There was a United Nations flag aboard the ship. It was to be planted by Nelson into the red Martian soil. He wondered what NASA would have to say if the flag never made it to Mars. They would not be pleased. The flag was politically significant. It was to stand as a symbol of their achievement. He walked over to the drawer that contained the flag, pulled it out, unfolded it, and held it at arm’s length. He watched it ripple and thought of the men who had been buried with a flag over the centuries. It was an honor they had earned. He decided Major Jean Paul Brunnet would not be denied that honor.
He carefully folded the flag into a small triangle and placed it under his arm. His decision made him feel better. He knew that he was doing the right thing. He slapped his hand down on the button that activated the intercom.
“Carter.”
“Yes,” came the digitized response.
“I’m on my way.”
It was an odd feeling. He did not know whether it was his imagination or if it was real. As he walked through the cylindrical passageway that joined the modules, he could sense Brunnet’s presence, as if he were floating above, slightly behind, watching. He told himself that it was his imagination, that it was nothing, but he could not shrug off the sensation. He stopped, looked up at the ceiling behind him, and held out the folded flag.
“You deserve it,” he said. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was glad no one was watching.
The passageway remained absolutely silent. Had there been the tiniest disturbance, he would have interpreted it as a sign that Brunnet was there.
“Are you there?” Although he did not expect to hear or see anything, he felt compelled to ask. “If you are, I want you to know the mission will continue as planned. I assume that is what you would have wanted. I suppose you would have also wanted to see the flag planted on Mars. I’m sorry, but I can’t accommodate you on that one.”
He studied the blank ceiling and wondered if Brunnet was actually present. The ceiling did not look any different. After some thought, he decided against saying anything else and proceeded down the corridor and into the lab module.
Endicott was hovering over the body. He was checking the space suit, making sure the fittings were properly fastened. His face was ghostly white. Nearly as white as that of the body within the suit. His eyes were tired, with big, dark rings that hung like iron weights beneath the lids. In zero gravity a face is normally bloated from the collection of body fluids that would otherwise gather in the lower extremities. But Endicott’s face was drawn tight, partly due to stress and partly due to his inability to keep his food down for the past several days. His double chin, which had grown more prominent since leaving Earth, had nearly disappeared. He did not acknowledge Nelson as the latter entered the room.
Carter was seated in the far corner, his hands cradled in his lap. He stood up immediately when he saw the commander and pushed his way over to him. Upon seeing the flag he stopped dead in his tracks. Their eyes met and after several seconds, during which neither said a word, smiles appeared on both their lips.
“To hell with ’em,” Carter said.
The unusual remark was enough to divert Endicott’s attention from the body he was preparing. Not seeing the flag, he was unable to determine the intent behind the remark and grew visibly angered at the sight of Carter’s smile. His pale face regained some of its color.
“Do you mind,” he said. It was a demand rather than a question.
Carter appeared somewhat apologetic as he pointed at the flag. The doctor understood immediately and signaled his concurrence with a nod.
They unfolded the flag in silence. They lifted Brunnet several feet off the table and allowed him to float there while they wrapped the flag around his body. Some things were easier in zero gravity, and they were grateful that this was one of them. There wasn’t enough material to cover his entire body, so after a few moments of quiet discussion they decided to leave his helmet uncovered. It seemed more appropriate than his feet.
They stepped back from the floating body. It was time. Carter activated the television downlink. A green light above the camera indicated they were being recorded.
Nelson unfolded a sheet of paper that he had retrieved from his pants pocket. He briefly looked up at the camera and then down at the body, which, suspended above the table, took on a ghostly quality. It suddenly seemed terribly inappropriate to have the body floating, but it was too late to do anything, the digitized image was already on its way to Earth. He began to read from the paper in his hands, his voice a low monotone. The room was bright with light for the camera.
He could barely hear his own words as they emerged through his lips. And he could barely understand them. He had written the parting words earlier that morning. There was a great noise inside his head, like the sound of the sea inside a seashell. He wondered if he was saying everything correctly. At the edges of his vision he could see that Carter’s head was bent low and that his hands were clasped in prayer. Endicott’s eyes were moist. He was looking at the body. His knees appeared unsteady. He was not standing straight. Nelson wondered if Endicott were going to faint. He watched Endicott as he read. The rushing sound gradually subsided and was gone when he reached the end of the eulogy.
As he lowered his head in prayer, the moisture that had collected on his eyelid formed a small tear that broke away and floated gently into the center of the room.
T
he Russians had deliberately designed Tatiana’s clothing to obscure the curves underneath. They were plain, loose-fitting, baggy, and tailored for utility. Not so much that it was obvious, but enough, they hoped, to dampen any wayward thoughts that the male members of the crew might develop. Two years without female companionship was a long time. The mission psychologists had decided it would be best for all parties involved to deemphasize Tatiana’s sex. The task was not easy. Her breasts and well-rounded hips presented curves that were apparent in even the baggiest of garments. And it was those curves that turned Komarov’s head as she exited through the hatch of the transfer tunnel.
She knew that he was watching, but she had other things on her mind. The day had been long and tedious, and she was tired. They had assisted the Americans with preparations for the launch of the Venus probe
Greenhouse
. There had been a lot to do, and she had found it difficult to concentrate. She had gotten into an argument with Vladimir that morning when he had attempted to assist her in rerouting some of the circuitry in the command station. His large hands had made it impossible for her to see what she was doing. She snapped at him, and when he doltishly persisted she lost her temper. The brief fight that ensued ended with Vladimir accusing her of being self-centered. She began to feel guilty several hours later and now, by the end of day, she very much wanted to make it up to him.
She could sense the steam as she entered the hygiene module. The room was warm and humid, and there was the sound of water. She saw Vladimir’s wrinkled shirt on the sink next to the shower.
“Is that you, Vladimir?” she asked, removing her clothing and dropping the articles onto the floor one by one.
The sound of water stopped.
“What?” came the muffled reply from inside the collapsible shower. It was made of nylon and entirely watertight.
“Is that you?” she repeated.
“Tanya?” Vladimir said. “What is it?”
“Open up,” she said. She was completely naked, her clothes strewn about her in a haphazard circle. “I want in.”
“You can’t . . .” he began to say as he unzipped the shower door far enough to allow his head to peer through. Regulation required the shower to remain closed until all of the stray water had been removed with the suction hose. But the sight of her standing there, without clothing, her breasts soft and pearl white, persuaded him to reconsider. He opened the door the remainder of the way and stood there, speechless, as though it were the first time he had ever seen her naked.
“Hello, my love,” she said seductively, and stepped into the shower.
He didn’t know what to say, so he guided her in, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her. She responded by pressing her body closer to his, slowly running her fingernails down his back, and passionately licking the inside of his ear. Her heart was beating hard and fast. The shower was barely large enough for one person.
“Turn the water on,” she whispered.
He motioned behind her at the open door. She turned to zip the door shut and as she did he brought his hands around her waist to caress the inside of her thighs. A moan of pleasure slipped through her lips. Vladimir reached up and turned the valve to start the shower. A blast of warm water directed by jets of warm air blew down on top of them, and with the air and water striking sensuously against their skin they made love.
The hygiene module, programmed to conserve water, turned the shower off several times before they were finished. Vladimir was the first to emerge from the collapsible tube, with Tatiana immediately behind. Grabbing a towel, he sat down and patted himself dry. Tatiana did the same.
“What brought that on?” he asked after some time. It was the first words spoken since they had turned on the shower, and he realized he shouldn’t have asked the question—the words sounded harsh and sarcastic—but they hadn’t made love in nearly two weeks, and he wanted to know what had triggered her sudden interest. He was no longer angry about the morning.
“Follow me,” she said softly. “I’ll show you.”
After they had put the remainder of their clothes on, she took him by his hand and led him through the portal. He felt like a child being led by his mother. They walked in silence, through the transfer tunnel to the end of the module where the observation port was located. They sat down and she pressed the button to withdraw the shields that protected the glass from micrometeoroids.
The observation window filled with stars and a brilliant white band he knew to be the Milky Way. In the center of the band shone a luminous sphere of alabaster and gold. The colors swirled and faded gently into each other. It was the planet Venus. A thin halo of light flowed outward from its clouds. Vladimir was moved by the planet’s beauty. He knew that underneath the veil of clouds the surface resembled a hellish inferno. He tried not to think about the surface.
After a while he closed the door to the observation port and took Tatiana into his arms. They removed each other’s clothing. The sight of their bodies illuminated by the light of Venus excited them. He touched her gently at first, exploring her outer contours with the tips of his fingers. Moments later they were passionately entwined.
“T
en minutes till separation,” Carter announced.
“Ten minutes and counting,” Dr. Endicott repeated for the benefit of the Russians.
Carter tapped a key that popped open the event window on their monitors.
“Check probe power.”
“Probe power checks.”
“Check thermal control.”
“Thermal control good.”
“Verify
Liberty
deployment angle.”
“Tilt table twenty-nine degrees.”
“Hydraulics.”
“Hydraulics check.”
At T minus twenty seconds the three metallic arms that held the probe against the hull withdrew into the ship.
“Grapples released. Five seconds and counting.”
“OK boys, here goes nothing.”
“Spring activated.” Three springs gently pushed the probe into space. “
Greenhouse
has been deployed. Rate of separation is point-five meters per second.”
“
Greenhouse
has been deployed,” Endicott announced through the comm link.
“We verify proper separation,” Vladimir responded over the intercom.
“Prepare to fire aft thrusters at T plus one minute,” Nelson said while watching the event timer. At one minute past deployment the probe would be approximately nine meters from the
Liberty
, a distance safe enough to fire the thrusters. The aft thrusters were a series of small rocket engines, located at the rear of the ship, which made up part of the reaction-control system. The maneuver would increase the rate of separation between the probe and the
Liberty
.
“Fire aft thrusters.”
“Eight-second burn on afts.”
They watched the probe diminish in size, then disappear altogether. At T plus five minutes, Carter instructed
Greenhouse
to initiate a slow spin. The rotation of the probe distributed the heat from the sun evenly over its surface. The astronauts checked the various subsystems of
Greenhouse
as they waited for the distance between the two craft to increase. Attached to
Greenhouse
was a small single-stage engine that would propel it toward Venus.
“T plus twenty-one minutes,” Carter announced.
“Activate avionics for single-stage ignition.”
“Avionics activated.”
“HYPACE firing attitude-control thrusters. Point-three-second burn. All three axes are stabilized.”
“T plus twenty-three minutes. We are set for ignition. Ten seconds and counting. Seven . . . six . . . five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . ignition.”
“We have ignition,” Endicott announced.
Through the view port, they were able to see a brief flash of light. The probe was nearly three kilometers distant, and the flash from the single-stage engine appeared smaller than the flame from a match. There was no sound.
“She’s on her way,” Nelson said. It would be three days before
Greenhouse
reached Venus.
“Single-stage separation.” The booster engine fell away from
Greenhouse
and tumbled toward Venus along a slightly different trajectory.
Nelson was about to thank his men for their hard work when he noticed that Carter was no longer grinning. He followed Carter’s gaze. Endicott’s back was slightly slumped and turned away from them.
“What did you think?” he asked as he placed his hand on the doctor’s shoulder.
The doctor stood up straight and rigid. Nelson’s hand fell away.