Chapter Twenty-Five.

The Winged Banshee maneuvered into position next to the Portside Bay. However, attempts at docking would prove to be a challenge since the mausoleum turned in slow rotations as it drifted.

The pilot hovered close to the mausoleum's hull, the Banshee absolutely dwarfed by the ship's immense size. "We're getting close," the pilot said over his lip mic. "It'll be impossible to stabilize the Banshee completely since the mausoleum is in constant motion. But I think I can maintain long enough for Tin Man to secure himself to the outside catch and manually open the bay door. Once that's done, then I can swing the Banshee inside. No problem."

"Copy that."

Tin Man was wearing an EMU, an Extravehicular Mobility Unit, which allows an astronaut to work outside an aircraft for up to seven hours, and though both ships appeared to be traveling at a glacial pace, they were actually moving at rapid velocity. If Tin Man's failure to connect his hitch-line to the outside catch because the ships were moving at two different rates of speed, even marginally, it could prove fatal. If not properly calculated, Tin Man could carom off the mausoleum's hull and be killed instantly.

The vehicle moved closer to the mausoleum and paced alongside it as the two moved in sync with one another.

"She's looking good," said the pilot.

Tin Man was in the exterior bay. His suit had checked out. "Ready to go, Command."

"Copy that." The pilot hit a series of switches, opening the airlock door with a steam-like hiss as pressure was relieved.

Tin Man stood at the lip of the jump-off point, the distance between the two ships about fifty feet. "Ready," he said, tethering himself to a clip on the side of the Banshee. Then he took a leap of faith.

He drifted slowly between the gap, jettisoning streams of air from his pack to maintain positioning.

"How's it going, Tin Man?" asked the pilot.

"Doing fine, Banshee." When Tin Man spoke, it sounded as if he was on a respirator.

"Copy that."

Tin Man was closing in on the clasp next to the portside door with his arm extended. His hand was reaching to grab the vertical handle. To the left of the clasp was the manual override, a keypad. "Get ready to blow my line free from the Banshee," he said. "I'm about to hook up with Twenty Sixty-Nine."

"Copy," said the pilot. He hooked a finger around the toggle that would pop the tethering hook from the Winged Banshee the moment Tin Man attached himself to the mausoleum.

Five feet away.

"Getting close, Banshee. Just a few more-"

The mausoleum shifted greatly, its side now coming at him with the speed of a freight train, the gap between them closing so fast that Tin Man had no time to register the moment of impact when it hit.

"Jesus!" yelled the pilot, peeling away before an imminent collision. The Banshee pulled sharply to starboard to where it was almost vertical before assuming speed. The line connected to Tin Man's suit pulled tight as he was yanked away from the mausoleum's hull, the line dragging him with his arms and legs extended before him as if he was in the 'up' position of doing sit-ups.

"Tin Man!" called the pilot. "TIN MAN!"

"What's going on up there?" came Skully's voice over the mic.

"Massive shift! Tin Man's not responding! Banshee to Tin Man! Come in, Tin Man!"

Still no response.

The pilot checked Tin Man's EMU readings on a 9x12 monitor located at the center of the cockpit panel. Numbers scrolled. And they were not good. All indications pointed to a breach of the helmet's facemask, the impact creating a fissure along the face shield.

With the temperature of space being -454F, Tin Man had frozen to death the moment the mask broke.

His vital signs read zero.

"Pilot One!" It was Skully.

Sounding dejected, the pilot responded. "We lost him, Skully," he told him. "We lost Tin Man."

Jim Schott saw the Winged Banshee come up on the portside and attempt to maneuver for a manual docking. From his vantage surrounded entirely by glass, he had seen the tragedy unfold as the mausoleum shifted heavily in its drift pattern and struck the astronaut trying to board. The man floated in space tethered to a cord attached to the Banshee, his limbs not moving.

Schott got to his feet realizing two things: the man in the suit was dead, and secondly, those inside the Winged Banshee were First Team Responders.

Help had arrived.