An alarm sounded in the space station.
"What's that?" Nardole asked.
The Doctor heard the TARDIS doors slam shut and the bulkhead door open, sucking the air out.
"It's decompressing!" the Doctor shouted.
The Doctor, Bill, and Nardole ran to the room with the TARDIS to stop the release of air, but it was too late. They grabbed onto anything they could as the air rushed out through the open door, sucking the trio sideways. The Doctor felt the air instinctively to make it easier by flying, but quickly stopped, realizing flying would only make the air pull him out faster. He held on as hard as he could while even the TARDIS began to slide toward the gaping door.
The airlock opened. The Doctor, Nardole, and the space station crew stepped out into the vacuum of space, Bill in the back, crying, without a helmet. The Doctor hacked her suit to make it walk as Bill's consciousness quickly dropped to near unconsciousness. The Doctor tried to fly to move faster, but there was no air in the empty void of space. He was as magnetically grounded as everyone else.
"So, what's the plan?" Bill's disembodied voice asked.
"Well, we've all been trying to get a radio working and the Doctor's been . . . thinking," Dahh-ren answered, once blue, now black.
"Don't mean to hurry you, but in seven hundred breaths I'll be dead," Abby's voice said with a hint of desperation.
"I need to think," the Doctor said. He floated away. As soon as his feet left the ground, he was floating senselessly in an empty void of dark nothing. He fell back down with a shudder and knocked something metal with his feet.
"He really doesn't like help," he heard Nardole say quietly.
The Doctor played with his yo-yo, his feet on the desk and sonic sunglasses on his nose. He made the yo-yo float and move according to his design, but without sight, his design wasn't very pleasant. It seemed choppy, slow, and only halfway there. He couldn't feel it any stronger. If he could work up the courage to fly, he might be able to feel the yo-yo better. But that one moment in the space station was horrifying. How could he ever fly again? He'd not only lost his sight, but his flight as well, unless he managed to teach himself not to fear an empty, senseless, formless void of absolute nothingness. Even in outer space there were tiny points of light and hope.
"Does it work?" Bill asked, suddenly existing.
"Does what work?" the Doctor asked.
"Making a complaint to Head Office."
"No idea. Never had a head office."