A total of three EVAs are required to clear, diagnose, and repair the breach. That entails a full lunar day with a broken toilet and general misery among the crew. When the toilet doesn't work, they revert to bags like their Apollo predecessors. And like their Apollo predecessors, they all dislike crapping in a glorified sandwich bag. It boasts a finger cot so they can manually move things along in the absence of Earth's gravity. They then have to mush it all together with a germicide so gas doesn't form and pop the bag. A luxurious 15 minute bowel movement on Earth can easily become a 30 to 45 minute ordeal off-world. The result is that most of them are eating less, which makes it all the more agonizing when a week's worth of fecal matter reaches critical mass. Everyone currently on the Moon is backed-up and understandably upset about it.

When Aula and Harvey return to the remnants of the pissicle, night has returned and the pressure is on.

"Alright, Constipation Conan. Show us what you've got."

Aula pauses, hammer raised. "Harv, I swear to God."

Her lights illuminate the inside of his helmet and his cheeky grin. He gestures for her to proceed and she gives him the evil eye before bringing the hammer down. The frozen urine is more substantial the closer they get to the base's wall. Sweat starts to pour down her face. She pauses and turns on the fan inside her helmet. Her next swing sends a spidery crack through the midline of the frozen urine. A large chunk falls off to reveal a dark object near the heart of the burst. It looks like an insect in amber.

"Can you tell what it is?" Harvey asks.

Aula squints. "Not yet."

She keeps chipping away until another large section of frozen urine breaks off like a calving glacier. The wall of ILUB-2 is visible, but not directly exposed. Nuance is something difficult to achieve in a spacesuit, but she measures each hammer stroke to avoid breaking too much off at once and further damaging the panel underneath.

"Just a suggestion," Hinton says, "but you could switch sides there to keep it more even and clean."

Irritation spears up through her neck. "Copy."

The repetitive motion is hard on Aula's shoulder, but she tries to keep breaking the urine evenly. Another section breaks off and she can feel a faint thud on her boots. Harvey shifts so his lights crisscross hers and fully illuminate the remnants stuck to the panel. There's less than a foot left, but the thick layer of printed regolith makes it increasingly difficult. It's like trying to hammer a finishing nail that's behind a shelf. She presses herself against the regolith shielding, arm fully extended, and switches to rapid taps.

A large pale crack suddenly splits the urine, then it falls off like a scab.

Harvey automatically dives forward to catch it. "Oh, shit!"

The quick movement jostles Aula and she totters backwards, arms failing. It's no using fighting the momentum. She does a little hop before she can dig her boots into the ground.

"You're always doing this when I have a weapon in hand."

"Sorry, Al," Harvey says somewhat contritely. "How's the module inside? We okay?"

The radio crackles. It sounds suspiciously like laughter.

"We're okay." Bauer's voice is a little uneven. "No change in atmo."

Aula sighs and lopes back to her original position. Harvey holds the chunk of frozen urine in his hands so it's close to the camera mounted on his helmet.

"How's that for a visual, Houston?"

"Beautiful."

"It's fecal matter," Aula says.

Harvey lowers the urine. "Art isn't for everyone."

She gives him a long-suffering look, which only makes him grin wider. They huddle over the pissicle's base and the dark shape trapped inside it.

"Actually," he says, "that does look like fecal matter. Some of it, anyway."

When he turns it over, the possible chain of events becomes more obvious. The small brown lump is near the base of the frozen urine. It appears to be neatly sliced off in a way that suggests something mechanical rather than natural or finger-assisted breakage.

Aula scowls. "Decapitated."

Fecal decapitation is a rather amusing name for a legitimate problem. They're in an enclosed system. Getting rid of waste is important to avoid disease and to recycle resources. Sitting on the pot in one G means there is a predictable trajectory and breakage of waste. In low and micro gravity environments, even the act of crapping is a technical challenge. Fecal matter tends to curl like a rind peel, which is unpleasant enough in and of itself, but it makes technique even more important. Their toilet uses air rather than water to evacuate the bowl, but if any solid waste is cut off or jammed, then the entire toilet breaks down. Worse, if debris travel down the line, they can cause blockage, malfunctions, and leaks. In -140 ℃ temperatures and surrounded by the hard vacuum of space, inconvenient plumbing becomes mission-compromising. Even life-threatening.

"Who did this?" Harvey holds the urine and faeces at eye-level. "Who's responsible for this? I want names."

Both Hinton and Bauer laugh. Hinton says, "Send it over and we'll do a DNA test."

"I can always count on you, Houston."

Although she fights it, she cracks a small smile. Her earlier irritation evaporates, which is no doubt part of Harvey's plan.

He sets the pissicle base down and gets out his hand-grip tool. "You with me, Al?"

"Always," she says. "Against my better judgement."

He chuckles and focuses on the panel. It's slightly dusty and sports a small hole near the middle as if someone used it for target practice. He unbolts the quick disconnect connections one after the other.

"Okay. We're ready for a release."

"Stand-by." Hinton's comm goes silent for a moment. "Alright, it's a go."

Their work finally begins in earnest. Since they're operating in what amounts to a shallow cellar, the EVA is a well-coordinated dance between two people in 300 pound suits and 17% gravity. Harvey lifts the panel away from the base wall, shuffles backwards, and hands it to Aula. She then places it on the small equipment trailer behind them. Unlike spacewalks in microgravity, lunar dust is constantly puffing up and clinging to any surface that's not protected. While their tools hang off them, extra parts must be transported with the least amount of contamination possible.

Beneath the panel are two access points. Despite the pain in her shoulder, Aula holds her mirror up and it's just long enough to reach inside. She can't see, but Harvey can.

"Fairly clean. No other signs of debris."

Countless pipes and ducts encircle ILUB-2 inside its walls. Because of low gravity, pumps are needed to keep necessary pressure. In one G, air flows above and below fluid, but in low gravity, air can just as easily settle into the centre while fluid flows around it. Unfortunately, the pressure that keeps their urine and water recycling system going smoothly also turns a turd into a clot, then a missile.

The repair itself is simple in concept, complex in execution. She helps guide a new hose to replace the old one. Harvey has to connect it backwards using her mirror as a reference while working against EVA gloves. Hinton offers suggestions and corrections in an increasingly apologetic tone. They keep checking to ensure that there aren't any additional surprises further down the line. It takes hours of careful effort. The surfaces of ILUB-2 are all treated to repel dust, but they still have to keep vigilant.

Harvey takes a few little hops backwards until he's out of the small canyon of regolith printed around ILUB-2. "Trade?"

She hands him the new panel from their 3D printer and he hands her the hand-grip tool. He hops back into the breach and neatly fits the quick disconnects together. It takes some manoeuvring, but eventually it locks back in place. Aula hops in behind him and hands over the drill. She has to angle her body so her suit doesn't dislodge any more regolith that piles up on either side of them.

"Thanks, Al."

She pats his shoulder and slowly shuffles backwards. It takes 19 rotations for each bolt, but the drill doesn't rat out. When the panel is snugly in place, Harvey conducts a final inspection. She can see him lean over in his EMU, which looks like he's trying to moon her, and it's being broadcast through the camera on her own helmet.

"How's that, Houston?"

"Looking good."

He straightens up and swipes a glove across his helmet as if adjusting his hair. "Why thank you, Rob."

"Copy." Hinton sounds a little flustered.

Harvey slowly shuffles out of the breach. He raises his arms as high as they'll go and does a little jump.

"Woo! Some landscaping and we'll have a toilet again."

"Good work," Bauer says while someone in the background starts clapping. "I can't tell you how relieved we are to hear that. We'll print bricks as fast as we can."

Hinton clears his throat. "Yes, a fine job you did up there."

"Likewise, Houston. Tell 'em all on the ground we said thanks."

"I will."

"Thanks Bauer. And thanks to Grim Reed here for being my moral support."

Aula arches her eyebrows. "You're welcome."