Betty Baxter's Spacecraft Repair Log

Day one.

In space, everything breaks, and nothing works. That sounds redundant, but in reality, understanding the difference between those two ideas is what truly distinguishes a true Spacegineer from an idiot with a wrench.

I have a theory... maybe.

Take my space suit. Before I exited that airlock back there, I was confident it would be the most important thing I needed out here today. The outer layer was hole free, the inner layer was clean. Air tank attached properly, claw boots sharp and magnetized, glove tread ripe and friction-y. I could see my lovely face in the visor, buffed to a crystal clear, translucent shine.

But there's no friggin' tool belt loops on any of these suits. So, if I forget my personal tool belt, shut up, then there's no built in reminder on the suit itself to help me realize that it's not there. I have to float fifteen thousand meters, which takes soooo suuuper long, you guys, attach to the broken shield generator, and reach for a tool. Only then is the black emptiness of space replaced by the black emptiness of my toolbeltless waist!

My daddy once told me something about being dyslexic, back when I was a little tyke. Something I'll never forget. He said. "Betty! Stop being dyslexic!" I try to live by that mantra every day, struggling against a dumb brain what learns too slow and remembers too much. I can tell you every thing I've ever fixed, how I fixed it, and what part of my body was damaged in the process. But right now, in this moment, I have no idea what to freaking do.

Guess I'll wing it.