Cosmonauts
by John Peace
International Space Station
March 2029
Leonid Sokolov begins to speak with exaggerated formality but can't maintain the humourous irony. "Pilot-Cosmonaut Komarova, why do you spend so much time fiddling with that Soyuz?" He's hanging, rotating gently at about 5 rpm about his long axis, halfway back along the connecting passage towards Zvezda, and he needs almost to shout above the constant whir of fans. And he's always compensating for the perception of many people that he looks like a much younger, slightly longer-faced brother of ex-President Vladimir Putin. "It's going down with the rest of the station and there's nothing we can do about it."
"If you choose that road you may as well stay in bed in Baikonur. This is more use than your endless photography." She throws her answer in his face with accomplished curtness. Then she carries on working with the stiff O-ring of the pressure sensor inside the open hatch of the spacecraft. Her voice softens – just a little – but not her severe features. She has dark, cropped hair and a squashed-looking nose. "Did you never have a puppy when you were a boy? It's like that."
Commander Sokolov pushes himself backwards, muttering to himself, and continues to monitor the power system of Zvezda and Zarya, shutting down one or two lights and heaters as the station heads for the terminator and its forty-minute night.
Komarova loosens the O-ring with an adjustable wrench, examines it and uses a palm-sized vacuum cleaner to suck out some accreted dust and grease that's gathered. After re-tightening the O-ring she moves on to another, and another. On Earth her looks are weathered and taut, angular over her cheekbones, but here the body fluids rise to the upper body, and her face is rounded and puffy. She has to squint a little at the fine detail now. Normally she has perfect eyesight, but a few months in orbit has impaired her focus: not nearly as much as the males, but she still notices it.
Sokolov has finished his checks and pulls himself through to MRM2 which links the Soyuz to Zarya. "By the way: that slow leak you think we have? It may still be happening, or the pressure calibration is still wandering."
She nods. It's nothing urgent: a very slow leak, barely within limits of detection. It's more of an anxious feeling than a real situation, the kind of reflex that every astronaut needs. Keep searching for the next thing that could kill you. Never stop.
Sokolov's face animates fractionally, going off-duty: a change of subject. "Today I heard that Viktor Abrimovich has bought himself a villa in Forte dei Marmi."
Komarova glances at him with a ferocious scowl. "The pig who scuttled the plans to re-use Zvezda and Zarya? That parasite?"
"Yes, that one. Hiding in Italy now. From there, perhaps on starry nights, he will be able to watch the Bigelow Hotel passing overhead and congratulate himself."
"You know it's not a hotel, Leo." She tries to get back to work.
"The rates for even one payload rack say differently. And I'm certain that Abrimovich will cut a fat percentage of every Russian contract which goes that way, if the Russian universities can afford to run even one or two experiments."
Komarova sniffs – partly this is disdain, and partly it's keeping her nose clear from the increased mucus: her body fighting back at the unnatural environment. "Even your cynicism seems lame compared to the betrayal we should all feel."
He doesn't answer. He pushes back into Zarya.
He's interrupted her efforts to maintain the Soyuz capsule in a state of readiness, and she glances at her watch. Time's up. Other things to do now. She retrieves all her tools and checks that everything in Soyuz is stowed and tidy. She's forced to sniff again.
Then she heads for Zvezda and the communication centre there.
Sokolov continues his fish-like way towards the Boeing CST-100 Starliner where it's docked at the far end of the US side of the station. On the way he meets Adam Green, the only other crewmember on board. They wave at each other. "How is it going, Adam?" calls Sokolov in English. "Have you found any skeletons yet?" It's their well-worn joke, after seventy-eight days together.
Adam grins and turns from the storage locker, into which he's been squeezing a few more unwanted items. At almost fifty, he's round-faced and almost bald but in excellent physical shape. His mild eyes mask an alert, highly educated mind. "Yeah, the bones of some of them rodents they brought up on STS-58. Their tiny ghosts still float through the station, emitting squeaks at ultrasonic frequencies that only the most sensitive instruments can detect." This elicits an unenthusiastic smile from Sokolov. Green changes the subject. "But it's a bitter-sweet feeling being the last crew on board. About thirty years of history right here." He pats the locker door and it turns on its hinge, then swings back. He's suddenly lost for the right words, perhaps reluctant to express what he's really thinking. He squeezes his lips together. They both know that the cameras aren't running anymore, they're not in the global fishbowl right now, but habits are hard to put down and pick up like a pair of glasses.
"It's not the end of the story, Adam," Sokolov says gently, "just the closing of a chapter. Isn't that what your director said in his speech?"
"Right. You're absolutely right." Green grins again, and the moment passes.
"I'm going to start the last checks on the Starliner." Sokolov pulls himself onwards, through the Destiny module which still looks as frantically busy as ever, with the wiring spilling from the top walls, the multiple screens of the Canadarm workstation, conduits and connectors from the various experiments and equipment, and the many lockers now bursting with junk that nobody will use anymore.
Into Node Two, and the Starliner's hatch is straight ahead of him. Somebody hasn't stowed the old IMAX camera correctly – Nadia on the last mission was trying to repair it but time ran out – and he needs to swing around it. Once inside the Boeing CST-100, he powers up the life support and communications gear and starts through his long checklist, reporting his progress every minute or two to Mission Control. He glances once through the port: the Earth below them is still a dark presence, speckled with the lights of cities. He might not see that sight again.
He gets on with his work.
Meanwhile Anastasiya Vladimirovna Komarova is standing in the middle of the narrow Zvezda control room with feet hooked into floor restraints. The wireless video camera floats about two metres away from her and she's talking to several thousand Russian schoolchildren who are distributed over five secondary schools in the Voronezh region. The program will be re-broadcast to the rest of the country later. For this audience, her face lights up, almost elf-like in its assumed innocence. "So our work here is almost done, and we are preparing to leave the station for the last time," she says. "As you know, the Russian Zarya module that's through that hatch was the very first part of the station to be launched, about thirty years ago, and the Zvezda – that's where we are now – was next. The international teams of pilots, space engineers and scientists have achieved a huge amount over that period. But now it's time to move on to something new."
She fields a question: What will she herself be doing next?
She laughs lightly. "That is a very good question. Perhaps I will become a school teacher. That is a very worthwhile profession. Or maybe a lecturer on space exploration. But I think I will need a long vacation to decide my plans, after I have been on the speaking tour that has been arranged."
A final question came from a fifteen-year-old girl with straight blond hair, her face like an angel's face. "Could you please explain why you are going to let the whole station burn up?"
Komarova hesitates, recalling the phrases she has been coached to use. "It is because the technology used in the station is now very old, and no longer reliable. If we leave it up here, the orbit will gradually drop until it enters the atmosphere, but this could happen at any place along its orbit. Pieces could hit inhabited areas. Safety comes first, always. And the Russian space program is moving on to great new projects which will … which will … "
But here her smile slips for a moment, and she realises that she is going to depart from the script. "Perhaps you or one of your friends will be able to work on such a project. Perhaps the future of the Russian space program lies in your hands now. You will make sure that I am not the last cosmonaut."
Soon after this, the interview ends. As she stows the camera away, she realises that she's sweating.
Just then, Sokolov floats carefully into Zvezda like a slim Zeppelin steering through a jagged canyon. "I have something you need to see," is all he says.
When they reach the Starliner, Komarova notices that Green is absent. "Whatever it is, you haven't told Adam yet, have you? Why not?"
Sokolov merely points to one of the screens. She squints, scowls, and attacks the keyboard to interrogate the data-collection system. Outside, the dull day-night terminator becomes a hairline crescent of purple, then gold. Traces of the Aurora Borealis throw curtains of misty green across the northern sky below.
Coming to a conclusion, she looks around the cabin. "I was right. Where is it, then?"
Sokolov shrugs. "Micro-meteorite, that's my guess. Not visible. Let's do an ultrasound test."
"And we tell Adam. Now." She does a careful tuck-turn in the air to face the exit hatch.
Sokolov places a hand on her shoulder. "Wait, Pilot-Cosmonaut. Think about this. Contingency planning. Do you realise we could be stuck here if the bureaucrats make an emergency out of it?"
Komarova shakes off his hand. "Is that so bad?" Her face is fierce. She pulls herself through the hatch. "Not necessarily stuck here. A tiny leak like that – so what? We could still - " Suddenly she stops herself in mid-air, silent for a long moment. She stares at Sokolov blankly. "You discovered this leak, correct?"
He nods. The left side of his face is an immobile caste of bronze, transitioning to silver, in the rapid sunrise. "Better to discover it now than during re-entry."
"Of course. But now we tell Adam."
"No! I am the mission commander. I say we confer with our people first."
With a snarl, she gets away from him and goes to find Adam Green.
Later the three of them hang facing each other in the Destiny module. Sokolov's expression is even more blank than the usual. Green is sweating but maintains a professional calm. Komarova speaks with care and great emphasis. "You heard what Houston said. And you heard what Korolyov said. They all are reserved about us returning in the leaky Starliner. What caused it – who knows? Maybe a micro-meteorite. Maybe tiny piece of debris. Probably not a fault in the welding or manufacturing. Your Boeing people made a good ship."
Adam bows his head slightly as if taking credit. In fact he spent a great deal of time at the Boeing plant with the engineers. He says, "So they may take five or six hours to produce a comprehensive repair scenario. It will certainly involve at least one spacewalk, an inspection. We know we have time for this, that's not the problem. It's whether their repair will stick. Whether it will improve their reliability and risk assessment enough to give us the green light."
Sokolov speaks like an automaton. "And if not, we wait for a new craft to be readied and launched. Yes. So we must make the repair work."
Meanwhile the radio chatters in the background, and the station gives one of its frequent creaks: thermal stress as it passes from heat to cold to heat sixteen times per day.
Komarova breathes out and in, gauging the mood of the two men. "There is an alternative, and you both know it. The Soyuz. For this reason the last crew is three. The backup, the lifeboat. It will take me no more than five hours to prepare it completely. Much faster in emergency."
Green says, "Do you mean it's not mothballed? The life support, I mean. We were just going to use it for the station de-orbit burns."
Sokolov makes a cutting motion with one hand. "This Soyuz is not fully fuelled. We have not prepared a mission plan for this. We use the Boeing, or wait."
She floats slowly nearer to him. He won't back down physically, she knows, but she can't help being confrontational on an issue like this. "No! The Soyuz is always the Plan B! We rode it up here, and we will take it down! It is a fully functional spacecraft. What is the problem?"
Sokolov stares at her and glowers.
Green folds his arms and looks at Sokolov, raising his eyebrows. Sokolov looks at no one and works his lips around, thinking. Finally he glances at him and says, "Your people will not like this. It is a national pride event. Am I right?"
Green shrugs. "Could be. I'll get some people on the line. No need to make a diplomatic incident out of it. But I think it's the right thing. Let's go for it." He gets on the radio.
The two Russians head for the Soyuz. Sokolov chatters about the sunny weather they will have in Moscow as if nothing is the matter.
Later they meet up with Green when he calls them over the intercom.
He's looking worried. They haven't seen him anxious before – ever. They gather in Destiny again. There's no view port here, but Green has an external camera playing on a screen. It's another morning over central Africa outside, with piles of cumulus clouds gathering to the south.
"It's gone all the way," he tells them in a gravelly voice. "The White House would rather we wait for another US vehicle – a Dragon, a Starliner, whichever is ready first – so they get their big TV show. It's become quite the media event now. If the Opposition can show that the ISS was a flop, they can chop down the next run of NASA's funding. The President needs a grand finalé to get her Mars missions through Congress."
"Is nonsense!" bursts out Komarova. "Is little boys playing politics!"
Sokolov tries to calm her with a raised palm. "The main point now is we look at their repair plan for this Starliner, and we look at the lead time for another vehicle."
Green nods. "We work the problem. I have the details here." He reaches for the laptop, clicks off Africa and brings up sheets of figures.
But Komarova has one more try. "Wait – listen to me. They want a grand finish? I give them a grand finish. I was thinking about the Soyuz, how much simpler and reliable it is than these new American capsules. You know we can land almost anywhere on Earth, on land or on water. Normally we land in Russian desert. So… this time we land it in American desert, and the great Russian people give the last Soyuz as a gift to the great American people. You put it in one of your big museums and everyone can see how international friendship works." She looked at the two males carefully. "This way, everyone wins. Right? All big egos get something."
Sokolov begins to smile. It's one of the first smiles he's shown, off-camera. "All the egos get their treats. The Americans get their grand finish, and a toy for the museum. And Komarova gets her Soyuz descent."
Green scratches his head. "I don't know. You'll need to convince your people about giving it away before we even mention the idea to Houston. But… what the heck, it's a great compromise. Roscosmos gets a minor propaganda coup. We get the first landing of a Soyuz on US soil. They wrote the protocols years ago. It's made for television. I like the sound of it."
The two men get busy talking to their respective space agencies, while Komarova floats back to her Soyuz and finishes the system checks.
There's just one question still floating through her mind: A little girl's voice asks, What will you do next?
Later on all three of them are laying on their backs in the womb-like Soyuz Descent Module. Hatch closure was half an hour ago. Komarova is completely absorbed watching the operation of the spacecraft that she has spent so long maintaining. The other two have been chatting about their return to Earth: first meal, first phone call, first shower.
Green notices that she's not participating, and says, "There's not much more for us to do now. We'll be ground-side within five hours."
"Yes," she mutters, "but you know the routine. I'm still the pilot, no matter how automated it is."
The men go on to swap ideas of their future plans. Sokolov mentions an extended speaking tour and book-writing contract, while Green has a number of universities offering him positions.
"And you, Asya?" Green asks her. "What about you?"
She frowns to herself and checks the pressures of the nitrogen tetroxide and unsymmetric-dimethylhydrazine tanks. "Oh, no plans yet," she says. "I think of applying for the lunar missions or Mars, but Roscosmos is not the most reliable employer." She knows they're listening, down below, but she doesn't care anymore.
"Yeah," he says, with a reflective sigh, "it's been quite a ride, this job. I could see myself going up again, maybe."
Sokolov spoke up, surprising Komarova. "How to follow all this? Life will not be the same."
"There's more to life than spaceflight," says Green confidently.
Then suddenly the time comes for separation. Komarova reaches with her gloved finger towards the panel and pauses. "Any speeches? Last words?" she asks. Nobody has anything to say. They've already made their official last broadcasts before entering the Soyuz.
She prods forwards, there's a thunk of spring-loaded release which they feel as a vibration through their suits, and then the Soyuz is floating free of the empty ISS.
by John Peace
International Space Station
March 2029
Leonid Sokolov begins to speak with exaggerated formality but can't maintain the humourous irony. "Pilot-Cosmonaut Komarova, why do you spend so much time fiddling with that Soyuz?" He's hanging, rotating gently at about 5 rpm about his long axis, halfway back along the connecting passage towards Zvezda, and he needs almost to shout above the constant whir of fans. And he's always compensating for the perception of many people that he looks like a much younger, slightly longer-faced brother of ex-President Vladimir Putin. "It's going down with the rest of the station and there's nothing we can do about it."
"If you choose that road you may as well stay in bed in Baikonur. This is more use than your endless photography." She throws her answer in his face with accomplished curtness. Then she carries on working with the stiff O-ring of the pressure sensor inside the open hatch of the spacecraft. Her voice softens – just a little – but not her severe features. She has dark, cropped hair and a squashed-looking nose. "Did you never have a puppy when you were a boy? It's like that."
Commander Sokolov pushes himself backwards, muttering to himself, and continues to monitor the power system of Zvezda and Zarya, shutting down one or two lights and heaters as the station heads for the terminator and its forty-minute night.
 |
| Image credit: NASA |
Komarova loosens the O-ring with an adjustable wrench, examines it and uses a palm-sized vacuum cleaner to suck out some accreted dust and grease that's gathered. After re-tightening the O-ring she moves on to another, and another. On Earth her looks are weathered and taut, angular over her cheekbones, but here the body fluids rise to the upper body, and her face is rounded and puffy. She has to squint a little at the fine detail now. Normally she has perfect eyesight, but a few months in orbit has impaired her focus: not nearly as much as the males, but she still notices it.
Sokolov has finished his checks and pulls himself through to MRM2 which links the Soyuz to Zarya. "By the way: that slow leak you think we have? It may still be happening, or the pressure calibration is still wandering."
She nods. It's nothing urgent: a very slow leak, barely within limits of detection. It's more of an anxious feeling than a real situation, the kind of reflex that every astronaut needs. Keep searching for the next thing that could kill you. Never stop.
Sokolov's face animates fractionally, going off-duty: a change of subject. "Today I heard that Viktor Abrimovich has bought himself a villa in Forte dei Marmi."
Komarova glances at him with a ferocious scowl. "The pig who scuttled the plans to re-use Zvezda and Zarya? That parasite?"
"Yes, that one. Hiding in Italy now. From there, perhaps on starry nights, he will be able to watch the Bigelow Hotel passing overhead and congratulate himself."
"You know it's not a hotel, Leo." She tries to get back to work.
"The rates for even one payload rack say differently. And I'm certain that Abrimovich will cut a fat percentage of every Russian contract which goes that way, if the Russian universities can afford to run even one or two experiments."
Komarova sniffs – partly this is disdain, and partly it's keeping her nose clear from the increased mucus: her body fighting back at the unnatural environment. "Even your cynicism seems lame compared to the betrayal we should all feel."
He doesn't answer. He pushes back into Zarya.
He's interrupted her efforts to maintain the Soyuz capsule in a state of readiness, and she glances at her watch. Time's up. Other things to do now. She retrieves all her tools and checks that everything in Soyuz is stowed and tidy. She's forced to sniff again.
Then she heads for Zvezda and the communication centre there.
Sokolov continues his fish-like way towards the Boeing CST-100 Starliner where it's docked at the far end of the US side of the station. On the way he meets Adam Green, the only other crewmember on board. They wave at each other. "How is it going, Adam?" calls Sokolov in English. "Have you found any skeletons yet?" It's their well-worn joke, after seventy-eight days together.
Adam grins and turns from the storage locker, into which he's been squeezing a few more unwanted items. At almost fifty, he's round-faced and almost bald but in excellent physical shape. His mild eyes mask an alert, highly educated mind. "Yeah, the bones of some of them rodents they brought up on STS-58. Their tiny ghosts still float through the station, emitting squeaks at ultrasonic frequencies that only the most sensitive instruments can detect." This elicits an unenthusiastic smile from Sokolov. Green changes the subject. "But it's a bitter-sweet feeling being the last crew on board. About thirty years of history right here." He pats the locker door and it turns on its hinge, then swings back. He's suddenly lost for the right words, perhaps reluctant to express what he's really thinking. He squeezes his lips together. They both know that the cameras aren't running anymore, they're not in the global fishbowl right now, but habits are hard to put down and pick up like a pair of glasses.
"It's not the end of the story, Adam," Sokolov says gently, "just the closing of a chapter. Isn't that what your director said in his speech?"
"Right. You're absolutely right." Green grins again, and the moment passes.
"I'm going to start the last checks on the Starliner." Sokolov pulls himself onwards, through the Destiny module which still looks as frantically busy as ever, with the wiring spilling from the top walls, the multiple screens of the Canadarm workstation, conduits and connectors from the various experiments and equipment, and the many lockers now bursting with junk that nobody will use anymore.
Into Node Two, and the Starliner's hatch is straight ahead of him. Somebody hasn't stowed the old IMAX camera correctly – Nadia on the last mission was trying to repair it but time ran out – and he needs to swing around it. Once inside the Boeing CST-100, he powers up the life support and communications gear and starts through his long checklist, reporting his progress every minute or two to Mission Control. He glances once through the port: the Earth below them is still a dark presence, speckled with the lights of cities. He might not see that sight again.
He gets on with his work.
Meanwhile Anastasiya Vladimirovna Komarova is standing in the middle of the narrow Zvezda control room with feet hooked into floor restraints. The wireless video camera floats about two metres away from her and she's talking to several thousand Russian schoolchildren who are distributed over five secondary schools in the Voronezh region. The program will be re-broadcast to the rest of the country later. For this audience, her face lights up, almost elf-like in its assumed innocence. "So our work here is almost done, and we are preparing to leave the station for the last time," she says. "As you know, the Russian Zarya module that's through that hatch was the very first part of the station to be launched, about thirty years ago, and the Zvezda – that's where we are now – was next. The international teams of pilots, space engineers and scientists have achieved a huge amount over that period. But now it's time to move on to something new."
She fields a question: What will she herself be doing next?
She laughs lightly. "That is a very good question. Perhaps I will become a school teacher. That is a very worthwhile profession. Or maybe a lecturer on space exploration. But I think I will need a long vacation to decide my plans, after I have been on the speaking tour that has been arranged."
A final question came from a fifteen-year-old girl with straight blond hair, her face like an angel's face. "Could you please explain why you are going to let the whole station burn up?"
Komarova hesitates, recalling the phrases she has been coached to use. "It is because the technology used in the station is now very old, and no longer reliable. If we leave it up here, the orbit will gradually drop until it enters the atmosphere, but this could happen at any place along its orbit. Pieces could hit inhabited areas. Safety comes first, always. And the Russian space program is moving on to great new projects which will … which will … "
But here her smile slips for a moment, and she realises that she is going to depart from the script. "Perhaps you or one of your friends will be able to work on such a project. Perhaps the future of the Russian space program lies in your hands now. You will make sure that I am not the last cosmonaut."
Soon after this, the interview ends. As she stows the camera away, she realises that she's sweating.
Just then, Sokolov floats carefully into Zvezda like a slim Zeppelin steering through a jagged canyon. "I have something you need to see," is all he says.
When they reach the Starliner, Komarova notices that Green is absent. "Whatever it is, you haven't told Adam yet, have you? Why not?"
Sokolov merely points to one of the screens. She squints, scowls, and attacks the keyboard to interrogate the data-collection system. Outside, the dull day-night terminator becomes a hairline crescent of purple, then gold. Traces of the Aurora Borealis throw curtains of misty green across the northern sky below.
Coming to a conclusion, she looks around the cabin. "I was right. Where is it, then?"
Sokolov shrugs. "Micro-meteorite, that's my guess. Not visible. Let's do an ultrasound test."
"And we tell Adam. Now." She does a careful tuck-turn in the air to face the exit hatch.
Sokolov places a hand on her shoulder. "Wait, Pilot-Cosmonaut. Think about this. Contingency planning. Do you realise we could be stuck here if the bureaucrats make an emergency out of it?"
Komarova shakes off his hand. "Is that so bad?" Her face is fierce. She pulls herself through the hatch. "Not necessarily stuck here. A tiny leak like that – so what? We could still - " Suddenly she stops herself in mid-air, silent for a long moment. She stares at Sokolov blankly. "You discovered this leak, correct?"
He nods. The left side of his face is an immobile caste of bronze, transitioning to silver, in the rapid sunrise. "Better to discover it now than during re-entry."
"Of course. But now we tell Adam."
"No! I am the mission commander. I say we confer with our people first."
With a snarl, she gets away from him and goes to find Adam Green.
Later the three of them hang facing each other in the Destiny module. Sokolov's expression is even more blank than the usual. Green is sweating but maintains a professional calm. Komarova speaks with care and great emphasis. "You heard what Houston said. And you heard what Korolyov said. They all are reserved about us returning in the leaky Starliner. What caused it – who knows? Maybe a micro-meteorite. Maybe tiny piece of debris. Probably not a fault in the welding or manufacturing. Your Boeing people made a good ship."
Adam bows his head slightly as if taking credit. In fact he spent a great deal of time at the Boeing plant with the engineers. He says, "So they may take five or six hours to produce a comprehensive repair scenario. It will certainly involve at least one spacewalk, an inspection. We know we have time for this, that's not the problem. It's whether their repair will stick. Whether it will improve their reliability and risk assessment enough to give us the green light."
Sokolov speaks like an automaton. "And if not, we wait for a new craft to be readied and launched. Yes. So we must make the repair work."
Meanwhile the radio chatters in the background, and the station gives one of its frequent creaks: thermal stress as it passes from heat to cold to heat sixteen times per day.
Komarova breathes out and in, gauging the mood of the two men. "There is an alternative, and you both know it. The Soyuz. For this reason the last crew is three. The backup, the lifeboat. It will take me no more than five hours to prepare it completely. Much faster in emergency."
Green says, "Do you mean it's not mothballed? The life support, I mean. We were just going to use it for the station de-orbit burns."
Sokolov makes a cutting motion with one hand. "This Soyuz is not fully fuelled. We have not prepared a mission plan for this. We use the Boeing, or wait."
She floats slowly nearer to him. He won't back down physically, she knows, but she can't help being confrontational on an issue like this. "No! The Soyuz is always the Plan B! We rode it up here, and we will take it down! It is a fully functional spacecraft. What is the problem?"
Sokolov stares at her and glowers.
Green folds his arms and looks at Sokolov, raising his eyebrows. Sokolov looks at no one and works his lips around, thinking. Finally he glances at him and says, "Your people will not like this. It is a national pride event. Am I right?"
Green shrugs. "Could be. I'll get some people on the line. No need to make a diplomatic incident out of it. But I think it's the right thing. Let's go for it." He gets on the radio.
The two Russians head for the Soyuz. Sokolov chatters about the sunny weather they will have in Moscow as if nothing is the matter.
+ + +
Later they meet up with Green when he calls them over the intercom.
He's looking worried. They haven't seen him anxious before – ever. They gather in Destiny again. There's no view port here, but Green has an external camera playing on a screen. It's another morning over central Africa outside, with piles of cumulus clouds gathering to the south.
 |
| Image credit: NASA |
"It's gone all the way," he tells them in a gravelly voice. "The White House would rather we wait for another US vehicle – a Dragon, a Starliner, whichever is ready first – so they get their big TV show. It's become quite the media event now. If the Opposition can show that the ISS was a flop, they can chop down the next run of NASA's funding. The President needs a grand finalé to get her Mars missions through Congress."
"Is nonsense!" bursts out Komarova. "Is little boys playing politics!"
Sokolov tries to calm her with a raised palm. "The main point now is we look at their repair plan for this Starliner, and we look at the lead time for another vehicle."
Green nods. "We work the problem. I have the details here." He reaches for the laptop, clicks off Africa and brings up sheets of figures.
But Komarova has one more try. "Wait – listen to me. They want a grand finish? I give them a grand finish. I was thinking about the Soyuz, how much simpler and reliable it is than these new American capsules. You know we can land almost anywhere on Earth, on land or on water. Normally we land in Russian desert. So… this time we land it in American desert, and the great Russian people give the last Soyuz as a gift to the great American people. You put it in one of your big museums and everyone can see how international friendship works." She looked at the two males carefully. "This way, everyone wins. Right? All big egos get something."
Sokolov begins to smile. It's one of the first smiles he's shown, off-camera. "All the egos get their treats. The Americans get their grand finish, and a toy for the museum. And Komarova gets her Soyuz descent."
Green scratches his head. "I don't know. You'll need to convince your people about giving it away before we even mention the idea to Houston. But… what the heck, it's a great compromise. Roscosmos gets a minor propaganda coup. We get the first landing of a Soyuz on US soil. They wrote the protocols years ago. It's made for television. I like the sound of it."
The two men get busy talking to their respective space agencies, while Komarova floats back to her Soyuz and finishes the system checks.
There's just one question still floating through her mind: A little girl's voice asks, What will you do next?
+ + +
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| Image credit: ESA - G. Rigon |
Later on all three of them are laying on their backs in the womb-like Soyuz Descent Module. Hatch closure was half an hour ago. Komarova is completely absorbed watching the operation of the spacecraft that she has spent so long maintaining. The other two have been chatting about their return to Earth: first meal, first phone call, first shower.
Green notices that she's not participating, and says, "There's not much more for us to do now. We'll be ground-side within five hours."
"Yes," she mutters, "but you know the routine. I'm still the pilot, no matter how automated it is."
The men go on to swap ideas of their future plans. Sokolov mentions an extended speaking tour and book-writing contract, while Green has a number of universities offering him positions.
"And you, Asya?" Green asks her. "What about you?"
She frowns to herself and checks the pressures of the nitrogen tetroxide and unsymmetric-dimethylhydrazine tanks. "Oh, no plans yet," she says. "I think of applying for the lunar missions or Mars, but Roscosmos is not the most reliable employer." She knows they're listening, down below, but she doesn't care anymore.
"Yeah," he says, with a reflective sigh, "it's been quite a ride, this job. I could see myself going up again, maybe."
Sokolov spoke up, surprising Komarova. "How to follow all this? Life will not be the same."
"There's more to life than spaceflight," says Green confidently.
Then suddenly the time comes for separation. Komarova reaches with her gloved finger towards the panel and pauses. "Any speeches? Last words?" she asks. Nobody has anything to say. They've already made their official last broadcasts before entering the Soyuz.
She prods forwards, there's a thunk of spring-loaded release which they feel as a vibration through their suits, and then the Soyuz is floating free of the empty ISS.
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