The Moonwalker

Chapter 7.2

The solution is inspired from an Apollo-era piece of technology. On the old A7Ls that Armstrong and his like wore, tongs hung off the waist. A new version is included in their toolkit, which is attached to the waists of their Z-1 suits. The tongs are designed to pick up rocks because even the Z-1 limits their mobility. Bending down to pick something up, while effortless on Earth, is hard to do on the Moon without falling over.

Aula slowly lowers the tongs toward the camera. The strap is on the topside, which means she can gently lift it away from the site without unnecessary movement or contact. Her arms are extended and beginning to ache.

"Pause for a moment." Volkov's voice is as steady as granite. "We need to move the lights."

"Copy," Kelly says. "Where do you want me?"

"Half a step to your right."

The sharp cut-out of light slowly migrates until the tongs are at the far left again. "How's that?"

"Fine," Volkov says gruffly. "Reed, keep going."

Although the tongs themselves are lightweight, holding them out against the resistance of her Z-1 is becoming difficult. Because of air pressure, even the soft suit portions are reluctant to bend. To grasp something with her hands, she has to work against that stiffness. Sweat dribbles down Aula's temples and she's glad for the fan in her helmet. It's hard to keep anything still at nearly arm's length without locking elbows, but she can't dictate the pace by herself. There's an issue of balance, as well. Inside the Apollo shell, she has fewer visual cues. Volkov and Ward have the best view from both cameras.

She moves as slowly as she can, mindful of her centre of mass on the track. Everything around her looks like a bottomless black void. It forces her to rely on the tug of her tether. The tongs finally close around the camera strap.

"How's that look?"

"Good, but you sound out of breath," Ward says without malice. "Can you lift it?"

"I can lift it."

Volkov hums in the back of his throat again. "Slowly, Reed."

"Slowly."

Aula lifts the tongs up. It looks like some bizarre act under the spotlight. Her biceps are starting to burn, but she fights the urge to simply yank the camera back. She raises the tongs and feels the camera's weight pull at the end. Slowly, painfully slowly, the camera pulls away from the Solar Wind Composition Experiment. First, the top corner lifts away, then the bottom. A few motes of lunar dust shimmer in the light, but it's within their margin of error. She has to swing her whole body around like a crane to bring the camera over the track. A cramp starts to knot her right dorsi.

"Slowly," Volkov says.

She grits her teeth and adjusts her pace. As she moves, her lights illuminate footprints in the regolith directly underneath her. It feels like she's swinging a piano over a crowded street.

It's harder to keep steady when the camera swings over the track. The temptation to lower her arms is pounding at her body, but she can't risk setting it down now. Not right in the middle of the shell. She could easily lose sight of it and knock it onto the ground. They've been extremely lucky so far. Luck like this doesn't hold.

When Aula faces Kelly again, she inches her way back. Her balance feels much more precarious than before and she's glad of the tether. It's not a natural position to walk in and the low gravity makes it difficult to orient herself.

"You're tipping to your left," Ward says. "Lean back."

She pauses and adjusts her posture. "Alright."