Artemis(ˈärtəməs): A Novel(ˈnävəl)

Artemis(ˈärtəməs): A Novel(ˈnävəl)

By Andy Weir

1.

I bounded over the gray(grā), dusty(ˈdəstē) terrain(təˈrān) toward the huge((h)yo͞oj) dome(dōm) of Conrad(cənrad) Bubble(ˈbəbəl). Its airlock, ringed with red lights, stood distressingly(disˈtresiNG) far away.

It’s hard to run with a hundred kilograms(ˈkiləˌgram) of gear(gi(ə)r) on—even in lunar(ˈlo͞onər) gravity(ˈgravitē). But you’d be amazed how fast you can hustle(ˈhəsəl) when your life is on the line.

Bob(bäb) ran beside me. His voice came over the radio(ˈrādēˌō): “Let me connect my tanks to your suit(so͞ot)!”

“That’ll just get you killed too.”

“The leak’s(lēk) huge,” he huffed(həf). “I can see the gas escaping your tanks.”

“Thanks for the pep(pep) talk.”

“I’m the EVA master here,” Bob said. “Stop right now and let me cross-connect!”

“Negative(ˈnegətiv).” I kept running. “There was a pop(päp) right before the leak alarm. Metal(ˈmetl) fatigue(fəˈtēg). Got to be the valve assembly(əˈsemblē). If you cross-connect you’ll puncture(ˈpəNGkCHər) your line on a jagged(ˈjagid) edge(ej).”

“I’m willing to take that risk!”

“I’m not willing to let you,” I said. “Trust me on this, Bob. I know metal.”

I switched to long, even hops(häp). It felt like slow motion, but it was the best way to move with all that weight(wāt). My helmet’s(ˈhelmit) heads-up display said the airlock was fifty-two meters(ˈmētər) away. I glanced(glans) at my arm readouts. My oxygen(ˈäksəjən) reserve(riˈzərv) plummeted(ˈpləmit) while I watched. So I stopped watching.

The long strides(strīd) paid off. I was really hauling(hôl) ass(as) now. I even left Bob behind, and he’s the most skilled EVA master on the moon. That’s the trick(trik): Add more forward momentum(mōˈmentəm,mə-) every time you touch the ground. But that also means each hop is a tricky(ˈtrikē) affair(əˈfe(ə)r). If you screw(skro͞o) up, you’ll face-plant and slide(slīd) along the ground. EVA suits are tough(təf), but it’s best not to grind(grīnd) them against regolith(ˈregəˌliTH).

“You’re going too fast! If you trip you could crack(krak) your faceplate(ˈfāsˌplāt)!”

“Better than sucking(sək) vacuum(-yəm,ˈvakˌyo͞o(ə)m),” I said. “I’ve got maybe ten seconds.”

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