«You really feel okay?»
«Yes, honestly.»
«Think you’ll be up to EVA tomorrow?»
«I hope so. I want to go outside with you.»
I’d rather be inside with you. Kinsman grinned as he worked.
An hour later they were sitting side by side in front of one of the observation ports, looking out at the curving bulk of Earth, the blue and white splendor of the cloud-spangled Pacific. Kinsman had just reported to the Hawaii ground station. The mission flight plan was floating on a clipboard between the two of them. He was trying to study it, comparing the time when Jill would be sleeping with the long stretches between ground stations, when there would be no possibility of being interrupted.
«Is that land?» Linda asked, pointing to a thick band of clouds wrapping the horizon.
Looking up from the clipboard, Kinsman said, «South American coast. Chile.»
«There’s another tracking station there.»
«NASA station. Not part of our network. We only use Air Force stations.»
«Why is that?»
He felt his face frowning. «Murdock’s playing soldier. This is supposed to be a strictly military operation. Not that we do anything warlike. But we run as though there weren’t any civilian stations around to help us. The usual hup-two-three crap.»
She laughed. «You don’t agree with the Colonel?»
«There’s only one thing he’s done lately that I’m in complete agreement with.»
«What’s that?»
«Bringing you up here.»
The smile stayed on her face but her eyes moved away from him. «Now you sound like a soldier.»
«Not an officer and a gentleman?»
She looked straight at him again. «Let’s change the subject.»
Kinsman shrugged. «Sure. Okay. You’re here to get a story. Murdock wants to get the Air Force as much publicity as NASA gets. And the Pentagon wants to show the world that we don’t have any weapons on board. We’re military, all right, but nice military.»
«And you?» Linda asked, serious now. «What do you want? How does an Air Force captain get into the space cadets?»
«The same way everything happens—you’re in a certain place at a certain time. They told me I was going to be an astronaut. It was all part of the job … until my first orbital flight. Now it’s a way of life.»
«Really? Why is that?»
Grinning, he answered, «Wait’ll we go outside. You’ll find out.»
Jill came back into the main cabin precisely on schedule, and it was Kinsman’s turn to sleep. He seldom had difficulty sleeping on Earth, never in orbit. But he wondered about Linda’s reaction to being outside while he strapped on the pressure-cuffs to his arms and legs. The medics insisted on them, claimed they exercised the cardiovascular system while you slept.
Damned stupid nuisance, Kinsman grumbled to himself. Some ground-based MD’s idea of how to make a name for himself.
Finally he zippered himself into the gossamer cocoon-like hammock and shut his eyes. He could feel the cuffs pumping gently. His last conscious thought was a nagging worry that Linda would be terrified of EVA.
When he awoke, and Linda took her turn in the hammock, he talked it over with Jill.
«I think she’ll be all right, Chet. Don’t hold that first few minutes against her.»
«I don’t know. There’s only two kinds of people up here: you either love it or you’re scared sh … witless. And you can’t fake it. If she goes ape outside …»
«She won’t,» Jill said firmly. «And anyway, you’ll be there to help her. I’ve told her that she won’t be going outside until you’re finished with the mating job. She wanted to get pictures of you actually at work, but she’ll settle for a few posed shots.»
Kinsman nodded. But the worry persisted. I wonder if Calder’s Army nurse was scared of flying?
He was pulling on his boots, wedging his free foot against an equipment rack to keep from floating off, when Linda returned from her sleep.
«Ready for a walk around the block?» he asked her.
She smiled and nodded without the slightest hesitation. «I’m looking forward to it. Can I get a few shots of you while you zipper up your suit?»
Maybe she’ll be okay.
At last he was sealed into the pressure suit. Linda and Jill stood back as Kinsman shuffled to the airlock-hatch. It was set into the floor at the end of the cabin where the spacecraft was docked. With Jill helping him, he eased down into the airlock and shut the hatch. The airlock chamber itself was coffin-sized. Kinsman had to half-bend to move around in it. He checked out his suit, then pumped the air out of the chamber. Then he was ready to open the outer hatch.
It was beneath his feet, but as it slid open to reveal the stars, Kinsman’s weightless orientation flip-flopped, like an optical illusion, and he suddenly felt that he was standing on his head and looking up.
«Going out now,» he said into the helmet-mike.
«Okay,» Jill’s voice responded.
Carefully, he eased himself through the open hatch, holding onto its edge with one gloved hand once he was fully outside, the way a swimmer holds the rail for a moment when he first slides into the deep water.
Outside. Swinging his body around slowly, he took in the immense beauty of Earth, dazzlingly bright even through his tinted visor. Beyond its curving limb was the darkness of infinity, with the beckoning stars watching him in unblinking solemnity.
Alone now. His own tight, self-contained universe, independent of everything and everybody. He could cut the life-giving umbilical line that linked him with the laboratory and float off by himself, forever. And be dead in two minutes. Ay, there’s the rub.
Instead, he unhooked the tiny gas gun from his waist and, trailing the umbilical, squirted himself over toward the power pod. It was riding smoothly behind the lab, a squat truncated cone, shorter, but fatter, than the lab itself, one edge brilliantly lit by the sun; the rest of it bathed in the softer light reflected from the dayside of Earth below.
Kinsman’s job was to inspect the power pod, check its equipment, and then mate it to the electrical system of the laboratory. There was no need to physically connect the two bodies, except to link a pair of power lines between them. Everything necessary for the task—tools, power lines, checkout instruments—had been built into the pod, waiting for a man to use them.
It would have been simple work on Earth. In zero gee, it was complicated. The slightest motion of any part of your body started you drifting. You had to fight against all the built-in mannerisms of a lifetime; had to work constantly to keep in place. It was easy to get exhausted in zero gee.
Kinsman accepted all this with hardly a conscious thought. He worked slowly, methodically, using as little motion as possible, letting himself drift slightly until a more-or-less natural body motion counteracted and pulled him back in the opposite direction. Ride the waves, slow and easy. There was a rhythm to his work, the natural dreamlike rhythm of weightlessness.
His earphones were silent, he said nothing. All he heard was the purring of the suit’s air-blowers and his own steady breathing. All he saw was his work.
Finally he jetted back to the laboratory, towing the pair of thick cables. He found the connectors waiting for them on the side wall of the lab and inserted the cable plugs. I pronounce you lab and power source. He inspected the checkout lights alongside the connectors. All green. May you produce many kilowatts.
Swinging from handhold to handhold along the length of the lab, he made his way back toward the airlock.
«Okay, it’s finished. How’s Linda doing?»
Jill answered, «She’s all set.»