His suit beeped, commanding his attention. Burke was terrified, but dared not increase his breathing. It had been five hours since he'd lost his ship, his crew. Five hours drifting further and ever deeper into dead space. One hour left of oxygen; that's what his suit told him. Burke had given up hope hours ago. His crew was dead. His ship exploded. Why had he survived? "Survived," he thought. "That's an interesting word to choose." He was fully aware what would happen to him in an hour's time: At ten minutes left, his suit would start beeping ceaselessly. At five minutes, he would be struggling to breathe. And then, he would gasp for air and suffocate. But, that's not what Burke was worried about. NASA would never know what happened. His family would never know what happened. How much he loved his wife and kids. How his kids would grow up without him. How they would never have closure. How his lifeless body would continue drifting in space for hundreds, or even thousands of years. With a rapid beeping ringing in his ears and the oxygen gradually growing thinner, Burke contemplated these demons. "Hmm?" Burke thought, half dazed. The lack of oxygen was playing tricks on his eyes. A USSR space station seemed to be in the distance.