Michael started a small stopwatch, counting down to undock, and Velcroed it on the panel in front of them. It read 30 minutes—plenty of time for him to clear out and close the hatch. He helped them don their helmets and gloves, got a thumbs-up from each and backed his way out of the LM, carefully tending his loose items and comm cable. He attached the bulky probe-and-drogue metal apparatus that would allow Bulldog to redock onto the hatch when they returned from the Moon. He methodically wiped the rubber seal to make sure it was clean, closed the hatch and released the manual docking latches that had kept the vehicles securely joined.
As he turned to face into the capsule, he realized he was suddenly truly alone. The Command Module, Pursuit, named by him, was his to fly. A grin spread on his face as he imagined what the folks in Bronzeville, South Chicago, might be thinking, how proud his family would be. All he needed to do was to get Bulldog safely undocked, and he, Michael Henry Esdale, would be solo master and commander of his own ship, in orbit around the Moon.
He rechecked his flight plan and began setting Pursuit’s switches.
“Apollo 18, Houston,” Kaz’s voice intervened. “I have good news before you disappear behind the Moon. You are GO for undocking. Also, we observed your rendezvous radar test—no issues. Bulldog, we have not seen you reset the digital autopilot.”
“Thanks, Kaz, doing that now. I show myself”—Chad checked the timer—“fourteen minutes from undock. Talk to you when I come back around.”
“Roger that, Bulldog.”
Svetlana was standing next to Chad, the two of them held lightly in place on their feet by restraint cables clipped to rings on their hips. She’d wondered how they were going to stay in position without seats, and was impressed with the simplicity of the American solution. She found herself alternately watching Chad’s hands moving switches and staring through the triangular window at the Moon racing by. They were just coming into sunset, and the lengthening shadows were mesmerizing. Especially given that soon she was going to be down there, walking on the surface.
Michael called, “Chad, when you’re ready, I’ll start extending the probe.”
Undocking was controlled from Pursuit. Michael would be the one to extend the docking probe, release the latches and set Bulldog free. It would then be up to him to fire small thrusters and move safely clear.
“I’m all set here, Michael. You can let us go.”
The phrasing caught Michael’s ear, and he found himself suddenly humming “Let My People Go” as he threw the probe extend switch. His mother loved Paul Robeson’s deep, mournful version of the song, but he preferred Louis Armstrong’s upbeat take. As the gears of the mechanism were grinding, slowly pushing Bulldog away, Satchmo’s words were playing in his head.
Go down, Moses, way down in Egypt land
Tell old Pharaoh to let my people go.
The mechanical sound stopped, and Michael peered hard through the window at Bulldog, relieved to see it moving slightly, independent of Pursuit. He pushed heavily on the extend switch to be sure, and pulled on the hand controller for three seconds to back away. He released both controls and watched with satisfaction as his ship separated cleanly from the LM. Just like in the sim.
“Bulldog, you are free.”
“Looks like a good sep, Michael,” Chad said. “Starting my yaw and pitch now.” He carefully moved his right joystick to pivot Bulldog around so Michael could inspect the exterior.
Michael stared through the dark windows, Pursuit’s interior light reflecting off the metal surfaces of Bulldog. “You look clean, Chad—all four legs extended, antennas pointing correctly.”
“Good to hear. Checking the rendezvous radar now. Your transponder on?”
“Sure is. Ping away.”
Chad reached down and selected Auto Track, and immediately saw the signal needle jump. He confirmed the tracking display bars were moving and the digital range was updating. They’d need that radar to find each other when Bulldog was returning from the lunar surface. “Good return, good tracking, showing range of point three miles.” He looked out the window at Pursuit slowly moving away. “Matches what I see with my Mark One Eyeball.”
“Agreed, Chad.”
Michael looked ahead to the horizon, where the first light of sunrise was appearing. “We should have Houston back pretty soon. I’ll be ready for landing landmark tracking.”
Knowing exactly where to land was the most critical piece of information for the navigation computers. As Pursuit passed directly over the planned landing spot, one orbit before the landing, Michael would measure exact angles with a tracking telescope. The information would be added to data from the rendezvous radar and Earth antenna tracking, and fed back into the computer in Bulldog. That would give Bulldog the best possible information to begin descent.