The Moonwalker

Chapter 15.2

The catch is that Aula agrees to stay for observation. Ward insists on taking a blood sample in case styrene shows up. Since her Z-1's hard upper torso contains fibreglass, there's a risk that she inhaled some when it was punctured. Fibreglass is a silicate and causes many of the same symptoms as inhaling lunar dust. That, plus her history of exposure, necessitates more fussing and a physical examination. Aula looks to Nakamura for help, but he simply looks back at her with a serene expression.

When Ward is finally satisfied, Aula's left to her own devices. She dozes on her right side, head propped up on a pillow, while the lidocaine wears off. When she's awake, she mulls things over. Bioprinting is a field with tremendous potential, but it's very new. There are risks. Human trials are happening on Earth, but only mice receive any tissue off-world. ILUB-2 has one printer already to create replacement parts and tools. It's in the Aki laboratory and Kwan clucks over it like a mother hen.

The bioprinter isn't very different in principle. It uses bioink to print cells in different structures, which they can then use as a scaffolding to grow. The Moon's low gravity helps the process along as lower gravity requires less structure, which means less stress on the cells during printing. Given refinement and research, it could shorten or eventually eliminate the lists of people waiting for organ transplants. A bioprinter could simply use a patient's own cells to print new ones that can be programmed to form any tissue. The chance of rejection would be low. No immunosuppression required. A graft could advance that understanding, which is their ultimate mission on ILUB-2.

It's a nice little PR nugget. Aula tucks it away for later in case she needs it.

Ward goes about her business as usual, which creates unobtrusive background noise. It's easy enough to sleep through after the day's drama. Although as the hours progress, more quiet knocks disrupt her work. Aula hears whispering, her name spoken in curiosity and concern. Harvey is the most casual and persistent. It's like a bunch of children asking her mother when she'll be well enough to come back out and play. They mean well, but she doesn't want to see them or hear what they have to say. She dozes again and time passes sluggishly.

Printing cells feels equally sluggish. Ward will need at least three days to create the graft. At least three days of fending off well-meaning crew mates. Aula waits until Ward leaves for supper before getting out of bed. Her body is exhausted and alert, her face scalded and throbbing. It's a torturous way of being awake, but she walks past her room towards the equipment locker.

Her Z-1 hangs apart from the other spacesuits. Its helmet is still smeared with blood and reeks of stale sweat. ILUB-2's mission patch has the Earth and Moon with no names on it. It's dulled and fraying after years of exposure. Between the full strength of sunlight and lunar regolith, the elements cause lot of wear and tear. She puts her hand up against the wall and scans the suit for abrasions. Her reflection stretches and squeezes in the visor. She digs into the material underneath the helmet disconnect. Despite its many cleanings, a fine grey grit still sticks to the fabric, which includes, on top of Kevlar and Dacron, spandex, several types of nylon, Mylar, Gortex, and Nomex. It's an extremely resilient skin overtop the suit's innards and its occupant.

Her pinkie catches on a hole. Aula smoothes the suit's fabric to get a better look at it. A small little spot sits just beneath the helmet's lip. Whatever hit her managed to punch through layers of protective composites, including the suit's hard upper torso.

"I thought I'd find you here."

She turns, but her knee buckles without warning. Harvey drops a metal cylinder and steadies her.

"Jesus! Don't fall, idiot."

He guides her to the bench beside her Z-1, then plonks down beside her. Deep purple ruts hang under his eyes. His shoulders droop. The Apollo-era swagger is gone.

"You 'ook 'ike shit."

Harvey glances at her bloody clothes. "You really want to go there?"

She blinks slowly in lieu of a shrug.

"I brought you something." Harvey looks her over again, the lines around his mouth deep enough to hold shadows. "You up for it?"

"Mmhmm."

He bends down and picks up a cylindrical container that looks like a thermos. He unscrews the top and reaches down to the bottom. There's a rasp and rattle before he finally has what he's after. He holds a bolt up between his thumb and forefinger. Flecks of blood still cling to what's left of its tread. Most is sheered clean off. The head is battered and flattened on one side. It's a connection bolt from the MAF.

Aula holds out her hand and Harvey drops it into her open palm. It's small, silver, and room temperature. If it had shot through her suit a few centimetres to the right, it would've hit her neck.

"I don't know if I should call you lucky or unlucky." He scratches the tip of his nose. "This place really has it out for you."

It's not hard to imagine what the accident must've looked like from the outside. She leans back into the corner and swallows against the pain.

"Going so't on 'e?"

He laughs and looks away. "Fuck you, Al."

They share another silence. She glances down at the connection bolt. It must've been nearly -150 ℃ when it hit her skin. No wonder it ripped her mouth open. She holds it up to her eye and studies the scratches in its surface.

When she lowers her hand, Harvey is watching her. She gestures to her Z-1. "'hink we can 'ix it?"

He follows the direction of her gaze. "Got some Hysol lying around."

It's an adhesive for vacuum environments. They use it all the time to patch their suits before a more permanent repair can be done. Aula turns the bolt over one last time, then hands it back. Harvey accepts it with a cupped palm and gently tilts it into the cylindrical container. He screws the top on tight and sets it down by his feet.

When he leans back, his eyes catch light like her Z-1's helmet. "You're not going to rest anytime soon, are you?"

She doesn't answer. She doesn't need to.

"I was the same. Well, you know. You and Ross put up with me." He abruptly gets up and faces her suit. "Shit, this needs a cleaning."

It takes a moment for Aula to steel herself. She plants both hands on the bench and pushes herself upright. Sickening heat sweeps up her body, but she walks up to her Z-1 and grasps its hand. The EVA glove is limp and soft without any pressure differential. She grasps the left shoulder and ignores the tearing ache in her own. When she looks at Harvey, he hesitates for a heartbeat and then grasps the Z-1's other shoulder. They gently unhook it and lay it down on the floor. It slowly kneels, then crumples face first at their feet. One arm twists at the elbow.

Harvey gets up and looks for tearless soap and cloth. While his back is turned, Aula sits down and brings the arm into a more natural position.