“Looks good, 18, nice and square to watch your liftoff. Suggest one last look-around for any loose items, and then we think you’re done on the surface.”
“Wilco.”
Chad started back. Svetlana was facing him by the base of the ladder. Where did she hide the bolt cutters? He’d looked everywhere during the close-out, even into the distance in case she’d thrown them. Sneaky bitch! It left him with only one option.
He turned abruptly, taking long, hopping strides towards Lunokhod. He’d looked at the angles; no way she could physically intercept him in time. And she wouldn’t actually shoot him. It’d be sealing her own death warrant. Without him, she’d die badly, slowly suffocating as her oxygen ran out.
Svetlana didn’t have much time to react. She took several fast steps towards Lunokhod to cut him off while he was still moving, and as he reached for Lunokhod, she braced herself with feet apart and carefully fired at the thickest part of the target. His intent was obvious, and she was a good shot; it was worth the risk.
The 9 mm bullet entered his life-support backpack from the left side. It went through the cloth covering and missed the aluminum frame entirely, penetrating the stainless-steel oxygen tank, rupturing it and instantly releasing the remaining 600 pounds per square inch into the vacuum of space with a brief burst of flame. The thin walls of the tank barely slowed the bullet, which tumbled on destructively through the plastic and wires of the power distribution bus, eventually slowing and stopping as it shattered into the multiple thick layers of the silver-zinc battery.
The force of the bullet and the explosively escaping oxygen pushed the backpack hard to the right, but Chad managed to correct the imbalance with his next stride, planting his right foot farther out, already slowing himself. He heard the warbling tone of a suit malfunction, and glanced down at the indicators on the top of the control unit on his chest; he saw he had low oxygen flow. What the hell?
First things first. He grabbed the rover’s long, bulbous antenna in his right hand and the low, conical one in his left, and squeezed them together, like he was doing a chest press in the gym. He felt them both give way, the antennas and their mounting structures bending. He kept squeezing until they were pointed at each other, nearly touching. Enough!
In Houston, Kaz could only see Bulldog. Chad had headed out of frame to the right, and then he’d seen Svetlana move quickly in the same direction. Towards Lunokhod.
A voice broke urgently into the Mission Control loops. “FLIGHT, there are problems with Miller’s suit. Looked like there was a sudden drop of tank pressure, and then we lost all signal. No data at all from it now.”
Gene Kranz’s jaw thrust forward. This was serious, especially with no visual on the crew. “CAPCOM, let’s get a voice check ASAP.”
Kaz pushed his mic button. “18, we’re seeing a data dropout from Chad’s suit. Comm check.”
The tone had stopped sounding in Chad’s headset, and he glanced at the pressure gauge on his right wrist; it showed only 3.4 psi, almost into the danger section. He turned towards the lander and saw Svetlana holding the pistol, and realized what had happened. The slut shot me! He mentally surveyed his body to see if he was injured. No pain.
“Easy, toots,” he said, raising both hands, but he didn’t hear his voice in his headset. He realized he couldn’t hear his breathing either. His comms had died. He looked closely down at the control unit; his oxygen tank pressure was zero. Shit! He needed to open the emergency tanks on the top of his backpack before he breathed the last of the oxygen in his helmet. The steps were instinctive: he raised the lever on the control unit on the right side of his chest and slammed it into emergency position, and quickly reached across his body over his left rib cage and popped open the red purge valve. That let waste air escape, allowing the emergency oxygen to flow into his helmet, flushing the carbon dioxide buildup from his exhaled breath. He now had 30 minutes to get plugged into the lander’s oxygen system. Less, if the suit itself was leaking. He started moving towards Bulldog.
Kaz pointed at the interpreter to repeat his comm check in Russian, and was relieved to hear Svetlana’s voice in reply. “I hear you fine, Houston.” She sounded angry.
“We hear you fine also. Chad, how do you copy?”
No response.
Kaz worked through the interpreter. “Major Gromova, we’ve lost comm with Major Miller. Can you apprise us of his status?”
Svetlana was at the front of Lunokhod, surveying the damage. Dermo! Shit! She hadn’t protected the rover and she’d done unknown harm to the only person who could get them off this rock.