The Death of the Universe: Rebirth: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 3)

by Brandon Q Morris

  “You don’t need to worry. My time, comrade, is worth the least here. I’ll personally escort you to the two stages of your training and supervise you there. I’m actually glad to be able to get out of the office again. That usually only happens when there’s an official event. It’s just a shame that we have to put all of our operations on hold because of you. Otherwise someone might see you. My presence will guarantee no one asks any awkward questions.”

  “It’s my honor, Comrade Beregovoy.”

  He wasn’t faking it. Beregovoy hadn’t gotten to where he was because of his connections. He’d fought against the fascist Germans, then flown as a test pilot and had made it into the second cosmonaut group. He’d probably trained with Gagarin himself when the training center still bore his name.

  “Thank you, young man. I think we’ll get along fine. If I treat you a little harshly, just remember I’m doing it for your own sake. Space doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

  “Let’s go,” said Beregovoy. “It’s not far.”

  The head of the training center set a brisk pace. Sasha was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since the morning, but he didn’t dare ask. They marched along a wide street. Green was beginning to show on the tall trees—mostly birches. They passed a cylindrical, roughly-four-story building that had no windows except at the very top. It looked like a gas tank.

  “We’ll have a lot of fun in there,” said Beregovoy conspiratorially. “Later.”

  They turned left beyond the cylindrical structure. The streets were empty, and the wind stirred up a few leaves left over from the previous year. It still smelled like winter even though it was nearly April. That was probably due to the fumes from the coal heaters in which the inhabitants burned whatever they could find.

  “Here we are,” said his guide.

  They were standing in front of a building that looked exactly like the one they’d just left. For all he knew, Beregovoy might have led him around in a circle just to confuse him. The former cosmonaut held him by the arm and led him to the front door. He nodded briefly to the right, where a security guard must be sitting behind a window. Then they were allowed to enter. They reached a foyer, which was very bright due to the high glass frontage.

  Beregovoy pulled him to the right so quickly that Sasha had no time to look around the room. “This is our crown jewel,” he said. “Built just three years ago by the Swedes for loads of kronor. The largest centrifuge in the world.”

  In front of them was a kind of factory hall containing a giant carousel with only one arm. It extended out from a square block in the center that seemed to include smaller rooms. The arm was covered in lead and looked strangely organic. At the end it widened into a fist.

  Someone wearing a smock was standing in the middle of the hall. The size comparison showed how gigantic the arm really was.

  “How long?” he asked.

  “Eighteen meters. Come with me.”

  Beregovoy took him to the center of the room where the man in the smock was waiting—obviously a doctor. “Remove the clothing from your upper body,” he ordered.

  Sasha took off his coat and the brown Army sweater and white undershirt. The doctor rubbed him down with alcohol. He shivered. Then the doctor stuck electrodes to his body. “So we can see how you’re doing,” he explained. “Okay, put your clothes back on.”

  The doctor picked up a note pad and pulled out a pen. “Name?” he asked.

  “We’ll leave that out,” said Beregovoy. “We just want to see if he survives it.”

  Very comforting. Beregovoy boxed him in the side.

  “Only joking. You can stop it at any point, and if we see that your heartbeat is failing, we’ll stop it from our end.” He pointed at the control room. “So, come with me.”

  The two of them walked toward the factory wall, next to which was a device that made Sasha think of a reclining electric chair.

  “Shoes off and sit down.”

  He obeyed the order. Beregovoy pulled orange foot protectors over his socks. Then he strapped down his legs first and then his torso. His arms remained free. Beregovoy guided his left hand to a joystick. “You pull that toward you, Sasha.”

  He was now using a more familiar tone. “And when you can’t take it anymore, you just let go. That’s much easier under pressure than if you had to pull it.”

  “Understood.”

  Beregovoy pulled a lever and the seat reclined backward until he was lying down. Then the whole thing was rolled forward toward the outstretched fist of the centrifuge. It was opened a little, just enough for the seat to be pushed into it. He heard a scratching sound. Presumably they were closing the hatch. He was now inside the hand of a giant.

  “All right, comrade?” The doctor’s voice was coming from a speaker behind him.

  “We’re watching you through the camera,” said Beregovoy.

  Sasha smiled as though posing for a photo, although he wasn’t in a happy mood. A loud humming sound started. The seat moved back into a vertical position, so that he was sitting almost upright.

  Then the torture began.

  “1 g,” said the doctor.

  The arm went faster.

  “2 g.”

  “Are you all right?” asked Beregovoy.

  Sasha nodded.

  “3 g. Look at the cross in front of you.”

  “Understood.”

  A cross was marked about an arm’s length in front of him. He could see it clearly.

  “Any double vision?” asked the doctor.

  “Negative.”

  “4 g.”

  The pressure on his rib cage increased. Breathing became more difficult.

  “Just breathe normally,” said the doctor.

  That was easier said than done. Sasha forced himself not to give in to panic. Breathe in, breathe out, keep the rhythm nice and steady. Otherwise you’ll hyperventilate.

  “5 g.”

  When would it stop? Time seemed to stretch. All he had to do was let go of the joystick and it would stop. But then it would all be over. The emergency system on the Soyuz capsule would fire him up at 8 or 9 g. And he had to remain conscious.

  “6 g. Wave at the camera.”

  He was supposed to wave? The doctor was nuts. Sasha concentrated on his right hand. His arm was pressed against the back of the seat, but he managed to lift it a little. That would have to suffice as a wave.

  “7 g.”

  Someone was pulling at the skin on his face. His eyes narrowed. It took quite an effort to stop his tongue from sliding back in his throat. His heart was beating fast.

  “8 g.”

  He was going to make it. He had to make sure he didn’t let go of the joystick. It was as though someone were pressing against the front of him with a robust but transparent mass. The properties of the space around him seemed to alter. He was only getting half as much air.

  “9 g.”

  Insane. His thoughts came to a standstill. The cross. He had to look at the cross—the arms of which seemed to have extended.

  “Congratulations, I’m powering down the centrifuge now.”

  The tension dissolved. Sasha began to weep. He let the tears come. They mixed with his sweat. No one would notice. Then he spotted the camera. They were watching him. But it didn’t matter now. He’d done it.

  “Welcome back,” said Beregovoy.

  The seat turned and leaned back. He was rolled out of the centrifuge’s fist in a reclining position. Then they brought him back to an upright position. Beregovoy released the straps and held out his arm.

  Sasha stood up. Although he could feel every single muscle, he didn’t sway. Ha! Yekaterina would have been proud of him. She probably would have managed it, too, and probably without the tears, but she wouldn’t have to hear about those.

  “Good luck!” said the doctor. “Anyway, your heart is strong, you don’t need to worry about that.”

  He passed Sasha his coat. He stepped back into his shoes. Right now he’d like nothing more than to get
under a hot shower and then into bed.

  “We were never here,” said Beregovoy.

  “I was alone the whole time,” said the doctor with an understanding nod, “testing the centrifuge.”

  “What now?” asked Sasha.

  “What would you like?”

  “A borscht, a shower, and bed, in that order.”

  “I know how soaked with sweat you must be after the centrifuge. We can solve that problem. But I’m afraid bed will have to wait. The sun hasn’t even set yet. We only have three days and we need to make the most of them.”

  Even before he stepped through the door, the smell of chlorine revealed what was next on the schedule. They entered a circular hall, the same shape as the rest of the building. It was taken up almost entirely by a swimming pool. A roughly two-meter walkway ran all the way around it, and there was a second walkway on the next level up.

  “This is the hydrolab,” said Beregovoy. “Take a look down there.”

  At the bottom of the pool, which must have been at least 10 meters deep, was Salyut 7. He recognized the Soviet space station from pictures he’d seen in the newspaper. Except that the solar panels were missing.

  “How deep?” he asked.

  “Twelve meters.”

  “And how did you get the station down there?”

  “It’s standing on a pedestal that can be raised and lowered.”

  “Very clever.”

  “It’s a faithful reproduction of the station in orbit. That’s where you’ll practice the handholds you’ll need to perform up there until you can master them blind-folded and in your sleep.”

  “I will.”

  “You sound like you don’t believe what you’re saying. But I’ll get you there—I promised Komikov. He seems to have a lot of faith in you.”

  “He’s—”

  “We’ll talk about that another time. He must see something in you, something you haven’t yet discovered yourself. I trust the colonel general. He has a good reputation in the Ministry.”

  His father saw something special in him? As if. Komikov had sent him because there wasn’t a spacesuit for Yekaterina. He was supposed to have observed from afar, and that was a role he thought suited himself better. But now he owed it to Yekaterina not to screw things up.

  It had taken about half an hour to get into the spacesuit. He was now standing with his arms slightly raised while Beregovoy hung lead weights on him. The head of the training center was wearing a diving suit. It made him look very athletic, even though he must have been over 60. Sasha had never been that muscular. He’d felt ashamed of this when he changed into the spacesuit. And now he couldn’t imagine how he was expected to move in this monstrosity—which must weigh a ton, and which his trainer was currently making even heavier.

  “That’ll do for now,” said Beregovoy. “We’ll probably have to hang a few more weights on you underwater, so you’re properly balanced.”

  “I don’t think I can move in this thing.”

  “Don’t worry. The suit weighs about a hundred and forty kilograms, plus the weights, so it’s normal that you can hardly move. That’s what those two cranes are for. Once you’re in the water you’ll swim like a fish.”

  “That’s okay then.”

  Beregovoy showed him a few hand signals so they could communicate underwater. “Now it’s time to close the helmet. Remember the closures on the sides and under the chin. If you get water in your helmet, it’ll be a while before I can pull you out of the pool with the crane. And don’t worry, today we’ll just focus on the basics.”

  He closed the visor on his helmet. The air in the suit smelled musty, but it was bearable. Whenever he dove with just a breathing mask he had big problems getting enough air.

  Beregovoy moved the crane close to him, then suspended him from it with four ropes. Suddenly he was floating. It was a strange feeling because, at the same time, all 140 kilograms of the spacesuit were pulling down on his shoulders.

  “Your first task is to swim once through the station,” said Beregovoy. “I won’t say any more than that. As long as I’m under water with you, I can’t communicate with you via radio. So as soon as you’ve reached the bottom I’ll leave you alone and come back up here. Then you’ll receive further instructions from me over the radio.”

  “Understood.”

  The crane boom swung out. Sasha tilted his head down, but he couldn’t see what was below him. The spacesuit was far too bulky for that. He was like a fat man who would never again be able to see what was happening in the area below his belly button.

  He slowly sank into the water. Something tugged on his right leg. He couldn’t see his trainer anymore, so he must be holding Sasha’s foot in his hand. The water gurgled and he felt a chill. Was it getting into his spacesuit somehow? He wanted to pat himself down and convince himself that everything was still dry, but that wasn’t possible. He was firmly sealed inside the suit. It wasn’t even a suit, really, it was more like a mini submarine.

  Suddenly Beregovoy appeared right next to his face. He gave him the thumbs-up, and Sasha mirrored the gesture. His trainer reached up, released his trainee from the crane, and Sasha dropped down and began sinking to the bottom of the pool. Beregovoy followed him, grabbed at his right side, and let one of the lead weights fall. Now he wasn’t sinking anymore, but he was hanging diagonally. He paddled with his arms to get himself vertical again. It was hard work, because the suit responded so sluggishly. Beregovoy swam around him like a fish and rearranged some of the weights until he stabilized again.

  They reached the bottom, where it was quite dark. Beregovoy reached for Sasha’s shoulder. He had a light there. His trainer switched it on. A barrel lying on its side appeared in the water in front of him—Salyut 7. The station was huge! No comparison to the tiny Prognoz satellites they’d installed Relikt-1 on. And this great hulk had been heaved into space by a Soviet rocket? The engineers had done an outstanding job. Salyut 7 wasn’t the first U.S.S.R. space station either.

  Beregovoy gave him the thumbs up again. Then he shoved off and disappeared toward the surface. Sasha walked over to the station, which wasn’t at all easy. It took considerable effort to move the joints in the suit, and the water provided extra resistance. It was especially strange because he couldn’t feel the weight of the suit anymore. He felt like he’d aged into a weak old man who could only control his limbs with great determination. And the diaper he was wearing contributed to that impression. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to relieve himself in it.

  “Alexander? Can you hear me?”

  He was confused for a moment. No one called him Alexander these days. “Loud and clear,” he said.

  “Good. Are you finding the suit okay?”

  “It’s difficult to move.”

  “That’s normal, and it’ll be exactly the same in space. Try as much as possible not to help yourself along with swimming motions. That doesn’t work in space.”

  “Understood.”

  “Now close your eyes.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  He followed the instruction.

  “Shove yourself backward with your legs, then pull them in toward yourself and let yourself drop.”

  “Understood.” He spun on his own axis.

  “When you sense that your body is in a vertical position, stretch out your legs again.”

  He paid close attention to his senses. Now! He was standing again. He compensated for the excess momentum with paddling motions.

  “You did that well,” Beregovoy praised him. “So, your sense of balance is working. But I have bad news for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “That won’t work in space. In zero gravity your sense of balance fails. You’ll feel like you’re falling. When that happens, close your eyes, imagine that above your head is up, and open them again. Your brain has to trick your balance organs. Otherwise you’ll panic. The stupid thing is that we can’t train you for that here.”

  “I u
nderstand.”

  “And something else. You compensated for the rotational momentum by paddling with your arms. That won’t work in space, either. I already warned you about that. Once you have any momentum, you can’t stop it on your own.”

  “What do I need?”

  “Something to hold onto. The most important rule when walking in space—always hold onto something. Then nothing can happen to you. What’s your worst fear?”

  Why was Beregovoy asking him that?

  “You have to trust me. When you go outside, you’ll be as good as dead if you make even one mistake. I’m trying to protect you from that. So, what’s your worst fear?”

  “That someone won’t understand my jokes?”

  “I need something that really mortifies you. Think about it. It’s for your own good.”

  “That Comrade Andreyeva will find out that I’m her half-brother. That would be—”

  “I understand. That’s an unusual fear, but I don’t need to know the details. If I catch you even once in the hydrolab not holding onto anything, I’ll call her and tell her. I keep my promises. Ask Komikov. He had to spend a night in a room with about a thousand spiders.”

  Sasha swallowed. Beregovoy would probably follow through with the threat. “The colonel general trained here, too?” he asked.

  “Yes, but he flunked. He probably wasn’t motivated enough. And now, move yourself to the stern hatch of the station. The stern is at the end of the fatter module. And remember what I just said.”

  He needed something to hold onto, but there was no handrail here. Sasha turned around. Then he saw the chains running along the ground. One of them looked like it led to the rear of the station. Of course, there was no up or down here. He bent down, grabbed the chain, and moved into a lying position. Then he pulled himself along the chain toward the station.

  “Very good,” said Beregovoy. “I can see we understand each other. Now open the bulkhead in the middle.”

  Sasha straightened himself up. On the back wall of the station were many hand grips. He used them to pull himself up. The bulkhead was sealed with a manual wheel. He held himself in position with one hand and tried turning the wheel with the other, but he wasn’t strong enough. And yet he wasn’t allowed to let go. What now?