by John Ringo
Gasses that were in solution in the blood went from liquid to gas and created bubbles. The gasses were everywhere in the body; saturated was the term. So when the bubbles formed, they could do bad things. Especially when they became bubbles in spinal or brain tissue. Paralysis was common as was brain damage.
Miriam, though, ignored him, quickly wrapping the duct tape around the mount, then sliding something else into view. It was some sort of gun and it quickly began extruding a brown material that was initially sucked in through the small holes that formed in the duct tape and then hardened in place.
His external mike could hear air rushing but it wasn't rushing out, it was the internal systems reflooding the compartment with blessed air.
"You okay?" he asked, keying his external speakers.
"No," Miriam croaked.
"You did good," Miller said. "What was that stuff?"
"It's the micrometeorite patch system," Miriam said holding up the oddest looking caulking gun the chief had ever seen. "They're just like the ones developed for the space station and they are all over the ship. Didn't anybody brief you on them before you came on board?"
"Uh, no."
"Basically, it's million dollar a tube hot glue. Chief Miller? I'm going to pass out, now."
"Okay," Miller said, sliding backwards carefully. "Command, explosive venting at Point Four is sealed. And I need medical teams, stat."
"All hands! All hands! Breach sealed. Pressure normalized. Remain in Condition Yellow. Prepare for atmospheric entry."
"What the grapp does that mean?" Drago asked.
"I think we're going into a Jovian atmosphere to get some O2," Berg said. "At least, that's what it sounded like Top was talking about. And you guys just don't get who that guy is. It'd be like walking up to Chesty Puller and striking up a conversation."
"Yeah, sure," Crowley said. "He's the grapping nav. He's not Chesty Puller."
"Look him up," Berg said, angrily. "Seriously. Use that computer for something other than porn for God's sake."
"Settle down, Two-Gun," Jaen said easily. "We get the point. He's heap big mojo."
"Guy's been outside the universe," Berg said, closing his eyes. "He's touched the face of God. He's not just a grapping nav. The SEAL with him won the grapping Medal!"
"Settle down, Two-Gun," Jaen said, obviously grinning. "We get it."
"Weaver was at the Charge of the Redneck Brigade," Berg said. "He went into a gate in Florida and came out of a completely unlinked gate in Virginia! And that was before he really got in some maulk."
"You want to have his babies," Drago said, chuckling. "We get it."
"No grapping clue . . ."
"I have Miss Miriam in a pressurization chamber," Dr. Chet said. He pulled thoughtfully at the beard that hung nearly to his chest and looked at the overhead.
"She has no gross trauma from her depressurization. She has some hypobaric edema but otherwise seems fine. Nonetheless, I would like to keep her under observation for a time. She has expressed a desire to remain in isolation as well."
"Did she say why?" the CO asked.
"The edema manifests as large red marks that will eventually fade to something that look a bit like bruises," Dr. Chet responded. "Since some of them are on her face, they are . . . unsightly."
"Oh," the CO said, grinning. "Tell her she can stay out of sight as long as she likes but that we look forward to seeing her again when she's ready to come out."
"I wouldn't have popped my armor for a bet," the XO said.
"While there are many problems inherent in rapid depressurization, it is not an instant killer," Dr. Chet said. "It is believed that a person can withstand absolute vacuum for up to a minute. No one, of course, has ever tested that hypothesis and I hope that we are not the first to do so. However, what is not widely publicized is that on many of the EVAs done to date there have been pressure leaks of the suits because a seal wasn't properly set and the astronauts were exposed to the vacuum for a few tens of seconds before the suits were resealed. In all cases that has not been a problem. Also, because the compartment was being vented and the hole was relatively small, Miriam was simply in a reduced pressure condition. While that is dangerous, the period that she was at reduced pressure was short. I believe her period of unconsciousness was more a result of the psychological trauma than physical. Miss Miriam is . . . delicate."
"Well, as long as I know I won't have to depend on her for the first ten seconds or so of an emergency, I'll take her as backstop any time," Miller said. "She really does panic, though, in those first ten seconds. Ye flipping gods does she panic."
"What's the next step?" the CO asked.
"We need to descend into the atmosphere, sir," Weaver said. "That's got other problems. The region we have to descend into is the pressure equivalent of about two hundred feet of water. Again, the seals might not hold. This time, though, we're talking about over-pressure. The problem being that the atmosphere coming in isn't breathable. It's also not a killer, though. Fire-fighting air systems would work to deal with it. But we should reinforce the joints as much as possible. Oh, and the air's going to be cold. We can actually use it for some of the chilling systems. We might think about extending the chillers while we're doing this, it will vent some heat."
"We're low on air, so we don't have a lot of time to work on this," the CO said. "But, XO, I want pipe-seals on all those vents. We're probably going to get some of that atmosphere in the ship, but let's get as little as possible."
"Will do, sir," the XO said.
"What's the composition?" Dr. Chet asked.
"The area we're descending to is primarily hydrogen," Weaver replied. "But it has a high concentration of oxygen, about one percent. Very little CO2, less than a hundredth of a percent. Just about zero nitrogen. Argon, helium, mostly noble gasses are the biggest traces. But it's the thickest concentration of oxygen in the atmosphere; we dropped a probe to check."
"Other than the pressure, that is fully breathable," Dr. Chet said. "In fact, if the system fails and the compartment vents, all we'll have to ensure is that it does not depressurize quickly. That composition is actually rather good for that pressure. Breathing systems may not be necessary. In fact, I would recommend against them. The oxygen in the breathing systems is the most dangerous thing a human could be taking in under that amount of pressure."
"So if we have a high pressure . . . issue, they should just breathe it?" the XO asked.
"Yes, that would be my recommendation," Dr. Chet said. "And if the compartment does flood with that mixture, we will need to ensure that it does not rapidly vent when we leave. To ensure the personnel are not affected by depressurization problems we will need to slowly reduce the pressure. We will need to monitor oxygen levels closely; at high pressures oxygen is toxic. In addition, we will need to ensure that the persons exposed to it have enough time to get the nitrogen out of their systems before they are depressurized. It will depend on the structure of the pressure event. How to decompress will have to be calculated later."
"What about getting the hydrogen out of the ship?" the XO asked.
"It has little clinical effect," Dr. Chet said, shrugging. "We can get rid of it slowly."
"It's a slippery molecule, sir," Weaver added. "It's going to slip out through the hull much less our sealing system. We'll slowly get rid of it no matter what we do."
"And it's not dangerous?" the CO asked.
"Not a bit," Dr. Chet said.
"So we're just supposed to breathe this stuff?" Petty Officer Michael "Sub Dude" Gants said, looking at the much patched magnet mount. The short, hairy engineer frowned.
The submarine service attracts people who in other services would be on the far end of the bell curve for oddball. Among other things, they are required to be well above average intelligence yet still have sufficient phlegmatism to withstand the rigors of the "secret service." Very thoughtful but not so thoughtful as to be freaked out by having a bazillion tons of water pressing in on a tin
can made by the lowest bidder. Very smart and yet oh so very stupid.
And of all the people in the sub service, the epitome were the engineers. They were the people with that warm green glow, the guys who ran the nuke plant, the guys with little hope of ever having normal children. The weirdest of the weird.
Gants was among the worst of the worst. He was an MM (N), a nuke machinist mate. The nukes were weird; the machinist mates, though, were the practical jokers. A nuke practical joker machinist mate. That spelled Trouble to everyone who knew him. Short and unassuming, he was one of the most feared people on the boat. Gants scared even the torpedo guys.
"And not use the air systems," PO2 Ian "Red" Morris said. Red was as tall as Gants was short but with flaming red hair. Thus the nickname. Submariners are simple people on many levels.
"That's gonna be fun," Gants said.
"Prepare for atmospheric entry," the 1-MC said.
"Looks good so far," Gants said.
"Don't think we're down to pressure, yet," Red replied, in a high, squeaky, voice. "Huh?"
"Why are you sounding like Donald Duck?" Sub Dude said in the same sort of voice. "Holy maulk! I sound like Donald Duck!" he added as his ears popped.
"Uh, oh," Red said. "That's a pressure spike."
"It's leaking," Sub Dude said, holding his hands up to the pipe seal that had been added to the patch. Pipe seals were designed to stop flooding from pipes but they were barely water tight much less air tight. "I can feel air."
"Command," Red said, using an internal radio. "We've got leakage from Point Four. But it's not real heavy, yet."
"Petty Officer Morris, why are you talking like Donald Duck?" the XO asked angrily.
"Sorry, sir, can't help it," Red said, rolling his eyes. "I don't know what's causing it. I'm not doing it on purpose, honest!"
"All hands! Warning! Overpressure breach in missile compartment and engineering! Remain in vacuum conditions! Warning! Overpressure breach in missile compartment and engineering! Remain in vacuum conditions!"
"Okay, what the grapp is going on?" Jaenisch asked. "First we're losing atmosphere and now . . . what?"
"I think the Jovian's atmosphere probably breached some of the seals," Berg said.
"And that tells me so much, Two-Gun," Jaen replied.
"Diving into a Jovian's atmosphere is like going under water," Berg said. "The air pressure is super high because of the gravity and the depth of the atmosphere. So probably some of the seals breached. Not sure how they're going to fix that. It's going to take more than duct tape."
"What the hell?" the XO said, looking over at Weaver. "The guys down at Patch Four are talking like Donald Duck."
"Oh, hell," Weaver said, trying not to laugh. "I forgot. That's one effect of hydrogen. Ever seen anyone breathe a helium balloon, sir?"
"Yes," the XO said, then shook his head. "Same effect?"
"Yes, sir," Bill replied.
"Pressure's up five pounds in engineering," the atmospherics monitor said. "And increasing."
"We're getting leakage," Bill said, shrugging. "Sounds like it's not explosive, though. Not so far." He spun around and looked at a recently installed monitor. "We're up to one percent exterior oxygen, sir. I'd suggest we begin atmosphere processing."
"Roger," the XO said, turning to the communications system. "Engineering, Conn, begin atmospheric processing."
"Aye, aye, Conn," the Eng replied in a high, squeaky voice. "God damn this stuff. It's the hydrogen, Conn."
"Roger, we're aware of that," the XO said, trying not to grin. "Just let's start filling up the air tanks."
"Sir," Bill said, as the XO cut the comm off.
"Go."
"Hydrogen's slippery," Bill said. "It's likely to get all through the ship."
"Oh . . . hell."
"Okay, this is grapping ridiculous," Jaen squeaked. "How in the hell is anyone going to take me seriously when I sound like this?"
"I don't know, boss," Hatt said. "Are we supposed take you seriously normally?"
"That's it," Jaen tried to growl and failed. "Front-leaning rest position, move!" The last came out as a shrill shriek.
"I guess I might as well just start doing push-ups, too," Berg said, dropping to the deck and giggling.
"I may sound like Donald Duck but I'm a God damned sergeant in the Space Marines and you are going to remember that!"
"Yes, ma'am," Berg said.
"Okay, you are so on garbage detail! God, I wish we still had KP!"
"XO, air tanks topped off?" Spectre said in a high, squeaky voice.
"All topped off, sir!" the XO replied, sounding like he was breathing helium. In fact, the most recent analysis had helium as five percent of the internal air. "Internal plugs have been put in place so Commander Weaver won't have to EVA to put the patch back in. And we've mostly filled the water tanks as well."
The pressure on the exterior of the ship had forced it into the hull throughout the ship. The ship's atmosphere was now a high pressure mix of hydrogen, helium and oxygen. Gathering the O2 they'd needed had taken hours and after a while they didn't even try to maintain internal atmospheric integrity; all they'd done was fight the level of O2. Everyone was under a hundred pounds of air pressure, and sounding like a squeaky toy.
"Do we need to stop for ice?" the CO asked, then shook his head. "That sounded really stupid even if I didn't sound like this."
"Not really, sir," the XO said. "There was a lot of water in the atmosphere. At this point, we have sufficient water for three weeks of operation. And if we really need it . . ."
"We know where to get it," the CO said, nodding. "Very well, take us out of here, XO. Astro, where we going next?"
"Second star to the right, sir," Bill said, grinning and pointing up.
"Commander, I think the pressure is getting to you."
"Oooohhh maaulk!" Weaver said, slapping his forehead.
"Commander Weaver? Is there a problem?"
"I can't believe I just thought of this . . ."
"Commander Weaver?" Spectre said impatiently.
"Sorry, sir." Weaver said hesitantly. "Comets, sir. Most stars should have them and they would be easy to grab."
"Why is that important to me, Commander Weaver?"
"Comets, sir. Well, uh, comets are mostly water ice. And we could break that out into . . ."
"Water ice . . ." Spectre thought about it for a millisecond. "You mean we could have just flown out to the Oort cloud and grabbed a few balls of ice?"
"Yes, sir, hence the 'oh maulk,' sir."
"Mr. Weaver, join me in my office for a moment," Spectre squeaked, his jaw muscles working tightly as his teeth ground slowly.
17
Is That Like Space Cadet?
"Excuse me, miss," Berg said, then froze in his tracks.
He was headed up to supply to pick up some parts for Drago's Wyvern, which had developed a cranky streak about running the right arm, when the girl . . . teenager entered the same passage. His first thought was that she was about the first member of the science team he'd seen; the "mission specialists" tended to keep to their own section of the package. His second thought was that she was awfully young. His third was that she was awfully cute. He was working up to a fourth thought along the lines of the problems with mixing cute and young when the puppet on her shoulder moved and he froze, realizing it wasn't a puppet. Then he froze more when he realized who he was blocking.
"Err, uh," Berg said insouciantly. "That's . . . uhm."
Fortunately, the hydrogen had finally bled out of the submarine so his last "uhm" came out as a normal squeak instead of a hydrogen induced one. So much more manly that way.
"He doesn't bite," Mimi said, grinning up at the towering Marine. If she was intimidated, it wasn't apparent.
"I know," Berg said, clearing his throat. "You must be Mimi Jones. That's . . . uh, that is . . . how is Tuffy?"
"Fine, as always," Mimi said. "How are you . . ." She paused as if accessing a memory. ". . . Two
-Gun?"
"Fine, ma'am," Berg said, suddenly remembering his protocol. The lowliest of the mission specialists rated as an officer. You made way for officers in the corridors. Berg turned to the side and flattened against the bulkhead. "Sorry, ma'am."
