Astronaut Class of 2009

Welcome aboard the NEEMO 16 mission!

Destination: Asteroid, deep space

Date: 11-22 June 2012

Earlier this year I was fortunate enough to be assigned to NASA’s Extreme Environment Mission Operations (NEEMO) 16^th mission to an underwater habitat called ‘Aquarius’, which lies about 20m under the ocean and nearly 8 miles off Florida’s Key Largo coast. Over the years, NEEMO missions have been used by NASA to provide vital research and development data to support future exploration missions.

Living underwater is an excellent space analog – the crew can practice EVA (‘spacewalk’) techniques using neutral buoyancy in water, whilst Aquarius offers an environment similar to a spacecraft: confined living space, total reliance on life support systems and no option for a quick return. The crew can only surface safely after 12 hours of decompression – to do otherwise would risk severe decompression illness or ‘the bends’.

The NEEMO 16 crew comprises NASA astronaut and mission commander Dorothy (Dottie) Metcalf-Lindenburger, JAXA astronaut Kimiya Yui, Professor of Astronomy Steve Squyres and myself. In addition we will be supported by two habitat technicians who are also diving experts. The crew will spend 12 days living in Aquarius, conducting two EVAs each day. Like any space mission, there will be an experienced ground support team who will manage operations, communications and logistics from their Mission Control Centre (MCC) on dry land.

Working with DeepWorker subs - Aquarius looms in the background

The European Space Agency will also play a key role in NEEMO’s MCC thanks to the support of Hervé Stevenin – a highly experienced EUROCOM (Europe’s voice link to the International Space Station) and EVA/diving instructor at the European Astronaut Centre (EAC). Also supporting the mission will be Ben Douglas, an experienced flight surgeon from EAC’s Crew Medical Support Office.

As if the prospect of living for 12 days underwater wasn’t exciting enough…it gets better! The aim of NEEMO 16 is to simulate a future mission to an asteroid. This is the current focus for NASA’s first manned mission into deep space, venturing beyond the moon’s orbit and once more pushing the boundary of human presence in our solar system.

The Orion spacecraft will be instrumental in getting astronauts to asteroids, launched atop the Space Launch System. For the journey, which could last anywhere between 1-6 months, the crew would likely live inside a Deep Space Habitat and once there they would explore the surface using a Space Exploration Vehicle (SEV). The SEV would take astronauts close to the surface where they could perform EVAs that would involve deploying instruments and collecting samples.

Tim, Dottie and Kimiya training for NEEMO in NASA's Neutral Bouyancy Lab

NEEMO 16 aims to study some of the challenges that will be faced during an asteroid mission – how astronauts and SEVs can work together using restraint and translation tools and techniques in order to explore the asteroid surface (particularly difficult in a very low gravity environment), optimal crew size for efficiency and the inevitable communication delay that will increase with distance from Earth.

For this mission our SEVs will be simulated by two DeepWorker submersibles, piloted by fellow astronauts. The subs will be modified with a foot restraint attached to a manipulator arm, which will enable astronauts outside the SEV to hitch a ride as they explore the surface and collect scientific samples. In addition, astronauts conducting EVA will have the opportunity to wear ‘jet-packs’ (battery powered thruster packs) to move quickly and easily from one place to another. Is this beginning to sound like the best birthday present anyone could wish for? Well, I have just turned 40 so thank you, European Space Agency!!

Steve Squyres testing the 'jetpack' and translation boom

More to follow on the NEEMO 16 mission training in the build up to Splashdown on June 11th!

A fantastic robotic duo: every time I train in the Soyuz simulator, I wish I had R2D2 to help me with my flying, and C3PO to help me with my Russian…

As an avid Science fiction reader, the word robotics used to remind me of two things: Isaac Asimov’s literary universe (with the famous 3 laws that he created), or the wonderfully conceived duo of C3PO and R2D2, made famous by Star Wars (contrary to a common belief, not all astronauts are fans of Star Trek…).

the CanadArm can be in different configurations: an astronaut needs to be able to fly it in any condition.

However, that word assumed a whole new meaning to me shortly after starting training as an astronaut, 2 years ago. My first encounter with the world of robotics has a name: B.O.R.I.S. This robotic arm only exists in the virtual world of computer based training, and all astronauts train initially on this simplified version of a real robotic arm to understand how to safely and successfully operate one.

As a test pilot, I am somewhat used to operate machines of different natures (well, somewhat different). So I felt ready to “fly” the arm using its hand controllers: but to my surprise, I learned that there’s a lot more than meets the eyes when we talk about robotic arms. Even on a simple arm like B.O.R.I.S., procedures are laid out to prevent possible problems (the most catastrophic ones being inadvertent contact with payloads, structures, crewmembers) and training is required to learn the “mental gymnastics” required to understand the motions of the arm. The stakes are higher, and so are the risks, when operating an infinitely more complex robotic arm like the SSRMS – commonly known as CanadArm.

Karen and I training in the JSC "cupola" facility for robotic operations.

Consequently, the training is also a lot more complex. But what is this “mental gymnastics” I mentioned? When we train to fly the Canadarm, as in space, we usually don’t have a direct view of the area of operations: we have to use cameras that give us only a partial view of the environment and the arm itself. Any image on a screen is two dimensional, so we use three different views at the same time to try and understand the spatial environment: but since the cameras are looking at the arm from different directions, the arm will move differently in each picture.

Most times, the operator will not be co aligned with the arm: when he gives a “forward” command, for example, the arm may move left or right on the screens. The arm may also be in an upside-down configuration, where the motions will also be reversed… and so on. Since our hand controllers give inputs for translations (left, right, forward, backward) and rotations (pitch, yaw, roll), an astronaut needs to be capable of foreseeing the end result of his commands, regardless of the arm’s configuration.

I Robot? Sometimes reality beats fiction, and robots like Robonaut may in the future help with space exploration (but only after I fly to Mars!).

Other difficulties come from the sheer dimensions of the arm: at about 50 feet length, any inputs will be greatly amplified when the arm is extended. So we train to fly as smoothly as we can (unlike flying military jets, where the motions can be very aggressive!) to avoid dangerous oscillations.

All in all, it takes over a month of intense training to qualify as an operator to fly the Canadarm.

During Generic Robotics Training (Credit: ESA - T. Bourry)

Getting the water bags in their pouches and adjusting the bite valves before the run.

EVA training in the Neutral Buoyancy Laboratory (NBL) is hard work, especially when you are very inexperienced (like me!) and you still need to learn how not to fight against the suit, how to optimize your movements, how make things easier for yourself.

“If you’re working hard, you’re working too hard” is what veteran spacewalker Suni Williams likes to say. One of many great pieces of advice she gave me last Tuesday, when she found the time to get in the suit to coach me in my second EVA run.

However… easier said than done. For my entire run I was at maximum cooling, with 75GPH of water flowing in my Liquid Cooling and Ventilation Garment to remove heat from my body. That’s 75 gallons per hour, or make it almost 300 litres per hour.

Ready to don the helmet and pressurize

Fortunately provisions are made for astronauts to be able to drink in the suit. We are required to carry a water bag velcroed to the inside of the upper torso, in front of our chest. There is a straw sticking through the neck ring with a blue bite valve, that you can see in the picture. It’s very similar to commercial products used by bikers and hikers, except that our bag is contained in a non-flammable pouch.

How much water do we have? The bag holds 32oz, which is almost one litre. Well, I drank it all during my four-hour run last Tuesday! But then again, I’m the one running at maximum cooling.

I’ll get more efficient with time and I’ll be able to conserve energy. My third run next week will be five hours. Let’s see if I’ll be able to save some water for the one hour that is still missing!

Patches, like watches and sunglasses, are a pilot’s thing. Worn on flight suits, leather jackets, or T-shirts, pinned on corridor walls or printed out on coffee mugs for the briefing room or the squadron mess, they are part of the decorum at every group of flyer’s hideout. They usually convey messages for the happy few who know how to read them, and if sometimes the message is encoded with an esoteric subtlety, sometimes… well, not that much (like that patch of a squadron whose name or country of origin I won’t mention, proudly sporting the motto “pulling G’s” above a stylized bulldog actively pulling on…a poor lady’s G-string clenched between his teeth.  Speak about military finesse…).

Luca on our first day at EAC

Tom Cruise on his first day at Top Gun

Find the seven differences…

Yes, the hair (or lack of) is one of them, but the main one is: Luca is not (yet) wearing his class patch…

The astronaut corps is, for good or bad, no different than any other group of fliers anywhere else in the world. Therefore, we quickly realized, one month into Basic Training, that we had to have our class patch, to establish us as a team. And like every patch in the world, following an immemorial and yet never uttered tradition, it was designed… around a beer, in a bar (well, a bar/restaurant, to be honest). The brainstorming was intense, as you can imagine, and (one of) its result(s) was the general design: a helmet in the center, symbolizing the astronauts’ job that was now ours, framed by our individual flags and ESA’s to unite them, the helmet’s golden visor reflecting a “09” referring to a launch countdown as well as evoking the year of our recruitment. We celebrated this great achievement, one of the first steps towards defining the identity of this special group of people.

Charta of the European astronaut corps

Later on, we added in the design 6 white stars representing the six individuals, and we included an extra layer around the design, to encapsulate the motto of the European Astronaut Corps: Sapientia, Populus, Audacia, Cultura, Exploratio. Thereby, we were linking our class to the groups of preceding European astronauts in an affiliation that we are all very proud of.

As the result was now quite solemn, we added our class name, the Shenanigans, as a center element. I won’t elaborate here on how astronauts classes pick (or deserve) their names, same for individuals’ call signs, but let me tell you it is somehow related to the sense of humor and practical jokes that  we, still now, enjoy together.

With the design approved, we started the next step: production… to quickly realize that no one of us could boast of artistic talent, or even drawing, as a skill on his/her resume. So after a couple of ugly short-lived draft attempts, we decided to turn to talented individuals, and luckily there were some in our entourage. The guys from spacepatches.nl, having dealt with patches for a long time, kindly offered their help and came up with the layout of the flags, that reminds of the ISS cupola. And my good buddy V. Gibaud was finally responsible for integrating all those ideas in an artistic way, for drawing the central helmet part, and for producing the patch. Let me tell you it was no easy task, given the expectations of high-maintenance hard-to-please over-achievers like the astronauts sometimes are. There is no word to describe his talent, and the final result was a total score in every possible way.

ESA astronaut class of 2009 patch

We now proudly sport it on our training flight-suits and jackets, we pin it on corridor walls, and we even printed it out on our coffee mugs… without mentioning iPhone wallpapers! We sometimes distribute it as a token of appreciation from our group after training or at public events. It has flown in planes, sky-dived, bungee-jumped from 233m high, gone underwater for spacesuit training and on top of the Mont Blanc so far, and I have no doubt it will fly to space and back quite a number of times in the years to come. Godspeed, Shenanigans’ patch!

On March 5th I had my first suited EVA training event in the Neutral Buoyancy Lab in Houston. Here are some impressions from that special day.

Days like today don’t happen often. Days when you experience something radically new. Days when unusual constraints force you to rethink your interaction with the environment, when your brain learns to give new meaning to sensory information, when your muscles acquire new patterns of movement to overcome previously unknown impediments. Days when you learn to be a cyborg.

Happy to be here! (Credit: NASA)

On such days even your eyes can betray you for a moment. As the crane lowers me into the water of NASA’s Neutral Buoyancy Lab, it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust and refocus. The effect of the visor is such that objects seem to be further away than they really are. As a result, the tremendous size of the giant 12-meter-deep pool appears even greater. In it lies a dormant creature of metal: a faithful replica of the International Space Station, outlined in its external contours. The shells of the pressurized modules, the truss segments, the antennas, the cables… all that and many more details are duplicated in this underwater world to provide astronauts with a realistic environment in which to train for Extravehicular Activities (EVA).

I have been extensively briefed on all aspects of today’s work and I have explored the Station under water several times while scuba diving. Yet it feels utterly different, almost surreal, to be looking at it from inside the suit.

In an Adjustable Portable Foot Restraint for an exercise with the Body Restraint Tether (Credit: NASA)

By the end of my EVA training flow I will have become intimately familiar with the Station, with the translation paths, the worksites, the hazards. But today’s three-hour run is mainly for me to become accustomed to the EMU, the pressurized suit that allows astronauts to perform spacewalks in space. On orbit, the suit is a closed-loop life support system that provides oxygen, ventilation, cooling and CO2 scrubbing. In the pool the life-support backpack is inactive and our survival underwater is guaranteed by an umbilical that ties us to the surface and supplies us with Nitrox to breathe. To prevent overheating, water is circulated through 80 meters of tubing woven in our full-body Liquid Cooling and Ventilation Garment (LCVG). When we speak on the voice loop, the whole facility hears us: the other suited astronaut in the water, the support divers, the test director, the environmental control console operator and, of course, the instructor in the control room. The latter is typically the one talking to us, as he follows our every move on four camera views: two from our helmet-mounted cameras, two from the camera diver assigned to each one of us. “Us”, by the way, is me and veteran spacewalker Tracy Caldwell, who is determined to make this both an enjoyable and an effective first run for me. I couldn’t have asked for a better coach.

For the next three hours my main task is to explore the limits of the suit, to identify my work envelope in it, to get accustomed to its size and to the limited field of view, to practice translating and reorienting my body, to pinpoint possible improvement areas in the suit fit. There is no rotating the arms outside of the limited envelope allowed by the shoulder joints. There is no turning the neck to look up or to the side: the whole body has to pivot. There are no quick movements: changing one’s orientation requires deliberate effort and patience. “Don’t fight the suit!” is the common mantra. If you do, you’ll only exhaust yourself.

Divers working on my weighout (Credit: NASA)

I remind myself of that as the safety divers release me from the donning station and we all descend together to the bottom of the pool. As the water pressure increases, the suit compensates to maintain an overpressure of about 4,3 psi. A rubber Valsalva device is glued inside my helmet: I can press my nostrils onto it to equalize my middle ear as pressure increases. Once at the bottom, the divers start working on the weighout: by distributing weights in different parts of the suit they establish neutral buoyancy and then try to neutralize the tendencies of the suit to rotate. The more these buoyancy-related effects are minimized, the more effective and orbit-like the training will be. It’s really an art, rather than a science, and the expertise of the divers is precious.

Since this is my first weighout, there is no baseline to start from and the process takes a bit longer. I don’t mind at all. Right now I am simply overcome by happiness and I am thankful for having the time to relax in the suit and savour this exhilarating moment!

Some simple tasks are incorporated into today’s introductory run. After practicing translating along the truss and on the US Lab along handrails and soft gap spanners, I have a chance to use the Pistol Grip Tool, a motor-driven screw driver, to release some bolts on the GPS antennas. Then the divers swim me to the airlock and I get to try the translation path to the front face of the truss and do a safety tether swap there. I also get my first experience with entering the Portable Foot Restraint – quite a challenging task! – and I practice retrieving tools from the external toolbox. Last but not least, I start to grasp the challenge of using the Body Restraint Tether, and this is probably worth a story of its own.

Translating zenith from Lab to Node 2 (Credit: NASA)

We conclude the run with a ten-minute exposure to the effects of being inverted – not a problem in real weightlessness, of course, but somewhat an issue in the pool. Finally, just beneath the water surface, the overpressure in the suit is reduced for safety considerations and then the divers remove one of my gloves, so that I can experience a sudden depressurization.

After three hours, a mere half of the nominal 6-hour duration that trainees reach by the fourth run, I am quite exhausted. The most trivial tasks in the suit require physical effort and mental concentration and the limited field of view, range of motion and tactile perception make it difficult to maintain awareness of oneself and one’s surroundings.

I know very well that big challenges lie ahead. Yet it is truly exhilarating to have taken the first step on this path. This is a day I had been looking forward to for a long time. It’s my first day as a cyborg, and the cyborg can survive in outer space.

One of the most captivating images of spaceflight, at least to my mind, does not portray the staggering power released by a 3000 tonne rocket departing the Earth, nor the grace of a space station the size of a football pitch gliding over an ocean. For me, it is the image of an astronaut floating freely in space, surveying the Universe at will, unencumbered by Earth’s annoying (yet rather essential) gravity that epitomises human achievement. When I’m asked which astronaut has inspired me the most, the temptation is to recite the more obvious ‘first’ achievements of Yuri Gagarin, Neil Armstrong or Alexey Leonov.

Bruce McCandless - first untethered EVA

The truth is the picture of Bruce McCandless conducting the first untethered Extra-Vehicular Activity (EVA – more commonly known as ‘spacewalk’), is not only supremely inspirational but it leaves me wondering what must that feel like…really feel like. The elation of absorbing a view that is simply unsurpassed, the exposure and isolation of floating 200m from the Shuttle’s sanctuary and the apprehension of knowing that only a few layers of material separate you from the perils of deep vacuum, crippling temperatures, radiation and micrometeorites. Thankfully those few layers of material have triumphed over the harsh environment of space and to date hundreds of EVA’s have been conducted by astronauts from many different countries.

And that is what brings me to the Gagarin Cosmonaut Training Centre (Star City) in January 2012, with my good friend Thomas Pesquet – to learn about the “Orlan MK”, Russia’s latest spacesuit designed to protect astronauts whilst conducting EVA. On completion of our training we will be qualified to conduct an EVA using this system, having learnt how to maintain and operate the suit, conduct airlock depressurisation and repressurisation drills and to deal with emergency situations should they arise.

Our 5 week course begins – as always – in the classroom. Like a small child in the days before Christmas we have to endure hours of waiting (in our case…theory) before we can play with our toys. However, this is my kind of theory. A spacesuit is like a mini space station with its own life support, electrical power, thermal control, voice and data communications and computer control systems – all designed to keep an astronaut alive for up to 10 hours in space. Having spent the best part of my career studying similar systems on numerous types of aircraft I have developed a rather ‘nerdy’ passion for understanding how things work and so it is with some gusto that I begin to pore over the engineering diagrams in our training manuals.

I’ll try not to bore you with the ‘techie stuff’ but if you’ll permit me a couple of paragraphs…the suit’s most vital component is oxygen, not only to breathe but also for pressure…and this spacesuit has oxygen in abundance. There are 2 tanks each capable of supplying over 800 litres of oxygen. In the spacesuit we breathe pure oxygen and consume about 50 litres per hour, so under normal conditions each tank will last over 16 hours. Exhaled carbon dioxide is removed by a lithium ion filter and fresh oxygen is released into the suit to compensate for the resulting pressure drop. Electric fans circulate the oxygen around the suit – it’s a beautifully simple design built to typically robust Russian standards.

The suit has to be internally pressurised to protect against the vacuum of space – without external pressure all the gases are released from our bloodstream, including oxygen of course, and an astronaut would lose consciousness after about 15 seconds. No need to dwell on the more gruesome discussions about whether or not our blood would ‘boil’ or body expand – we’d be blissfully unconscious! However, if the suit were pressurised to a ‘normal’ earth atmosphere at sea level (760mmHg) it would be so rigid when operating in a vacuum that an astronaut would be virtually unable to move. So the “Orlan” operates at a safe compromise of 300mmHg, which means our body experiences the same pressure as if you were standing on top of a mountain at 23000 feet (breathing pure oxygen). Even at this pressure the suit feels extremely rigid and the simplest tasks such as operating switches, levers, turning valves – anything that requires the bending of elbows or fingers – is extremely difficult, as Thomas and I were soon to discover.

Suiting up - feels like caving again

So with our week of theory complete, at last it was time to wear the spacesuits, suspended from the ceiling in the ‘dry’ simulator. The process begins with a short medical evaluation prior to donning medical monitoring equipment, cotton undergarments, socks, headset and a liquid cooling suit. The cooling suit will pump water around the body and expel excess heat into space – it’s an extremely efficient system and each suit has a temperature control lever for comfort. Sliding carefully, feet first into the suit I am reminded of my recent caving experience with ESA, squeezing into tight spaces that you’re not sure how to get out of. As the backpack is locked and sealed I am thankful that I have never had problems being in restricted spaces – I actually feel quite comforted by the confines of the spacesuit but I can imagine that for anyone who suffers even the slightest feelings of claustrophobia this would be akin to medieval torture.

A correctly fitted suit is essential – and because the suit will expand once pressurised it has to be slightly too small when you first enter, but despite being a bit cramped it’s not uncomfortable and soon I am learning how to move my arms. “Think like a robot” Oleg, our Russian instructor tells us, “and move slowly – conserve energy.” This works well and soon Thomas and I are familiarising ourselves with the spacesuit’s mechanical and computerised controls. After 3 hours of working under pressure (literally!), we emerge from our spacesuits with a newfound respect for just how hard it must be to conduct a real 6 hour EVA. Muscles that I never knew existed are sore, I’ve had something scratching my eye for the past hour which I’ve been unable to do anything about, I’m dehydrated and have cramp in my wrists, arms and fingers. But we are smiling – possibly the biggest smiles since experiencing zero ‘g’ during parabolic flight. This is what being an astronaut is about!

"Think like a robot" - note the Shenanigans patches

As we begin to find working in the spacesuit easier with each dry simulation, the tasks become more complex and it is not long before we are ready to progress to the final stage of our training – the ‘Hydrolab’. The Hydrolab at Star City is a circular pool 10m deep and 24m diameter. Mock-ups of the Russian segments of the International Space Station are lowered on a platform into the water and astronauts can practise EVA skills using the neutral buoyancy of water to simulate weightlessness. Sealed in my spacesuit once again, I am being lowered into the pool by a small crane – and for a fleeting moment I wonder what would happen if there were a catastrophic suit failure underwater – like a glove popping off…sometimes ignorance is bliss, I guess. As we submerge I begin to survey my new surroundings. The curvature of the visor gives a slight ‘fish bowl’ effect and I soon learn it is better not to move my head back and forth too much as it is slightly disorientating.

Tim and Thomas - just hanging around

Thomas and I are placed into the airlock and the clock is running. There is barely room to move. Tasks which were relatively easy in scuba gear the day before require ridiculous amounts of concentration, effort and time and after 20 minutes all we have achieved is to open the hatch, install a hatch seal protector and egress the airlock with all our kit. We move along our planned route attaching our safety tethers ‘via ferrata’ style to the handrails, with always two points of contact. Every move is being watched by several cameras and we know that any mistake will be pounced upon, for good reason – the odds of successful rescue for an astronaut ‘lost in space’ are not good. As each task is accomplished I can feel the strength being sapped from my arms and fingers. The suit has expanded and doesn’t fit too well anymore but I’m happy I’ll complete the EVA with some energy to spare. That is, until I realise that Thomas has been instructed to ‘play’ unconscious – an emergency situation that requires one astronaut to recover the other to the airlock, doing all the drills alone. It’s going to be a long morning! After about 3 and half hours underwater we are finally back on dry land, delighted to have successfully completed our first ‘suited’ dive. After such a strange and unique experience it seems perfectly normal that the first thing that happens as we step out of our suits is to be handed a cup of hot tea by a kind Russian doctor – how civilised is that!

Thomas goes into the airlock

An EVA is probably the most physically demanding task an astronaut can undertake. In hindsight, Bruce McCandless may not have been “surveying the Universe at will” – he was probably trying desperately to bend his fingers to reach the thruster control and return to the Shuttle, with sweat stinging his eyes and a microphone sticking up his nose – nursing sore elbows and fingers and suffering complete and utter muscle fatigue. Does that in any way spoil the image for me? Not one bit – if anything I look at that picture today with greater wonder, admiration and inspiration than I did 5 weeks ago.