But she had never welded in space.
She adjusted. The second pass—the hot pass—went in. She fed the filler rod with her left hand, a steady rhythm she’d learned decades ago. Her right hand guided the torch in a tight weave, side to side, pausing on each edge to let the puddle fill the undercut. In 2G, the top edge always wants to undercut—to dig a groove next to the weld. She compensated by holding the torch a fraction of a second longer on the upper plate. 2g position
“You’re almost there,” he said. “Two passes. You can do it.” But she had never welded in space
The light was searing—a miniature sun blooming against the black. Through her auto-darkening visor, she saw the base metal melt and flow. The filler rod melted into the pool, but the pool didn’t sink. It bulged, a quivering silver bead that wanted to break free. She fed the filler rod with her left
“On Earth, gravity holds the puddle in place,” Mira said, her voice flat inside her helmet. “Here, the molten metal just… floats. It balls up. It wants to find you.”