He strained at the straps, but they would not move. They cut into his shoulders and legs. The straps were made to hold a suited individual, and if he had had time to put on a suit they would not have bothered him. But, there had not been enough time. They held him to the wall. They should have released him shortly after the pod left the ship. He was trapped -- defenseless.
His mother, the vessel's Captain was slumped against the opposing wall. She wore a full suit with helmet. He had dressed her in it and fastened her into the straps before the ship had lost gravity control and ejected the pod. She dangled in the straps like a jelly fish in the sea. If she was alive, he could not tell.
He wondered about the ship. What had happened after they had escaped? If it had exploded, he had no way to know. No debris had bounced off the pod. The destruction would not have made any noise to hear through the void. The hatch was next to his mother, but it had no windows. The only window was next to him. He could not see out it at this angle. The hull was too thick. If the Captain came to, he could ask her what was outside.
"Captain!" he paused for an answer, but none came. He tried again. "Mom!" He tried to kick the hull, but couldn't. The bands were too tight. Something had to catch her attention.
She moved. Her arm raised and she made an attempt to free herself from the straps that held her. They would not release her. Mother and son were trapped together. Connected.
She seemed to be in a daze. He called her name another time, but she left him again. He tried to remember his training on this ship's life pods. There had been some bizarre instructions about the life pods. But, . . . .
The Union Ship Democracy had been a low altitude dispatcher; an inter-planetary ship. It wasn't designed for these interstellar cruises. The ship had been the pride of Earth when it was built, but mismanagement had not treated it well. It needed an over haul, but no, . . . too late now.
He studied the hatch. It was to his mother's left. That was straight ahead of him. The hatch was not itself within arms length of his mother, just the hatch release lever. That would blow the hatch if pulled. The hatch was an off white, like everything in this pod. No reason for the decorators to spend much time in here. This place would never house many guests. Some hoped that it never would house any.
The hatch -- he longed to open it, but he couldn't. Even if he could, he wasn't suited up, not yet ready to leave this little room. Funny, he thought. That little door can mean my life or death.
"Mother!" He tried again. She came back to him. She was only semi-conscious of him. She may be here in body, but that's all, he thought. She looked up at him, through the clear ceramic front of her helmet. He heard her muffled voice, but she said nothing coherent to him.
"Captain," he resumed the strict professionalism she demanded of him when they were both on duty, "why aren't these straps releasing us?"
She focused on him, or did she? She mumbled something about planetary ships. Her eyes left him for the view hole next to him.
"What do you see?"
She did not respond. She looked back at him. She saw him, but did not acknowledge him.
"The straps are linked to the hatch release. They won't unfasten until the hatch is blown. It was some educated moron's idea of a safety feature." She spoke to him, but as though she were alone here. "I'll have to blow the hatch." Her hand moved for the lever.
"No!"
Her hand stopped moving for the lever. She looked back toward him. A stern look was on her face.
"What do you mean 'no'? I can't get to the radio to call for help until these bonds are destroyed."
Bonds? Destroyed? His mouth was dry. She was sick. She must have received a blow to the head during their escape from the ship.
"I'm not suited. I'll die if you blow the hatch." She did not seem to understand him. He continued, "This is a well traveled route. The debris will be noticed, and they'll find us without the radio."
"Where am I?" She seemed to slip away a little. "This is going to hurt my career. If only I could reach the radio, I could set things right." She reached for the lever again.
"No! Stop it!"
She looked back at him. Her hand was on the lever. His life was there. He must say something to her. He must convince her that she should not blow the hatch.
"Please take your hand off the lever."
She did not move. A floating drop of sweat bumped into his eye. It stung; a burning sensation.
She looked him in the eye, and said, "I must."
"Why?" He almost could not speak. The fear he felt crippled him.
"The shame of not being the first to report my own ship's destruction, the harm that could have on my career, the inconvenience of these bonds, they're all good reasons."
"But what about me?" She did not seem to understand him. "My life must mean something."
"You can't tell me what to do. I'm in charge here. It's my choice."
"I'm not a choice. I'm your child!"
He panicked. He fought against the bands that held him, but it would take time. He would not have time to don a suit. Just before his was torn to pieces and sucked out into the vacuum, his mouth opened in an unheard scream of terror.