need three.”
“Carter,” Nelson said, speaking into the intercom, “I want you to arrange a space for Jean Paul’s stretcher. His back is to face the sun. We’ll be out of here in three minutes.”
“Roger,” Carter responded.
“We’re almost done.”
Nelson looked back over his shoulder at the console. “Estimated exposure, two-point-seven-six rems,” he said.
Endicott wondered how much radiation Brunnet could bear as he swiftly wove the curved needle in and out of the skin. He used a square knot to tie off the suture.
“Dressing,” he said.
Nelson handed over an iodine-soaked gauze. Endicott placed it over the suture and taped it down. He dabbed alcohol at the outer edges of the dressing to remove the excess iodine.
“I’m done,” he said, backing away from the body.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Nelson said.
“I’ll need a few things for postoperative care.”
“You’ve got exactly ten seconds.”
Endicott could still feel his heart beating against his chest. He threw an assortment of vials and hypodermics onto the stretcher. “Ready.”
“Carter, we’re on our way,” Nelson announced into the intercom.
“I’ll warm the coffee,” the intercom returned with a Southern drawl.
Nelson grabbed the front of the stretcher and Endicott the back. As they plunged through the portal, they both looked up to check the console. ESTIMATED EXPOSURE: 13 REMS .
Their jog quickly turned into a walk as they approached the center of the ship and were forced to correct for the shifting gravities of the extension. When they reached the hub, the transition between the rotating and stationary modules proved to be a challenge for the stretcher. Endicott went first. He stepped inside the despin platform, where he allowed the centrifugal force to push him up against the outer wall. He reached back for the stretcher. He could see Nelson hoisting the body over his head. He grabbed the stretcher with one arm and after some difficulty placed it vertically alongside him. Nelson soon followed. Once Endicott was certain they were all safely in place, he punched the switch to stop the rotation of the platform. As it slowed down their bodies became lighter, and they floated into the center of the chamber. They were breathing hard.
Nearly five minutes had passed since they had left the habitat module.
They looked overhead and saw Carter waiting at the portal of the shelter. The console behind his head displayed an estimated exposure of thirty-six rems.
A Solar Flare
A t the sun’s surface, twisting ribbons of electrical current and solar gas swirled into an emerging flux of magnetic tension and exploded. Streams of ultrafast electrons streaked outward from the explosion, accelerated by plasma waves cresting at speeds approaching that of light. Those particles that headed back toward the sun collided with the chromosphere and produced an even greater explosion. The resulting mixture of electromagnetic waves and ionized particles burned a deadly path through space.
Both the American and Russian spacecraft were traveling directly through that path. Even in their storm shelters the crew members were not entirely safe. A few radioactive particles still made their way through the protective structure. Of the three thousand rads bombarding the ships in the first two hours, only fifty would make it through the American storm shelter, thirty through the Russians’. The surgical team, who had not been sheltered for the beginning of the flare, would absorb approximately one hundred rems. Although not lethal, one hundred rems was a substantial amount of radiation to absorb in such a short period of time. The astronauts would most likely suffer from radiation sickness.
Major Vladimir Pavlov’s eyes were fixed on the radiation count. The estimated exposure was displayed for each cosmonaut. Every few minutes a counter would increase. His count was twenty-two. Although his wife’s count read the same, they both
“Carter,” Nelson said, speaking into the intercom, “I want you to arrange a space for Jean Paul’s stretcher. His back is to face the sun. We’ll be out of here in three minutes.”
“Roger,” Carter responded.
“We’re almost done.”
Nelson looked back over his shoulder at the console. “Estimated exposure, two-point-seven-six rems,” he said.
Endicott wondered how much radiation Brunnet could bear as he swiftly wove the curved needle in and out of the skin. He used a square knot to tie off the suture.
“Dressing,” he said.
Nelson handed over an iodine-soaked gauze. Endicott placed it over the suture and taped it down. He dabbed alcohol at the outer edges of the dressing to remove the excess iodine.
“I’m done,” he said, backing away from the body.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Nelson said.
“I’ll need a few things for postoperative care.”
“You’ve got exactly ten seconds.”
Endicott could still feel his heart beating against his chest. He threw an assortment of vials and hypodermics onto the stretcher. “Ready.”
“Carter, we’re on our way,” Nelson announced into the intercom.
“I’ll warm the coffee,” the intercom returned with a Southern drawl.
Nelson grabbed the front of the stretcher and Endicott the back. As they plunged through the portal, they both looked up to check the console. ESTIMATED EXPOSURE: 13 REMS .
Their jog quickly turned into a walk as they approached the center of the ship and were forced to correct for the shifting gravities of the extension. When they reached the hub, the transition between the rotating and stationary modules proved to be a challenge for the stretcher. Endicott went first. He stepped inside the despin platform, where he allowed the centrifugal force to push him up against the outer wall. He reached back for the stretcher. He could see Nelson hoisting the body over his head. He grabbed the stretcher with one arm and after some difficulty placed it vertically alongside him. Nelson soon followed. Once Endicott was certain they were all safely in place, he punched the switch to stop the rotation of the platform. As it slowed down their bodies became lighter, and they floated into the center of the chamber. They were breathing hard.
Nearly five minutes had passed since they had left the habitat module.
They looked overhead and saw Carter waiting at the portal of the shelter. The console behind his head displayed an estimated exposure of thirty-six rems.
A Solar Flare
A t the sun’s surface, twisting ribbons of electrical current and solar gas swirled into an emerging flux of magnetic tension and exploded. Streams of ultrafast electrons streaked outward from the explosion, accelerated by plasma waves cresting at speeds approaching that of light. Those particles that headed back toward the sun collided with the chromosphere and produced an even greater explosion. The resulting mixture of electromagnetic waves and ionized particles burned a deadly path through space.
Both the American and Russian spacecraft were traveling directly through that path. Even in their storm shelters the crew members were not entirely safe. A few radioactive particles still made their way through the protective structure. Of the three thousand rads bombarding the ships in the first two hours, only fifty would make it through the American storm shelter, thirty through the Russians’. The surgical team, who had not been sheltered for the beginning of the flare, would absorb approximately one hundred rems. Although not lethal, one hundred rems was a substantial amount of radiation to absorb in such a short period of time. The astronauts would most likely suffer from radiation sickness.
Major Vladimir Pavlov’s eyes were fixed on the radiation count. The estimated exposure was displayed for each cosmonaut. Every few minutes a counter would increase. His count was twenty-two. Although his wife’s count read the same, they both
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