Elena Alvarez, Commander of the Janus Station, floated in the central hub and watched the incoming telemetry with a tightening gut. Solar flare detected, blinked the alert on the console's holo-display, an angry red icon pulsating in the dimmed operations bay. The station's AI, CAL, had repeated the warning twice already in its sterile voice. Elena felt the vibration of the station's shielding shutters sliding into place over external viewports. A low thrum reverberated through the hull – the sound of Janus Station bracing itself against the oncoming storm.
She tethered herself to the console with a practiced motion of her wrist's mag-clamp, then tapped her neural comm to broadcast shipwide. "All hands, solar storm alert," she announced calmly. Her voice echoed through the corridors via the internal comms and directly into crew members' cochlear implants. "Secure all systems and prepare for radiation protocol. EVA team, report status."
A brief hiss of static preceded the reply on the internal channel. "EVA team here. We're… almost done, Commander," crackled the voice of Michael Chan. He sounded breathless. On Elena's screen, Michael's vitals spiked slightly – elevated heart rate, blood pressure creeping up. His suit's telemetry feed showed he was still outside, working against the clock.
Elena clenched her jaw. The crew had debated whether to send Michael out at all today. The solar flare warning had come with uncertain timing – perhaps hours, perhaps minutes. But the station's primary comm antenna had been glitching for a week. Corporate HQ grew impatient for data flow, and a maintenance EVA couldn't be postponed much longer without risking a comms blackout. Michael had volunteered, confident he'd be in and out before the radiation storm hit. Now the timing looked disastrously tight.
She scanned the other readings. Dr. Whitaker, the station's medic, responded next, her voice level but hurried. "Medbay is prepped for possible radiation exposure. I've got IV fluids and rad-chelation packs ready." In the background, Elena heard the whir of the medical drone and the clatter of equipment being secured.
Next came the voice of Devon Okoro, the AI systems technician. "Diagnostics stable," he reported from the engineering deck. "Non-essential systems are in standby. I'm reinforcing firewall partitions in case of EMP surges. CAL's running on shielded backup." Devon's tone tried for nonchalance, but Elena caught an edge to it. Everyone knew a direct hit could fry electronics – neural implants included.
Finally, Sera Patel, the communications officer, chimed in from the command module beside Elena. "External comms going offline now as a precaution," Sera said, hands dancing over her console's interface. The station would intentionally cut its antenna feed and retract arrays to avoid damage, ironically causing the very blackout they'd tried to prevent with the EVA. But at this point, safety was paramount. "Michael, you should head back in ASAP," Sera added, concern bleeding into her usually chipper voice.
Elena exhaled slowly and reopened the channel to Michael. "Chan, status report. How much longer?"
There was a pause. Only Michael's breathing and the distant crackle of radio through solar interference came through. At last, he responded: "I… I'm securing the last panel now. Another minute, tops. Then I'll haul my ass in." He gave a short, nervous laugh that didn't comfort Elena at all.
She watched the clock. The station's sensors showed the solar flare's wave would slam their sector in maybe four minutes. Maybe less. Timing predictions for these things were notoriously uncertain. "Understood. Keep comm open. We're ready to bring you in hot," Elena said, trying to maintain a calm, supportive tone.
Michael's external helmet camera feed, slightly fuzzy, showed a fish-eye view of him clamped to the spindly comms array jutting from Janus Station's spine. The planet stretched as a curved swath of blue beneath him, half in night. His figure, in a white-and-orange EVA suit, was dwarfed by the dark expanse. Elena could see his gloved hands working on the panel, magnetic wrench in one hand, tether clipped to a rung.
Inside the station, lights dimmed further as the grid shifted to storm mode. An amber glow bathed the corridors. Elena felt the hair on her arms rise with static; the station's electromagnetic field generators were ramping up, trying to deflect charged particles. She swallowed, her mouth dry.
A sudden burst of static made Elena wince, and Michael's voice cut through louder than before: "That's it! Panel's fixed. Heading back!"
On the monitor, Michael holstered his wrench and began inching back along the array toward the airlock module. Elena could see him clearly via external cam – a lone figure crawling across the station's hull, framed by the burning pinprick of the sun peeking around Earth's limb.
Then the sun's light intensified. A flare of white saturated the camera for an instant as the solar storm's first shock arrived. The station lurched – not physically, but Elena felt an invisible fist squeeze her gut as the radiation alarms blared. Red lights flashed. The telemetry display erupted in alerts: Radiation levels rising, External sensors overloaded.
"Michael, hurry!" Elena shouted into the comm. She couldn't keep the strain out of her voice now. "The flare is hitting us now – you have maybe sixty seconds!"
No reply. The comm fizzled with static. Onscreen, Michael's cam feed stuttered, freezing on a frame of him reaching for a handhold.
Inside her skull, Elena's neural implant buzzed with an error icon – the external comm link flickering. She tapped her temple, trying to re-establish contact. "Michael, respond!"
At that moment, Devon's voice cut in, distorted: "Massive EM spike. CAL's switching to local inertial nav – external comm and positioning could be down. We might los—" His voice warbled and dissolved into static. Elena cursed under her breath.
"Commander, we've lost telemetry on Michael," Sera reported urgently from the console next to her. She was hunched over her screen, one hand pressed to the side of her head, likely feeling similar implant interference. "I'm trying to reacquire his suit signal… nothing."
Elena's heart pounded. She fixed her eyes on the viewport shutter in front of her as if sheer will could pierce through to see Michael. The seconds dragged. The station groaned softly as the magnetic buffers took the brunt of charged particles. Elena pictured Michael out there, buffeted by radiation, suit systems going haywire.
"Medbay to Commander," came Dr. Whitaker's voice. "Radiation levels spiking. If Michael's still out there—" She didn't finish the thought. She didn't have to.
Elena's throat tightened. Procedure said an EVA crew caught in a solar particle event should get inside immediately or find storm shelter in shielded pods outside. But there were none on the comm array. Either Michael would reach the airlock in time, or…
"I'm cycling airlock A now," Elena announced. She unstrapped and pushed off towards the airlock control station on the command deck. Even under emergency power, she could manually override to start bringing Michael in as soon as he was near. "Sera, help Devon monitor for his signal. Doctor, stand by with the med kit for when he's through."
Her words felt hollow in her ears. She entered a series of commands; below her in the lower deck, machinery rumbled as airlock A's outer door prepared to open – normally it wouldn't until someone keyed it outside, but she wanted it ready.
"Come on, Michael," she whispered, eyes never leaving the glitchy video feed. It had gone mostly dark, just occasional bursts of static. No visual of him now.
Silence hung except for the hum of systems straining against the storm. The crew waited in collective held breath. Elena's mind raced with calculations and prayers. Ten more seconds, twenty… how long could he hold out? Did he get lost in the blinding radiation? Did his tether hold?
At last, the internal comm crackled alive. A burst of garbled sound resolved into heavy breathing and a faint voice: "...Commander… Elena, I'm here… at the lock… opening…"
Elena practically slumped with relief. "We hear you, Michael. Airlock is open – get inside, now!"
She saw on a secondary panel the confirmation: Outer door seal broken, the airlock chamber accepting an entry. Michael must have reached it and manually keyed in. The system logs flashed: EXT door closed, Re-pressurizing.
Inside the station, the lights flickered as another wave of electromagnetic distortion passed through. Elena's fingernails bit into her palm while she waited the eternal half-minute for the cycle to complete.
Finally, Inner Airlock Door: Open blinked green.
"I've got him!" came Dr. Whitaker's shout over the comm. There was audible relief and urgency in her tone. "He's in. Moving to medbay."
Elena exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. A round of muted cheers and laughter broke the tension in the command module – Sera clapped her hands once, and Elena saw on a status cam feed Devon punching the air.
She allowed herself a small smile. Michael was back, against the odds. Janus Station shuddered around her as if sighing too, still weathering the storm but intact.
For now, they had made it through the worst. Or so Commander Alvarez thought, unaware that the true nightmare was only beginning.