleep, question?”

“Huh? I’m talking about fuel here! Stay focused!”

“Grumpy. Angry. Stupid. How long since last sleep, question?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve been working on the breeder tanks and fuel bays… I forget when I last slept.”

“You sleep. I watch.”

I gesture violently to the console. “I have a serious problem here! I don’t have enough fuel storage to survive the trip home! It’s 600,000 kilograms of fuel. It would take 135 cubic meters of storage! I don’t have that much space!”

“I make storage tank.”

“You don’t have enough xenonite for that!”

“Don’t need xenonite. Any strong material will do. Have much metal aboard my ship. Melt, shape, make tank for you.”

I blink a couple of times. “You can do that?”

“Obvious I can do that! You are stupid right now. You sleep. I watch and also design replacement tank. Agree, question?” He starts down the tube toward the dormitory.

“Huh…”

“Agree, question?!” he says, louder.

“Yeah…” I mumble. “Yeah, okay…”

I’ve done a lot of EVAs now. But none were as tiring as this one has turned out to be.

I’ve been out here for six hours. The Orlan is a tough old suit and it can handle it. The same can’t be said about me.