...but not forever. They'd told the astronaut the flight would be a challenge, but none of the simulations had prepared him for how bad it really really be. He kept thinking about the thinness of the metal around him, how it was all that sliced between him and a colder cold than he could ever imagine. He felt terribly exposed as he hurtled through space to the asteroid— and very aware that he had to pretend to be brave. He'd might fumble his first words when he landed, but that would be okay. He told himself how Neil Armstrong had done that too.
No one would ever compare that man to Neil Armstrong, though that wasn't something he'd ever know: soon, he'd know nothing at all ever again. Already back home new errors were being found, in the engine and his spacesuit and his air. Someone on the planet he'd left was writing his obituary, as unlike him they now knew that he was doomed.
Nobody would ever know about that, of course. Nobody would feel the panic of the country behind the scenes, as its people waited for a victory that would never come. Nobody would feel the panic that was worse; the man breathing rapidly as he knew he'd never taste air again. Nobody heard him scream. Nobody saw him plead.
And nobody knew how he died in the oil below.
