The Button

THE BUTTON

Was it really possible to get tired of the view? Sergei asked himself this very question as Africa swept past his window, as it had done roughly every 90 minutes for the last 18 days. The view from the small window in the Space Station’s Multipurpose Laboratory was spectacular. Sergei would no doubt enjoy it far more if it wasn’t for the button.

Two wires, electrical contacts, a spring, and a rectangle of plastic. All that stood between life and death. 5 days, 16 hours, 48 minutes and … 20 seconds ago things had gone wrong, seriously wrong. Something had collided with the space station causing catastrophic damage. At this stage the nature of the impacting object was unknown, the exact status of the station was unknown, the fate of the rest of the crew unknown. In fact Sergei knew very little for certain. What he did know was he was in deep, deep trouble. This was about as bad as things could possibly get. He knew his finger hurt, he knew he needed to pee, he knew he had 205 minutes to go. 205 minutes until Bob would wake and take over. 205 little minutes until he could do what he burned to do.

Release the button.

But, he knew the button could not be released. That would mean certain death. Bob, who was snoring in the specimen locker would wake in a little over three hours and carefully, very, very carefully slide one of his fingers onto the depressed button as Sergei removed his own, allowing the Russian to finally empty his bladder, fill his stomach, and get some rest, and not necessarily in that order. There was no day and night on the space station, certainly nothing like on the surface. The two men decided upon 9 hour shifts. This would give each man enough time to sleep, eat, and allow for a bit of interaction between them before swapping places.

Tiredness seemed to seep into Sergei's very being. Each shift on the button was a trial of mind and body. Falling asleep was an ever present danger; a danger which could be partially alleviated through mental stimulation, but not eliminated. They considered shorter shifts on the button but the importance of proper, long duration sleep had been proven many times. The risk of tiredness would have been greater.

The button’s legend could not be seen, not with the tip of Sergei’s index finger covering it. If Sergei’s finger had not been in the way, the legend would read AIR-LK REL. The design of the buttons aboard the station meant the button had to be depressed and released before the action would be initiated, instead of activating on depression alone as would be the case in most designs. This apparently created a more reliable switch. Sergei didn’t know if this was the case or not. What he did know was that releasing the button would activate a sixty second countdown sequence that would blow the charges around the docking collar of the lab module, immediately venting the lab’s contents, including himself and Bob, into space, which would be very bad indeed.

Sergei shifted in his seat and swallowed hard. He had to swap fingers. The risk in doing so was very real but so was the pain in his finger. He raised his left arm and rested it on the small work surface in front of the control panel. Slowly the Russian slid his forearm towards the grid of buttons, extending his index finger. He paused about half an inch in front of the button and took a deep breath as, despite the cold, a bead of sweat trickled down his left temple. Thumping in his chest, his heartbeat made it difficult to keep his finger steady. He’d done this several times before, and each time had been as frightening as the first. Very gently Sergei moved his left index finger alongside his right, then pushed forward as he withdrew his aching, sore digit from it’s hours of compression. The button hadn’t moved, the air lock hadn't released, and his blood hadn’t boiled in the freezing vacuum of space. Closing his eyes he let out a burst of held breath and paused, collecting his thoughts.

The two scientists were stranded, miles above the Earth, with no means of communicating with the surface. Their life support systems were not going to last forever, and the food was going to run out. Water was not yet a problem as the fluid recycling system was still operational, but that consumed valuable energy which was also not going to last in the station's damaged state. They had two jobs. Find a way of disabling the bloody button, and finding a way to get home.

They had spent many hours considering ways to disable the button but every idea had been abandoned as too risky, and they hadn't found a safe way to fix the button down. The only way to survive was with a single, pointed finger.

 Sergei turned to reach the large ring-bound technical manual. Flipping open the manual, he started reading from his previous location. There had to be a way to disable the air lock release, and the answer would surely be in the pages before him. He and Bob had scoured the pages several times without success. The pages and the minutes passed with excruciating slowness.

After 80 pages there was a click as the specimen locker door opened. Sergei turned to see Bob, a tall American physicist crawl into the lab's main compartment, before slowly standing. "How you doing comrade?"

Bob groaned as he leaned backwards, stretching his back. "Not exactly the Hilton is it?"

"Maybe you should complain to the management" Sergei chuckled. "You might get a refund"

"Maybe I will". Bob nodded towards the manual. "Any luck?"

Sergei sighed, "Not yet, chum" shaking his head. "This may be a Russian capsule but I bet that crappy button is made in America he said laughing.

"Well, actually" said Bob, "It's probably made in China, but to an American design.

"Well, that's ok then. We have nothing to fear" he said with a grin. The two men had become firm friends during their time aboard the station. Up here, high above the surface of Earth, away from governments and politics, nationality was irrelevant. Co-operation, friendship, and trust were the dominant emotions. Even in situations as extreme as theirs they could rely each other's experience and professionalism.

"You're up early" he said raising his eyebrows. "Isn't your room to your taste?"

"Something like that. I need to pee and I'm hungry. How long 'till I take over"

"The sooner the better" he said grimacing "I don't know what's more uncomfortable, my fingers or my bladder"

"OK, OK" Bob responded, holding up both hands. "I'll be quick. Just let me grab some grub and take a leak"

The Russian watched as his companion entered the toilet cubicle, before he turned his attention back to the manual. After another 6 pages the cubicle door opened. "D'you want me to get you anything?" Bob asked as he crossed to the food box. Dozens of packets of freeze dried food had been deposited in each section of the station. Although some felt it unnecessary, that decision had proved to be a life-saver, literally.

"Thanks but I'll get my own. I need to move about" replied Sergie. "But that can wait. I need to use toilet and sleep".

"No problem". Bob selected two packs of freeze dried surprise, a bottle of water, and walked to Sergei's seat and the button. He placed the items on the small work-surface next to the manual. "Let me know when you're ready" he said, looking seriously at the Cosmonaut.

"Now my friend. I am so very tired. That locker looks so inviting" Sergei stood, his finger still on the button. "I kept it warm for you" he said with a weary smile.

Stepping to his right, the Russian's foot caught on the leg of the chair and he overbalanced, stumbling further to the right. "Watch it!" yelled Bob but it was too late. Sergei's finger left the button.

The coiled spring released it's energy. The button lifted in its housing. Gold contacts touched and electrons flowed. "No!" screamed Sergei as a klaxon sounded, deafeningly loud in the confined space.

"AIR LOCK RELEASE IN 60 SECONDS" warned the voice through the capsule's speaker array. "59... 58.... 57..."

"Oh God! I am so sorry" shouted Sergei over the noise. The men stared at each other in horror for what seemed an eternity. Each desperately trying to find a solution. Bob dove for the button, frantically stabbing it with his finger. "Work damn you!" he shouted. The countdown continued. Sergie pounded on the other buttons on the panel. "This is it my friend, Please forgive me"

Bob looked around the caspsule, eyes darting from side to side. Sergei stared at his friend, "Right, don't move" he said, waggling his finger at Sergei. His expression morphing into a grin. "I've got a brilliant idea"...