Гарри Гаррисон - Skyfall

Fueling was going well so he had time to go in and bug Kober and make sure the thing was plucked out and taken away. He liked riling Kober, even though it was so easy to do. He had been in the Army himself when he was young, been made a corporal before getting out. Anyone above the rank of

Sergeant Major was instantly suspect. Chicken-shit chicken colonels were the best bait of all. He smiled and turned back towards the door.

The solar observatory was on Capri, the isle in the Bay of Naples, Italy. Monte Solaro rose up behind it where the terraced slopes, silver with olive trees, ran down through the village of Anacapri to terminate in high limestone cliffs above the blue sea. Three-quarters of the way down was the solid-walled building that housed the Solar Observatory of the University of Freiburg. It was not the best site for an observatory of this kind, the sea haze meant that seeing could not begin until late in the morning and ended well before sunset in the afternoon. But Capri is every German's idea of heaven, so heart had led head for just once and the observatory had been built here. The short day left more time for wine and peaches. A tour of duty on Capri was not considered by the astronomers, or their wives, to be much of a sacrifice.

A mirror on top of the building rotated and tilted automatically to follow the sun, reflecting its image down a chimney-like tube to the telescope room below. Here the magnified image passed through a specially designed filter that screened out all except the wavelength of hydrogen. Thus purified, modified and enlarged, the sun was captured on film by a Leica camera. Every two minutes during the day it took a picture, then advanced the film automatically to be ready for the next shot. When the camera was not operating the image could be projected onto a white screen. A burning, angry disc a yard in diameter, pocked with solar activity, rimmed with tendrils of flame.

Dr. Bruzik was studying the image now, puffing complacently on a well-stained Meerschaum pipe. Astronomy is a very placid occupation, demanding more patience than energy, and he had practiced this science for a number of years. His wife, Jutta, came into the room.

“It is that man in Texas again, on the phone. He is very angry because the Naples operator cut us off for almost fifteen minutes.”

“If one were always to be angry at the Italian telephone system, one would die of apoplexy before reaching puberty. Was there any message?”

“Just as always. What is the state of the sun?”

“You can reassure him that there was no change while we were out of contact. Activity normal… Gott In Himmel!”

Bruzik gasped, forgetting that he held the stem of the pipe between his teeth, a very favorite pipe indeed. It fell and broke on the floor — and he was not aware of it at all.

Because, hypnotized, he was watching a solar flare growing on the sun's disc. A tongue of fire that leapt up higher and higher, arched out into space. He was watching millions of tons of burning gas being ejected from the sun's surface, the explosive power of a gigantic solar storm.

What he knew also existed, what was not visible here, was the gigantic activity beneath the sun's surface, the incredibly powerful magnetic fields that twisted and churned. And sent out radiation. Radiation that, when it struck the atmosphere of Earth minutes later, could cause the Northern Lights, ruin radio reception, jam telegraph cables.

And so excite the upper atmosphere that it would rise up and strike Prometheus from its orbit. Change the relatively empty space at this altitude with its few molecules of air, to a thin atmosphere that would be like a rock wall to the satellite traveling at five miles a second.

“Keep the telephone connection,” Bruzik called out. “I want to speak with them in a few moments. Try and make that cretin of an operator understand that the line must be kept open at all costs.

“It looks as though a period of intense solar activity is beginning. Just as Professor Weisman said it would.”

GET 27:41

“Just do as I tell you, step by step, slowly and carefully, and nothing will go wrong,” Patrick said. “Are you ready, Gregor?”

“Da,”

“Coretta?”

“Da as well, Patrick.”

The hatch was open and they were facing it; Patrick could see it clearly in his mind's eye. The only way he could see it. Coretta had taken off the thick top bandage and secured the pads on his eyes with a tape, had done this for Nadya as well. So they could be able to fit their helmets over their heads. Getting into their pressure suits had been a fumbling, time-consuming job, with Coretta and Gregor doing all the work for the four of them. The two pilots in their unyielding space armor had to be guided, carried really, to their couches. Moving them in this manner was the easiest and most logical thing to do; Patrick had hated it, the total dependency, but had said nothing. Now the atmosphere was gone, the hatch open, and each of them was sealed away from the others in a thin capsule of life. And they would stay this way until the end. Until help came — or didn't come.

“The AMU is tethered just outside the hatch. Do you see it? “Patrick asked.

“Still there,” Coretta said.

“All right. Gregor, cut through the hatch, taking it very easy. If you just float through easy Coretta will handle your umbilicals.”

“I don't think they will reach as far as the AMU,” Gregor said.

“We know they won't, they're designed for maneuver inside the cabin. But you'll be able to get at least a meter outside which is enough leeway for you to strap into the AMU. Pull it as close to the hull as you can — but don't take off its safety hold-down yet. There's a wide lap strap to hold you into position. Take both ends at once, pull up on them which will seat you, then latch. Do you have that?”

“Roger.”

“Then exit through the hatch. Coretta, try and give me a running commentary so I'll know how it's going.”

“Sure. Going out now. A tight squeeze, but going through nicely. I'm paying out the umbilicals….”

Gregor was sweating heavily, panting with exertion. By now he was used to the lack of gravity and the way inanimate objects seemed to have life and motions of their own. This moving around would not have been too bad if he had not been restricted by the suit. Every action had to be a forceful one and, if he dared relax his arms, they tended to stick straight out from his body. The simple act of getting into the bulky, chair-like form of the AMU, the Astronaut Maneuvering Unit, proved almost impossible. Either he was moving or the AMU was, usually in opposite directions.

“Take a rest,” Coretta ordered. “You're panting like a bulldog in heat. Let things quiet a bit or you are going to overload your cooling unit.”

“She's right,” Patrick said.

“Must… finish this… a moment more…”

Angry at himself for being so clumsy, Gregor seized both ends of the straps and pulled them tight, damping the movement of the AMU. They were spinning together now — but at least it was together. He closed his eyes against the vertigo and hauled on the straps until the ends came together — and he clipped shut the belt.

“A great job,” Coretta said, smiling at his victorious thumbs-up signal, using the umbilicals to damp his motion. “In the AMU and ready for the next step,” she said.

“Be very careful about sequence now,” Patrick said. “Coretta, have you the safety line rigged? With one end attached inside?”

“Done as directed,” she answered, giving the nylon line one last tug to make sure it was secure.

“Good. Clip the other end to Gregor's belt — not to the chair. After this is done plug the short leads of the AMU umbilicals into the receiver on Gregor's suit.”