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“Got it,” I said.
I put on my welding helmet and fired up the torch. Dale took a step back. However fearless EVA masters may be, there’s still a deep, basic instinct in all humans to avoid fire.
I grinned. Finally I’d get some revenge. Time to cut a hole in Sanchez’s gut.
I adjusted the gas mixture until I had a long flame. I picked a spot on the wall, dug in, and held the torch as still as I could. The massive heat plus the ready supply of oxygen dug away at the metal, boring a deeper and deeper hole.
Finally, it broke through. I can’t tell you exactly how I knew. I just knew. Maybe it’s the sound? The sputter of the flame? Not sure. In any event, the cut had begun.
“No airflow in or out,” I said. “Looks like a pressure match. Good job, Dale.”
“Thanks.”
I moved the torch along at a deliberate pace and cut along a meter-wide circle. I beveled the edges so the plug could fall out a little easier when the cut was complete.
“Running a little behind now,” said Dale.
“Copy,” I said. But I didn’t speed up. I was already going as fast as I could. Trying to go faster would just screw up the cut and end up costing me more time.
I finally completed the circle and the plug tilted forward. I turned off the torch and hopped back as an avalanche of gray regolith flooded into the chamber.
I threw off my welding helmet and pressed the breather mask hard against my face. I sure as hell didn’t want to breathe that dust. I like my lungs without barbed death particles in them, thanks.
My eyes stung and teared up. I winced in pain.
“You all right?” Dale asked.
The mask muffled my voice. “Shoulda worn goggles,” I said.
I reached up to wipe my eyes, but Dale caught my arm. “Don’t!”
“Right,” I said.
You know what’s worse than having barbed rocks in your eyes? Grinding barbed rocks into your eyes. I resisted the urge, though just barely.
I waited for the dust to settle. Then, with stinging eyes and blurry vision, I stepped toward the hole. And that’s when the electric shocks sparked off my body.
I yelped, more out of surprise than pain.
Dale checked his readouts. “Careful. The humidity is nearly zero.”
“Why?”
“No idea.”
I took another step and got another salvo of static discharges. “Goddammit!”
“Are you capable of learning?” Dale said.
“Aww shit,” I said. I pointed to the slowly growing pile of regolith in front of the hole. “It’s the fill material. Artemis air is humidified, but the air in hull compartments is bone dry.”
“Why?”
“Water’s corrosive and expensive. Why would you put that in your hull? That dirt acted as a desiccant and yanked all the moisture out of the air.”
Dale detached the water-storage unit from his suit, opened the canister, and pulled out a quarter-filled plastic bag. He ripped the corner off the bag and pinched it with his fingers. It’s amazing how much manual dexterity a true EVA master can achieve with those clunky gloves on.
He squirted me in the face with the water.
