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“Okay, good point. Uh…” I hurtled through the Armstrong–Conrad Connector tunnel and checked my Gizmo. We had twenty-five minutes left. “I’ll use a tourist hamster ball.”
“How will you turn the cranks?”
Goddammit, right again. Hamster balls had no arms, gloves, or articulation points at all. I’d have no way to grip anything outside.
“I guess you’ll have to be my hands. The tanks are in the triangle between Armstrong, Shepard, and Bean. Meet me at the Bean–Shepard Connector. I’ll need your help to get into the triangle.”
“Roger. Driving to the connector now. I’ll get as close as I can and walk the rest of the way.”
“How will you get out of the rover without killing Sanchez?”
“I’d like to know that too,” Sanchez added.
“I’ll put her in your suit before opening the airlock,” he said.
“My suit?!”
“Jazz!”
“Fine, yeah. Sorry.”
I plowed through Conrad Ground as fast as I could. My home bubble had some of the most Byzantine passageways in town. When you put a bunch of artisans in one place with no zoning rules, their workshops expand to fill every nook and cranny. But I knew the layout by heart.
Naturally, the tourist airlock was the farthest point from the Armstrong Connector tunnel. I mean, where else would it be?
I finally got there. Two EVA masters lay on the floor in front of sixteen tourists who’d passed out in their chairs. The leak had caught them in the middle of orientation.
“Dale, I’m at the airlock.”
“Copy,” came his voice. He was far from his Gizmo’s microphone. “It’s taking a while to cram Sanchez into your gear. She’s kind of tall—”
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I’m 164 centimeters—exactly average for a woman. I’m not tall, your saboteur friend is short.”
“Don’t stretch out my suit,” I said.
“I’ll defecate in your suit!”
“Hey—!”
“Sanchez, shut up!” Dale said. “Jazz, save the city!”
I charged into the large airlock and pulled a deflated hamster ball from its cubby. “I’ll let you know when I’m outside.”
I spread the flaccid plastic on the ground with the zip hatch facing up, pulled a scurry pack off the wall, and put it on. Time for some Rudy Gizmo Magic. I closed the inner airlock door, waved the Gizmo across the airlock control panel, and it granted me access.
Next problem: Airlocks are meant to be operated by EVA masters wearing suits with gloves. This was going to take some finesse.
I deactivated the computer controls and switched to manual. First thing I did was spin the outer door’s crank. The door (like all airlock hatches) was a plug door—the air pressure behind it pushed it into its seal. So, while I made it possible to open the door, you’d have to be Superman to actually pull it open against the pressure. But I’d moved the physical latches out of the way, at least.
I very slowly turned the venting valve. As soon as I heard the hiss of escaping air, I stopped turning it. At full-open, the valve would let all the airlock’s air vent into space in under a minute. But at this rate it would take a bit longer—long enough for me to not die, hopefully.
I hurried to the hamster ball and crawled inside. It was an awkward affair, like getting into a collapsed tent, but that’s just how these things worked.
I closed the zip seals (there are three layers of them for safety), then cranked the airflow valve on the scurry pack for a few seconds. The ball grew just enough for me to move around.
Normally you do this shit when the airlock’s not venting. You take your time, inflate, and wait for the EVA master to check your seals. I wouldn’t have that luxury.
The pressure in the airlock decreased, so my ball grew like a balloon in a vacuum chamber. That’s not an analogy. It was literally a balloon in a vacuum chamber.
