Musa just grinned and turned away.
The descent compartment was cluttered. It contained the spacecrafts main controls, as well as all the equipment that would be needed during the return to Earth: parachutes, flotation bags, survival gear, emergency rations. Its walls were lined with elasticized tags and Velcro patches, and were covered by material to be returned from the Station, including blood and stool samples from the biomed program, and cuttings Kolya himself had made from the pea plants and fruit trees he had been attempting to grow. All this stuff crowded in from the hull, reducing the space available for human beings even further.
But amid the clutter there was a window, to Kolyas left-hand side. Through it he glimpsed the blackness of space, a slice of sky-bright Earth, and the struts and micrometeorite-dinged walls of the Station itself, shining brightly in the raw sunlight. The Soyuz, still docked to the Station, was carried by the bigger crafts ponderous rotation, and shadows slid across Kolyas view.
Musa worked them through the preseparation checklist, talking to the ground and to the crew in the Station. Kolya had little to do: his most important item was a pressure test of his spacesuit. This was a Russian ship, and unlike the pilot-oriented American engineering tradition, most of the systems were automated. Sable continued to grumble as she reached for various controls, which were situated around the capsule at all positions and angles. Some of them were so awkward to reach, veteran cosmonauts learned, it was better to poke at them with a wooden stick. But Kolya took a perverse pride in the ships low-tech, utilitarian design.
The Soyuz was like a green pepperpot, with lacy solar-cell wings stuck on the side of its cylindrical body. Seen from the windows of the Space Station the Soyuz, bathed in the brilliant sunlight of space, had looked like an ungainly insect: compared to the new American spaceplanes it was a clumsy old bird indeed. But the Soyuz was a venerable craft. It had been born in the Cold War age of Apollo, and had actually been intended to make journeys to the Moon. Remarkably, Soyuz craft had been flying twice as long as Kolya himself had been alive. Now, of course, in 2037, people had returned to the MoonRussians among them this time! But there was no room on such exotic journeys for the Soyuz; for these faithful workhorses there was only the plod to and from the battered ISS, whose few scientific purposes had long been superseded by the lunar projects, and whose glamor had been stolen by the Mars missionsand yet which remained in orbit, kept aloft by political inertia and pride.
The moment came for the Soyuz at last to undock from the Station. Kolya heard a few subtle bumps and bangs, and the faintest of nudges, and a small sadness burst in his heart. But as an independent spacecraft the Soyuz s call sign that day was Stereo, and Kolya was comforted by Musas patient calls to the ground: Stereo One, this is Stereo One
There were still three hours to go before the descent was scheduled to begin, and the crew were now set to inspect the exterior of the Station. Musa activated a program in the ships computer, and the Soyuz, firing its thrusters, began a series of straight-line jaunts around the Station. Each thruster burst sounded as if somebody had slammed a sledgehammer against the hull, and Kolya could see exhaust products jetting away from the little nozzles, fountains of crystals flying off in geometrically perfect straight lines. Earth and Station wheeled around him in a slow ballet. But Kolya had little time to admire the view; he and Sable, sitting by the windows, photographed the station manually, as a backup to the automated pods mounted on the Soyuz s exterior. It was an awkward job as each of them wore heavy spacesuit gloves.
Each thruster maneuver took the Soyuz a little further from the Station. At last the line-of-sight radio contact began to break down, and as a farewell the Station crew played them some music. As the Strauss waltz swirled tinnily under the hiss and pop of static, Kolya indulged in a little more nostalgic sadness. Kolya had grown to love the Station. He had learned to sense the great arks subtle rotations, and the vibrations when its big solar arrays realigned, and the rattles and bangs of the complicated ventilation system. After so long aboard, he had more deeply embedded feelings about the Station than any home hed lived in. After all, what other home actually keeps you alive, minute by minute?
The music cut off.
Musa was frowning. Stereo one, I am Stereo one. Ground, I am Stereo one. Come in, I am Stereo one
Sable said, Hey, Kol. Can you see Station? It should have come back into view on my side by now.
No, said Kolya, looking through his window. There was no sign of the Station.
Maybe it went into shadow, Sable said.
I dont think so. The Soyuz had actually been leading the Station into Earths shadow. And anyhow, we would see its lights. He felt oddly uneasy.
Musa snapped, Will you two be quiet? We lost the uplink from the ground. He pressed the control pads before him. Ive run diagnostic checks, and have tried the backups. Stereo One, Stereo One
Sable closed her eyes. Tell me you potato farmers havent fouled up again.
Shut up, Musa said menacingly. And he continued to call, over and over, while Sable and Kolya listened in silence.
The ships slow rotation was now giving Kolya a direct view of Earths immense face. They were flying over India, he saw, and toward a sunset; the shadows from the creases of mountain ranges to the north of the subcontinent were long. But there seemed to be changes on the surface of Earth, dapples, like the play of sunlight on the floor of a turbulent lake.
6. Encounter
Josh and Ruddy reached the downed machine with the first group of soldiers. The privates had rifles, and they warily circled the machine, mouths open, eyes wide. None of the party had seen anything like it before.
Inside a big blown-glass cabin there were three people: two men in seats in the front, and a woman in the back. They watched, hands held high, as the armed soldiers circled them. They cautiously removed their bright blue helmets. The woman and one of the men appeared to be Indian, and the other man was white. Josh could see how the latter grimaced in pain.
Considering how hard it had landedand that it was light enough to have flown in the air in the first placethe machine seemed remarkably intact. The big glass shell that dominated the front end was pocked here and there but was unbroken, and the blades were still attached to a rotary hub, not folded or snapped off. But the tail section, an affair of open pipe work and tubing, had been reduced to a stump. There was a hissing noise, as if some gasket had broken, and a pungent oil leaked onto the stony ground. It was evident that this mechanical bird would fly no more.
Josh hissed to Ruddy, I dont recognize those blue helmets. What army is this? Russian?
Perhaps. But see that the injured one has a Stars and Stripes stenciled on his helmet!
Suddenly a trigger was cocked.
Dont shoot! Dont shoot It was the woman. She leaned forward from her perch in the back of the sphere to try to shield the wounded pilot.
A soldierJosh recognized him as Batson, a Newcastle lad, one of the more levelheaded of the privateswas pointing his rifle at the womans head. He called, You speak English?
I am English.
Batsons eyebrows raised. But he said carefully, Then tell your chum to put his hands where I can see them. Jildi!
The woman urged, Do it, Casey. That gun might be an antique, but its a loaded antique.
The pilot, Casey, reluctantly complied. His left hand came up from under a panel of instruments holding some sort of gadget.