Henry sat looking at the gas meter on his wrist. It was fully in the red zone now. He tapped on it, hoping that perhaps that might magically make a difference, but it did not. He was going to die.
He’d spent the last week drifting in space, near Dione, all of his plans coming to dust. A year ago, he had proposed a grand plan of finding needed rare earth elements on Saturn’s moons. No one had been able to find them before, but he had been sure he knew things no one else knew. And he was good at convincing people. He had been able to borrow a ship, borrow money for fuel and equipment, and set out for Saturn from Earth. Finally, he’d escaped the stifling life he had in Pennsylvania.