Chapter 34• If it were a Snake.
*Day 19 of Origenes Crisis*
"Okay, what are the last three letters in the word calendar?", Weston was asking me a series of questions to make sure I was mentally apt enough to go back out.
"d-a-r", I replied confidently.
"What's 2x2-2?", he asked.
"It's 2", I replied.
"Hmmm, what day is it today?", Weston threw a curveball at me.
"November…um…3rd?", I said, tilting my head to the side.
"That sounded like a lucky guess, but it's right", said Arlo, who had been listening to us from his orbit- his voice emanating from a mic panel on Chapel's console.
"Okay, you've passed my check- if you're ready to go out- we can", Weston said.
My tail wagged; I couldn't wait to rebound from my previous misadventure. As far as I was concerned, Origenes had 'won' round one- but I could control just how many rounds this 'fight' would take for me to win.
"Don't go in without Weston this time, alright?", Arlo said, still a bit worried.
"I won't, I'm going to do what I should have done- I'll cut a hole in the side and go that way", I assured him, "ready to tear that thing apart and put it back together again."
I put the suit back on so fast that I surprised myself. Weston had cleaned out the blood and sweat while I was unconscious, a favor I was very thankful for.
The Orange Team had also asked me how I was, but they didn't do too much prying into what had actually happened. If I felt good enough, then they weren't going to stop me.
While I sat in the depressurization hatch, I gazed through the window. I could see our overlapping boot-prints- pristine and still thanks to the lack of wind.
I hadn't let it scare me- the large amount of danger we were in. But passing out was a humbling experience; making me think that I hadn't respected the role enough, abandoning caution in my excitement.
In truth, danger hung over us every single time we stepped out of Chapel. Since the Moon lacks the magnetic field that Earth has, energetic solar particles and galactic cosmic rays hit the moon's surface with no resistance. During normal activity- outside of the points where we'd be shielded by the telescope itself- the Sun would be showering the moon with a significant amount of energy and UV radiation. NASA calls these "minor" solar events that are expected and planned for. Our suits would withstand, filter, and reflect this sort of thing- but the numbers made it sound scarier than it actually was.
To use a different perspective; If a person who frequently stands under the sun with no sunscreen on Earth for a full year were measured by NASA's metrics, that person would be exposed to a count of 5 "doses of sun" per year. Since the moon has no protection, the same person would receive 24 "doses of sun" per year if they stood on the moon with no suit. NASA used "r.e.m." as a measurement for the "doses", but there are plenty of other measurement tactics. The real scary stuff, however, were the Major solar events- though relatively rare, 4-5 for every solar cycle (11 years) was not a comforting figure. Any person not adequately protected, preferably in a buried shelter, risked injury or death just because of how fast and powerful discharges from the sun are. Warning times could be as short as 30 minutes. For context, during all of the Apollo missions, only one of these events actually happened. It came the 4th of August 1972- four months after Apollo 16 and four months before Apollo 17.
As anxious as I was, I was reassured that if anything went sideways, at least we'd have some sort of warning. But, at its simplest, the longer we took to fix Origenes, the longer we'd be in space. And space is not where you want to be during a major solar event- whether you have a suit or not.
I decided to not overthink the notion as I stepped back onto the surface that Weston had carried me across the previous day. I made my way down to the bay underneath Chapel's "bottom floor."
My most prized asset, which Weston had dubbed the "Wagon", was stashed where a rover would be under different circumstances. A huge toolbox on treaded wheels. It was 2ft by 6.5ft- just big enough to house 7 stacked compartments with the small gallium-arsenide solar panels that I'd be replacing on Origenes. Each lens piece was 1.6 by 5ft, which could be pieced together until it replaced every one of Origenes' two 8-by-25-foot solar panel arrays. The new panels were built to generate roughly 5,000 watts from their six nickel-hydrogen batteries. Below that storage sat a massive drawer, which had every tool I would need and then some.
As heavy as it was, its motion was remote controlled; if I pressed a button, it would follow a path behind whatever was in motion in front of it.
Weston had descended from Chapel by the time I got the tool wagon down from its compartment.
"How are you feeling?", he asked.
"Never been better", I said before adding, "You didn't drop me while you were carrying me around yesterday, did you?"
"No, I didn't drop you- I would never be so careless", Weston assured, "Plus, you're not all that heavy."
"I only ask because the comm button on the side is weird now, like I have to press it twice as hard to get it to work", I said, realizing that it was also possible that the previous day's stress had cut my own strength in half.
"Can you switch to the open channel?", Weston asked.
"Yes", I said, doing just that.
"Okay, just stay on there, if we need to call anyone else, I'll just do it", Weston replied.
As I walked, the tool wagon began to roll over the moon rocks behind me.
"Oh wow, so it really does follow you- it's just weird to see it actually in practice", Weston said.
"Yeah, as long as it senses something in front of it, it rolls in a straight line", I explained.
As sophisticated as this technology was, we hadn't so much as practiced with it once back on Earth.
Every so often it would drift to the side and Weston would guide it back behind me. I wasn't as worried about it as I was about the idea of the moon's cold environment destroying whatever circuitry remained serviceable in Origenes. I must have been so deep in thought that I almost walked past the telescope.
But, I was greeted with good news. The antenna on top of Origenes (the one that wasn't wedged underneath) was still active. Some panels on the solar array were still storing the sun's energy. But most importantly, the Space Telescope Imaging Spectrograph was still doing- well… something. But it wasn't dead, which was my fear.
I grabbed the electron beam welder.
"We're fixing the first hole, then making a new one, right?", Weston asked.
"That's right, if you could be on standby with the saw- that would help me a lot", I said.
"Gotcha!", he said and went back to the tool wagon.
I looked at the rectangular hole that Weston had hastily created to save me, covered by the massive slab that he'd removed.
Don't be in a hurry, Rocky. Just do this right, I thought to myself.
I began to weld the siding back together, the blue-white beam illuminating my helmet.
10 minutes and it was done.
My plan was all laid out. I'd saw a hole just bigger than Weston to ensure we could both get in, then I'd fix what needed fixing, replace what couldn't be fixed, then lift it up with the massive hydraulic jack we had to fix everything on the 'underside.'
I could see Weston tilting his head trying to locate any sort of a paw-hold to pull himself up.
Although there were rungs, they were made for astronauts to pull themselves up parallel to the telescope while orbiting earth.
Origenes was the first space-based observatory specifically designed to be repeatedly fixed by astronauts while in Earth's orbit. Quite revolutionary for the time.
The telescope itself was always fighting an eventual re-entry into the atmosphere; its size made it just resistant enough to Earth's mighty pull.
It had been pried open and upgraded over twenty times before it's impromptu 'moon landing' On the first mission astronauts installed new instruments and equipment to fix a major flaw in Origenes's primary mirror during the shuttle era.
Origenes would go into a state of dormancy called 'safe mode' while the telescope awaited repairs. Ever since it hit the moon, its state was far more dormant than "safe-mode." I was just thankful that it still had life in it at all.
From where we were, the nearest rung was directly above a bent array of solar panels, so we had to find a way to secure ourselves to the smooth side of the telescope so we could hook ourselves onto something secure.
"Okay, I've got an idea. We just use the toolbox like a stepstool", I blurted out.
"It's not tall enough, I already thought of that", Weston replied, "I suppose we could stack things on it…."
"I think it will be tall enough if I use the jack to lift us up- what do you think?", I asked.
The hydraulic Jack I'd use to lift Origenes was stored in two pieces, just like the portable ascent engine. In fact, the jack was built so that you could slide the ascent engine perfectly underneath it without moving the jack. In fact, the metal was designed to buckle and fall away when exposed to extreme heat, so the ascent burn would destroy the jack but give Origenes the boost to throw it up into the moon's orbit.
However, an additional risk came with the freezing of the hydraulic fluid inside; using it twice exposed it to double the risk.
I doubted NASA had thought about the possibility of us using it before I attempted to repair Origenes' bottom half.
"If we use the jack to get us on top of the telescope and it freezes before you can use it to fix the underside, we'd be up a creek with no paddle", Weston said.
He made a good point.
"Well, we'll just have to throw our grappling hooks at that then", I said, pointing at the nearest ladder rung.
The gravity made it a barely feasible option. The other option would be to scale it with something sharp, like climbing a mountain with a pickaxe- I'd just have to plug up the holes- which would be a chore.
"Fine, we'll just throw our hooks like dummies for a while, I guess", Weston said, tossing the small hook attached to his tool belt towards the rung. What started out as a fun, "Let's see who can hook it first"-game turned into a frustrating mess.
I've seen Chase do this with and without a vehicle- why can't I do it?, I thought to myself after ten straight misses.
The moon's gravity made it so easy to overshoot the target, but at long last, Weston barely overshot and quickly pulled his hook down with a metal *CLINK* that I could hear through my helmet.
"Got it!", he shouted in celebration, "Don't let me fall!"
With the line already hooked to him, he slowly walked up the cylindrical side of the telescope frame. He slipped a bit towards the top but pulled himself up on the ladder rung.
"Man, there really are no paw-holds on this thing at all", Weston said.
Weston had already informed me of the main damage my suit had suffered from the secondary mirror's tumble. The tiny winch was jammed, meaning I wouldn't be able to attach it to anything and use the tiny motor to ascend. Weston's suit, of course, didn't have one.
I argued I could repair it during downtime, but he'd insisted it would be better to just adapt to the 'bump in the road' than to expend additional effort to repairing it. "Downtime is meant for you to stay down", he'd said.
He dangled another hook down for me to grab and lifted me up with little effort.
I hadn't considered how wide the view would be, since I was only used to peering out of Chapel's little windows. I'd never been on the top of the Paw Patroller before, but I imagined it was a similar view.
"You weren't kidding, the sides are like buffed floors", I said while I removed the saw from my pack and looked at Weston, "Here, sit still for just a second."
His reply revealed to me how menacing I probably looked. "Oh, sure- I'll sit right here for you Mr. Saw-wielding dog", he said sarcastically.
I held up a wax pencil next, "It's okay, just gotta draw a circle around you."
"Oh, alright", Weston replied, catching on to the plan.
"Now I know where I'm cutting, if it's big enough for you, it'll be big enough for me", I explained just to make sure silence didn't linger for too long.
"I want to ask if that's a subtle joke about me losing weight, but I did hoist you up here like a bushel of apples, so….", he said.
I laughed as he backed out of the rough circle I drew. Weston's pretty funny, who would have thought?
I revved up the saw and began to follow the lines I'd traced. I could see how Weston was able to crack it open so easily- the saw edge's rotation sliced through the shielding with almost no push on my part.
I was careful to remove the circular slab so I could re-seal the hole.
I poked my head inside and saw the evidence from the previous repair trips over the years that I'd missed before. The hole allowed for a substantial amount of sunlight to enter, so much so that I didn't need my flashlight until venturing to the telescope's back half. The mess from the previous day's debacle was substantial- the secondary mirror was cracked and the restraints needed to be repaired.
I can't move on to the next step until I fix what I broke, I thought.
So, I asked Weston to keep handing me tools down through the hole until I had undone the new damage.
I welded the rectangular hole that Weston had cut first- re-insulating it and adding an extra layer with the quick-dry spackle we'd used in the simulations.
Then, I broke out measuring tape to see just how far the secondary mirror was supposed to be from the walls. Some parts could be saved, others had to be replaced.
Weston had to somewhat repel down the side of the telescope to ensure the hook stayed on the ladder rung, retrieve what I needed, and then hand it to me through the hole. It was an ordeal.
The replacement mirror, screws, heavy-duty tape, cylindrical metal bars, manual screwdrivers (which I preferred over the electric ones when tackling small-scale projects); Weston fetched item after item for me.
"This weird, little- handheld re-wiring tool- do you need it?", he'd ask as he opened the tool wagon again.
"No. Well actually, what does it look like?", I ask.
"Well, this one has a red stripe on the side, it's next to this other one with a yellow circle on it that's more…. barrel-shaped, I guess you'd call it", he replied.
"No- I think we're good without either, thanks!", I'd reply.
But- 5 minutes later, "Actually, Weston. Don't hate me, but….we do need that one."
"….okay, then. Do you want me to bring the other one?", Weston would try his best to not reveal how exhausted and irritated he actually was. I could still tell.
The cycle went on.
On the off chance that he did grab a few things that he figured would be useful, I wouldn't need them. They weren't bad guesses on his part, but I had memorized the schematics and prepared a list of tools that could easily destroy the material I worked on given my lack of complete control with the spacesuit gloves.
The secret to my repair process proved the same as the way I'd do work on Earth.
First, I ask myself, what would be the absolute worst-case-scenario to cause this thing I'm fixing to break again?
Then I ask, what can I do to prevent that from happening?
I put the last screw in but held off on placing it into its newly reinforced rigging system. Rather than the four bars that had held it up before, I constructed an arched 'bridge' of 8 metal beams that held it up and allowed passage underneath it.
"Okay, ready to lift it!", I said after a deep breath.
"Finally!", replied a very physically spent Weston.
He descended into the telescope with just enough room for his suited frame, and we both hung the world's most expensive "chandelier" after 2 hours of non-stop working. Weston laid down in a heap, as exhausted as he was, I felt like I was just getting started.
I turned my attention to the Space Telescope Imaging Spectrograph and checked its status again. It was running on 10% efficiency, which was much better than expected given its exposure to the moon's cold.
"Before you get started on that thing, you should take a walk and clear your head", Weston said.
"Take a walk? But I've got so much to start so that we stay on time!", I argued.
"That will be there when we get back", he stated.
"What if it dies while we're out strolling around?", I asked back.
"It won't, trust me! It's better for productivity if you change your surroundings, you know how long we've been working", he insisted.
"But-", I began.
"I refuse to have a repeat of yesterday's horror- take a break!", he said.
Well…It was hard to argue with him there, but I didn't like the idea of Weston rolling that reasoning out whenever he fancied.
"Tell you what, I'll tell Arlo to monitor it and tell us if it dips below 5%, how's that sound?", Weston bartered.
During our discussion, the spectrograph did bump up to 11% in output so, rather than ask why he wanted me to leave so badly or if Arlo could even isolate the spectrograph to monitor it while on either side of the moon, I simply asked, "Can you even hear Arlo right now?"
"Well, no- not right now- but that's because I'm talking to you at the moment", Weston said.
I sighed, "Okay, I'll walk for 30 minutes, then I'm turning back around."
"Okay, deal", Weston said.
Weston helped me out of the hole and down from Origenes, leaving the hook hanging slightly lower so that either of us could pull ourselves up if we stood on the tool wagon.
Weston invited me to pick a direction, so I pointed away from the sun so we wouldn't have to worry about accidentally staring at it.
Weston took a few containers with him to collect random rocks and things. I hadn't thought to bring anything.
As we walked, I started to get a bit irritated, it all felt so pointless. We're supposed to be back THERE working on the thing that's keeping us here- why leave it now?, I thought to myself.
The joyous bounciness of walking on the moon had lost its magic for me. I trudged along as Weston kangaroo-hopped in front of me.
Weston spoke, "I think there's three experiments they want us to set up while we're out here."
"NASA wants to get the most out of their spontaneous moon trip, I bet", I said, then sort of scoffed, "We're here to repair something, not set up random dust-collectors for them."
"If MacGyver and Arlo had some sort of lovechild, it would sound just like you", Weston said.
"Well, I guess they have had an impact on me- I've never been an astronaut before, so I just channel my teachers I guess", I reasoned.
I had plenty of feelings about NASA, most I felt didn't need to be said aloud on their radios built into their spacesuits.
Weston stopped suddenly, as if he'd been turned to stone.
"What happened? What's the matter?", I asked.
He pointed, "Look, Rocky!"
I turned to follow his gaze.
About thirty yards to the southeast of us sat a crater. Usually – and dangerously- the moon's surface level and unevenness of the regolith makes craters impossible to see while you're walking until you're a pawprint away from them.
Similarly to the dunes in a desert, you could easily fall into one if it were hidden by a ridge.
"Woah", I said, "Woah!" The first 'woah' didn't cover it.
For some context, March 17, 2013 saw a major lunar event unlike any in recent years. Some object hit the lunar surface in Mare Imbrium and exploded in a flash approximately measured to a magnitude 4 moonquake. The resulting crater was 18 meters wide (59.0551 feet). It was the brightest impact recorded since NASA's lunar impact team began their monitoring efforts back in 2005.
The crater we found had to be much older than that, but its size was no less than 70 meters (229.659 feet) across; about 1 and 1/4th times as long as The Leaning Tower of Pisa (in Italy) is tall- or 3/4ths the size of The Statue of Liberty if you laid it on its side.
There are at least 1.3 million craters on the moon that measure larger than 1 km (0.62 miles) in diameter. 83,000 are greater than 5 km (3 miles) in diameter and 6,972 are greater than 20 km (12 miles) in diameter. I didn't want to imagine how it would feel to fall into a 12-mile-wide crater.
"That's insane, I wouldn't even have seen it if you hadn't pointed!", I said.
"I kinda hate that the moon has that effect on us- I mean, I barely saw it", Weston said before he began giggling. He was like a puppy again; picking up a grapefruit-sized rock and throwing it towards the depression's center, creating a substantial plume of grey powder that floated there before dissipating.
"Whoooo! I may not be the first dog to touch the moon, but I'm the first dog to do that!", he proclaimed as his tail wagged wildly behind him.
I smiled and threw a rock of my own, but it didn't go as far.
"It's long enough that you could play two-thirds of a football game in there!", I said, "it's deep enough to fit 30 Origenes' in it- we should have brought the camera!"
I turned to him as he laughed, "It's not like it's going anywhere."
"Why are you laughing at me like that?", I asked in pleasant curiosity.
"It's just, your mind's always on that telescope, isn't it?", he laughed, probably wishing he could wipe the tears out of his eyes.
I couldn't disagree with him. I was exploring uncharted territory on a mostly untouched celestial body, and I brought a man-made telescope back into the conversation for hypothetical scale.
"Yeah, I guess that's my problem, huh?", I admitted.
"I mean- it's nothing bad, per se. I just wish you could turn that part of your brain off, just for a little bit", Weston said.
It felt like I was talking to a friend who cared about me yet again.
I began, "Well, if that's why you took me out here-"
"Of course it is", Weston confirmed before I could finish.
"-I…...I'll try to appreciate the breaks more, in the future", I said.
"Good. Step 1: set a timer and start taking them", Weston advised, "that's what I do."
I nodded before finally settling into my spot on the ridge. I mean- really settling.
And, for the first time, I sat and admired the surroundings; a white desert, shimmering in the dark. I wasn't to the point where I could sit and lose my sense of place- I still knew the moon would never feel like a safe place- but it was the safest I'd felt.
Weston and I began a game where we'd take turns throwing rocks to see who could make it closest to the center of the crater. Eventually we lost track of where the rocks landed and which rock belonged to whom.
We stayed for an hour, just admiring the sheer scale. The longer we stayed, the smaller I felt.
"Aren't you glad you took a walk?", Weston asked me before we left.
"Yeah, I am. You should scoop some crater dust into that sample jar while you have the time", I suggested.
"Good call", he said.
Once we finally decided to turn around and leave, however, Weston stopped again.
"Arlo says to name it something", Weston said, switching between our channel and Arlo's as we spoke, "the crater."
"Doesn't NASA hold naming rights to anything on the moon?", I asked.
"Who told you that? Space is neutral. I mean- space should be for everyone!", Weston replied, his tail was still wagging.
I smiled again, I couldn't argue with him while he was in such a passionate state, and I didn't want to. He was having fun; and maybe I wasn't having enough.
"You should name it, Weston. I'm out of ideas to be honest", I replied.
He took a pensive pause.
"Respite."
"Respite", I repeated, "Sounds good to me!"
I put the crater's new name on the maps; now I had no excuse to ever forget how important it was to have something else on your mind. The telescope consumed my every thought for the better part of a month- yet the moment I let something as frivolous as a random walk and tossing moon rocks take its place was when everything fell into place.
I was qualified before I even knew the telescope was broken.
"Arlo apparently thinks we should name it something else", Weston said after another pause.
"He'll grow to like the name, I'm sure", I said.
***End of Ch. 34***