Free The Glass Lady by Douglas Savage Page B

Chief.”
    The four watchful divers gave Enright room to twist his cumbersome body attached to the bay’s foot restraints.
    Gently, the submerged astronaut leaned toward a breadbox-sized fixture mounted on a tubular brace in front of his position. Facing the chest-high structure, the pilot carefully grabbed the grapple device in his gloves. He pulled his body toward it until he aligned his chestpack with the device’s corners. The grapple fixture snapped into place upon Enright’s chestpack brackets.
    â€œGrapple fixture secured,” Enright called. “Coming free.”
    Enright pushed a release lever atop the grapple unit, and the fixture parted from its bay support stand.
    â€œSee you free, Jack,” the chief confirmed.
    Flexing his weighted ankles, Enright straightened his body. Each of his weighted arms found the MMU’s forearm cradles. Each of his gloved hands clutched a T-handle.
    â€œAnd we’re flying,” Enright called as his left hand moved the THC handle. Water jets squirted from the base of the MMU.
    â€œTVC direct, Chief.”
    â€œCopy, Thrust Vector Control to direct, Jack.”
    The jets thrusted upward as long as Enright pushed the left-hand T-handle upward. The pilot rose. Ten feet above the open bay’s floor, Enright fired downward-shooting jets behind his ears. The flier stopped and floated near two windows in the submerged simulated flightdeck.
    â€œYou’re a tad out of my field, Jack,” the wall speaker crackled with a garbled, water-filled voice. The diver behind the windows in the rear of the boilerplate shuttle flightdeck peered through the window which faced aft into the open bay. “Only have your feet, Jack.”
    â€œOkay. Comin’ down.” With a downward push on the THC handle, Enright dropped 12 inches and arrested his descent with a brief burst from the downward-thrusting jets beside his knees.
    â€œGotcha now, Jack,” the diver gurgled behind his window.
    â€œRHC checkout,” Enright called. Topside, the deck chief touched the digital readout of Enright’s pulse. Colonel Parker followed the chiefs fingers. The numbers read 80.
    â€œCopy, Jack. Stay cool.”
    The pilot twisted the T-handle to the right. Two water jets beside his left ear and two jets beside his right knee squirted outward. Slowly, without moving off, Enright’s body rotated counter-clockwise as viewed from the window he faced.
    â€œRHC Go in roll.”
    â€œGot it, Jack,” the chief radioed.
    Moving his right hand in the opposite direction, Enright’s rotation stopped. He was upside down in the water and motionless.
    Pushing his right-hand T-handle sideways, Enright executed a half circle and ended up standing on his head.
    â€œYou’re upside down,” the pilot radioed to the diver he could see behind the aft flightdeck window.
    â€œNo. You are, Jack” came a garbled voice with a stream of shimmering bubbles.
    â€œRoger that. Rollin’ aft.” The white space suit rotated on its head until the pilot faced the shuttle’s submerged tail at the far end of the open bay. He stopped his rotation and then pitched rightside up with small movements of his right hand on the T-handle.
    â€œRCS real tight, Chief.”
    â€œCopy, Jack. Reaction Control Systems Go. Clear to translate to the target, Jack.”
    The black object floating beside the open payload bay hung by cables reaching out of the water to an overhead derrick. Silently, on the deck chiefs command, the support cables flexed and the sunken cylinder began a slow rotation in place beside the shuttle mockup.
    â€œGot the target, range ten meters. Slight rotation, maybe a quarter revolution per minute. Moving out.”
    Pushing his left hand forward upon the handle of the MMU’s translational hand controller, the pilot moved forward, slowly approaching the black, suspended canister.
    Jacob Enright was dwarfed by the black drone