“Projection for most favorable launch time,” Carter demanded.
“Seventeen minutes and thirty-three seconds,” Tatiana replied. “But the wind speed is well out—”
“Disable launch shutdown parameters,” Carter interrupted. The command was received with an uncertain silence as Tatiana hesitated. She looked to Komarov, but he was absorbed with the details of the map, and Satomura did not appear to be listening. Disabling the shutdown parameters meant the lander’s computer could not abort the launch without confirmation from the pilot. She looked down at the keys she had to strike, and was about to enter the instructions when Komarov finally spoke.
“What will the wind speed be?” he asked.
“Gusts as high as three hundred and sixty kilometers per hour.” The reply was almost instantaneous, the words having been perched on Tatiana’s lips ever since the figure had appeared on the screen before her. The cabin fell into silence as Komarov considered the information.
Carter pretended to watch the contours of the storm as they slid across the monitor. The simulation was deceptively peaceful.
Several seconds passed before Komarov turned to Tatiana. With a stern, taut look he nodded for her to proceed, and, without waiting to see if she would carry out the command, he returned his attention to the map. Tatiana held her breath as she typed the instructions.
“Shutdown parameters have been disabled.”
“Starting launch clock,” Carter said. “T plus fourteen minutes and fifty-five seconds.”
There had been a brief quarrel when Komarov and Carter had entered the command station of the lander. Despite the Russian Space Agency’s decision otherwise, Komarov had made for the pilot’s chair with the half-formed notion of assuming control. He was seated and reviewing the panels when Carter had appeared on one side of him. Komarov had glanced up to find a gigantic good ol’ boy grin. He’d smiled briefly, then returned his attention to the control panels. He was annoyed that Carter had been chosen to fly the lander, particularly since it was a Russian ship. But he could not think of how he could take command, other than by force, which he wasn’t prepared to do. Komarov glanced up again and feigned surprise at finding Carter still there.
“Yes?”
The grin grew larger until it was the only feature Komarov could make out.
“She’s a fine piece of machinery,” Carter said with an unbearable Southern accent. “As soon as you’re done admiring her, I’ll need to take that seat.”
“This is a Russian ship,” Komarov declared.
Carter considered the remark as he placed a hand on the back of Komarov’s chair. The hand bothered the cosmonaut, but he pretended not to notice in order to conceal his annoyance.
“That she is,” Carter agreed amiably. “But she’s mine for the time being.”
“I am capable of flying her.”
“So am I,” Carter replied. “And it’s my job to get her off this godforsaken planet.”
“I am the senior officer here,” Komarov said, regretting the remark even as he spoke. He continued with forced authority. “I should be the one flying this ship.”
Carter’s grin disappeared. “Under any other circumstances I would be happy to step aside. But with all due respect, you’re in no shape to fly.” Komarov noticed that Carter was not talking directly to his face, but to his outstretched hand.
Komarov looked at his hand and to his horror saw that it was shaking. He tried to stop it, but could not. He placed his hand on his leg and held it there.
“It’s the adrenaline,” he’d finally said.
“Of course,” Carter had agreed as he offered an arm for support.
“Five minutes and counting,” Komarov said from the chair he now occupied.
“Propellant tanks are pressurized,” Carter announced.
“The wind speeds are dropping,” Nelson broke in. “They are down to a hundred and fifty klicks, with gusts around three hundred and forty.”
“Actuating valves pressurized,” Carter continued. He enlarged the prelaunch screen and proceeded systematically down the list. He glanced at the launch clock. Two minutes remaining. Nelson interrupted to announce that the winds were holding steady.
“Master arm on,” Carter said as he armed the engines for ignition. “Commencing final countdown.” He scanned the instrument panel to make certain that all systems were go. “Nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . six . . . five . . . engine arm ascent . . . We have liftoff.”
The lander was caught immediately by a gust of wind, causing several alarms to sound simultaneously. The interior of the cabin was pulsating red from the light of flashing warning messages. Carter tightened his grip on the controls and provided, mostly from instinct, the slight adjustments permitted him by the computer. At first he feared the lander was not responding. His eyes darted across the cluttered array of readouts and the three active-matrix displays. The displays were arranged in an upside-down triangle at the very center of the flight-deck console. An artificial horizon was bouncing in the lower screen. He glanced up at the narrow window above the console to confirm the horizon was indeed where the display placed it. All he could see was a red blanket of dust. He heard Komarov relaying flight statistics over the roar of the engines. His voice sounded distant. He felt the lander shifting. The simulator had been unable to duplicate the actual movement of the ship. He checked the console to make sure they were still on course.
The ship shuddered as it struggled to correct its trajectory. His grip tightened. He forced the muscles in his hand to relax. He concentrated upon the controls, which were jumping erratically in front of him. Nearly five minutes had passed, and the pink sky was disintegrating into a black field of stars before Carter realized that Tatiana was congratulating him and that the ship was safely above the storm. But he did not relax his grip until he reached orbit. He wanted to remove his space suit. They still had to rendezvous with the Russian supply ship. He wouldn’t be able to remove the suit until they were inside the
Liberty
’s airlock. He glanced at the launch clock. The rendezvous would occur in seventeen minutes. Komarov was out of his chair and slapping him on the back. A pair of arms wrapped around his neck. He decided they belonged to Tatiana, and his suspicion was confirmed moments later when her helmet came crashing against his in what he assumed was meant to be a kiss. Her thick lips opened and closed and Carter was temporarily mesmerized. Everyone was talking at once. He twisted his head, and from the corner of his eye he saw Satomura, who bowed deeply, then protruded his thumb upward as he had seen the Americans do so many times before on television. Carter managed to break one arm free from Tatiana’s grip to return the gesture. Satomura bowed again.
As he was unbuckling his safety belt, Carter noticed the planet Mars through the narrow window. He stood up and leaned over the console to look out. The room fell silent as the others turned their gazes upon the planet. They stared with wonder and horror at the dust that obscured the surface. The entire planet was shrouded in dust. Not a single surface feature could be seen. Carter fell back into his chair and, closing his eyes, breathed a long sigh of relief.
T
hey were crowded inside the
Liberty
’s airlock, jovial and exhausted. Trans-Earth injection was not scheduled for another five hours. Komarov and Carter were bumping into each other in their efforts to release Tatiana from her space suit. The inner portal opened, and Nelson and Endicott appeared behind massive grins. There was loud, joyous talk as Nelson grabbed the new arrivals by the shoulders and shook them as if to make sure they were real and not just figments of his imagination. Endicott mentioned the specimen to Satomura and moments later the two disappeared. The others barely noticed their departure. Carter sat down on a helmet and rested his head against the wall behind him.
“Well, I never thought I’d see the day,” Komarov blurted in Carter’s direction, “when I’d be thankful for your skills as a pilot.”
“More luck than skill, my friend. I should never have returned to the surface. It was too friggin’ dangerous.”
“Well, then, we are fortunate that you were so brave.”
“Foolish would be closer to the mark.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. You, of course, would be the better judge.” Komarov laughed at this.
“So why did you do it?” Tatiana asked.
At first Carter did not know what to say. It had been over a year since he had been in the same room with a woman, and her presence excited him. The return flight would take nine months. They were to return together in the
Liberty
, since it would take too long to prepare the
Druzhba
for the inbound leg. Carter tried to remember how many women he had conquered in the time it took to order a drink. He noticed Komarov eyeing him suspiciously, and he understood why Vladimir had been so insanely jealous.
“To aid a lady in distress,” Carter said, then grinned broadly as he leaned back.
Tatiana smiled at first, but then her face went pale, and she turned her head away. Carter wondered what was wrong. He looked over at Komarov, who silently mouthed her husband’s name, Vladimir. Carter wished that he had responded differently. How could he have forgotten? But he wasn’t sure why Tatiana was upset. He figured that it was either because he had invoked Vladimir’s memory or because he had been too forward. The latter made him feel like a louse. It was then, for the first time, that he took a close look at the two cosmonauts. Despite their elation at being alive, they did not look all that well. Tatiana’s hair was wet and flat and clung in strings against her skin. Her eyes were drawn, and she had lost weight. Komarov did not look much better.
“Is there anything I can get you?” Nelson asked. He, too, had noticed their condition.
“Vodka,” roared Komarov.
“I’m afraid we don’t have any. As you know, regulations—” “Actually,” Carter interrupted, “there is some aboard the Russian lander.”
Nelson hesitated a moment before responding. He then nodded for Carter to get it.
Carter groaned as he stood up, his muscles sore from the past several days. He knew that Nelson could not object to the vodka on any other grounds than the restriction imposed by NASA. The ship had already been prepared for trans-Earth injection, and there was little left for the crew to do. He wondered what he could say to Tatiana to express his condolences at her loss. When he returned, the three explorers were talking about the rescue.
“Courtesy of the
Volnost
,” Carter said, extending the two vials. He recalled the cosmonauts who had died on the first attempt, particularly Titov and his last transmission to his wife Valentina. He felt like proposing a toast to the cosmonauts, but decided against it.
“One ounce each,” Nelson said. “No more.”
“Give me that,” Komarov said, taking a vial. He took several gulps, then handed it to Tatiana. She took a sip and smiled. The warm liquor felt good. Carter filled his mouth, swallowed, and almost choked, not having had a drink in over a year. This brought a smirk to Komarov’s lips. Nelson took the two vials and placed them inside his shirt so that they would be out of reach. The drinking of the alcohol lifted their spirits.
Komarov began talking about their trek across the mesa. To the mild amusement of the others, Komarov was already embellishing upon the story. Tatiana interrupted several times to give her version of the events. The rover had just broken down when they heard a shout from inside the ship, and for a moment they froze convinced something terrible had happened. They listened, but there was no second cry, and this seemed to confirm their suspicions. Nelson shouted in reply.
“Come quickly to the laboratory,” Satomura’s voice boomed over the intercom.
“Is anything wrong?” Nelson asked.
“No, no. But hurry. It’s the cephalopod.”
They moved awkwardly as if they were drunk, colliding with each other while attempting to find solid ground. The corridor that led to the laboratory was only large enough to allow one person to pass at a time. Komarov was in the lead. He realized that this was the first time in several months that he was able to run without a space suit. The largest compartment aboard the lander was three meters in length, and most of that was obstructed. He felt a sense of freedom, and his thoughts turned to Earth. As he slowed down, he noticed that the sounds were different. He did not hear the howling of the storm or the more obtrusive subsystems of the smaller craft. Instead he heard the quiet, steady hum of the oxygen-regeneration system as it gathered carbon dioxide for recycling.
They entered the laboratory and found Satomura sitting with his feet up. He was motioning for them to come forward. Endicott was pacing the room with a thoughtful gait. He stopped when he noticed Komarov and the others behind him. The room was flashing brightly, and the source of the light was the plastic container in the center of the room.
Komarov walked up to the container. He could make out the jellyfish-like creature inside of it. The sight of the creature excited him, and he felt a chill run down his spine.
“What is it doing?” he asked.
“I am surprised that it is still alive,” Satomura said. “This is most extraordinary.”
“But why is it flashing like that?” Komarov asked.
“It must sense our presence. I suspect that the bright light is to temporarily blind its predators.”
“Is it afraid of us, then?” Tatiana asked. “I’m afraid so,” Satomura replied.
Komarov placed his hand on the container, moving slowly so as not to alarm the creature. The presence of his hand seemed to have a calming effect. It was flashing in irregular intervals, and for a moment Komarov actually believed that it was attempting to communicate with him.
“C
ontrol, this is
Explorer
. We have acquired autoland guidance. Glideslope twenty-two degrees.” The shuttle commander tightened his grip on the rotational hand controller as he switched to full manual control.
“Roger, out,” replied ground control. The voice came in clearly over the intercom.
Carter strained against the restraint straps as he tried to lift himself so that he could look at the heads-up display, which was just beyond the shoulder of the pilot, who was seated directly in front of him. He saw that they were seven and a half miles from the landing field at Edwards Air Force Base, and that they would be landing in eighty-seven seconds. After the zero-g environment of the space station quarantine facility, his body felt as if it were filled with lead. He relaxed back into the chair. It annoyed him that he was not flying the shuttle, but that had never been part of the mission profile. He had to admit that the shuttle commander and the pilot, neither of whom he had met before, appeared to be doing an adequate job. He could see the