He hesitated. He actually needed to be able to use both hands. The hatch was part of the station, too. So he could hold onto the wheel without breaking the rules. He gripped the wheel with both hands. Beregovoy didn’t complain. Then he tried turning the wheel, but instead he only managed to turn his body.
That wasn’t going to work. What now?
“You don’t just have hands to hold on with.”
Of course. He was so stupid. He could wedge his feet into the hand grips. Then his body wouldn’t spin. He looked down at himself. Shit, he couldn’t see his feet under the expansive suit. He felt for the hand grips with them. It was twice as difficult with the heavy boots.
“When you’re out there, you can ask your crewmate to help you search. That’s completely acceptable. But of course you also need to be able to manage alone.”
He finally found the hand grip and pushed his boot under it. It was the perfect height. He wiggled his leg, but it was a firm hold. Then he turned the wheel. It was still hard going, but he managed it. The hatch opened. He shone his shoulder lamp inside. The space beyond the opening reminded him of an underwater cave. A shark would probably come swimming out at any moment.
But nothing happened. He pulled himself through the hole, which was hardly wider than a manhole. It was mostly just Progress freighters that docked back here, because from here they could also fill the fuel tanks for the sensitive thrusters in the stern. But right now the Salyut 7 tanks were defective and were supposed to be repaired sometime this year.
It was particularly cramped and confusing inside the station. He was already in the wider part, where the diameter was a little over a meter. But with all the technology there wasn’t much space left for the crew. This was supposed to be 90 cubic meters of livable space? Maybe, if you counted the space between the switchboards and in the cable ducts. Sasha slowly pulled himself forward. He was 16 meters from the bow. He slowly spun himself around on his longitudinal axis, to get a better sense of zero gravity. He wouldn’t have to wear the spacesuit in the actual station, so that was an advantage.
He reached the bow. Salyut 7 was much narrower up there. He opened the hatch, which functioned exactly like the one at the stern. Then he climbed out, always making sure he had a hand on one of the grips.
“Mission completed,” he said, but didn’t receive a reply.
He was about to let go when a hand landed on his shoulder. Beregovoy was back. He pointed upward. Sasha pointed at his hand just to be sure, and his trainer removed it from the grip.
It seemed he’d just passed the first lesson.
March 31, 1984, Star City
“Finished!” cried Sasha, breathing heavily.
Beregovoy was standing next to him in a sweat suit and he glanced at his stopwatch. “Eleven minutes,” he said. “That’s no good. You have a maximum of five minutes to prepare to leave the space station.”
What the man was demanding of him was impossible. Every part of the suit was heavy and unwieldy. Maybe it was different in space, but here?
“If you think it’s going to be easier in space, then you’re very much mistaken,” said his trainer. “Here, gravity helps you get into the bottom section. In space you don’t have that and things get really acrobatic.”
“No one’s ever needed to leave a space station so quickly,” he said.
Beregovoy stood over him. He was frowning so profoundly that his bushy eyebrows joined together in the middle. “If you’re too slow, you’re a danger to the others. We can’t send anyone up there who’s a danger.”
Every muscle ached from the previous day. They’d continued training underwater for a long time, and then Beregovoy had given him reading material. “Then you should just leave me behind.”
“Are you crazy? No one gets left behind. That’s the last thing we need! You’ll keep practicing down here until you can slip into the suit in your sleep. Your friend Komikov managed it in four minutes, by the way.”
His friend, the colonel general. That was almost funny. What kind of relationship did Beregovoy think they had? Or did he know about their family connection? His father and the head of the training center probably weren’t friends. Beregovoy was at least fifteen years older than Komikov.
“Come on, get out and back in again. I’m serious. So far, every graduate has managed this.”
By midday, Beregovoy was finally satisfied. Five minutes and four seconds, he’d called that a pass. They were sitting on the edge of the pool, swinging their legs. Sasha wished he could spend the rest of the day in bed. But his trainer probably had other plans.
“What’s next?” he asked.
“First we eat.” Beregovoy reached to his right and held up a flat tin in his hand. He opened it. The pleasant smell of baking wafted out. It even overpowered the chlorine smell briefly. “My wife made me pirozhkis. I hope you like them.”
Sasha nodded. He would have demolished anything that even vaguely resembled food. Beregovoy passed him one of the crescent-shaped pies, and Sasha bit into it. The pirozhki was quite big. It tasted good, but different from the ones he was used to. It was a yeast dough filled with rice and other things.
“Unusual but good,” he said.
“They’re coulibiacs,” said Beregovoy. “My wife filled these ones with chicken, but they can also be prepared with salmon or pork.”
“My mother never made these.”
“Neither did mine, but they were a favorite in my wife’s family. Would you like another one?”
“Yes, please.”
Sasha ate a third and then he was full. Beregovoy offered him his thermos flask. Sasha took off the lid and smelled what was inside.
“Just tea,” said his trainer. “No alcohol before the end of the workday.”
Sasha took a large gulp.
“Now it’s back into the bathtub,” said Beregovoy. “I want you to relearn how to do the installation.”
“Relearn? I’ve never even tinkered around on a car. You’ll have to start from scratch with me.”
“That’s good. At least you won’t be frustrated when it doesn’t proceed as usual.”
But his forecast was wrong. Sasha was frustrated. Attaching something to the outer hull of Salyut 7 was much more complicated than he’d ever imagined. It felt like the pool must be completely filled with his sweat by now.
There were two problems. The first was the suit, which was so inflexible that it would have been easier to work with his hands tied. The second problem was establishing a firm footing.
The outside of the station was curved. He had to jam his feet in somewhere to keep his hands free. But the footholds weren’t distributed evenly across the hull. He first had to figure out what position he needed to be in to best reach a particular component. Beregovoy had promised him that the Salyut 7 in space was identically constructed. Eventually he developed a sense of where the next ladder rung would be.
Beregovoy was swimming around him like a cleaner fish around a shark. He inspected his work and gave him new tasks via hand signals. How much longer would he have to spend down here? His joints were already aching. He desperately needed the bathroom. He’d already urinated in the diaper two hours ago, but now something else was imminent. He shouldn’t have eaten those three pirozhkis. What were they called? Coulibiacs.
Suddenly, Beregovoy sank to the bottom beside him. He wasn’t moving. What was wrong with his trainer? Sasha put down the special-purpose tool. He had to help him, and quickly, to get Beregovoy to the surface.
“Help!” he cried over the helmet radio.
But no one replied. Who did he think would hear him? He pushed with his suit against Beregovoy’s lifeless body. It was too slow, the suit too cumbersome. He took a deep breath and took off his helmet. Then he opened his eyes. The water was colder than he’d expected. He unfastened the suit and let the bottom section fall off. That would have to do. Now he could kick with his legs. He bent down, picked up Beregovoy in his arms, which were still in the upper section of the suit,
and began to climb.
His trainer wasn’t breathing. The breathing mask was attached to his face, but he wasn’t using it. Should he tear it off? And what if Beregovoy did try to breathe? No. Upward, fast. He moved his legs as fast as he could. It was only 12 meters. The hard upper-section of the suit was heavier than water and pressed down on him.
He should have taken the lead weights off, but it was too late now. Swim, Sasha, swim. It started to get brighter. Bubbles rose from Beregovoy’s mouth. If Sasha wasn’t mistaken, his heart was still beating. But why wasn’t he breathing? Sasha looked up. He’d run out of breath himself. He shouldn’t have taken off the suit. But he’d never have made it to the top without the crane. He kicked and kicked and finally broke the surface.
“Thank you, Alexander,” Beregovoy said, and then coughed.
“What was wrong? You’re alive?”
“That was just a little test.”
Sasha felt the anger rising in him. He tried to suppress it. The man had pretended to be dead, and it was just a little test? “And, did I pass it?”
“You let go of the hand grips.”
“But I had to—”
“And you also broke several other rules and damaged the property of the U.S.S.R. The spacesuit is full of chlorinated water—we won’t be able to use it for weeks.”
“But that can’t—”
“Don’t get excited, comrade. You passed the test. I had to know if you were also capable of making spontaneous decisions and distinguishing between orders and real priorities. Being a stickler for the rules can be dangerous up there. The cosmonauts we train are famous for their ability to improvise.”
April 1, 1984, Star City
“Did you close the hatch to the workshop?”
“Yes.”
“Can you see the exit hatch?”
“Affirmative.”
Sasha was in the airlock in the front section of the station. On the version of Salyut 7 in orbit, the front and back coupling sockets were both in use. If he wanted to go outside to install the measuring instrument, he’d have to climb through the EVA hatch located in the airlock.
During his training he had to manage it entirely alone. If he succeeded, climbing out in space would be child’s play because he’d have the whole crew to help him. He turned the hatch seal. The hatch was oval and looked much too small for the bulky spacesuit. It opened inward. He pulled it open just a few millimeters at first and waited for the pressure to equalize, the way Beregovoy had instructed him, even though here in the pool it made no difference. Then he pulled the hatch right down and clipped it onto the bracket provided.
Poyekhali! Let’s go! He pulled himself up and stuck his head through the hatch. All he could see was bluish-green water and a bit of tech. The view up there in space must be overwhelming. Sasha took his time. He tried to imagine himself tumbling into nothingness, but he couldn’t make himself forget that he was still in the pool. He pulled his upper body through the hatch. There were several hand grips beyond it, and he pulled himself along on them. Beregovoy’s warning not to let go echoed in his head.
A primitive copy of the Relikt instrument was already waiting outside. In the real-life scenario, someone would now pass it to him through the hatch. The copy had the same dimensions. He lowered it through the hatch and then pretended someone was passing it to him. From now on he’d only have one hand free, so he needed to use his feet skillfully. That would only work if knew the position of all the struts that provided suitable footholds.
Sasha slowly climbed across the surface of the space station. He had to take the route along the underside. Salyut 7 had three solar panels offset at 90 degrees from one another. Only one side was clear of them. He climbed past the radiator, which looked like a small solar panel itself, and then pushed himself around the bulge of the station. It was cramped here in the pool. There was barely a meter of water between the underside and the bottom of the pool. In orbit he’d have several hundred kilometers of space below him. Just the thought of that made him cling more tightly.
He reached the hull outside the workshop. There was enough room here to attach the instrument. There were a few spots suitable for installation where power connections were also available. He chose a location that would be illuminated as little as possible by the Earth and sun, in the shade of the one of the solar panels that would be facing the sun. It wouldn’t be entirely protected from disruptive influences. Unlike the destroyed probe, on Salyut 7 there was no place where the sun never shone.
Sasha reached into his tool belt and began the installation. He attached the instrument at one point. Then he had to pull the electrical cable through a hole in the middle of the circuit board. He gripped the cable and aimed. But the hole was too small. He kept hitting against the back of the board. It was because of the gloves. They didn’t allow for precise movements. He’d prefer to take them off, but that would only work here in the water, not in space.
“It won’t work,” said Sasha. “I can’t thread the power cable through.”
“Could you alter the instrument?”
“I think so. I’ll need to talk to Yekaterina today.”
“We’ll arrange a phone call.”
“Thank you.”
“For now, just practice everything you can until you’ve mastered it with confidence.”
“Understood, Comrade Beregovoy.”
“Katya?”
“It’s me.” Her voice sounded like she had a cold.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“It’s a bit boring here without you.”
Without you, she’d said. His heart beat faster. “I’m not bored here at all. Beregovoy is being really tough on me.”
“That’s good. Then you won’t be missing me.”
“I... I am.”
Beregovoy tapped him on the shoulder. They were standing in the office of an officer he didn’t know. It hadn’t been easy getting a direct line to Tyuratam. They’d granted him five minutes.
“I have to hurry. I’m actually calling about the Relikt instrument.”
“So not because of me.”
“No. Yes. That, too. I can’t install the power cable with the spacesuit gloves on. You’ll have to think of something else.”
“Understood. At least now I’ve got something to do until tomorrow. When will you come?”
“Sometime at night, I think. Beregovoy wants to make use of my time here right up to the last second.”
April 2, 1984, Star City
“You are not a cosmonaut, Comrade Shandarin, is that clear?”
“Of course, Comrade Beregovoy.”
“Good. But not because you haven’t trained for three years or more like the others. No one walks out of here as a cosmonaut.”
“I understand,” he said, although he wasn’t sure what Beregovoy was driving at.
“You’re a cosmonaut when you get into the Soyuz and launch. To be honest, nothing can prepare you for that feeling. And everyone I’ve spoken to has confirmed that. But I’m talking too much. You’ve done well. I didn’t expect that at the beginning.”
“I never wanted to be a cosmonaut, and I still don’t,” said Sasha.
“That’s good. That you’re honest about it. But also because you’re not doing it out of a sense of ambition or vocation. You’re doing what needs to be done. Those are the best prerequisites.”
“Thank you.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned about you, comrade. Three days simply aren’t anywhere near enough to prepare you for everything that could happen. It’s like getting a vaccination. You’ve only had the first jab. That’s not enough to immunize you.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“That’s good. Space doesn’t tolerate cockiness. When you have a job to do, never assume you can accomplish it easily. Everything is difficult up there. Every handhold has to be carefully considered.”
Sasha didn’t feel like he needed the warning. But this man had experience. “Thank y
ou for your help, Comrade Beregovoy,” he said.
“Yes, I’m fairly confident. I’d really like to know how it goes up there, but I doubt that will be possible.”
“Probably not. The whole project is strictly classified.”
“Well, if you ever need help, then get in touch, even privately.”
“Thank you, comrade.”
“Now go. The machine won’t wait.”
Sasha trudged through a thin layer of snow to his bungalow. Just before he got there he turned around. He’d left black footprints. The full moon seemed to be scattering fresh snow over them as though it was covering wounds with new skin. He grasped the door handle, then he thought of the dezhurnaya. It was pretty late, but if he didn’t report in, she’d be angry with him. He walked around the house to the bungalow in the middle of the settlement.
Valentina had already closed the shutters, but there was light behind them. He knocked and the door flew open abruptly. He was glad it opened inward—everything went so fast, and then he was wrapped in a firm embrace.
But it wasn’t the dezhurnaya. He recognized Yekaterina’s scent before he saw her. She had waited with Valentina for him!
“Come inside, children, before he freezes!”
Yekaterina went first. He closed the door behind him. Then he took off his hat, scarf, gloves, and coat, and they hugged again. Now he could feel Katya properly.
“You’ve gotten so skinny,” she said, pinching the skin around his shoulder blades.
“Lots of exercise and not much time to eat,” he said.
“I want to hear about your experiences, too,” cried Valentina from the kitchen.
They went through to her. The kettle was simmering and the oven fired up, as if it wasn’t the middle of the night.
The Death of the Universe: Rebirth: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 3) Page 11
