Down Under Crater Billy

“Four centimeters. According to the documentation one centimeter would be more than adequate, but until the material completely proves itself the Merc-Mola engineers are being their usual overcautious selves.” She raised her voice slightly. “Manny?”

“He’s had his hand through for thirty seconds. Surface deflection of the lock in the unopened areas hasn’t changed. Inside and outside pressures are stable to six decimal places. It’s like he had his hand stuck in a solid wall.”

“Thanks, Manny,” I muttered, pulling my hand back slightly to make sure I didn’t.

“Anna?”

“His vitals are high but nominal. No excess fluids in his suit legs. The sniffer inside has picked up a few more air molecules, but only in the PPB range. Too few for a leak. More likely it was air trapped in the weave of his glove.”

“Excellent. Keep monitoring. Well, Dave?”

“Yeah, sure.” There was no point in just standing there like the Little Dutch SpaceBoy. Taking another absolutely pointless deep breath I pushed my arm all the way in and through, then followed it to the other side.

It was like walking through a wall made of thick licorice goo, the stuff sticking tight to me as I went into it. Everything went black as it plastered itself to the faceplate of my helmet, but it peeled right off again a moment later. My movements were slowed, as if moving under extra thick water, but I wasn’t really hindered as long as I kept moving.

“I’m through,” I said, turning back to look. There was no sign there had ever been a me-sized hole in the black surface.

“Well?” Gloria asked impatiently.

I still didn’t like the thing and doubted I ever would. “It didn’t blow up or out,” I answered, half surprised, half relieved, half disappointed. “Yet, anyway. How much air did it let out with me, Anna?”

“The amount’s barely measurable, Dave.”

“OK.” So’s the failure rate of those tabletop display terminals, I said to myself. But now I know that Cindi has a tiny green dragon tattooed in a spot I’ve never seen, not even when she wears that skimpy topless thong bathing suit of hers.

“If anyone can cause a slow leak or weak point or something similar in the lock, it will be one of us,” I said, stating the obvious. “I want pressure, air transfer, deflection—the whole nine yards—monitored constantly. Automatics and alarms are OK, but I want human verification and notation every half hour.”

“Check,” Gloria answered agreeably. “Make it so, guys.” The fact that she was already monitoring these things suggested that she’d expect me to want such precautions. I wasn’t going to disappoint her.

“I’m heading for the terminal now,” I said, knowing she was watching me on the video feed anyway.

It was at the far end, the oversized keys on the suit-adapted manual board easily worked with gloved hands. I punched in my name, the letters appearing on the screen above the keyboard, then cautiously hit enter. That’s a habit most abnotechs have. Hitting that particular key is always a diceroll.

The display changed to read:

JTL/CBTO TEST SERIES #1 OF MERCEDES-MOTOROLA NT-BASED AIRLOCK. SUBJECT DAVE WATSON MURPHY, JTR 7, ARE YOU IN TROUBLE?

A bland, mechanical voice recited these same words in my helmet. It had even gotten my name right. I tapped the NO bar. thank you, it replied. YOUR WORK ACCOUNT WILL BE CREDITED FOR PARTICIPATING IN THIS TEST. YOU MAY NOW EXIT THE TEST CHAMBER. THE STAFF MEMBER OUTSIDE WILL ASK FOR A VOICE VERIFICATION TO PROVE YOU SUCCESSFULLY EXITED THE DEVICE BEING TESTED. PLEASE GIVE IT, OR YOUR PAYMENT WILL BE VOIDED. HAVE A NICE DAY.

“You too,” I told it, watching the screen expectantly, its always a nice DAY WHEN YOU GIVE ME INPUT, DAVE, AND I’M SO GLAD YOU WERE THE FIRST.

Just like I’d thought, that damned Gloria had known I’d insist on testing the lock.

As I said before, we knew each other all too well.

Half an hour later we had our pressuits off and were working on another round of coffee while finalizing the test protocols.

“All right, Anna,” I said, “Read them back. I want to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

“OK.” She peered down at the screen of the pad on her lap. “ ‘At least one test oversight tech is to be on duty here at all times. If not, the chamber must be under full security lock. The outer door is to be closed during testing, but need not be locked. The on duty tech must be wearing a pressuit when nonstaff people are testing the lock; the helmet need not be worn, but must be within easy reach. Monitoring of surface deflection and int-ext pressure will be automatic, with manual verification every half hour. Double redundant sniffers in the evacuated chamber will be active at all times, auto/manually monitored and set to maximum sensitivity to scan for leaks pressure readings might miss.’ ” She looked up from her pad and grinned at me. “Rubber Bend worry you, Dave?”