The solution is inspired from an Apollo-era piece of technology. On the old A7Ls that Armstrong and his like wore, tongs hung off the waist. A new version is included in their toolkit, which is attached to the waists of their Z-1 suits. The tongs are designed to pick up rocks because even the Z-1 limits their mobility. Bending down to pick something up, while effortless on Earth, is hard to do on the Moon without falling over.

Aula slowly lowers the tongs toward the camera. The strap is on the topside, which means she can gently lift it away from the site without unnecessary movement or contact. Her arms are extended and beginning to ache.

"Pause for a moment." Volkov's voice is as steady as granite. "We need to move the lights."

"Copy," Kelly says. "Where do you want me?"

"Half a step to your right."

The sharp cut-out of light slowly migrates until the tongs are at the far left again. "How's that?"

"Fine," Volkov says gruffly. "Reed, keep going."

Although the tongs themselves are lightweight, holding them out against the resistance of her Z-1 is becoming difficult. Because of air pressure, even the soft suit portions are reluctant to bend. To grasp something with her hands, she has to work against that stiffness. Sweat dribbles down Aula's temples and she's glad for the fan in her helmet. It's hard to keep anything still at nearly arm's length without locking elbows, but she can't dictate the pace by herself. There's an issue of balance, as well. Inside the Apollo shell, she has fewer visual cues. Volkov and Ward have the best view from both cameras.

She moves as slowly as she can, mindful of her centre of mass on the track. Everything around her looks like a bottomless black void. It forces her to rely on the tug of her tether. The tongs finally close around the camera strap.

"How's that look?"

"Good, but you sound out of breath," Ward says without malice. "Can you lift it?"

"I can lift it."

Volkov hums in the back of his throat again. "Slowly, Reed."

"Slowly."

Aula lifts the tongs up. It looks like some bizarre act under the spotlight. Her biceps are starting to burn, but she fights the urge to simply yank the camera back. She raises the tongs and feels the camera's weight pull at the end. Slowly, painfully slowly, the camera pulls away from the Solar Wind Composition Experiment. First, the top corner lifts away, then the bottom. A few motes of lunar dust shimmer in the light, but it's within their margin of error. She has to swing her whole body around like a crane to bring the camera over the track. A cramp starts to knot her right dorsi.

"Slowly," Volkov says.

She grits her teeth and adjusts her pace. As she moves, her lights illuminate footprints in the regolith directly underneath her. It feels like she's swinging a piano over a crowded street.

It's harder to keep steady when the camera swings over the track. The temptation to lower her arms is pounding at her body, but she can't risk setting it down now. Not right in the middle of the shell. She could easily lose sight of it and knock it onto the ground. They've been extremely lucky so far. Luck like this doesn't hold.

When Aula faces Kelly again, she inches her way back. Her balance feels much more precarious than before and she's glad of the tether. It's not a natural position to walk in and the low gravity makes it difficult to orient herself.

"You're tipping to your left," Ward says. "Lean back."

She pauses and adjusts her posture. "Alright."

The muscles in her side are as taut as piano wire. She's developing one hell of a stitch, but it keeps her focus narrowed on the next step. A career in the RCAF has helped her filter out distractions. Flying an F-35 in tight formation means a second's inattention can be lethal. Yet there's no other feeling like it. Nothing but clear blue sky overhead and the dark blue ocean racing below while performing training exercises in the Canadian Arctic Archipelago. She truly felt on top of the planet. Nothing could beat the aurora borealis and it was where she met Sophia Aaluk.

Kelly pivots slowly and holds her arms out.

The rack's edge is only two feet away. Aula edges toward the ladder. Because the lights on her suit are angled, they flick over half the ladder and away again with every step. It's as if the whole track slips in and out of existence. The camera hangs suspended in Kelly's light. When Aula releases the tongs, the camera gently falls into her hands.

Volkov sighs. "Now get that thing out of the shell."

"Will do," Kelly says and steps out.

Aula lets her arms drop to her sides. The cramp screwing tighter in her right side doesn't relent and there's nothing she can do while in the Z-1. She grips the railing harder than necessary, unhooks her tether, and carefully attaches the tongs back onto her waist. A tug confirms that it's on. When she turns and starts down the ladder, her hands are slow to respond. It's hard to grip anything now. Her fingers are aching and ready to cramp. Without any light on the ground, she counts the ladder rungs and fights the sense of floating. When her boot lands on regolith, she can finally relax her hands and step out of the shell.

Outside is two halves of darkness. One is populated by stars and the Earth's crescent. The other is sheer blackness. Aula readjusts the lights on her helmet and she gets a decent view of the ground in front of her.

Kelly is looking down at her camera. "Can you see this?"

"Mm." Volkov's voice rumbles in their helmets. "Hold it still, we need to look properly."

Aula closes the flap of Apollo's shell. It's difficult. The ache has spread into her shoulders and back. They'll have to return and assess the site properly, but this EVA has already pushed past nine hours. She's damn tired.

When she turns around, Kelly has the camera strap held up to the light on the left side of her Z-1. One end is completely severed. Aula frowns and looks down at Kelly's suit. A metal clip hangs where the camera strap should've been secured. The other half of the tether is attached to it. Safety tethers are made of heat-resistant webbing and have a lotus coat to repel dust. They act as lifelines for astronauts on the ISS and here on the track. They're a tried and tested technology. This one shouldn't have failed.

A small half-circle sits at the tether's frayed edge. It nearly looks like part of a cigarette burn. Of course, it isn't. Material is falling onto the Moon all the time. Meteor showers are frequent. Sometimes lunar meteorites can be large like the one that knocked out the Pitatus seismometer. Others can be extremely small and hard to see. Without any significant atmosphere, these bits of rock hit the Moon's surface at full speed. Or, in this case, pierce the lotus coat on a safety tether. With a puncture like that, dust would immediately get in and abrade the webbing.

Volkov grunts. "A micro-meteorite."

Aula clenches her teeth against a renewed twist in her side. She takes a deep breath and stands still.

"Unlucky," Ward adds. "Major, you look ready to stroke."

"Just a charley horse, ILUB-2."

The pause that follows can be heard all the way from Earth. Kelly's face is blanked by confusion. It doesn't make as much sense in Russian.

Aula scowls. "A muscle spasm."

Vokov clears his throat in a way that perfectly encapsulates his impatience.

She pushes her embarrassment aside and does a final check around the Apollo 11 site. Everything outside the shell looks to be in working order. The dull agony in her side makes her lean to one side to compensate and she nearly falls over twice. When she's out of Kelly's line of sight, she stops and tries to stretch. The Z-1 is more forgiving than the EMU and she's able to wiggle side to side. If anyone saw her, it would look like a little dance. Fortunately, she casts no shadow here and all that ILUB-2 or TsUP can see is her standing in place. It hurts, but the knot in her flank starts to loosen. When she comes around the shell's far side, Kelly is holding her camera in both hands like a girl holding a lunch box.

"Alright," Aula says, "we're ready to pack it up."

Ward hums an affirmative. "We'll be waiting."

The Apollo 11 shell acts as their reference point for the walk back towards the Manned Access Flyer or MAF. It looks like a squat, more angular incarnation of the Eagle. While most of their day to day tasks take place around ILUB-2, sometimes a mission will demand more. The SEVs can take them several hours away, but a trip between their base and the Apollo 11 site is well out of range. It requires local flight.

Their lights catch the MAF's legs. Silver spindles that jut out of the regolith. Aula takes a steeling breath and starts up the ladder. Even in 1/6th gravity, hauling the combined weight of herself, her suit, and her tools is difficult. She focuses on the whine of the fan inside her helmet. It's the only constant sound out here besides her breathing. The MAF has two docks for their suits. She takes the right and Kelly swings to the left to evenly distribute their weight. The Z-1 has a rear-entry hatch that enables it to dock directly to a vehicle. Astronauts can then leave the spacesuit outside without the hassle of standing in an airlock. It also keeps them from tracking in lunar dust.

Aula lines her feet up on the MAF's rear platform and leans back. There's an art to this. She can feel the metal grate at first. No dice. She leans forward, shuffles a little, and then leans back. There's a familiar click and hiss. The suit-port plate locks snugly with the MAF's external hatch. She raises her arm and uses the mirror to look at her Display and Control Module. The DCM is attached to her spacesuit's chest and holds switches for everything from her fan to her mic volume. Everything is written backwards so the reflection is easy to read. She activates the Z-1's hatch and slowly ducks out of the suit's upper torso.

The MAF's lights activate when they dock. Aula sits half out of her Z-1 and squints up at the ceiling. Working in near complete darkness makes her feel hypersensitive to light. She shuts her eyes for a moment and tries to get a handle on the pain in her side. It's not unbearable, but it's constantly grating in the back of her mind. She takes another deep breath and pulls herself out of the suit's lower half. Her arms are starting to feel loose and rubbery.

Kelly groans behind her and switches back to English. "Janey Mac, I'm glad to be out of there."

"Camera secured?"

It's the wrong thing to say. Kelly stands up and keeps her face toward the MAF's wall. "Tucked and ready in the SCC."

The SCC is a Sample Collection Compartment. It holds everything from moon rocks to spare tools, and is easily accessible on the MAF's outside platform. Everyone uses it. Aula winces and she drags herself to the pilot chair. She sits for a moment and digs her thumb into her side. It hurts a lot, but the muscles start to relax in increments.

Kelly sits down beside her, hair frizzed and greasy under the light. Hours sweating in a spacesuit doesn't leave either of them looking (or smelling) their best. She lifts a binder up and starts going through the pre-flight checklists.

"I'm sorry, Reed. You haven't seen me at my best. Thank you for getting the camera."

"It's my job."

"I know. Thank you."

Aula frowns and looks out the window, but it's impossible to see anything. Guilt starts to wriggle through her stomach. She assumed Kelly had failed to tether the camera to her suit. They all did.  

"When I was on ILUB-1, I got into it with one of my crew. Sam Shaw. We all did simulations of the Moon's gravity, but none of us were quite used to it yet. He bumped into me and I thought he was getting handsy and.... " Aula stares at the controls in front of her, but all she sees is Sam's body floating out of ILUB-1's shadow. "I just reacted. He could've ended my career with a word. NASA would've dumped me on the side of the road. I would've never flown again."

Sam had liked her the moment they met. He kept it to himself, but she knew. If anyone had found out she assaulted another astronaut, she would've been crucified by the CSA, her government, the media. It would have been all over.

"He didn't, though. We had a rocky start, but things smoothed out." She shrugs and sniffs loudly. "Anyway, if you repeat any of this, I'll deny it."

Kelly blinks owlishly. "I don't think I've ever heard you talk about him. Not even on the telly."

"Not my place to." She leans over and flicks on the comm. "ILUB-2, MAF. How do we sound?"

"Clear and very late," Ward says tartly.

Aula raises her eyebrows. Kelly slaps a hand over her mouth and starts to laugh.