Holding out a hand for the Russian to see, Doug slowly closed his fingers. He could feel the vibration of the tiny servomotors as they moved the alloy ‘bones’ of the exoskeleton on the back of his hand.

“I haven’t tried to crush any rocks with them,” Doug said, half in jest.

“But the pressure is not uncomfortable?” Brudnoy asked. “You can flex your fingers easily?”

Nodding again, Doug replied, “About as easily as you can in regular gloves.”

“Ahh,” Brudnoy sighed. “I had hoped for much better.”

“This is just the first shot, Lev. You can improve it, I’m sure.”

“Yes, there is always room for improvement.”

The suit Doug wore was a cermet hard shell from boots to helmet; even the joints at the ankles, knees, hips, shoulders, elbows and wrists were overlapping circles of cermet. The ceramic-metal material was strong enough to hold normal shirtsleeve-pressure air inside the suit even though the pressure outside was nothing but hard vacuum. Thus the suit operated at normal air pressure, instead of the low-pressure mix of oxygen and nitrogen that the standard spacesuits required. No prebreathing was needed with the new design; you could climb into it and button up immediately.

The gloves were always a problem. They tended to balloon even in the low-pressure suits. Doug’s gloves were fitted with spidery exoskeleton struts and tiny servomotors that amplified his natural strength, so he could grasp and work even though the gloves would have been too stiff for him use without their aid.

“Maybe we could lower the pressure in the gloves,” Doug suggested.

“We would have to put a cuff around your wrist to seal—”

“Priority message.” The words crackled in their earphones. “Priority message for Douglas Stavenger.”

Tapping at the keypad built into the wrist of his spacesuit, Doug said, “This is Stavenger.” He was surprised at how dry his throat suddenly felt. He knew what the message would be.