Andy Weir - Artemis: A Novel

I bounded over the gray, dusty terrain toward the huge dome of Conrad Bubble. Its airlock, ringed with red lights, stood distressingly far away.

Its hard to run with a hundred kilograms of gear oneven in lunar gravity. But youd be amazed how fast you can hustle when your life is on the line.

Bob ran beside me. His voice came over the radio: Let me connect my tanks to your suit!

Thatll just get you killed too.

The leaks huge, he huffed. I can see the gas escaping your tanks.

Thanks for the pep talk.

Im the EVA master here, Bob said. Stop right now and let me cross-connect!

Negative. I kept running. There was a pop right before the leak alarm. Metal fatigue. Got to be the valve assembly. If you cross-connect youll puncture your line on a jagged edge.

Im willing to take that risk!

Im not willing to let you, I said. Trust me on this, Bob. I know metal.

I switched to long, even hops. It felt like slow motion, but it was the best way to move with all that weight. My helmets heads-up display said the airlock was fifty-two meters away. I glanced at my arm readouts. My oxygen reserve plummeted while I watched. So I stopped watching.

The long strides paid off. I was really hauling ass now. I even left Bob behind, and hes the most skilled EVA master on the moon. Thats the trick: Add more forward momentum every time you touch the ground. But that also means each hop is a tricky affair. If you screw up, youll face-plant and slide along the ground. EVA suits are tough, but its best not to grind them against regolith.

Youre going too fast! If you trip you could crack your faceplate!

Better than sucking vacuum, I said. Ive got maybe ten seconds.

Im way behind you, he said. Dont wait for me.

I only realized how fast I was going when the triangular plates of Conrad filled my view. They were growing very quickly.

Shit! No time to slow down. I made one final leap and added a forward roll. I timed it just rightmore out of luck than skilland hit the wall with my feet. Okay, Bob was right. Id been going way too fast.

I hit the ground, scrambled to my feet, and clawed at the hatch crank.

My ears popped. Alarms blared in my helmet. The tank was on its last legsit couldnt counteract the leak anymore.

I pushed the hatch open and fell inside. I gasped for breath and my vision blurred. I kicked the hatch closed, reached up to the emergency tank, and yanked out the pin.

The top of the tank flew off and air flooded into the compartment. It came out so fast, half of it liquefied into fog particles from the cooling that comes with rapid expansion. I fell to the ground, barely conscious.

I panted in my suit and suppressed the urge to puke. That was way the hell more exertion than Im built for. An oxygen-deprivation headache took root. Itd be with me for a few hours, at least. Id managed to get altitude sickness on the moon.

The hiss died to a trickle, then finished.

Bob finally made it to the hatch. I saw him peek in through the small round window.

Status? he radioed.

Conscious, I wheezed.

Can you stand? Or should I call for an assist?

Bob couldnt come in without killing meI was lying in the airlock with a bad suit. But any of the two thousand people inside the city could open the airlock from the other side and drag me in.

No need. I got to my hands and knees, then to my feet. I steadied myself against the control panel and initiated the cleanse. High-pressure air jets blasted me from all angles. Gray lunar dust swirled in the airlock and got pulled into filtered vents along the wall.

After the cleanse, the inner hatch door opened automatically.

I stepped into the antechamber, resealed the inner hatch, and plopped down on a bench.

Bob cycled through the airlock the normal wayno dramatic emergency tank (which now had to be replaced, by the way). Just the normal pumps-and-valves method. After his cleanse cycle, he joined me in the antechamber.

I wordlessly helped Bob out of his helmet and gloves. You should never make someone de-suit themselves. Sure, its doable, but its a pain in the ass. Theres a tradition to these things. He returned the favor.

Well, that sucked, I said as he lifted my helmet off.

You almost died. He stepped out of his suit. You should have listened to my instructions.

I wriggled out of my suit and looked at the back. I pointed to a jagged piece of metal that was once a valve. Blown valve. Just like I said. Metal fatigue.

He peered at the valve and nodded. Okay. You were right to refuse cross-connection. Well done. But this still shouldnt have happened. Where the hell did you get that suit?

I bought it used.

Why would you buy a used suit?

Because I couldnt afford a new one. I barely had enough money for a used one and you assholes wont let me join the guild until I own a suit.

You should have saved up for a new one. Bob Lewis is a former US Marine with a no-bullshit attitude. More important, hes the EVA Guilds head trainer. He answers to the guild master, but Bob and Bob alone determines your suitability to become a member. And if you arent a member, you arent allowed to do solo EVAs or lead groups of tourists on the surface. Thats how guilds work. Dicks.

So? Howd I do?

He snorted. Are you kidding me? You failed the exam, Jazz. You super-duper failed.

Why?! I demanded. I did all the required maneuvers, accomplished all the tasks, and finished the obstacle course in under seven minutes. And, when a near-fatal problem occurred, I kept from endangering my partner and got safely back to town.

He opened a locker and stacked his gloves and helmet inside. Your suit is your responsibility. It failed. That means