by Andy Weir
I shorted out one battery, ran to the other harvester, and shorted it too. I almost made it back to the shelter before the first one blew.
Almost.
The landscape ahead flashed bright with the blast. Tufts of dust burst around me as harvester bits diligently obeyed the laws of physics. No time to go around the boulder. I half climbed, half leapt over it. I tried for a graceful tuck-and-roll, but ended up with more of a flail-and-flop.
“Did you see that?!” came a voice over the radio.
“You’re broadcasting on Main,” said Bob.
“Shit.”
The posse had been talking on some other channel to keep me from hearing them. That one guy screwed up. So now I knew they’d seen the explosion. They were close.
I waited for the second explosion, but it never came. When I got brave enough, I peeked around my rock to see one harvester still unharmed.
“What the fu—” I began. But then I saw it: The survivor was pocked with superficial damage from the other harvester’s explosion. My jumper had been severed cleanly in half by a piece of shrapnel. The two ends hung from their poles. The battery wasn’t shorted anymore, and it hadn’t had time to get hot enough to touch off the explosion.
I spotted a glint of light across the harvesting zone. The EVA masters had come. I looked back at the remaining harvester. Fifteen meters of ground to cross to get back to it, plus however long it would take me to fix the jumper. Then I looked at the glint again—now identifiable as a rover, just a hundred meters away, and coming at me fast.
I wouldn’t make it. They’d be on me in a shot. I had to leave the one harvester behind.
“Shit!” I said. I knew it was the right decision, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I fled the crime scene.
Minor problem with running away from people on the moon: Your footprints are very obvious. I beelined out of the collection zone and left a blatant trail any idiot could follow. No way around that. The whole area had long since been cleared of everything but dust.
Once I got into natural terrain I had options—the highlands are riddled with everything from pebbles to boulders.
I stepped onto a rock and jumped to the next rock over. Then I jumped to the next one and so on. I continued my high-stakes game of The Floor Is Lava for the next twenty minutes. I never had to touch the dusty ground at all. Try following that trail, Bob.
The next bit was equal parts boring and stressful. I had several kilometers to cover, all the while looking over my shoulder. It wouldn’t take the posse long to figure out I was headed home. Then they’d hop in their rover and catch up to me.
They’d drive along the shortest route home (I hoped), so I took a roundabout path. Nothing resembling a straight line. Artemis was only three kilometers away from the collection zone, but I walked five kilometers on my crazy circuitous route. The rocky landscape of the foothills provided lots of boulders and berms to block any direct line of sight to me.
It worked. I don’t know what route the posse took, but they never got eyes on me.
I finally reached the base of the Moltke Foothills. The Sea of Tranquility stretched all the way to the horizon. Artemis shined in the extreme distance, probably a good two kilometers away. I suppressed the queasy feelings that came with realizing how isolated I was. No time for that shit right now.
I needed a new strategy. I couldn’t hopscotch my way any farther. A vast field of gray powder separated me from home. Not only would I leave a trail, I’d be visible for kilometers around.
Time for a rest. For the moment, at least, I wasn’t out in the open. I found a suitable boulder and sat in the shade. I turned off all my LEDs, even the ones in the helmet, and covered my arm readouts with tape.
Shadows on the moon are stark and black. No air means no light diffusion. But I wasn’t in total darkness. Sunlight reflected off nearby rocks, dirt, hills, and so on, and some of that snuck around to hit me. Still, I was functionally invisible compared to the shine of the landscape.
I turned my head to the water nipple and slurped down a good half liter. EVAs are a sweaty business.
Good thing I’d taken a break. Five minutes into my rest I spotted the posse driving back to town. They were a fair distance away from me—on the straight-line course to the city.
The rover, designed for four passengers, had seven EVA masters piled on it. It looked like a clown car speeding across the flatlands. Judging by the rooster tail of dust it kicked up, they were moving as fast as they could. At that speed on the bumpy terrain they’d have no chance of spotting me. What the hell were they thinking?
“Aww, fuck,” I said.
They didn’t need to find me. They just needed to beat me back to town. Then they could guard every airlock. Eventually I’d run out of air and have to surrender.
“Shit! Damn! Crap! Ass! Son of a bitch!” It’s important to vary your profanities. If you use the same one too often it loses strength. I fumed in my suit for a minute more, then calmed down and got to scheming.
Okay, this sucked but it came with advantages. They would beat me to town. Fine. But that meant they wouldn’t be patrolling for me in Tranquility. I’d been stressing out about how to sneak across the flatlands but now that wasn’t a problem.
I stood up, turned my LEDs back on, and pulled the tape off my arm readouts.
There’d be an EVA master on the lookout at every airlock. And they wouldn’t just be hanging around inside. They’d be outside, where they could see me coming and sound the alarm.
I had a plan, but first I had to get next to the city itself. That was step one.
Conrad’s airlock faced north, the Tranquility Bay Company’s freight airlock in Bean faced northwest, the Port of Entry in Aldrin faced east, and the ISRO’s airlock in Armstrong faced southeast. So the biggest “blind spot” in their coverage would be the southwest.
I bounced along the gray nothingness for an hour, taking a wide, circular course so as to approach from the right direction. I kept my eyes out for trouble as the domes of home grew on the horizon. The last hundred meters were pure stress. Once I entered the shadow of Shepard Bubble I felt a lot safer. I’d be hard to spot in the darkness.
Finally, I leaned against Shepard’s hull and breathed a sigh of relief.
Okay. I’d made it to town. Now the trick was getting in.
I couldn’t walk the perimeter of town to get where I needed to be. I’d be spotted for sure. Time to make like Hibby and use those maintenance handholds.
The handles had been designed with EVA suits in mind—the perfect width for grabbing with giant gloves. It only took me ten minutes to climb the arc of the sphere. I hunkered down once I got to the peak. Not because I was worried about EVA masters—they’d all be too close to other bubbles to get eyes on me. No, my problem was basic geography. Shepard and Aldrin are separated only by Armstrong, and Armstrong is only half their height. So right that moment, anyone in Aldrin Park would be able to see me.
It was still pretty early in the morning, so hopefully there wouldn’t be too many park visitors. Plus, anyone who did see me would probably assume I was a maintenance worker doing her job. Still…I was perpetrating a caper and preferred not to be noticed.
I climbed down the other side of Shepard and onto the connector tunnel between it and Armstrong. It wasn’t exactly gymnastics. The tunnel is three meters wide.
Once I made it to Armstrong Bubble, I climbed over it too. Thanks to Armstrong’s smaller size, it went considerably faster than my Shepard climb. Then I catwalked across the Armstrong–Aldrin Connector.
Aldrin was more of a challenge. I climbed up part of the way, but couldn’t go to the peak. Well, I could, but I shouldn’t. It’s one thing to wander around on a bubble hull, but if I climbed on the glass of Aldrin Park right in front of people’s faces, it would raise a few eyebrows. “Mommy, why is Spider-Man on the moon?”—no thanks.
Instead, I stopped climbing halfway up—just below the glass panels—and moved sideways, shimmying from handle to han
dle and working my way around the bubble. Soon, the Port of Entry came into view. Closest to me was the rail antechamber where train cars docked with the port. No train there at the moment, though. Next to that was the huge circular door to the freight airlock.
Bob Lewis stepped out of the train alcove.
“Oh shit!” I said. I’d been so careful coming around the arc of Aldrin! I’d moved slowly to make sure I’d see any EVA master before he could see me. But I didn’t know Bob was inside the damn alcove. That’s cheating, Bob!
He was doing rounds. Once a marine always a marine. He hadn’t looked up yet but he would soon. I had a second, maybe two, to react.
I let go of the handles and slid down the dome. I tried to aim my feet at the ground—maybe if I landed just right I could control the impact. But no. No. I’m not graceful. I got the worst of both worlds: I hit the ground hard and completely off-balance.
I landed like a sack of shit. But I landed on the other side of the alcove and didn’t break anything. Good thing sound doesn’t travel in a vacuum, because Bob surely would have heard that landing. Whatever. A clumsy, awkward success is still a success.
I hugged the wall of Aldrin and crept away from the port until I couldn’t see Bob anymore. I wasn’t sure where his “patrol route” would take him, but I knew he wouldn’t stray far from the port’s airlock. I continued until I was well clear of the port and sat down with my back against the bubble.
Then I waited. I couldn’t see the train alcove from my new position, but I could see the tracks leading away from town.
The train appeared on the horizon half an hour later. Owing to the small size of the moon, our horizon is only two and a half kilometers away, so I didn’t have long before it arrived at the station.
I waited for the train to pull into the alcove and dock with the port. Then I crept along my side of the alcove.
This was the first train of the day. Most of the passengers would be employees of the Visitor Center itself. They loaded up quickly and the train was ready for its return trip.
It emerged from the alcove. It takes a while to get something that size up to speed, so it wasn’t going very fast yet.
I leapt forward and grabbed the front wheel housing. It wasn’t the best grip, but I held on with all my might. The train dragged me along, my legs bouncing off the terrain. Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best plan I’d ever concocted, but it kept a train between me and Bob, which was all I wanted.
The train accelerated, faster and faster. I hung on for dear life. At this speed, any sharp rock could puncture my suit. I couldn’t let myself dangle for the whole trip. I had to put my legs somewhere.
I reached up and grabbed the edge of a window—I had to hope no one was sitting there. I pulled myself up and put my feet on the wheel housing. I wanted to peek through the window to see if I’d been spotted, but I resisted the urge. People might not notice a few fingers outside a window, but they’d probably notice a big EVA suit helmet.
I tried not to move. It’d be pretty spooky for people in the train if they heard noise coming from the wall from outside. Attack of the Moon Woman Who Made Bad Life Decisions.
We puttered along the lazy path toward the Visitor Center. By now you’ve probably figured out my plan. The posse was guarding all the Artemis airlocks, but had they thought to guard the one at the Visitor Center?
Even if they had, they couldn’t beat me there. This was the first train.
The trip took forty minutes, as usual. I managed to sit sort of comfortably on the wheel housing. It wasn’t too bad.
I spent the trip brooding about my predicament. Even if I could make it back inside without getting caught, I was screwed. Trond had hired me to destroy four harvesters. I only trashed three. Sanchez’s engineers would undo my sabotage to the survivor and get it back to work. Their production would be reduced, but they’d still make their oxygen quota.
Trond wouldn’t pay me for this debacle, and I wouldn’t blame him. Not only had I failed, I’d made things harder on him. Now Sanchez Aluminum knew someone was gunning for them.
“Damn…” I said as my stomach knotted up.
The train slowed as it approached the Visitor Center. I hopped off and stumbled to a stop while the train continued on to its alcove.
I bounded over to the Visitor Center and worked my way along the arc of its dome. The Eagle came into view as I rounded the hull. It almost seemed to disapprove. Tsk, tsk. My crew would never pull shit like this.
Then I saw a glorious sight: The EVA airlock was completely unguarded!
Hell yeah!
I rushed to the airlock and opened the outer door, hopped in, and closed the hatch behind me. I cranked the repress valve and heard the hiss of glorious air come at me from all directions.
Even though I was in a hurry, I waited through the air cleanse. Hey, I may be a smuggler, saboteur, and all-around asshole, but I’d never leave my EVA suit dirty.
The cleanse finished and I was clean as a whistle.
Back in town! I’d have to find somewhere in the Visitor Center to hide my EVA gear, but that wouldn’t be a problem. I’d stow it in as many tourist lockers as it took, then come back later with a big container. I’m a porter—I’d just say I was there for a pickup. It wouldn’t even look weird.
I opened the inner airlock door and stepped into salvation.
Except it wasn’t salvation. It was shit. I stepped into shit. The smile on my face quickly changed to a “freshly caught carp” expression.
Dale stood in the antechamber, his arms folded and a half smirk on his face.
Dear Jazz,
Are you all right? I’ve been worried. I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks.
Dear Kelvin,
Sorry, I had to shut off my Gizmo service for a while to save money. I’ve got it back on now. It’s been tough. But I’m starting to get above water.
I made a new friend. Every now and then I scrape together enough money to get a beer at this hole-in-the-wall in Conrad. I know it’s stupid to spend money on booze when you’re homeless, but booze makes homelessness bearable.
Anyway, there’s a regular there named Dale. He’s an EVA master, mostly working out of the Apollo 11 Visitor Center. He does tourist EVAs, stuff like that.
We got to talking and, I don’t know why, but I ended up telling him my problems. He was shocked at my fucked-up situation and offered to lend me some money. I assumed it was a play to get in my pants so I turned him down. I don’t have a problem with prostitutes, but I don’t want to be one.
But he swore up and down that he just wanted to help me out as a friend. Accepting that money was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Kelvin. But I was out of options.
Anyway, I had just enough to pay deposit and first month on a capsule domicile. It’s so small I have to step outside to change my mind (rim shot!) but at least it’s a home. And true to his word, Dale never expected anything in return. Perfect gentleman.
And believe it or not I’m even dating a guy. His name is Tyler. It’s early days, but he’s really sweet. He’s kind of shy, polite to everyone, and sort of a Boy Scout when it comes to rules. So the opposite of me in every way. But we really click. We’ll see how it goes.
You know what? I’ve been selfish lately. I’ve been so focused on me I didn’t even ask about you. How are you handling things?
Dear Jazz,
Good for you! I was worried your experience with Sean would put you off men forever. See? We’re not all bad.
I have my job at KSC, for which I’m very grateful. I even got a promotion. I’m a loadmaster-in-training now. In a couple months, I’ll be a full loadmaster and I’ll get a raise.
Halima is six months pregnant now, and we’re all preparing for the baby. We’ve worked out a rotation so that my other sisters can take care of the baby while Halima stays in school. Mom, Dad, and I will keep working. Dad was almost ready to retire, but now he’ll have to work another five years at least. What choice do we have? T
here’s just not enough money otherwise.
Dear Kelvin,
You’re a loadmaster-in-training? Does that mean you sometimes set up cargo pods unsupervised? Because there are a lot of people in Artemis who smoke.
Dear Jazz,
I’m listening…
I stared at Dale like he’d grown a dick out of his forehead. “How…?”
“What else would you do?” He took the helmet from my unresisting hands. “You had to know the posse would cover all the Artemis entrances. That just leaves the Visitor Center.”
“Why aren’t you with the posse!”
“I am with the posse. I’m the guy who volunteered to guard the Visitor Center. I would’ve been here sooner, but this was the first train out. Given the timing, I’m guessing we caught the same ride.”
Shit. Some criminal mastermind I was.
Dale set my helmet on a bench, then took my hand and unclamped the seals on the glove. He rotated the glove at the wrist and pulled it off. “You went too far this time, Jazz. Way too far.”
“You’re going to lecture me on morality?”
He shook his head. “Are you ever going to let that go?”
“Why should I?”
He rolled his eyes. “Tyler’s gay, Jazz. Gay as Oscar Wilde wearing sequins walking a pink poodle with a tiara on his head.”
“The poodle has a tiara?”
“No, I meant Oscar Wilde—”
“Right, right, that makes more sense. Anyway: Fuck you.”
Dale groaned. “It was never going to work for you two. Never.”
“And that makes it okay for you to fuck my boyfriend?”
“No,” he said softly. He took my other glove off and sat it on the bench. “We shouldn’t have been screwing while you two were still together. I was in love and he was confused, but that doesn’t make it okay. It was wrong.”
I looked away. “But you still did it.”
“Yeah, I did. I betrayed my best friend. If you think that doesn’t kill me inside you really don’t know me.”
