Now he was asking her to help get them up the ladder. She shrugged. Might as well. She climbed, turned and faced him, reaching down as far as she could. As he hoisted the bulging bag up, she lunged for the straps, caught one and lifted.
Heavy, even here. She swung it back and forth, higher and higher, like a pendulum, and gave a good heave to get it up onto the platform. Climbing up the rungs, she pushed the sliding bag through the hatch and turned to look back at the astronaut. He pointed for her to enter, and then at himself, indicating he would follow.
In Houston, Kaz spoke. “Bulldog, we see you transferring the samples. We have about an hour max left on the surface, and show you doing well to finish on time.” He had the interpreter translate. Svetlana saw that Chad was climbing the ladder behind her, so she turned and crawled through the hatch.
She pushed the bag all the way to the back and stood, lifting it with both hands onto the raised platform. She felt the astronaut bump into her from behind, and moved all the way up beside the bag. He pointed to a hard-sided, suitcase-like container in the narrow space.
He spoke evenly. “Houston, can you have the interpreter tell the cosmonaut to transfer the samples into the case while I do final button-up outside?” Svetlana listened to the Russian instructions, looked at the confined working quarters and nodded her acceptance. It would also give her a quick chance to look for the Lunokhod rock. She picked up the bag and wedged it into place as Chad turned to exit.
On the front screen in Mission Control, for the third time, the TV image went blank.
Chad backed out and down the ladder and walked to the handcart, glancing up at Bulldog’s windows. He wheeled it a few feet around the corner, so he was out of sight in case she took time to watch him, and released the bungee holding the bolt cutters. He also grabbed the scoop tool. With one last glance up the ladder and at the unpowered TV camera, he loped quickly towards Lunokhod.
The recommendations from the military brass had been simple: don’t cut any cable that might be carrying high voltage, but be sure to permanently kill the ability of the rover to function.
He decided to go with the simplest option first, the one he’d thought of while walking back to Bulldog. He bent and filled the scoop with the fine dust of the top surface layer and carefully poured it onto the flat of the rover’s radiator. He was pleased to see how well it matched the color of the dust that had collected already, and added another scoopful, smoothing it evenly with his hand.
He took a pace back to survey his work. The thick layer of dust would stop the radiator from functioning properly, trapping the heat inside. With the Sun beating down and nowhere for the heat to go, the interior electronic components would cook. Hard to tell how fast, but a good first step. And when he turned the TV back on, nobody would be able to tell he’d done anything.
He stepped around the front of Lunokhod. There were thin, telescoping metal rods, like whiskers, slanting down from each of the four corners. Too small for high-data transmission, he reasoned, and left them alone. No sense dulling the bolt cutters on those.
He spotted several electronic devices, flush-mounted in multiple locations, and looked closely at each. He decided they were scientific sensors and discounted them as targets. Looks like the intel was pretty accurate.
Mounted high and clear on the front was a cone-shaped device, like a small silver Christmas tree. Beside it, pointing towards Earth, was a long, scalloped cylinder, resembling a kebab loaded with marsh-mallows. Omni and high-gain communications antennas, he recognized. He traced the wires leading to them, finding a location where he could slip the cutters under a protruding loop. He dropped the scoop and raised the bolt cutters, positioning his suited arms for leverage.
“Stop!” a voice loudly commanded. And then, “Smotri!” Look at me!
He turned. Standing between him and Bulldog was the cosmonaut. Glinting darkly in her hand was the distinctive angular black barrel of a snub-nosed pistol, pointed at him. The fatness of her gloved finger was wedged inside the guard, on the trigger.
“Nyet!” she said, pronouncing every letter.
His first thought was, Where the hell did she get a pistol?
His second was, No way will she shoot me. She didn’t know how to fly Bulldog. To injure or kill him would be to sign her own death warrant. He raised his gold visor so she could see his face. Staring straight at her, he shook his head, a mocking smile spreading across his lips.
Kaz heard the urgent words from Svetlana and was puzzled when Chad didn’t answer. The interpreter quickly translated what she’d said, but it didn’t help him figure out what was going on. The lack of TV coverage didn’t help. He gave it several seconds and then called.