“The AMU is tethered just outside the hatch. Do you see it? “Patrick asked.
“Still there,” Coretta said.
“All right. Gregor, cut through the hatch, taking it very easy. If you just float through easy Coretta will handle your umbilicals.”
“I don't think they will reach as far as the AMU,” Gregor said.
“We know they won't, they're designed for maneuver inside the cabin. But you'll be able to get at least a meter outside which is enough leeway for you to strap into the AMU. Pull it as close to the hull as you can — but don't take off its safety hold-down yet. There's a wide lap strap to hold you into position. Take both ends at once, pull up on them which will seat you, then latch. Do you have that?”
“Roger.”
“Then exit through the hatch. Coretta, try and give me a running commentary so I'll know how it's going.”
“Sure. Going out now. A tight squeeze, but going through nicely. I'm paying out the umbilicals….”
Gregor was sweating heavily, panting with exertion. By now he was used to the lack of gravity and the way inanimate objects seemed to have life and motions of their own. This moving around would not have been too bad if he had not been restricted by the suit. Every action had to be a forceful one and, if he dared relax his arms, they tended to stick straight out from his body. The simple act of getting into the bulky, chair-like form of the AMU, the Astronaut Maneuvering Unit, proved almost impossible. Either he was moving or the AMU was, usually in opposite directions.
“Take a rest,” Coretta ordered. “You're panting like a bulldog in heat. Let things quiet a bit or you are going to overload your cooling unit.”
“She's right,” Patrick said.
“Must… finish this… a moment more…”
Angry at himself for being so clumsy, Gregor seized both ends of the straps and pulled them tight, damping the movement of the AMU. They were spinning together now — but at least it was together. He closed his eyes against the vertigo and hauled on the straps until the ends came together — and he clipped shut the belt.
“A great job,” Coretta said, smiling at his victorious thumbs-up signal, using the umbilicals to damp his motion. “In the AMU and ready for the next step,” she said.
“Be very careful about sequence now,” Patrick said. “Coretta, have you the safety line rigged? With one end attached inside?”
“Done as directed,” she answered, giving the nylon line one last tug to make sure it was secure.
“Good. Clip the other end to Gregor's belt — not to the chair. After this is done plug the short leads of the AMU umbilicals into the receiver on Gregor's suit.”
“In place.”
“All right, Gregor, you can turn the selector valve from the U position to the AM.”
Gregor took the lever clumsily in his gloved fingers and pushed, hard. It did not move.
“It won't go, “he said.
“It happens.” Patrick's voice was calm, emotionless. “Traces of water in the oxygen, there can be ice. Try working it back and forth, a little at a time.”
“There… it is moving a bit… a bit more… done!”
“Very good. Coretta, first close the valve on his umbilicals, there at the bulkhead, then disconnect them.”
It was done quickly, the disconnected umbilicals floating inside the cabin; Gregor in space outside totally dependent upon the life systems of the AMU.
“Can you read me, Gregor?” Patrick asked.
“Very clearly.”
“You are on the AMU radio connection now which is channeled through the intercom circuits. On the outside of the hull is an aerial to pick up your signal. You may get far enough around the ship for it to thin the signal or even lose it. Keep thinking about this so we don't get out of touch. You're on your own now, but you will keep the safety line connected. That way Coretta can pull you back in at any time. You can start working your way back down the hull now. Moving safety clips as you go.”
“Shouldn't I use the gas jets…”
“Negative! They are tricky to use and take a lot of practice. Forget about them now. Just think of the AMU as a big pack on your back and drag it along with you.”
“Vas ponyal, here I go.”
“Do you have all the tools you need?” Nadya said, speaking for the first time.
What a fool I am, Patrick thought. I can't see what is going on out there, can't keep track of everything. “Thank you, Nadya,” he said. “I should have remembered. The cutting torch is still back by the engines, along with most of the tools. But for this you will need the hydraulic jack as well. Coretta, will you get it and clamp it to the AMU where Gregor can reach it.”
It was not easy going. Coretta leaned far out the hatch to watch Gregor's progress; they could all hear the rasp of his breath in their ears. The AMU was like the old man of the sea on his back. Instead of giving him freedom, moving him about, it got in the way of all his motions. Of course it had no weight in free fall — but it still had mass. It took effort to get it moving, and once in motion the same amount of effort to stop it. Whenever he moved the off-center mass had a tendency to start him spinning. All he could do then was reel in the short line that clamped him to the hull, hold himself tight against it until the motion had been damped. Then attach to a new anchor and crawl slowly on.
“At the engine,” he finally gasped, a breathless cry of victory.
“Well done,” Patrick said, and the others called out agreement. “Anchor yourself well and listen to Coretta. She has the program that outlines the best way to get into engine cavity. Are you tired?”
“Yes… a little.”
“Then take a breather first. Drink some water….”
“Prometheus, this is Mission Control. Come in.”
“We're here, Flax.”
“Patrick, I'm going to patch you through in a moment to Major Cooke in Florida. He is Commander of the Shuttle that is coming up after you. Captain Decosta is his Pilot.”
“Cookey and Dee, this is going to be old home week. We all trained together.”
“A-OK, make things easier. That's what Cooke wants to talk to you about. There is one other thing. The solar activity is hotting up. The report has just come in.”
Patrick felt the tension grip him, the sharp cold realization that there might be no rescue at all. A hope of safety offered — then whipped away. There was no hint of this in his voice.
“When will it hit us? What will the effect be?”
“The first jump in panicle count is here now. Very slight,
but it's sure to grow. “
“Can you give me any figures? Any times, Flax?”
“The astronomy boys say it's difficult to predict with any accuracy. It is only after events that correlations can be made.”
“In other words we'll know it first up here. All right, Flax, give me any time estimates at all if you get them. You can patch through to the Cape now, whenever you're ready.”
The line was already open, the connection was made at once.
“Major Cooke here, come in Prometheus.”
“I thought you would never call, Cookey.“
“My pleasure, Pat. Dee is here with me, just adding weight sitting around the ready room waiting for the bird to be counted down.”
“Been waiting there long, Cookey?”
Cook-looked up at Decosta who was sitting across the table from him, listening in. Decosta, a dark, small man who always wore an expression of gloom, looked even sadder now as he heard the question. He put his finger to his temple, his hand shaped like a gun, and pulled the invisible trigger. Cooke, a solid, meaty blond, looking more like a lineman than a pilot, nodded his head in silent agreement.