The Moonwalker

Chapter 3

Aula slowly steps through the Armstrong airlock and closes it behind her. The silent clang reverberates into her hands and up her arms. A cold prickle runs up her neck. She doesn't like exposing her back to darkness. There's nothing out here besides dust and a few derelict pieces of equipment, but she can't help turning around and looking for a glint of eyes. There's no eyes, of course. Mare Nubium stretches out around her. Harvey adjusts the lights mounted on his helmet and grins at her. His suit bears the red stripes of EVA leader.

"ILUB-2, Houston through Church. How's the Moon today?"

The familiar voice makes her stiffen. She will never forget Roberto Hinton's voice. Although the signal is being routed through Churchill in northern Ontario, it sounds like he's right beside her.

"Loud and clear," Kalashnikoff says in a low, rumbling voice that could narrate movie trailers. "It's a lovely day. Reed is in white bikini. Very cute."

She turns to the camera over the airlock and manages to raise her middle finger. It's awkward in her EVA gloves, but he gets the idea.

"You're loud and clear, Houston," Harvey adds and looks up at the camera. "What about me? Don't I look cute?"

"Of course. Cute as a button."

He grins and starts loping towards the Gagrin airlock. "Hell yeah I am."

"He's going to be insufferable now." Aula turns and hops after him. "Thanks a lot."

Kalashnikoff just laughs.  

Since the Moon has 1/6th of Earth's gravity, walking involves more of a lope and a hop, and constant awareness of one's centre of mass. She used to think it would be easy to move around up here, but there's barely enough gravity to tell what's up and what's down. They have to rely on visual cues to compensate and that takes practice. Almost everyone falls down at least once.

On her second EVA, she bent down to pick up a rock and slowly toppled over. That hadn't been the worst part. The worse part was trying to wipe lunar dust off her visor and stand up, only to fall again. And again. She finally grunted in disgust and laid there, splayed face down like a starfish, while laughter crackled in her ear. Harvey likes to remind her the footage is on the internet.

An itch catches in her throat. She pauses and starts coughing from deep in her chest. The familiar taste of gunpowder stings her tongue.

"What is that?" Hinton's voice crackles slightly. "Reed?"

She clears her throat. "Dust."

"Your suit's contaminated?"

"I'm in the old EMU. Just a pinch caught in the filters."

Kalashnikoff tsks, which sums up her feelings on the subject. Dust is a constant nuisance on the Moon. It's very fine so it gets into everything, it's electrically charged so it's impossible to brush off, it's abrasive, and it's toxic. They have to scour their spacesuits with magnets after every EVA. The Enhanced Extravehicular Mobility Units are iconic, but as clunky as their name and just as difficult to vacuum. It's silly mistakes like this that can jeopardize a moonwalk.

Harvey stops and half-turns. "Sorry, Al. That's on me."

"Don't worry about it."

"Alright," Hinton says. "Let's keep an eye on it."

The muscles in her shoulders ease. "Copy."

A path winds around ILUB-2. It's hard to see in the full glare of her suit's lights, but she knows it off by heart. It reminds her of playing in the back fields when she was a kid. Her family's horses sauntering single file between the waterer and the willows using paths that crisscrossed the grass. Her lights shine on him as they walk their preplanned route. It's like he's in a spotlight.