Free The Glass Lady by Douglas Savage Page A

clear faceplate on the helmet was optically ground to magnify the chestpack dials under his chin. “Air at 28 PSI, suit inlet temp at 65, outlet at 75 degrees, nitrogen at 2500 PSI each tank. Don’t feel any fish inside the suit. Real snug here, Chief, and ready to engage the MMU.”
    â€œCopy, Jack,” the deck chief replied into his microphone headset from behind his poolside console. “Go for MMU activation.”
    At the chiefs side, Colonel Parker scanned the console’s digital numerics relaying Enright’s pulse and suit temperatures from the water.
    In space, the MMU maneuvers about by 24 compressed nitrogen jets. But in the water simulation, the MMU scoots around propelled by water jets. Enright’s nitrogen gauge on the chestpack was one more simulation, one more meter to read too high or too low, one more caution-and-warning light to flash in simulated catastrophe.
    â€œ ’Kay, Chief,” the speaker crackled. “Powering up.”
    Strapping the 300-pound MMU to one’s back, a pilot nestles his behind into it. Like sitting in Grandfather’s great chair, the pilot becomes part of the MMU.
    A boxy wing projected from the upper corners of the MMU outward along each side of Enright’s helmet. Each of the eye-level booms contained forward-shining work lights. A tiny thruster nozzle was positioned on each wing, level with the pilot’s jaw. In space, each small jet fires nitrogen gas with one and a half pounds of thrust to maneuver the pilot in a backflip. Two similar nozzles faced outward from the side of each neck-level projection. These thrusters maneuvered the pilot either sideways or in a slow roll, clockwise or counter-clockwise. At the outside of each of Enright’s knees, two matching wings projected from the base of the MMU backpack. Each of these pods contains one knee-level, forward-thrusting jet and two outside-thrusting jets. One jet in each of the head wings and in each of the knee-level wings points backward.
    â€œTelescoping arms deployed,” Enright called from 35 feet under water. From beneath each armpit, he adjusted an arm-length boom which locked into place under each of his arms. These booms fit the length of the space suit’s arms. The pilot cradled each of his forearms upon the white arms of the MMU which projected nearly perpendicular from the backpack. At the end of each arm, Enright grabbed a T-shaped control handle between his gloved fingers.
    â€œRotation Hand Controller engaged.” Enright’s right hand flicked the switch, energizing the MMU’s right-arm control handle. This handle would control his in-place attitude. By firing the water jets with the handle in his right hand, his wrist movements would “pitch” him forward or backward, “roll” him clockwise or counter-clockwise, or “yaw” his heels sideways left or right.
    â€œTHC engaged,” Enright called topside.
    â€œUnderstand Translational Hand Controller activated,” the chief confirmed. In his gloved left hand, Enright gripped the translational T-handle which would activate the MMU’s jets to shove him through the water upward or downward, left or right, and forward or backward.
    One of the divers slowly circled Enright and carefully touched the pilot’s helmet neckring and hoses locked to the suit from the PLSS—the Portable Life Support System backpack permanently attached to the suit’s upper torso. The PLSS pack was nestled inside the MMU backpack as it would be in space. The diver gave Enright a wet thumbs-up sign.
    â€œReady, Chief,” Enright radioed over his single umbilical line, which reached to the surface and to the deck chiefs console. There would be no such safety tether in space. Colonel Parker’s face moved from the console’s dials and caution lights to the shimmering image of his sunken partner.
    â€œGo to secure the flying grapple fixture, Jack.”
    â€œRogo,