Frank Schätzing - Limit

‘Sure!’ Edwards and Mimi cried simultaneously.

‘With reservations,’ Rogachev smiled. ‘As we are now under your charming care.’

Locatelli flared his nostrils. Excitement was clearly beneath his dignity. Instead he lifted his specially made, vacuum-resistant camera aloft and took a photograph. Nina received the answers and reactions with dimples of delight.

‘You should be a bit excited, because Extravehicular Activities are one of the most demanding aspects of manned space travel. Not only will you be entering a vacuum, you will also be exposed to extreme variations in temperature.’

‘Oh,’ Mimi marvelled. ‘I always thought it was just cold in space.’

‘From the purely physical point of view, there is no prevalent temperature in space. What we describe as temperature is the degree of energy with which the molecules of a body, a fluid or a gas move. Small example: in boiling water they’re charging about all over the place, in ice they’re almost motionless, so we experience one as hot and the other as cold. In empty space, on the other hand—’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Locatelli murmured impatiently.

‘—we find practically no molecules at all. So there’s nothing to measure. Theoretically this brings us to zero degrees on the Kelvin scale, or minus two hundred and seventy-three degrees Celsius, absolute zero. However, we record the so-called cosmic background radiation, a kind of afterglow from the time of the Big Bang, when the universe was still unimaginably dense and hot. That comes to just three degrees. Doesn’t exactly warm things up. Nonetheless, you can burn up or freeze out there, depending.’

‘We all know that already,’ Locatelli pressed. ‘I’m more interested in where—’

‘Well I don’t know it.’ Heidrun turned her head towards him. ‘But I’d like to know. As you might imagine, I’m vulnerable to sunburn.’

‘But what she’s telling us is all general knowledge!’

Heidrun stared at him. Her eyes said, fuck you, smart-arse . Nina gave a conciliatory smile.

‘So, in empty space any body, whether it’s a spaceship, a planet or an astronaut, assumes the temperature that matches its environment. That’s based on the factors of solar radiation and reflection into space. That’s why spacesuits are white, to reflect as much light as possible, which means they don’t heat up as much. Even so, temperatures of over a hundred and twenty degrees Celsius have been measured on spacesuits on the side facing the sun, while the temperature on the shaded side was minus a hundred and one degrees Celsius.’

‘Brrr,’ said Mimi.

‘Don’t worry, you won’t notice it. Spacesuits are temperature-controlled. Inside they’re a bearable twenty-two degrees Celsius. Of course only if the suit has been put on right. Negligence can mean death. Later on the Moon you’ll find similar conditions: in the polar regions there are craters which, at minus two hundred and thirty degrees, are amongst the coldest areas in the whole solar system! Light never enters them. On average the daytime temperature on the Moon’s surface is a hundred and thirty degrees Celsius; at night it falls to minus a hundred and sixty degrees – which is, incidentally, a reason why the Apollo landings took place in the Moon morning, when the sun is low and it’s not quite so hot. Still, when Armstrong passed into the shadow of his moon module, the temperature of his suit dropped all of a sudden from sixty-five to minus one hundred degrees Celsius, in one single step! Any further questions?’

‘About the vacuum,’ said Rogachev. ‘I gather our bodies will explode if we’re exposed to an airless space without protection?’

‘It’s not quite as dramatic as that. But you would die whatever happened, so it’s a good idea to keep your helmet on nicely at all times. Most of you are familiar with the old spacesuits in which you looked like a marshmallow. So inflated that the astronauts literally had to go hopping about because their trouser legs didn’t bend. For short missions and occasional space outings that was fine. But in continuously inhabited space cities, on the Moon or on Mars, monster suits like that wouldn’t make any sense at all.’

Nina pointed to the tight-fitting overall that she herself was wearing. It was made of a thick neoprene-like material and was covered with a network of dark lines. Her elbows and knees were protected by hard shells. Even though she looked as if she’d put on three diving suits one over the other, the ensemble seemed somehow sexy on her.

‘That’s why they’ve recently started using suits like these. Bio-suits, developed by a beautiful woman, Professor Dava Newman of MIT. They’re pretty, don’t you think?’ Nina turned slowly on her axis. ‘You’re going to ask me how the required pressure is created. Very simple. Instead of gas, a huge number of fixed metal braces create a mechanical counter-pressure. It’s only where the skin is highly mobile that the material is kept flexible; in all other areas it’s rigid, it’s practically an exoskeleton.’

Nina took a torso-shaped shell from the nearest shelf.

‘All armour and applications fit the basic unit, as this carbon-fibre torso protector reveals. A backpack full of life-support systems is connected to attachment points on the back, and air is pumped into the helmet and guided along pipes to the boots and gloves, the only areas in which there is gas pressure. The traditional, noisy cooling system has been replaced by a temperature-controlling nano-layer. There are additional protectors for the limbs, like the ones you’ll know from mediaeval suits of armour, except much lighter and harder. In space you’re exposed to cosmic radiation, there are micrometeorites flying about, and on the Moon you’ll be exposed to regolith, moon dust. While the movements of your feet in space don’t really matter much, on planetary surfaces they’re crucially important. To do justice to all that, bio-suits are conceived as construction sets. Dozens of elements can be combined at will, quickly and with only a few rapid manoeuvres. You breathe the same oxygen–nitrogen mixture as you do on Earth and here on board, and now you no longer have to wait for ages in the pressure chamber.’

She started pulling on her boots and gloves, attached the backpack with the life-support systems to the back plate of the suit and linked the connectors to one another.

‘Child’s play, Dava Newman would say, but be careful. Don’t try to do it on your own. Don’t make me have to come and pick you up, all dried up and twisted. Okay? Fine! Bio-suits are low-maintenance, and one more thing while we’re on the subject: if anyone feels a certain physical need – just let it flow. Your valuable pee is trapped in a thick layer of polyacrylate, so don’t worry that it’s going to splash down your legs. These’ – and Nina pointed to two consoles under the wrist – ‘are controls for a total of sixteen thrust nozzles in the shoulder and hip areas. Astronauts no longer dangle like newborn babies from umbilical cords; they navigate by recoil. The blasts are short, and they can be manually released or left up to computer calculation. That option’s a new one. When the electronics decide that you’ve lost control, you’re automatically stabilised. Your computers are connected to mine, and remote-controlled as well, so strictly speaking you can’t get lost. Here’ – her hand slipped over another console along her forearm – ‘you’ll find thirty little buttons, each one with the option of speaking and receiving. With these you’ll decide who you want to communicate with. “Talk to all” means you’re talking to everybody, “Listen to all” means you’re receiving everybody. To get your declarations of love out of the way, choose the individual connection and switch the rest off.’ Nina grinned. ‘Anyone worried about me seeing you in your underwear? Nobody? Then off with your clothes! Let’s get ready to go out there.’