Artemis: A Novel

by Andy Weir

  Don’t believe me? Put ice water in a saucepan and cook it. The water temperature will stay at 0°C until the last ice cube melts.

  I crawled out from the pit and checked the control room. Still empty. But not for long. The train had left.

  With all that chlorine in the air, it made sense to send the workers back to town. But once they got there, a bunch of hazmat-suited engineers would board and come right back. I had ten minutes for the train to get to town, call it another five for the changeover, then another ten until the enemy cavalry arrived. Twenty-five minutes.

  I hurried to the thermal control box. I unscrewed four bolts and took the access panel off. I yanked out the thermocouple management board and produced a replacement board from my duffel. Svoboda had spent the previous evening piecing it together. Pretty simple, actually. It acted just like the normal board, but it would lie to the computer about the bath temperature, always reporting it low. I inserted it into the slot.

  For verification purposes, Svoboda’s replacement board had LCD readouts showing the actual and reported temperature. The actual temperature was 900°C and the reported temperature was 825°C. The computer, believing the temperature was too low, activated the main heater.

  There was an audible “click” even though there was no relay. The power conduit—thickest power line I’d ever seen, by the way—actually squirmed for a moment when the current began. So much electricity flowed through that cable, the resulting magnetic field made it bounce around while it ramped up power. It settled down once the current got to full amperage.

  I watched Svoboda’s board. Soon, the actual temperature clicked up to 901 degrees. Then, in far less time, it rose to 902. Then directly to 904. Then 909.

  “Shiiit,” I said. That was way the hell faster than I expected. Turns out a massive power line carrying the bulk of two nuclear reactors’ output can heat things up pretty quickly.

  I left the access panel on the floor and ran back to my private entrance.

  Dale waited for me in the inflatable connector. “Well?” he asked.

  I shut the air-shelter door behind me. “Mission accomplished. The smelter’s heating up fast. Let’s get out of here.”

  “All right!” Dale held up his gloved hand.

  I gave him a high five (can’t leave a fella hanging). He bobbled down the tunnel toward the rover.

  I took one last look at the air-shelter hatch to make sure it was sealed properly. Then I turned back and started down the tunnel—wait a minute.

  I spun back to the hatch. I could swear I’d seen movement behind me.

  The hatch had a small, round window. I drew closer to it and looked through. There, inspecting equipment along the far wall of the smelter bubble, was Loretta Sanchez.

  I put both hands on my head. “Dale. We have a problem.”

  Sanchez peered at the emergency air system. She wore goggles and a breather mask. Apparently a little chlorine gas didn’t scare her.

  Dale, halfway down the inflatable, gestured to the rover. “Come on, Jazz! Let’s go!”

  “Loretta Sanchez is in there!”

  “What?!”

  I pointed to the airlock window. “She’s just wandering around like she owns the place.”

  “She does own the place,” Dale said. “Let’s get out of here!”

  “We can’t leave her there.”

  “She’s a smart woman. When the meltdown starts she’ll leave.”

  “Where will she go?” I demanded.

  “The train.”

  “The train left.”

  “The air shelter, then.”

  “That won’t protect her from molten steel!” I turned to the hatch. “I have to get her.”

  Dale stomped back toward me. “Are you out of your mind?! These people tried to kill you, Jazz!”

  “Whatever.” I checked the tape on my mask and goggles. “Get to the rover. Be ready for a quick exit.”

  “Jazz—”

  “Go!” I snapped.

  He hesitated for a second—probably to decide if he could physically force me back to the rover. He wisely chose not to and headed down the inflatable.

  I spun the hatch valve and stumbled back into the facility. Sanchez didn’t notice me at first—her attention was on the emergency air system. Probably trying to figure out why it wasn’t cleaning the air.

  How does one introduce herself in a situation like this? I don’t think Emily Post covered “saving an enemy’s life during industrial sabotage” in her etiquette books. I went with a tried and true method.

  “Hey!” I yelled.

  She whipped around and grabbed her chest. “Goodness!”

  She panted a few times and regained her composure. She was a little older and more weathered than the pictures I’d seen of her. Still, she was spry and healthy-looking for a fifty-year-old. “Who on God’s gray moon are you?”

  “That’s not important,” I said. “It’s not safe here. Come with me.”

  She didn’t budge. “You’re not one of my employees. How did you get in here?”

  “I cut a hole in the wall.”

  “What?” She scanned the walls to no avail. The hole was on the other side of the smelter from her. “You put a hole? In my factory?”

  “Why aren’t you on the train!” I demanded. “You’re supposed to be on the train!”

  “I wanted to see if I could fix the problem. I sent the others to safety and—” She stopped and held up a finger. “Hold on a moment. I don’t have to explain myself to you. You have to explain yourself to me!”

  I took a step toward her. “Listen, dipshit. This whole facility is about to melt. You have to come with me right fucking now!”

  “Language! Wait…I recognize you. You’re Jasmine Bashara.” She pointed an accusing finger. “You’re the hooligan who ruined my harvesters!”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And I’m the hooligan who sabotaged your smelter. It’s going critical as we speak.”

  “Nonsense. I designed it myself. It’s infallibly safe.”

  “The heater’s on full, the thermal system is hacked, and I welded a steel plate across the melt plug.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “We have to leave!” I said. “Come on!”

  She looked to the smelter, then back to me. “Or…I could fix it.”

  “Not gonna happen,” I said.

  “Do you plan to stop me?”

  I steadied my stance. “You don’t want to mess with me, Grandma. I’m half your age and I grew up in this gravity. I’ll carry you out of here if I have to.”

  “Interesting,” she said. “I grew up on the streets of Manaus. And I used to mug men twice your size.”

  Okay, I wasn’t expecting that.

  She lunged at me.

  I wasn’t expecting that either.

  I ducked and watched her sail overhead. Earthers always underestimated how far a jump would take them. So it was easy to—

  She reached down, grabbed my hair, and slammed my head into the ground with her landing. Then she straddled my chest and reared back to punch me in the face. I kicked up, bucked her off of me, and got to my feet.

  Before I could get my bearings, she was on me again. This time she attacked from behind with a chokehold.

  I have many flaws, but machismo isn’t one of them. I know when I’m outclassed. Turns out Manaus is a much tougher town than Artemis. This woman could pummel me in a fair fight.

  That’s why I avoid fair fights.

  I reached over my shoulder and pulled off her air mask. She released me immediately and backed away. She held her breath and fumbled with the dangling mask. That gave me an opening.

  I spun around, ducked down, and grabbed her by the legs. Then I hoisted her into the air with all my might. She flew a good four meters straight up.

  “Can you do that in Manaus?!” I yelled.

  She flailed in the air and reached the top of her arc. I grabbed my acetylene tank from the ground as she began her trip down. She
had no way to avoid what came next.

  I swung as hard as I could. I made sure not to hit her head—I didn’t want to kill her. I ended up tagging her left shin. She cried out in pain and landed in a heap on the ground. But, to her credit, she got right back up again. She started toward me.

  “Stop!” I held out my hand. “This is ridiculous. Your smelter’s getting hotter and hotter. You’re a chemist. Do the math. Will you just come with me?!”

  “You can’t just—” She stopped. She turned slowly toward the smelter. The lower half of it glowed dark red. “Oh…my God…”

  She spun back to me. “Where’s that exit again?”

  “Right this way,” I gestured.

  Together, we ran to the hole. Her a little slower than me because I’d just smacked the shit out of her shin.

  She dove through and I followed her. We scrambled through the air shelter and into the connector tunnel. I closed the hatch behind us.

  “Where does this lead?!” she demanded.

  “Away from here,” I said.

  We ran down the connector.

  Dale peeked his head through the rover airlock. He’d taken off his EVA suit.

  Sanchez leapt into the rover and I followed immediately after. I slammed the rover hatch closed.

  “We still have to detach the inflatable!” he said.

  “No time,” I said. “We’d have to suit up to do that. Drive away at max torque to rip the tunnel.”

  “Hang on,” Dale said. He punched the throttle.

  The rover lurched forward. Sanchez fell off her seat. I kept position at the rear window.

  The rover had insane torque, but there’s only so much traction to be had on lunar regolith. We only got a meter before the tunnel jerked us to a stop. Sanchez, just getting up, fell forward onto Dale. She grabbed him around the shoulders for support.

  “We have to get away from here,” she said. “There are methane and oxygen tanks in there—”

  “I know!” I said. I shot a glance out the side window. A sharply sloped rock got my attention. I vaulted to the front of the rover and clambered into the shotgun seat. “I’ve got a plan. It’ll take too long to explain. Give me control.”

  Dale flipped a switch in the center column to give my side priority. No argument, no questions, he just did it. EVA masters are very good at being rational in a crisis.

  I threw the rover into reverse and backed up four meters.

  “Wrong way,” Sanchez said.

  “Shut up!” I turned toward the angled rock and put the rover into drive. “Hang on to something.”

  She and Dale gripped each other. I threw the throttle to full.

  We lunged at the rock. I steered the right front wheel over it and the whole rover bounced up at an angle. We hit the ground on the rover’s left side and rolled. We gave that roll cage a workout. The cabin was like a tumble dryer—I tried not to puke.

  Here’s what I thought would happen: The inflatable would get all twisted up, which it wasn’t designed to handle, so it would rip. Then I’d use reverse and forward motions to grow the rip all the way around. Then we’d be free.

  Here’s what actually happened: The inflatable took it like a champ. It was designed to have human occupants, so by God it would protect them no matter what. It didn’t rip. But the connection point to the rover airlock wasn’t as strong. The torsion from the twist sheared the bolts clean off.

  The air inside the tunnel explosively burst forth, blowing the rover farther forward (note: lunar rovers aren’t designed to be aerodynamic). We skidded on our side for another meter, then fell ponderously onto our wheels.

  We were free.

  “Holy shit!” Dale said. “That was genius!”

  “Uh, yeah.” I drove us away.

  Whump!

  The muted rumble lasted a fraction of a second. It was one of those sounds you feel more than hear.

  “That was loud,” Sanchez said.

  “No, it wasn’t.” Dale pried her arms off his shoulders. “I could barely hear it.”

  “She’s right.” I kept my eyes on the terrain ahead as I drove. “That sound traveled through loose soil, up through the wheels, and into the cabin. The fact that we heard anything at all means it was loud as hell.”

  I checked the rear camera feed. The bubble was intact, of course. It would take something nuclear to crack that open. The surprising part was my air shelter. It was right where I’d left it.

  I slammed on the brakes. “Holy crap! You see that! My weld held up against the explosion!”

  Sanchez scowled. “Pardon me if I don’t pat you on the back.”

  “Seriously?” said Dale. “You’re going to brag right now?”

  “I’m just sayin’. Hell of a weld.”

  “Goddammit, Jazz.” He flipped the control switch back to his side.

  He drove us back toward town. “You should call Svoboda and your dad to let him know you’re okay.”

  “And you should call a lawyer,” said Sanchez. “I’ll see to it you get deported to Brazil to face charges.”

  “Think so?” I pulled out my Gizmo and called Svoboda. He didn’t answer—it went to voicemail.

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “Problem?” Dale asked.

  “Svobo’s not answering.” I called again. Voicemail again.

  “Maybe someone got to him?” Dale said.

  I turned to Sanchez. “You got any more goons in Artemis?”

  “I see no reason to cooperate with you.”

  “Don’t fuck with me on this. If my dad or friend gets hurt I’ll send you back to Brazil a piece at a time.”

  “I don’t have ‘goons’ at all. Those types don’t answer to me.”

  “Bullshit,” I said. “Your nose is so far up O Palácio’s ass you can see teeth.”

  She scowled. “They’re the ownership. I’m not one of them.”

  “You’re partners!”

  “The bottom fell out of the aluminum market when Artemis stopped building new bubbles. I needed funds to continue. They offered rescue financing. I took it. They do their thing and stay out of my way while I run my smelter. A smelter I poured my life and soul into, which you just destroyed, you reckless puddle of exudate!”

  “Don’t think I won’t look that up!”

  I dialed Dad’s number and held the Gizmo to my ear. Each successive unanswered ring raised my blood pressure.

  “No answer from Dad.” I drummed my fingers on the control console.

  Dale drove with one hand and pulled out his Gizmo. “Try Lene, I’ll try Bob.”

  I called Lene’s number. It rang and rang. I hung up when it went to voicemail. “Nothing,” I said.

  “Bob’s not answering either,” Dale said.

  We exchanged nervous glances.

  “Maybe Rudy caught wind of it and arrested everyone….” I pondered. I hovered my thumbs over the Gizmo and pursed my lips. Calling the police in the middle of a heist wasn’t the best plan. Logically I should have waited until we were back in town—they’d be just as arrested then. But I couldn’t wait.

  I called his number. Four rings and out. I hung up.

  “Jesus,” I said.

  “Seriously?!” Dale said. “Even Rudy’s not answering? What the hell’s going on?”

  Sanchez pulled out her own Gizmo and tapped at the screen.

  “Hey!” I grabbed at her Gizmo, but she pulled it away before I could get it. “Gimme that!”

  “No,” she said crisply. “I need to know if my people got back safely.”

  “Bullshit! You’re calling for help!” I lunged at her. She dragged us both to the floor.

  “Knock it off!” said Dale.

  She tried to swing at me but only had one hand to work with—the other had a death grip on her Gizmo. I blocked and slapped her across the face. Oh God it felt good to get a hit in.

  “Stop that shit!” Dale yelled. “If you idiots hit the wrong button we all die!”

  “You told that harvester to
kill me! Admit it!” I swung at her.

  She dodged to the side and hammer-locked my arm. “Of course I did! How dare you try to destroy my life’s work!”

  “Goddammit!” Dale skidded the rover to a halt.

  He waded into the fray and pried Sanchez and me apart. Despite what you see in action movies and comics, bigger really is better. A six-foot man just has too much of an edge over two slim women.

  “Listen, assholes,” he said. “I’m too gay to enjoy this catfight. Knock it off or I’ll bash your heads together.”

  “Language.” Sanchez resumed dialing her Gizmo.

  “Would you stop her, please?” I said to Dale.

  “If she can reach anyone I’ll be happy.” He let us both go, but kept a wary eye on me. Somehow he assumed I was the aggressor. Just because I wanted to claw that bitch’s eyes out and shove them up her urethra.

  Sanchez listened to the Gizmo for a response. Her expression grew fearful by the second. She hung up.

  Dale looked to me. “Now what?”

  “Since when am I the leader?”

  “This whole heist is your deal. What do we do now?”

  “Uh…” I flipped the radio frequency to Main. “This is Jazz Bashara calling any EVA master. Do you read?”

  “Yes!” came the immediate reply. “This is Sarah Gottlieb. I’m here with Arun Gosal. We can’t reach anyone else. What’s going on?”

  I knew both of them. Sarah was a master and Arun was a trainee. We’d put that Queensland Glass fire out together a few days earlier. “Unknown, Sarah. I’m in a rover outside and unable to get any response from town. What’s your location?”

  “Moltke Foothills harvesting ground,” she said.

  I muted my mike. “Oh right. They’re guarding the harvester from me.”

  “Kind of irrelevant now,” said Sanchez. “But it’s nice to know the EVA Guild took the contract seriously.”

  I turned the mike back on. “Can you make it back to town?”

  “We had planned to ride the harvester back to the smelter and walk from there. But we can’t reach Sanchez Aluminum to ask them to send it home.”

  “Probably best to start walking,” I said. I tried not to catch Sanchez’s glare.