Artyom had spent the summer doing odd jobs: digging ditches for plumbing, laying pipes, helping mechanics. He did not shy away from any kind of work, equally happily ran along to fetch a wrench and a pack of “Belomor”, held down whatever he was told to, hammered at whatever he was supposed to, but did not violate his principles. From square one, he let the team know:

“I… er… don’t smoke. Yeah. Don’t even offer.”