“You did the right thing,” Satomura said, having read the doubt in his commander’s mind. He attempted to smile. The grim lines that etched his face were unable to settle into a pleasing pattern. But it was the best he could manage. Komarov’s grin was large and broad and fell naturally into place.
“Little light on the oxygen?” Tatiana asked as she walked in. She crouched and examined the dark gap in the wall. Her hands were on her hips. “We’ll need to shut down the power feeding into these wires.”
Komarov did not like the tone of her voice. He noticed that Satomura had retreated behind the fire extinguisher.
“Well . . .” she said.
Her fierce glare was sobering. The electrical subsystem was the ship’s central nervous system. Komarov wondered if he had underestimated the danger. He turned to Satomura.
“Shut down the power that feeds into this panel.” He moved in closer and crouched to a level just above her shoulders so he could see what she was doing. Her glove-encased index finger was poking at the wires inside the gap.
“How long will it take?” he asked.
She answered without turning around. “Ten minutes maximum.”
He looked down at his watch.
“I’ll be on the flight deck,” he said.
“I may need you.” The forced tones of her anger vibrated through the tiny speakers in his helmet. He was beginning to resent her attitude. But she was the ship’s technician, and during emergencies of this sort he had to rely upon her.
“Of course,” he said. He still felt disoriented from the landing. “The power to the panel has been turned off,” Satomura announced.
“Thank you,” Tatiana said icily. “You could help by holding this cable steady here.”
Komarov went down on one knee and took the cable. To his astonishment the wire began to shake. He looked at his hand in horror, as if the appendage belonged to someone else. He concentrated on holding the wire steady, but it continued to shake. He took a deep breath and held it. No effect. He could tell that she noticed. He bit his lip until he drew blood; he could taste the blood as it slid down his tongue and into his throat. The pain concentrated his thoughts on the flesh clamped between his teeth. The wire finally stopped shaking. He swallowed the blood and smiled.
“Almost done,” she said.
“Takashi,” he said, “prepare to restore power.”
He was looking at his hand. He had been in situations as dangerous, and it had never trembled before. Perhaps it was the fall. He wondered if Tatiana would think less of him.
“Done,” she said, and stood up.
“Restore power,” he said.
The lights came on all at once. He swiveled toward the flight deck and, in the distance, could see the computer screens blink on. The panels above and below the monitors were popping to life with tiny bright colors. He felt a great sense of relief and felt like hugging Tatiana, but instead he patted her on the back, and said simply, “Nice job.”
“You’re damn right,” she replied, and stormed off toward the flight deck.
He stood bewildered and said nothing, and after a few seconds he followed her into the cabin. On the screen, with hair pointing every which way and shirt stained with great circles of sweat, Vladimir was beaming down at Tatiana, and Tatiana, Komarov could tell from the tone in her voice, was beaming back up at him. For the moment he was too tired to care, and, actually, to some degree, he was happy for them. He walked over to the portal and looked out and saw canyon walls that dwarfed anything he had ever seen before and a wave of adrenaline-charged elation swept through him.
“I want a preliminary damage report within the hour,” he said, as his eyes wandered over the majestic sight.
H
er mouth opened and closed with words, but he wasn’t listening to the words, he was listening to the sounds and watching the expressions that framed the sounds. The words didn’t mean anything. The words could form the truth or they could form lies. She could mold words into anything she desired, and she would, without the slightest twinge of remorse, if it served her purpose. He watched her eyes to see if they would betray her, but they were looking into a camera lens, which was not the same as looking into his eyes. She could pretend the lens was someone else or no one at all. And although he was there on the screen before her, he was still several hundred kilometers away. He could hear his own voice, and as he listened he cursed himself for playing her game. He was telling her how much he missed her and how much he wanted her, and he remembered vaguely that was how he felt at the time, but now he wasn’t so sure. He stopped the tape and rewound it to the beginning of the transmission.
Vladimir was floating naked in the flight deck. Without the other cosmonauts aboard the ship there didn’t seem to be as much a reason to wear clothing. He could regulate the temperature aboard the
Druzhba
to whatever he desired. Many nights he pranced naked from one module to the next and danced and twirled and sang at the top of his lungs, making up the words as they occurred to him, the lewder the better.
Her mouth was moving again. This time he decided to concentrate on her lips. The slightest tremble, and he would have the evidence he sought. He increased the magnification until her lips filled the entire screen. Her lips were wet with moisture. He caught a glimpse of her tongue slipping out between her teeth. It sent warm shivers through his body. He wondered if she were deliberately trying to tease him. He reduced the magnification, and after several minutes of silent deliberation decided the effect had been invoked by the magnification.
She sounded and acted normal. He was unable to detect any clear evidence that she was lying. But he knew she was. He rewound the tape and played it in slow motion. It mutated her words into a painful, slurring moan. He listened until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He sped the tape up, and that made her sound like a chipmunk. He rewound the tape again.
He played it at normal speed, and this time he closed his eyes and just listened. Her voice had a soothing influence, and he found himself believing her, falling under her spell. It angered him to think she could have such an effect on him. Despite his nagging suspicions, he realized he was still very much in love with her. He opened his eyes and studied the digital image. He froze the frame.
He moved in close until he was able to distinguish the individual dots of light that made up her face. Thousands of tiny little pixels all blurred into circles the color of her skin. He touched the circles with his lips and wondered what it would be like to touch her skin. The glass was frigid. He pulled back. The dots converged back into her face.
He started the tape again, and the words began pouring from her mouth, cascading into sentences that didn’t seem to make any sense. She was saying how she missed him. He tried to concentrate on the words, but he started to think about her and Dmitri.
The son of a bitch had her all to himself. He could caress her warm skin whenever he wanted. He wondered if they had made love. He was certain they had. And then he wondered how often they made love and where and if they had enough decency to do it while Satomura was asleep. That would be almost too much to bear—the old man listening while Dmitri poured himself into her, grunting with each thrust. Tatiana would come in short staccato bursts as she ripped at the sheets with her long fingernails. He could hear the sound in his mind. The first couple of times quietly, and then, as the moment approached, louder and louder.
“The goddamn whore,” he shouted.
His face went red with rage. He slammed his fist into the monitor. There was a loud explosion. The glass shattered and tiny projectiles flew outward, striking his face and body. Splintered glass and droplets of blood were floating in the air. He heard a crackling noise and saw several sparks of light from inside the monitor. To his horror there were tiny streams of blood flowing like confetti from his wrist. He moved his hand, and the streams of blood grew longer. He was surprised that he couldn’t feel any pain.
“Damn,” he said, looking at his hand quizzically. “What have I done?”
Without bothering to stop the flow of blood, he looked back at the monitor and saw that Tatiana had disappeared. He stared at the circuitry inside the tube, wondering why he had reacted so violently. He felt like crying. It was not until his hand started to throb with pain that he looked at his wrist again. It was surrounded by a floating puddle of blood. He shivered and started to feel nauseous as he extracted his bleeding hand, but managed to take his other hand and press down on the cut.
He looked around the room for something to wrap the wound with. The cut grew more painful, and his eyes began to water. He cursed out loud. With his hand pressed firmly on his wrist, he made for the infirmary. He left floating droplets of blood behind him.
T
he three crew members sat in silence as they waited for the transmission from Earth to commence. They had sent the damage report several hours earlier and were waiting for the Russian Space Agency’s recommendation. Their bodies felt strange from lack of sleep and the multiple cups of black coffee. The problems they had found were minor. A sieve charcoal canister was spent and had to be replaced. Several batteries had to be recharged. The gas-coolant separator required a minor repair. Other than the severed power lines, which they had fixed, they were unable to find any damage they could directly attribute to the landing.
The Americans had agreed to delay the first EVA until the internal inspection of the
Gagarin
was completed. Komarov was annoyed at the length of the delay. He felt that Emil Levchenko was being overly cautious, and the more he thought about it the more difficult it was for him to contain his anger. He was trying to imagine what additional inspections Levchenko might require. They needed someone who was more decisive. If Levchenko had his way, he would have them disassembling and reassembling the
Gagarin
the entire three months they were on the surface.
Komarov disliked the attention the delay focused on him. Ordinarily, he thrived on attention. His decision to land was being scrutinized by the media to a degree he had never thought possible. He might as well have been on trial. They were questioning his character and publishing things about his past that were entirely irrelevant. But he was convinced he would be vindicated and all would be forgotten once he set foot on Martian soil.
“Democracy has made everyone too fearful of failure,” he had told Satomura while under the command console. His frustration had grown too great to contain. “Communism bred scientists who were not fearful of failure. They had balls. They could afford to have balls. They knew the government controlled the press. If something went wrong, it could be suppressed. No one would know. The people were only informed of the successes. Under such a system we made great strides.”
Satomura pointed out that the Americans, who were burdened with democracy from the start, were able to make even greater strides. This annoyed Komarov—but he knew better than to engage in a political discussion with Satomura.
“Finally,” Tatiana said.
The mission insignia at the center of the screen was replaced by a white conference room filled with men and women. Plastic badges that contained pictures of much younger people dangled from their shirt pockets. The camera zoomed in on Colonel Leonid Schebalin. He was the only man in the room wearing a military uniform. The creases in his pants were as sharp as razor blades. His shoes were bright black and clicked like tap shoes as he marched across the marble floor. The camera followed him as he walked, back upright, to the center chair at the conference table. He sat down. On either side of him, the scientists were talking in hushed tones. Schebalin cleared his throat.
“We have reviewed your damage reports . . .” Schebalin began. His voice was firm and steady. “. . . and have determined that you should proceed with the external inspection.”
Komarov closed his eyes and silently thanked Levchenko. Perhaps he had been too harsh on the scientist. He would send him an e-mail as soon as he had the time.
“External inspection will commence tomorrow morning immediately after the joint excursion with the U.S. The EVA is scheduled for eleven hundred hours. An updated event schedule has been uploaded to your computer. Review the schedule and make the appropriate preparations.” Schebalin paused for a second, then his lips turned upward into a broad smile. “Congratulations, comrades, tomorrow you will set foot on Mars.”
Colonel Schebalin stood up, signaling the end of the transmission. The camera pulled backed until the entire conference room filled the screen. Emil Levchenko continued to bounce the eraser of his pencil against the table while everyone else stood up. The conference room faded out, and the mission insignia appeared in red and black on the screen. The cosmonauts watched the insignia in silence, knowing it would disappear in a few seconds. Vladimir appeared in its place.
“We did it,” Komarov said, striking his fist against the arm-rest of his chair. He stood up and opened his arms as if inviting someone to jump into them. Satomura shook his hand. He was smiling that awkward smile of his. Tatiana kissed both of them on the cheek. In their excitement they had forgotten about Vladimir, and when Tatiana finally looked up at the screen she saw that he appeared distracted.
“We are to be here for a while,” she said.
“I am happy for you,” he said. “I am happy for all of you. Dmitri, it is fortunate that you did not listen to me. Your courage is to be commended.”
“I
’m ready to go,” Colonel Nelson said from inside the airlock of the
Shepard
.
“Just a few more seconds,” Carter said. He was responsible for coordinating Nelson’s first steps so that they occurred simultaneously with the Russian’s. It was to be a symbolic act. Mankind united in its effort to explore the universe. Carter felt the official line was a bunch of crap. The only reason the two men were setting foot upon the surface at the same time was that neither nation wanted to be second. He looked up at the monitor at Satomura.