"Bova, Ben - Death on Venus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bova Ben)

We had done simulations of the EVA procedure a dozen times, and I had suited up
each time. I thought it was silly, like children playing dress-up, but Duchamp
had insisted that we pull on the cumbersome suits and boots and helmets and
backpacks even though we were only going to play-act in TruaxТs virtual reality
chamber.
Now the crew was gathered at the main airlock, busily getting into their
spacesuits. It looked to me like the changing room in some athletic teamТs
locker, or a beachside cabana. I paid intense attention to every detail of the
procedure, though. This time it would be for real. A mistake here could be
fatal. Leggings first, then the thickly lined boots. Slide into the torso and
wiggle your arms through the sleeves. Pull the bubble helmet over your head,
seal it to the neck ring. Then work the gloves over your fingers. The gloves had
a bony exoskeleton on their backs, powered by tiny servomotors that amplified
oneТs muscle power tenfold. There were also servos built into the suitТs joints:
shoulders, elbows, knees.
Duchamp herself hung the life-support rig on my back and connected the air hose
and power lines. The backpack felt like a ton weighing on my shoulders.
I heard the suitТs air fans whine into life, like distant gnats, and felt cool
air flowing softly across my face. The suit was actually roomy inside, although
the leggings chafed a little against my thighs.
Marguerite, Rodriguez and the four other crew members were all fully suited.
Even Dr. Waller, our rotund, dark-skinned Jamaican physician with the sunny
disposition, was frowning slightly with impatience as they waited for me to
finish up.
"Sorry IТm so slow," I muttered.
They nodded from inside their fishbowl helmets. Marguerite even managed a little
smile.
"All right," Duchamp said at last, once she was convinced my suit was properly
sealed. "Radio check." Her voice was muffled slightly by the helmet.
One by one the crew members called to the EVA controller up on the bridge. I
heard each of them in my helmet earphones.
"Mr. Humphries?" the controller called.
"I hear you," I said.
"Radio check complete. Captain Duchamp, you and your crew are go for transfer."
With Duchamp directing us, we went through the airlock hatch, starting with
Rodriguez. Then the doctor and, one by one, the three technicians. I followed
Marguerite. Captain Duchamp grasped my arm as I stepped carefully over the sill
of the hatch into the blank metal womb of the airlock.
Once she swung the inner hatch shut I felt as if I were in a bare metal coffin.
I started to breathe faster, felt my heart pumping harder. Stop it! I commanded
myself. Calm down before you hyperventilate.
But when the outer hatch started to slide open I almost panicked.
There was nothing out there! They expected me to step out into total emptiness.
I tried to find some stars in that black infinity, something, anything to
reassure me, but through the deep tinting of my helmet I could not see any.
"Hold on." RodriguezТs familiar voice calmed me a little. But only a little.
Then I saw the former astronaut--now an astronaut once again--slide into view,
framed by the outline of the open hatch.
"Gimme your tether," Rodriguez said, extending a gloved hand toward me. It
looked like a robot reaching for me. I couldnТt see his face at all. Even though