The Smell of Space

The Expedition III fired it reverse thrusters, drifting to a near halt. Goldberg punched in the code and allowed the airlock to spiral open. He drifted out, tether trailing behind him like an umbilical.

“Prepped and ready?” came Dersins’ voice over the comm.

“As I’ll ever be,” Goldberg sighed. “Let’s do this.” With an instinctive wince, he opened his helmet and breathed in. “Raspberries!” he gasped. “And… honey? And something else, smells like… oatmeal?” He opened his eyes and flailed in panic as the shimmering bear-shape approached him.

“We’ve been waiting, Goldy,” said the bear. “Let’s see about that porridge.”