Production Test

by Raymond F. Jones

Burton, the young engineer who was chiefly responsible for the new joints, was working on a system of dogs to make the Maiden unnecessary, but so far they weren't quite practical.

The Maiden was necessary because the tension of the counterbalances in each of the joints would otherwise have folded the suit into an intractable wad. It was surprising how many newcomers in the various branches of engineering associated with space flight did not appreciate the magnitude of the problem of joints and pressure regulation. So many of them thought all you had to do to build a spacesuit was make a man-shaped balloon, put a man and some air into it and turn him loose. They never realized that a man in such a rig would be spread-eagled by the air pressure that forced the suit to maximum volume and held it there. It wouldn't permit a man to bend an arm or move a leg. And if he could move, the changing volume would introduce such a violent change of air pressure in the suit that it would be uninhabitable.

The springs of the Kimberly Joint were ingeniously built into sheaths in the fabric in such a way as to counterbalance this spread-eagling force, thus leaving the spaceman free to move his body in a somewhat normal fashion.

But the springs, in turn, made the ungainly contraption nicknamed the Iron Maiden necessary to hold the uninflated suit.

So far, all means of dogging the counterbalances made it impossible to get into the suit, properly inflate, and then remove the dogs. In the Maiden, the suit was held rigid and the right arm dogged so that the openings could be closed and the suit inflated. Afterwards, the left hand was used to undog the right arm.

It was cumbersome, complicated, and ungainly, a lot different from the boyhood heroes Bryan Kimberly had read about, those dashing engineers who were forever shucking on a spacesuit at the drop of a ray gun and clearing the void of all that stood in their way.

But it was an improvement over the old ground joint, iron pants outfits, with their continual blowouts and violent deaths. So far, space flight had become useful only to the degree that suit engineering had freed men from the confines of the ships to explore the surface of the Moon.

And some day a Kimberly would make the first human footprint on the surface of Mars —

Kimberly slid his legs into the suit, then hunched down and drew himself into the rest of the carcass. He stood up straight sliding his arms into place and raising his head into the dark, tight cavern of the headpiece. More than ever, he wished those writers and illustrators of thirty years ago had left proper specifications for those beautiful suits and transparent helmets they designed. A suffocating, claustrophobic sense filled him momentarily. As good as they were, the lenses gave the impression of looking between fantastic bars as his sight shifted from one to another. It was difficult to get used to the distortion of field that they presented to his eyes — but some day there'd be transparent headpieces.

With his right arm, he closed the belly opening through which he had entered. Like Jonah in the belly of the whale, he thought. The inch and a half thickness of Cordolite felt cold and clammy even through the liner. He turned up the heat control by means of the switch at the end of the left sleeve.