airtight

Drifting out past the Point, near enough to the Merita station to get help if repairs go wrong. We've been airlocking in and out all day in shifts, fixing the hullscrape from the last jump away from the Point. Not a bad mess, it could have been a lot worse. Kon's shift just ended, he stumbled in complaining of spaceache, the malady of grounded flesh suddenly stressed by lack of gravity. He tossed a piece of rock into my lap, just now. A chunk of the asteroid stuck in a bent piece of plating, he grumbled. Its solid, made by something other than a human, and probably never expected to be touched. That it was crumpled into the hull frightens me. The ship may look like something more of a junkheap now, but its still airtight. Beyond anything else, that is what matters most out here.

Later:

It is ponderous work, crawling around on the outside of the ship, tethered like infants to the floating womb of our own design. Everything takes twice as long as internal repairs, moving is more difficult and much more hazardous.
Caban caught my arm right as we left the airlock and gestured out into the black. He thinks it is beautiful, and in that instant of silence, in the glancing blow of his grin against the helmet's facemask, I could see it too. For just a moment before turning my mind to mechanical work, I was able to imagine something more than the cold airlessness against my skin and fragile lungs. Space is not all empty night, instead there are countless beacons, stars disrupting the darkness with their endless blaze of fire and light.