“Specify aperture to open.”

I point to the panel. “This. This thing. Open it.”

“Specify aperture to open.”

“Uh… open aperture to supply room.”

“Unsealing supply room,” says the computer.

There’s a click and the panel raises a couple of inches. A rubber gasket around the seam gets torn apart in the process. I couldn’t see it when the panel was closed, things were that tight. I’m glad I didn’t try to pry it open. It would have been a pain in the butt.

I pull the remnants of the seal off the panel and the panel becomes loose in the opening. I jiggle it a bit before figuring out I have to rotate it. Once I rotate it 90 degrees it detaches and I set it aside. I poke my head into the room below and see a bunch of soft-sided white cubes. I guess that makes sense. Packing stuff in soft containers lets you cram more things into the room.

Just as the diagram in the control room said, the storage area is about a meter high. And completely full of those soft containers. I would have to remove a bunch just to get in there—if I wanted to get in there. I guess I’ll have to eventually. It looks a bit claustrophobic, to be honest. Like the crawlspace under a house.

I grab the nearest package and pull it up through the opening.

The package is held together by Velcro straps. I pull them apart and the container unfolds like a Chinese takeout box. Inside are a bunch of uniforms.

Jackpot! Though not really a coincidence. Whoever packed this probably did it with careful planning. And they knew the crew would want uniforms as soon as they woke up. So they’re in the first bag. There are at least a dozen uniforms in the package. They’re each in vacuum-sealed plastic bags. I open one at random.

It’s a light-blue, one-piece jumpsuit. Astronaut clothes. The fabric is thin but feels comfortable. On the left shoulder is the Hail Mary mission patch. Same design I saw in the control room. Beneath that is the Chinese flag. The right shoulder has a white patch with a blue chevron triangle surrounded by a wreath design and the letters “CNSA.” I recognize it immediately, nerd that I am. It’s the Chinese National Space Agency logo.

There’s a name tag over the left breast pocket. It reads 姚—the same character I saw in the Hail Mary mission crest. It’s pronounced Yáo.

How do I know—? Of course I know. Commander Yáo. He was our leader. I can see his face now. Young and striking, eyes full of determination. He understood the severity of the mission and the weight on his shoulders. He was ready for the task. He was stern but reasonable. And you knew—you just knew—he would give up his life in a second for the mission or his crew.

I pull out another uniform. Much smaller than the commander’s. The mission patch is the same, but there’s a Russian flag beneath it. And the right shoulder has a tilted red chevron surrounded by a ring. It’s the symbol of Roscosmos—the Russian space agency. The name patch reads ИЛЮХИНА, another name from the crest. This was Ilyukhina’s uniform.