The power came from hydrogen-oxygen fuel cells, built into the Shoemaker, which would also supply more water. Their waste would go into bags or tanks, to be dumped over the side when it was time to leave. There were cold plates and radiators to control the temperature. There was a simple medical kit, germicidal wipes, some tools, equipment for the EVAs.

Cramped, dusty, fabric walls, tipped-up, crowded with gear: the hab was, he thought, like a tent in the Antarctic. Except for the two huge space helmets stacked in the corner.

Geena started to dig out food.

“Station rations,” she said. “In fact just the rehydratable stuff. You can add hot water, but we don’t have an oven.”

Henry looked at the rows of labelled plastic bags in dismay. “Fit for a king. Okay, what do you recommend?”

She dug out two packets. “Chicken, cashew nuts, rice.”

“Ah. You always preferred Chinese.”

“Henry, for Christ’s sake.”

“Sorry.”

“The hot spigot is over there.”

“Right.”

He found how to inject the bags with water, and knead them up until they were mushy. Geena slit open the bags with a pocket knife, and dumped the contents into bowls. Then she dug again into the food locker and produced chopsticks.

“Wow,” Henry said. “You think of everything.”

“Just something I always wanted to try.”

In one-sixth G, the chopsticks worked better than on Earth; the food seemed to fly in a steady stream to Henry’s mouth, and with pretty good accuracy. But the portion lasted just minutes, and as for the flavour, he had the feeling he should have eaten the plastic packet.

The walls of the hab were vaguely translucent. It was, of course, still lunar morning outside. As he ate, Henry was aware of the gross features of the landscape: the sun a dazzling, blurred disc, black sky, bright ground.

Geena seemed to be trying to come up with something to say, to fill the silence. “You know, the Chinese have a Moon legend. They say a beautiful girl called Chango has been living up here for four thousand years. She was sent up here because she stole the pill of immortality from her husband. And she has a companion, a big Chinese rabbit which—”

“What if we get punctured by a meteorite?”

“You know that’s not likely.”

He punched the walls with his fist, making the fabric wobble around them. “Okay. But what about cosmic radiation?”

“Actually, the biggest risk on a six-day stay is a solar flare.”

“So where is the six-inch shell of lead plate to protect us?”

“You can’t design out all the risk, Henry. And the risk of dying because of some act of God up here is low compared to some of the other risks we have to take.”

“Such as?”

“Principally, launch from Earth. Reentry is no Disneyland ride, either.”

“So tell me how you handle this low risk.”

“Management waivers. A NASA speciality. You want some dried strawberries?”