"Robert A. Heinlein - Have Space Suit Will Travel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

worn him many hours without the helmet, working around the shop, handling
tools while hampered by his gauntlets, getting height and size adjustments
right. It was like breaking in new ice skates and after a while I was hardly
aware I had it on -- once I came to supper in it. Dad said nothing and Mother
has the social restraint of an ambassador; I discovered my mistake when I
picked up my napkin.
Now I wasted helium to the air, mounted bottles charged with air, and
suited them. Then I clamped the helmet and dogged the safety catches.
Air sighed softly into the helmet, its flow through the demand valve
regulated by the rise and fall of my chest -- I could reset it to speed up or
slow down by the chin control. I did so, watching the gauge in the mirror and
letting it mount until I had twenty pounds absolute inside. That gave me five
pounds more than the pressure around me, which was as near as I could come to
space conditions without being in space.
I could feel the suit swell and the joints no longer felt loose and
easy. I balanced the cycle at five pounds differential and tried to move --
And almost fell over. I had to grab the workbench.
Suited up, with bottles on my back, I weighed more than twice what I do
stripped. Besides that, although the joints were constant-volume, the suit
didn't work as freely under pressure. Dress yourself in heavy fishing waders,
put on an overcoat and boxing gloves and a bucket over your head, then have
somebody strap two sacks of cement across your shoulders and you will know
what a space suit feels like under one gravity.
But ten minutes later I was handling myself fairly well and in half an
hour I felt as if I had worn one all my life. The distributed weight wasn't
too great (and I knew it wouldn't amount to much on the Moon). The joints were
just a case of getting used to more effort. I had had more trouble learning to
swim.
It was a blistering day: I went outside and looked at the Sun. The
polarizer cut the glare and I was able to look at it. I looked away;
polarizing eased off and I could see around me.
I stayed cool. The air, cooled by semi-adiabatic expansion (it said in
the manual), cooled my head and flowed on through the suit, washing away body
heat and used air through the exhaust valves. The manual said that heating
elements rarely cut in, since the usual problem was to get rid of heat; I
decided to get dry ice and force a test of thermostat and heater.
I tried everything I could think of. A creek runs back of our place and
beyond is a pasture. I sloshed through the stream, lost my footing and fell --
the worst trouble was that I could never see where I was putting my feet. Once
I was down I lay there a while, half floating but mostly covered. I didn't get
wet, I didn't get hot, I didn't get cold, and my breathing was as easy as ever
even though water shimmered over my helmet.
I scrambled heavily up the bank and fell again, striking my helmet
against a rock. No damage, Oscar was built to take it. I pulled my knees under
me, got up, and crossed the pasture, stumbling on rough ground but not
falling. There was a haystack there and I dug into it until I was buried.
Cool fresh air...no trouble, no sweat.
After three hours I took it off. The suit had relief arrangements like
any pilot's outfit but I hadn't rigged it yet, so I had come out before my air
was gone. When I hung it in the rack I had built, I patted the shoulder yoke.