“Mayday, Mayday”. Jacob sounded pathetic in his own ears. He could hear the terror in his voice, even through the helmet’s tinny speakers. The fear was even more betrayed by the reflection of his face in the visor, now bathed in the pulsating blood-red of warning sensors. Blinking sweat from his eyes, he could see Saturn V slide below him, the space station pirouetting gracefully within the ice ring. So close, and yet so far. It was at least ten minutes away, at maximum thrust from his jet pack. If his jet pack had been working. It wasn’t. He checked the illuminated numbers floating through the river of red on his visor. It wouldn’t matter if the damn jets worked anyway, because he only had oxygen for two minutes. The chunk of ice that hit him had gouged through everything critical. The thruster control unit, the oxy lines, the nav system. Hell, it had probably taken out the radio, rendering his terrified Mayday call pointless. And the station kept on sliding past, out of view now, replaced by the deep black of space and its twinkling star jewels. He realised he was in his own slow spin. Just another orbiting speck amongst the billion around the gas giant. Sol slid by, a tiny silver nickel amongst the diamonds. It looked as cold as the black blanket it had been flipped onto. No, it was him that was cold. Great, the heater was fucked as well. So, he’d die alone, asphyxiated and stone cold. Minutes from home, and in an uncontrollable, nauseating tailspin. If only his mind would stop screaming in panic, he might try to make his peace. - “It’s no good, his radio’s fried.” Hamish slammed his fist onto the console in Saturn V’s traffic control room. It didn’t matter what frequency he used; the silence in response was deafening. They’d even shut down the entire station’s coms to listen for any kind of weak response. But nothing. And anyway, what use would the radio be? It was almost a blessing that he couldn’t reach Jacob. What the hell would he say to a man in his last moments?

"Me and My Robot" - some different versions. The intent is to make the viewer feel just a little uneasy. Especially the juice box one. They're characters from one of my planned stories (planned doesn't mean i'll write it tho. lol). I always get imposter syndrome from my ideas, but anyway - its set in the same universe as a couple of my other sci-fi novellas. Charlie (her name will probably change) is a lowly mechanic since before she could remember. parents died in a hull breach accident. she's street savvy (well, if massive space stations have streets) but has a guardian robot for when she needs muscle. He might end up being an AI rather than a robot, since the recent game "Pragmata" was released. Although in the game, its the girl that's the robot/AI guardian..my story's theme might have people shouting copycat. shrug.

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General discussion about anything, preferably writing related. Remember we don't want AI bunfights taking over our community. So avoid that topic, as well as politics and religion. Anything else goes.

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