Space exit 23: conquering the new frontier

The Italian astronaut of the European Space Agency, Luca Parmitano, talks about his feelings and experiences during the spacewalk number 23.


My eyes are closed while Chris is counting down the air pressure inside the lock chamber - it is already approaching zero. But I'm not tired, quite the opposite! I feel fully charged, as if electricity, not blood, flowed through my veins. I just want to make sure that I can perceive and remember everything that happens. I mentally prepare to open the door, because this time I will be the first to leave the Station. Perhaps it is good that it is night now: at least there will be nothing to distract me.

When the pressure drops to 3 kPa, it is time to turn the handle and pull the door towards yourself. Outside is black and black; it is not black, but darkness - the complete absence of light. I greedily soak up the view when I protrude to attach our safety cords. Feeling completely at ease, I bend to let Chris pass by. In seconds, we end up checking each other and sharing. Even though we are both heading towards more or less the same part of the International Space Station, our routes are completely different, dictated by meticulously studied choreography. My route is straight to the back of the Station, while Chris must first move to the front of the Station to run his cable around Z1 - the central structure of the beam above Node 1. At that moment, none of us: in orbit or on Earth - I could not imagine how much this decision will affect the events of the day.
')
I pay special attention to each movement, making our way to a protective bag that we left outside a week ago. I am calm, but I do not allow myself to relax: that would be a mistake. Inside the bag, I find cables that make up part of my most, perhaps, difficult task for the day. I have to attach them to the external nests of the Station, at the same time fixing them on the surface of the station with small pieces of wire. Both operations suggest that I will use my fingers a lot, and I know from experience that this is very tiring due to air-filled gloves.

Chris partially attached the first cable last week, so I take up the free part of it and gently lead it to the nest. After some difficulty at the very beginning, I notify Houston that I have completed the task and am ready to deal with the second cable. Grabbing the next cable, I move to the most difficult position at the Station: I literally wedge between three different modules so that I took my spacesuit and my PSG (my “backpack”) are located a few centimeters from the outer walls of Node 3, Node 1 and Laboratory . Slowly, applying considerable effort, I manage to attach a second cable to the socket. Then, blindly moving in the opposite direction, I free myself from the awkward position in which I had to work. From the ground, Shane informs me that I had finished almost 40 minutes earlier than expected, and Chris also performs his tasks ahead of schedule.

It is at that moment, when I ponder how to unwind the cable more carefully (in weightlessness, it twitches like an obsessive person), I begin to “feel” that something is wrong. Suddenly, I begin to feel the water on the back of my neck, and this is an unpleasant surprise for me. Very unpleasant, because in my position I would not like to face surprises. I move my head from side to side, confirming my first impression, and by superhuman effort, force myself to inform Houston about my feelings, knowing full well that this could be the signal for the end of this EVD. Shane confirms that they received my message and asks me to wait for further instructions. Chris, who had just finished, is still nearby and is heading towards me, hoping to visually determine the source of water in my helmet.

At first, both of us are convinced that it is either drinking water from my flask, which has flowed through a straw, or just sweat. But it seems to me that the fluid is too cold to be later, and, more importantly, I feel that it is getting bigger. I also see that nothing is flowing from the drinking water valve. When I report this to Chris and Shane, we instantly receive an order to “complete” the raid. Another option - “interrupt”, is used in case of more serious troubles. I am instructed to return to the airlock. Together we decide that Chris should secure all the elements that are outside before he returns the same way to the lock, i.e. first he will move to the front of the Station. So we separate.

Moving back along my route to the airlock, I am becoming more and more convinced that the amount of water is growing. I feel how she gets on my headphones and wondering if I lose the connection. The water almost completely covered the front of my visor, sticking to it and blocking my view. I understand that I will have to turn to the vertical position in order to bend around one of the antennas in my path, and so that my safety cable can normally roll up. At the moment when I turn over, two things happen: The sun sets, and my ability to see, already disturbed by water, disappears completely, making my eyes useless; but, worse, the water gets into my nose - a truly horrible feeling, which I aggravate with my vain attempts to shift the water, shaking my head. At this point, the top of the helmet is full of water, and I'm not even sure that the next breath in, I will fill my lungs with air, not liquid. Worse, I no longer understand in which direction I need to move in order to return to the air lock. I see only a few centimeters in front of me, unable to even look at the handles that we use to move around the Station.

I try to contact Chris and Shane: I hear them talking to each other, but their voices are very weak, I can barely hear them, but they don’t hear me at all. I am alone. I'm desperately trying to come up with a plan of action. It is vital to get inside as quickly as possible. I know that if I stay in one place, Chris will come after me, but how much time do I have? Impossible to say. Then I remember about my safety cable. The reeling mechanism of the cable develops a force of about 13 N, which will “pull” me in the right direction. The idea is so-so, but it is the best of what I manage to come up with: follow the cable to the airlock. I force myself to calm down and, patiently groping for hands, I begin to move, all the time thinking about how to remove water if it reaches my mouth. The only solution that comes to mind is to open the safety valve near my left ear: if I start depressurization, I may be able to release some of the water, at least until it freezes, and then it stops flowing. But making a “hole” in my spacesuit is the most extreme measure.

I move for what seems to me an infinite time (but I know that only a few minutes have passed). Finally, with a great sense of relief, I peer through the curtain of water in front of my eyes and I manage to look at the heat-insulating lid of the airlock: a little more, and I will be safe. One of the last directions I received was to go inside right away without waiting for Chris. According to the protocol, I had to enter the airlock last, because I was the first to leave. But neither me, nor Chris have any problems with changing the order in which we return. Moving with my eyes closed, I manage to climb inside and position myself so that Chris can come in. I feel a movement behind me; Chris enters the airlock and, judging by the vibrations, closes the hatch. At this point, the connection switches to Karen, and, for some reason, I hear her quite well. But I understand that she does not hear me, because she continues to repeat the same instructions to me even though I have already answered. I follow her instructions as best I can, but when the air starts to get pumped into the chamber, I lose sound. The water got into my ears, and now I'm completely cut off.

I am trying to keep movement to a minimum so as not to disturb the water inside my helmet. I continue to give information about my health, saying that I am fine and the pumping of air into the chamber can continue. Now that the pressure in the airlock rises, I know that if water crushes me, I can always open the helmet. Perhaps I will lose consciousness, but in any case, this is better than drowning inside a spacesuit. At some point, Chris squeezes my glove with his own, and I gesture to him the “Okay” sign. The last time he heard my speech was before he entered the airlock!

Minutes crawl slowly, until the pressure in the airlock rises to normal, and finally, with an unexpected wave of relief, I see the inner door open, and the whole team is gathered behind it, ready to help. They pull me out as quickly as possible. Karen unhooks my helmet and gently lifts it over my head. Fedor and Pavel instantly give me a towel, and I thank them, but I cannot hear their words, because my ears and nose will be filled with water for another couple of minutes.

Space is a harsh, inhospitable line, and we are researchers, not colonialists. The skills of our engineers and the technology around us make things seem simple, although they are not, and probably we sometimes forget about it.

Better not to forget.