Bryan Burrough

Space is dangerous. Life in space unbearably fragile. Blasting across it in a rocket is daring enough, but to really claim it, to tame it, you have to stay there, to live in it. Only a few have tried, in every case their courage beyond question. Because in space even a fleck of paint can be deadly. Spacewalking outside the Mir station, though seemingly tranquil, is in effect walking at 18000 miles per hour. That one fleck of paint has the destructive power of a dum-dum bullet.

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