The MAF rises over the horizon as a negative space where stars disappear. Aula pulls up near its rear platform. It feels oddly reminiscent of parking in someone's driveway. The SEV's lights catch herself and Kelly's footprints scattered around the place. No new craters are apparent. She looks up at the MAF, which appears relatively unharmed.

"There she is," Kahashnikoff says in a hushed voice.

Aula glances at him. "Houston, SEV-1. We've reached the MAF."

"Copy," Hinton replies. There's a brief pause. "Go ahead, SEV-1. SEV-2, follow when ready."

"Copy, Houston." Harvey's voice is flat.

He's still mad over her push for this mission, but she's still mad that he didn't back her up so it evens out. She unbuckles her harness and heads toward the rear where their suits are docked. The left is hers. She goes through the familiar motions of contorting into the Z-1. When she peers through her helmet, the lunar surface is even more striking than before. It's glittering, shadowy, and blue. She admires it for a moment before the sound of Kalashnikoff wrestling with his Z-1 breaks the spell.

She activates the rear hatch and disengages from SEV-1. The lights of SEV-2 flash over her as it swings in beside them.

"Alright," Bauer says over comm. "The party car is here."

Kalashnikoff makes an incredulous noise. "We are the party car. We are prettier."

"Hey now. I may not be the first black man on the Moon, but I am definitely the most handsome."

"Ooo, sign my suit, Mr. Handsome Man."

"If you're nice to me, I might throw in a photograph."

Neither Aula nor Harvey add to the banter. She grips the ladder and slowly descends from the SEV's bed. When her boots sink into regolith, she turns and lopes toward the MAF. It towers silently over them, the entirety of it visible only by the starlight it blocks. She approaches the rear platform and studies it for any sign of damage, but there are none. Only a gossamer layer of regolith as fine and grey as moth wings.

"We've got some dust settling here." Aula grasps the MAF's ladder. "Watch your step."

The metal is cold through her gloves even though today is a relatively mild -139 ℃. Because her suit is so close to the ladder itself, she can't look up or down for visual cues. She squeezes each rung against the rigidity of her gloves. Her fingers quickly begin to ache with exertion and cold. By the time she ascends to the MAF's rear platform, her fingers have lost some feeling. She activates the heater pads on the back of her EVA gloves and her fingertips immediately thaw out. Vibrations run through the metal floor and into her boots. She turns to see someone climbing the ladder behind her. It's Kalashnikoff. Harvey and Bauer are visible only as bobbing pairs of light leaving SEV-2. Though if allows her eyes to adjust, they all cast shadows.

"Houston." Kalashnikoff lopes to the MAF's external controls. "Are you ready for some Russian magic?"

"Always," Hinton replies dryly.

He starts by assessing the craft's internal pressure, power, and fuel. Aula knows the drill. She unlatches the toolkit on her side and grasps a telescoping pole. It's small but surprisingly heavy. Originally designed for emergency spacewalks between vehicles in 0 G, it's heavier incarnation is now used in low gravity environments. She hops to the upper righthand corner of the MAF's platform and lights up the small latch above the front right landing gear. The pole acts as a temporary zip line she can latch her tether onto and slide across. Vibrations rumble up her feet again. Harvey's heaving himself up the ladder while Bauer's lone pair of lights hop around the regolith below.

"Houston, ready to proceed."

Hinton pauses and she can imagine him leaning back in his chair, ear cocked toward someone else. "You're clear, Reed."

Like with the tongs, Aula has to position herself carefully without locking any joints. As the pole slowly extends out from the platform, it becomes more cumbersome and difficult to control. Fatigue drags on her arms. Aiming for the distant latch only compounds the problem. Her natural tendency is to bend slightly at the waist and feed the pole outwards hand over hand, which causes the lights mounted on her helmet to dip left and right depending on what arm she's reaching with. Without any illumination, the latch might as well vanish from existence. She's forced to keep her upper body as still as possible and let her arms bear the strain.

"Right on your six, Al." Harvey's lights suddenly cut across hers. "Let me take over."

She moves aside to make room for him. He grasps the pole and continues to feed it out towards the latch. She trains her lights on the target until the pole and latch are so close together, the pole's shadow eclipses it. In some ways, it's not unlike a fire hose. She helps Harvey keep it steady while they both start applying more pressure. There's some initial resistance, than a click. They rest the near side in its own latch wielded into the platform. She leans down on it and it supports her weight.

"Lock secure," Aula says. "Preparing to move off the platform, Houston."

"Copy."

Harvey turns as far as he can in his suit. "How's the MAF, Kal?"

"Power and pressure are nil."

"Bauer?"

"Nothing sinister down here."

"Al?"

She hooks her tether to the pole. "Good to go."

"We're ready, Houston."

"We read," Hinton says. "Go play."

It might not be skiing on the Moon, but zip lining is a mission first. Aula waits until Harvey latches his tether onto her suit as a backup before she pushes herself over the railing. It's not exactly a noble moment. The Z-1's flexibility doesn't cover hopping over things so she ends up flopping over the top like a fat puppy. The sound she makes when the railing presses into her belly isn't unlike a fat puppy, either. She angles her chest to protect the Display and Control Module and slowly slides over the side. Even in simulations, it's a thrilling feeling to dangle above the Moon's surface. She presses her boots against the MAF's bumper, grasps the pole, and starts to make her way towards the damaged part of the shield.

It's slow going. Pressure tightens against her waist, but she resists the urge to grasp her tether with one hand. If she falls from this height, her PLSS won't survive impact. She pulls herself along with both hands and ignores the building pain in her palms and shoulders. Her boots leave small skiffs of regolith along the MAF. Aula eventually approaches the chunk of rock lodged in the Whipple shield. It's dull under light and looks like someone barbecued a hunk of tigers eye. Possibly iron ore from the meteorite itself. She positions herself over it and bends forward slightly so her camera has a full view.

"Coming in clear, Houston?"

"Coming in clear. Hold there for a second."

"Understood."

It's difficult to balance her weight when deprived of visual cues. Aula hooks her elbow around her tether and examines what little she can see of the MAF's interior. A small fissure in the inner bumper reveals the suggestion of foam, tubing, and wires.

"Alright, Reed. If you can shine a light on that damage for us, we'd appreciate it."

She moves slowly sideways to get a new angle on the bumper. Red catches her eye. She pauses and tilts herself very carefully. The rock's edges pierce a thick red-striped hose. It's the fuel line, which carries liquid oxygen. LOx is one of the most dangerous substances she's ever worked with. Oxygen enables things to burn; liquid oxygen enables them to explode. Even in the vacuum of space, dealing with an oxidizer isn't without risk.

"I see a breach in the fuel line."

"So do we." Hinton's voice is overly calm. "Mind stepping back for us?"

She presses her hand against the bumper. "Cop—"

The broken hull gives beneath her fingers. Aula feels it a split second before something shoots past her ear and whips behind her neck, up above her head, then smacks against the inside of her visor. It blurs silver in her field of vision, then flips towards her face. Something small and searing cold sticks to the left side of her mouth, fusing it shut. She makes a garbled sound and a fissure rips open from cheek to chin. Blood pumps over her tongue and something icy rolls close to her neck.

"Al?"

She tries to grab for the pole, but she's too slow. She tilts over backwards. Stars blur. The inverted horizon suddenly fills her field of vision. The tether snaps taut so she swings upside down into the MAF's shield. Earth's crescent blues the lunar regolith beneath her. Something rattles its way past her ear and rolls into the top of her helmet.

"Al."

Blood throbs steadily over her face, into her nose, and over her eyes. She tries to spit, but her mouth can't form a seal. Her eyes sting with involuntary tears. She gags and red spittle sprays her visor.

Trying to speak nearly makes her throw up. Her tongue feels heavy. She starts gasping for air to counteract the shock. Her body is yanked sideways. She's being reeled in off the pole. Chatter fills her ear, but the words don't quite register. She's too hot. She tries to turn her fan on, but her hand is impossibly clumsy. She can't remember where the button is on her DCM and most of her visor now obscured by blood. Sweat sprouts all over her body.

Hands grab her left arm and yank her close. They yank so hard, her arm nearly pops out of its socket. A metallic rattle circles behind one ear, her neck, and then around to the other ear. It's burning cold and menaces her unprotected skin, but it doesn't make contact when she's hauled over the railing and onto the platform. It simply rolls around the bottom of her helmet. Her face is slimy with perspiration.

"Fan," she slurs. 

There's pressure against her chest. The fan starts whirring across her face. Her sweat immediately starts to dry. Someone squeezes her hand. Lights crisscross over her, blinding in their intensity. Her ears pop. Pressure in her suit is dropping.

"B'eeding."

"We know," Harvey says. His voice is so gentle, it scares her. She's only heard that tone of voice once before. "Tell us where."

She grunts impatiently. "Air."