Warren cracked his helmet against the wall of the crawl space and yelped.
“I told you not to wear that stupid thing,” Rida laughed over the coms.
Warren just grunted. Rida, and most others mocked him for putting on the helmet when he went to repair vents in the carved crawl spaces of the station.
Mostly they laughed because he didn’t wear pants. Or the suit top. He wore regular clothes and a pressure suit helmet sealed at his neck and attached to air. His reasoning was that the vents didn’t lead outside so were unlikely to lose pressure. But they could spit all kinds of nasty stuff at him and suffocate him. This had never happened to anyone, but Warren sure as hell wasn’t going to be the first.
He got to the vent and saw one hose hanging limp, twit hint occasionally like a sleeping cat. Air was flowing out the side into the crawl space.
“Found it. Outbound hose rotted through. Spitting CO2 out into the CS. Good thing I have this helmet on or I’d have to keep backing out into clear air every five minutes. Should have it done pretty quick.”
“As always, Warren, you’re a genius. Let me know when it’s done and I’ll confirm.” Rida replied in her snottiest tone.