“What about you, Captain Shepherd?” someone asked the test pilot as he passed by on his way inside. “What brought you here?”
He shrugged. “They asked. And it’s my job. To fly the farthest, the fastest. Someone’s got to do it.”
I actually felt a bit sorry for him then, as irritating as he was. It didn’t seem like being an astralnaut held any romance for him. He wasn’t curious; he wasn’t an explorer; he was just a pilot, and he saw this as a chance to fly a new ship. I wondered if he even cared what was beyond the cockpit. I liked the idea of the ship well enough, but it was where it might go that excited me.
From earth, from this very terrace, the view of the stars was wondrous enough. Imagine how much more you could see thousands of miles beyond it. I tilted my head back and looked at them, now shining in full force. I found the tail of Draco, and with a smile my eyes settled on Kate de Vries.
UNDERWATER
The sign on the door said ROOM F.
Normally the signs were a bit more helpful and gave us at least some idea what we might expect inside.
“Room F,” said Tobias. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
It was day three of training, and last I heard, we were down to eighty-three candidates. My name hadn’t appeared on the board yet, and neither had Tobias’s. It was the first thing you did every morning: check the board, sigh with relief, send a sympathetic glance to the fellows who got chopped. Then hit the showers. Maybe I should’ve felt proud of myself, but some of the tests were so strange, it was hard to know how well I was making out. So far I’d managed to hold on, but it was early days yet, and now we had Room F to reckon with.
I took a deep breath, stepped inside, and stopped short.
Room F was a lecture hall, with a chalkboard at the front and rows of little desks with astralnaut trainees squeezed inside. It seemed as if all the groups were being brought together for this session. Some of the other fellows looked as confused as I felt. We were used to diabolical machines and endurance tests. Standing down at the front were Captain Walken and a small, dejected-looking man with spectacles, leaning on a cane.
“It’s just like school,” said Tobias with terror in his voice. “I think I’d rather do another land dive.”
We found two desks at the back, each of which held a notebook and two sharpened pencils.
“Let’s begin, please,” said Captain Walken. “Ah, welcome, ladies.”
I turned around in surprise to see Kate and Miss Simpkins entering the classroom.
“Gentlemen,” said Captain Walken, “allow me to introduce Miss Kate de Vries and Miss Marjorie Simpkins. Miss de Vries is an expert on high-altitude zoology, and I’m very pleased to tell you she’ll be joining our expedition.”
So Kate’s plan had worked! Her parents had given their consent. I can’t say I was surprised. Kate was almost supernaturally skilled at getting what she wanted.
“Good morning, everyone,” said Kate, sitting at the desk beside mine without giving me a glance. “Mr. Lunardi has very kindly allowed me to sit in on some of your sessions.”
The other fellows didn’t seem to mind at all. They were smiling and sitting up straighter at their desks. But I was surprised by my own contrary mix of feelings. I was always hungry to see more of Kate, but I didn’t want her here. This was my testing grounds, and I didn’t want her to see me if I looked foolish or too young, or if I failed. It was bad enough that she got to be part of the expedition without lifting a finger to prove herself. Why did she have to come and gawk at us like a tourist?
“Now, to business,” said Captain Walken. “Without the know-how of this gentleman beside me, we wouldn’t be going to outer space. This is Dr. Sergei Turgenev, and he’ll be the chief science officer aboard ship. Our expedition will take us into a new world, and Dr. Turgenev has a great deal to share with you.”
After all my months at the Academy, I felt quite at home behind my desk. But I could see that some of the other fellows were ill at ease.
Dr. Turgenev limped forward, leaning on his cane. He wasn’t old—no more than forty—but he gave the impression of being crumpled. His long face was made even longer by his goatee. He sighed deeply. His spectacles were flecked with dandruff.
“I am very excited to be among you,” he said in mournful, heavily accented English. “So I am here to tell you about outer space.”
He turned his back on us and went to the chalkboard. Splinters of chalk exploded from his hand as long strings of numbers and symbols scrolled across the board.
I glanced over at Kate and saw her eagerly copying everything down in her notebook. The other candidates stared at the board in horror. I knew how they felt. I’d never seen some of the symbols that appeared there like malevolent hieroglyphs.
“Now, someone complete equation for me, if you please,” said Dr. Turgenev, turning to face the class. “I am sorry this is insultingly simple. I promise we get more challenging. Anyone?”
I glanced over at Kate, but even she wasn’t going to take a whack at it.
“No one,” said Dr. Turgenev. “I am very disappointed.” He stared at us dolefully. Then something strange happened to his face. At first I thought he was having some kind of seizure, but then I realized he was trying to smile. “I am just kidding. This is joke, what I have written on board. Is meaningless. Complete gibberish.”
We all looked around at one another uncertainly.
“Captain Walken told me it is good idea to begin with joke. So that is my joke. And now I think we are all more relaxed, and I begin to tell you about outer space.”
He wiped the chalkboard clean with his brush and drew a circle.
“Here is our planet. Around it we have sky. And above sky we have outer space. Where does it begin? We must find out. What is this outer space? What is it made of? Is it liquid? Is it gas? Now, thirty-five thousand feet is highest humans have gone. At this height, air pressure is much lower. I calculate it gets even lower, higher we go. Is possible that in outer space there is no pressure at all. But we will see.”
When Kate and I salvaged the Hyperion last year, we’d been as high as twenty thousand feet—and I knew what a hostile place it was: almost airless and extremely cold. I could scarcely imagine what it would be like beyond that.
“Ship will be pressurized,” Dr. Turgenev continued, “and supplied with heat and air, but when you venture outside ship—”
“We’re going outside the ship?” Reg Perry asked in alarm.
“Yes, certainly. Not me, of course, I have weak lungs. But astralnauts will be first men in space. And so we create special suits for you. They bring one up now….”
There was a knock at the door.
“Ah, here it is,” said Dr. Turgenev. He opened the door. “Front of class, please,” he told the assistant. We all watched as a wooden mannequin, wearing an enormous puffy silver suit, was wheeled into the room. It was extremely shiny and reminded me of an oversize Christmas tree ornament. The mannequin beamed at us, obviously very pleased with his space suit.
“I’m not wearing that,” said Bronfman, and some of the other fellows laughed.
“I am very sorry to hear this,” said Dr. Turgenev. “Because without suit you die. First, lungs explode. Then, gases in your tissue expand and you swell to twice normal size. Water on your eyes and tongue boils and then mouth and nostrils freeze. After that you lose consciousness and die within seconds. Oh,” he added with a yawn, “there is also possibility blood boils.”
There was a moment of heavy silence.
“That is one fine-looking suit,” said Bronfman. “And I have a feeling it comes in just my size.”
I glanced at Tobias and rolled my eyes.
“Outside ship,” Dr. Turgenev continued, “we get extreme temperatures. Very hot in sunlight; very cold in shade. Suit is your astral skin. It keeps body at right pressure and gives you oxygen.”
“Excuse me,” said Chuck Shepherd. “But when do we see the ship?”
Dr. Turg
enev gave a weary sigh. “Oh, yes, yes. Ship. Everyone is curious about spaceship.”
“I think we’d all like to have a look at it,” Shepherd said.
Mutters of agreement rose from the audience. The other trainees, I’d noticed, paid close attention when Shepherd spoke. He was a man of few words, but already, even on the third day, everyone looked to him as the standard we were all trying to achieve.
“You do not need to see ship yet,” said Dr. Turgenev, glancing a bit nervously at Captain Walken, who stood off to one side, listening.
“So far,” Shepherd said, polite but persistent, “I’ve been dropped, spun, iced, poked, and prodded. But I thought I was here to fly.”
“We know you can fly, Mr. Shepherd,” said Captain Walken. “The purpose of this training is to determine your overall fitness for outer space.”
“Yes, sir,” said Shepherd respectfully. “It just seems funny we can’t see the actual ship.”
“We’re hankering to take her for a little spin,” said Bronfman.
Captain Walken nodded patiently. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but the ship isn’t here. She’s undergoing final preparations at the launch site, which, for obvious reasons, is being kept secret. Now, please listen to what Dr. Turgenev has to tell you.”
The gloomy scientist continued his lecture, relating each fact like a great tragedy. All the same, he gave us plenty of information about gravity, and atmospheric composition, and pressure and vacuums, and orbital velocity. I can’t say I understood all of it, but I got the gist of most of it—or so I hoped. Whenever I glanced over at Kate, she was listening intently, her busy little pen whisking across her notebook.
I started to wonder if the lecture was actually just another test—this time to see who could stay awake longest. The sunshine poured through the windows and the room became awfully warm. Some of the men, I noticed, were propping their heads on their hands and kept lurching forward.
A little paper ornithopter touched down on my desk, and I looked over to see Kate staring innocently straight ahead. Luckily Miss Simpkins was dozing, and we were both in the last row of seats, so I didn’t think anyone else saw. I glimpsed some handwriting on the ornithopter and quietly unfolded it. In Kate’s neat penmanship was a short message:
I’m coming! Told you my plan would work! Aren’t you pleased?
I gave her a quick nod and wink, then pushed her note under my book and turned back to Dr. Turgenev’s drone. But I was aware of Kate’s eyes boring into the side of my skull. I couldn’t believe it—she wanted a message back! Maybe she could listen to the lecture, take notes, and chat all at the same time, but I knew I couldn’t.
I dragged out her bit of paper and quickly wrote:
Very pleased! Let’s hope I’m coming too.
I didn’t bother refolding the ornithopter, just crumpled up the paper a bit and tossed it onto her desk when no one was looking. She wrote back:
Paying attention in class would be a good start.
I looked at her in annoyance, and she smiled sweetly.
I sat up straighter and focused on Dr. Turgenev. Down near the front one large fellow was flamboyantly asleep on his desk, and as I watched, he began to slide out of his seat. Just before he spilled out onto the floor, he woke with a shout.
“Hell’s bells!” he said.
“I know, I know,” said Dr. Turgenev, turning from the chalkboard, “these equations are very exciting for me also. But I am done for moment. Now I think some of you go for swim.”
I’d thought Dr. Turgenev was joking—until Grendel Eriksson appeared at the door of the lecture hall and told us we were going to the pool. Dread settled over me.
“Enjoy your swim, Mr. Cruse,” Kate said.
“Thank you, Miss de Vries. Good day.”
“You know her, then?” Tobias asked as we headed off with our group.
I grunted. “I met her a couple years ago aboard the Aurora. What happens in the pool, have you heard?”
He shook his head, then looked at me closely. “Are you all right?”
In a low voice I said, “I can’t swim.”
“Not at all?”
“I can thrash about for a while before I drown.”
“Just stick close to me,” Tobias said.
I felt awfully grateful to him, but I didn’t want to spoil his chances of doing well, and if we had to do laps or some kind of endurance test, I didn’t really see how he could help me.
In the changing room they handed us swimming gear, and we stripped off our clothes.
“What’re they doing here?” Tobias muttered.
I followed his gaze and my spirits sank even lower. Bronfman and Shepherd must have joined our group. Every day, as the number of trainees shrank, the groups were evened out. I’d be competing directly against these two every day now. I sighed. At least Kate wasn’t here to see me humiliate myself in the pool.
Captain Walken and a team of assistants were waiting for us on the deck. I was tall, and I’d started to fill out, but I still felt boyish beside all the other, bigger men in their swim gear.
“One thing you’ll experience in outer space,” the captain said, “is reduced gravity. Dr. Turgenev predicts complete weightlessness beyond a certain altitude. Moving about inside the ship will be one challenge; moving around outside will be quite another. Here on earth we can’t perfectly simulate weightlessness, but we can come close underwater. So suit up, gentlemen, and let’s take a walk in outer space.”
Eleven space suits hung from the wall like the skins of silver giants. Resting on a shelf above each suit was a helmet with a mirrored visor.
I didn’t like the idea of getting inside one of those, but I was hugely relieved we weren’t actually swimming. Maybe I wouldn’t end up making a fool of myself after all.
Though the suit was flexible at the joints, it had a rigid layer of rubber insulation inside, and getting it on was a struggle. Last year, while working aboard the Hyperion at twenty thousand feet, I’d donned a snow leopard sky suit that felt as comfortable as a second skin. But in this space suit I was heavy and clumsy—and uncomfortably hot. An assistant had to help me pull on my boots and gauntlets and lock the airtight metal collar into place. All that remained was the helmet.
On the edge of the deck was a huge machine sprouting lengths of narrow hosing. Captain Walken took hold of one and held it up.
“This is your umbilicus,” he told us. “One end’s connected to the ship, the other to the back of your suit. It supplies you with oxygen and carries away the carbon dioxide you exhale. It also keeps your suit pressurized.”
The assistants led us over to the air pump and starting attaching our umbilicuses.
“Once your helmets are on,” Captain Walken said, “we’ll be lowering you into the pool. Your boots have metal soles, so you’ll sink quickly. When you touch down, we’ll inflate your suits a bit to make you as near weightless as possible. You each have three very simple tasks to complete.”
Now that I was close to the edge, I could see the pool’s deep bottom. All manner of machines and hulking bits of equipment had been bolted down there. It looked like a strange underwater factory.
“You’ll each see a closed hatch in front of you,” said Captain Walken. “It matches the main hatch on our spaceship. To open it, you’ll need to turn the wheel to the right. Then you’ll need to pass through the hatchway. On the other side, you must pick up a red box, come back through, and return to the surface.
“That’s all?” asked Bronfman with his usual cocky grin.
“That’s all,” said Captain Walken. “But I think you may find moving quite challenging. When you’re ready to surface, or if you have any difficulties, place both hands atop your helmet. We’ll inflate your suit and you’ll be buoyed to the surface. Each of you has a knife in the pouch at your hip in case of emergency. Good luck, gentlemen.”
“Let’s get to it,” said Shepherd.
I glanced over at Tobias. “You’ll feel right
at home down there,” I said.
He sent me an encouraging wink, and then an assistant approached with my helmet. I felt a hot flash of panic. I’d never liked things covering my face.
“Ready?” the assistant asked.
I nodded, not at all ready. The helmet came down, and I swallowed as all sound was suddenly muted. I heard the clamp snap shut against the metal collar of my suit.
Almost immediately there was a low hiss. My ears popped and I felt cool air from the umbilicus playing against my back. My mouth was dry. I felt sealed off from the world, the voices on deck dull and distant. My heart pounded in my ears.
My assistant guided me beneath one of the many little cranes that jutted out over the pool. A line was hooked to the back of my suit. My assistant gave me the thumbs-up, which I repeated back to him, and then I was hoisted up and swung out over the water.
Slowly I was lowered. It was strange to see the water rising over my legs and waist without feeling any wetness at all. For a moment I bobbed up and down, until one of the safety divers unhooked me from the crane, and I sank swiftly. The water rose over my visor, and as it passed my nose, I held my breath.
I saw Tobias sinking beside me, and all the other trainees, their white umbilicuses trailing from their backs. I was used to the open air, and I didn’t like being surrounded by water. My visor was steamy from my panting.
I landed clumsily on the pool bottom, teetering. The hatch was before me, no more than ten feet away. I felt my suit inflate, giving me more buoyancy. My feet still touched bottom, but scarcely. I tried to walk but just slewed about uselessly. Guide rails had been bolted to the pool floor. I grabbed hold of one and dragged myself forward. To my right I saw Tobias moving like a silver aquatic animal, already at his hatch. Darting around in the water, watching over us, were several safety divers. I knew Grendel Eriksson was among them. They didn’t have clipboards, but I was sure they were busy taking mental notes.
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