your mailbox,” the Chief said. “Use it. If you can demonstrate that you can perform the task, condition and standard I'll check you off on inspection and parts. Check back with me in a week.”
“Check back in a week, aye, Chief.”
“And now you're ready to see your boat.”
“I am going to do this with gloves and helmet off,” Hartwell said, cycling the lock marked 142/C Bay. “Because I'm qualed to get them on if there's a problem. You're going to have to stay in the suit, buttoned up.”
“Roger, EM,” Dana said.
The “leopard” suits were not the Michelin-man suits of yore but a marvel of modern technology impossible without Glatun support.
Made of extremely thin layers, they wore like a wet-skin rather than a puffy NASA suit. Normally that would mean that, due to vacuum dilation, the user would be stuck in a starfish configuration. Vacuum “sucked” on a person in a spacesuit and they tended to end up in a spread-eagle. The suits got around that by being, in effect, very low-powered armor. The inner layer was an earth-tech material that was used in high-end wetsuits. It was slick enough to slide on easily over bare skin, making donning the suits rapidly possible. The next layer was a complex of heat transfer tubes that looked not unlike the human capillary system. That permitted the wearer to maintain temperature control in the varied conditions of space. It also absorbed transpired CO2 and other gases from the skin and carried back O2 to prevent degradation.
The next layer was a thin layer of woven carbon nanotube. Beyond that was the Glatun “autoflex” material. Essentially, it magnified the movements of the user just enough to overcome the suction aspects of vacuum. It couldn't be powered up, much, but it was enough to overcome the problem of moving in space.
Over that were two more layers of carbon nanotube to prevent damage to the suit. They also were so finely woven, no volatiles like, say, blood and oxygen, escaped.
A wonder of modern technology and Dana was already starting to loathe it.
“Oh, yeah,” Hartwell said as the inner door cycled. “Micrograv.”
“Roger, EM,” Dana said as the yellow micrograv light started flashing.
The lock was in gravity. Hartwell reached into the corridor and grabbed a bar, pulling himself up and into micrograv.
“Be careful,” Hartwell said, going slowly hand-over-hand down the corridor. “Don't over exert. The shuttles are in grav but they're configured all over the place so they left the corridor in micro.”
“Roger,” Dana said, reaching up and, barely, getting a hand on the bar. But by just pulling forward out of the lock she was able to enter micrograv without much effort. And immediately found herself going out-of-control as the momentum more or less threw her into the corridor. She bounced off the bulkhead and had to make a quick snatch for another bar. Fortunately, all the bulkheads were lined with them like four sets of monkey-bars. She still bruised the heck out of her thigh.
“Like I said, don't over-exert,” Hartwell said. “You okay?”
“All good, EM,” Dana said, slowly moving around so she could orient in the direction of travel. She had had one familiarization flight in a shuttle in micro.
“Follow me,” Hartwell said, pulling himself down the corridor.
He stopped at an airlock marked 40.
“Flight C, Division One, Twenty-Nine,” Hartwell said, checking the airlock then cycling it.
“Roger, EM,” Dana said, following him through the double hatches.
She'd spent dozens of hours in the Myrmidon mock-up at A School but to be in her Myrm was a shock. It was another of several shocks she'd had since signing up. The creeping realization that she was in the Navy. It wasn't just some strange dream or day dream. This was her shuttle. Well, hers and AJ's. She was responsible for the six hundred and eighty-seven thousand moving parts, electrical parts or electronic boxes that required checks and maintenance.
It was
“Check back in a week, aye, Chief.”
“And now you're ready to see your boat.”
“I am going to do this with gloves and helmet off,” Hartwell said, cycling the lock marked 142/C Bay. “Because I'm qualed to get them on if there's a problem. You're going to have to stay in the suit, buttoned up.”
“Roger, EM,” Dana said.
The “leopard” suits were not the Michelin-man suits of yore but a marvel of modern technology impossible without Glatun support.
Made of extremely thin layers, they wore like a wet-skin rather than a puffy NASA suit. Normally that would mean that, due to vacuum dilation, the user would be stuck in a starfish configuration. Vacuum “sucked” on a person in a spacesuit and they tended to end up in a spread-eagle. The suits got around that by being, in effect, very low-powered armor. The inner layer was an earth-tech material that was used in high-end wetsuits. It was slick enough to slide on easily over bare skin, making donning the suits rapidly possible. The next layer was a complex of heat transfer tubes that looked not unlike the human capillary system. That permitted the wearer to maintain temperature control in the varied conditions of space. It also absorbed transpired CO2 and other gases from the skin and carried back O2 to prevent degradation.
The next layer was a thin layer of woven carbon nanotube. Beyond that was the Glatun “autoflex” material. Essentially, it magnified the movements of the user just enough to overcome the suction aspects of vacuum. It couldn't be powered up, much, but it was enough to overcome the problem of moving in space.
Over that were two more layers of carbon nanotube to prevent damage to the suit. They also were so finely woven, no volatiles like, say, blood and oxygen, escaped.
A wonder of modern technology and Dana was already starting to loathe it.
“Oh, yeah,” Hartwell said as the inner door cycled. “Micrograv.”
“Roger, EM,” Dana said as the yellow micrograv light started flashing.
The lock was in gravity. Hartwell reached into the corridor and grabbed a bar, pulling himself up and into micrograv.
“Be careful,” Hartwell said, going slowly hand-over-hand down the corridor. “Don't over exert. The shuttles are in grav but they're configured all over the place so they left the corridor in micro.”
“Roger,” Dana said, reaching up and, barely, getting a hand on the bar. But by just pulling forward out of the lock she was able to enter micrograv without much effort. And immediately found herself going out-of-control as the momentum more or less threw her into the corridor. She bounced off the bulkhead and had to make a quick snatch for another bar. Fortunately, all the bulkheads were lined with them like four sets of monkey-bars. She still bruised the heck out of her thigh.
“Like I said, don't over-exert,” Hartwell said. “You okay?”
“All good, EM,” Dana said, slowly moving around so she could orient in the direction of travel. She had had one familiarization flight in a shuttle in micro.
“Follow me,” Hartwell said, pulling himself down the corridor.
He stopped at an airlock marked 40.
“Flight C, Division One, Twenty-Nine,” Hartwell said, checking the airlock then cycling it.
“Roger, EM,” Dana said, following him through the double hatches.
She'd spent dozens of hours in the Myrmidon mock-up at A School but to be in her Myrm was a shock. It was another of several shocks she'd had since signing up. The creeping realization that she was in the Navy. It wasn't just some strange dream or day dream. This was her shuttle. Well, hers and AJ's. She was responsible for the six hundred and eighty-seven thousand moving parts, electrical parts or electronic boxes that required checks and maintenance.
It was
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