Ten.
The cool plastic touching my chin, my arms, my legs, not letting go anywhere.
Nine.
My breathing irregular, rasping, reverberating in the silent dome.
Eight.
A flicker of movement on the screen catches my left eye. Something is blinking.
Seven.
Green, green, blue. Nothing to worry about, as long as...
Six.
...it isn't red, there is nothing wrong anywhere.
Five.
Green, blue, blue. Blue, red, blue. Red, red is no good.
Four.
Red is danger. I move my...
Three.
...arm and start to speak up. This' John.
Two.
There's s'm'th'ng wrong...
One.
...with the fuel indicato...