The Moonwalker

Chapter 10.2

A map of the Moon is laid out on the table. Their path from Apollo 11's shell in Mare Tranquillitatis, over Terra Sanitatis, north of the Rupes Altai, and back to Mare Nubium is marked and dated by time and events. One of their laptops sit open with Kelly's photographs of the damaged MAF onscreen. Aula sets her tablet down and draws what she saw overtop a rough outline of the craft. It represents years of painstaking effort by a multitude of people. The relentless anticipation of problems is one of the reasons why she and Kelly survived today's collision.

She starts sketching out plans. The MAF's outer bumper is made of relatively thin aluminum that is slightly bent. Doing any work on the structure in low gravity, poor light, and hard vacuum is going to be challenging. Doing major repairs? Even more so. ILUB-2's structure is segmented so it can be taken out and replaced. With a craft like the MAF, the jigsaw of parts is a lot smaller and nuanced. The worst case scenario is parts have to be flown in from NASA's Spaceshop at great expense. The big anniversary that Earth's waiting for would be passed over. She sniffs to clear her nose. It's not an entirely unwelcome thought.

Nakamura enters the command module with pronounced lines etched around his eyes and mouth. He pauses at the sight of her. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No," she admits and straightens up. "I wanted to work on this a little more."

The corners of his mouth lift up. It's not a smile, but it's about as close as he'll let himself get. "We have put in a full day."

She glances at the laptop's clock. It reads quarter to eleven. Her spine makes several popping sounds as she leans back. The stitch in her side is much less painful, but it still tightens a little as a reminder.

"If I sit down, I'm not getting up again."

The corners of his eyes crinkle. "Exactly."

Aula takes one last look at Kelly's computer, then shuts it off. She follows Nakamura down the hallway.The Cubby is a glorified storage space with a table and some chairs. When they turn the corner, it's unusually quiet. Then she sees why. The whole crew is squeezed together around a single table. Packets of beer and food are piled in the middle. Harvey thumbs a button on his iPod. Led Zeppelin's Good Times Bad Times starts blaring over the speakers.

"Now this is the real Moon experience," he says and starts handing food and beer out.

They have everything from chicken soup to negima to candied salmon. Aula catches a packet of shrimp and grits and raises it up as thanks. It's one of her favourites.

Kalashnikoff leans back dramatically. "You still smell like old socks."

"Lucky me," she says and rehydrates her food. When she turns around, Harvey tosses her a packet of beer. She tries to catch it one-handed, but her fingers are stiff and clumsy. It clips her knuckles and spins end over end.

Ward snags it out of midair like a goalie and hands it back. "You need to rest."

"I'm on it."

She arches her eyebrow before rehydrating a pack of Swedish meatballs. When everyone is seated with food and beer at the ready, Harvey turns the music down a notch.

"Now I don't know what those damn canucks are doing half the time, but they need to teach their pilots how to fly."

Laughter bounces off the confined space of the Cubby. Aula stabs a shrimp with her plastic fork and points it at him.

"This will be you in a minute, Harv."

He grins like a kid that lit a firecracker. "That's the type of supportive camaraderie I've come to rely on."