Michael gathered the floating gloves, then helped to guide the helmet clear.
The cosmonaut, who was wearing a tight brown leather headset underneath, unclipped the chinstrap and peeled it off. Longish brown hair floated free in the weightlessness.
Michael frowned. The thick hair, matted after the spacewalk, was cut square across the front, in bangs. He saw no trace of a beard or sideburns. The guarded brown eyes now looking challengingly into his were unmistakably feminine.
The cosmonaut was a woman.
“Spasiba,” she said evenly, nodding slightly. “Senk you.”
Chad pivoted up from the other side of the cabin. He’d taken his helmet off, and the sharp smell of vomit came with him. “A woman! Good Christ!” He gestured at the jammed cabin, loose articles floating everywhere, the extra crewmember overfilling the already cramped con-fines. “What are we gonna do with her? Shit!”
Michael tried to take stock. “Luke is dead, the TLI burn’s complete so we’re going to the Moon regardless, our comms are still bad, and now we have a female Commie stowaway!”
Who was watching them both warily.
“We gotta get comms back ASAP.” Chad grabbed his flight plan. “Next pass is Australia in”—he checked the digital timer—“four minutes. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll hear us this time.”
Michael said, “I need to pull the Lunar Module out of the S-IVB. And we’ve got to figure out what to do with—her.” He looked at the cosmonaut and spoke deliberately, indicating himself. “My name is Michael.” He pointed to her. “What is your name?”
She held his gaze. “My nem, Svetlana.” She turned and looked at Chad, expectant.
“I’m Chad.” He pointed at her, frowning. “You just wait there.” He opened both hands, palms towards her to signify that her whole body needed to stay put. “Michael and I have work to do.”
She stared back. Chad gave her a long look. Must be a tough chick to hang on outside during all that. He turned to Michael.
“You get into the LM extraction checklist. Before I do anything else, I need to clean up my suit.”
Michael looked at the two of them, and at Luke’s inert body. “What a shitshow.”
The technician at Honeysuckle Creek had been waiting for this moment. It was 2:20 a.m. on Tuesday 17 April. The temperature outside had gone down to just above freezing, an early taste of Australia’s approaching winter. She’d turned the antenna system heaters on and set up the automated tracking, and now she double-checked her watch.
Apollo 18 was to be the very last of the Moon missions. She hadn’t been lucky enough to work any of the previous flights, and was excited to be part of this one. Though she just had to throw a few switches and wouldn’t actually talk with the astronauts, she didn’t care. She held her Kodak Pocket Instamatic camera at arm’s length to try to get her face and the operator’s console in the picture, smiled proudly and pushed the shutter. The flash lit up the empty room. Her mum was going to be so excited to see that photograph.
Setting the small camera on the desk, she rechecked the digital timer and pressed the mic button on her headset cord.
“Houston NETWORK, this is Honeysuckle Creek, all set for the Apollo 18 pass.”
The voice crackled back through her earphones.
“Roger, Honeysuckle, acquisition should be at 02:25:30 your time. Appreciate the late-night help.”
The Australian technician was thrilled to know she was talking directly to Mission Control in Houston. She listened to the status report.
“FLIGHT, Honeysuckle’s ready, should have signal on time.”
“Copy, NETWORK, thanks.”
A shiver went down the Australian technician’s back. That was Gene Kranz, the man who saved Apollo 13!
She watched the oscilloscope on her left, waiting for the spike that would show a return from the Apollo craft as it appeared over the horizon. Exactly on time, the display jumped. She made sure her voice was calm, matching the tone from Houston.
“NETWORK, Honeysuckle, I see it on the scope now. You should have comms and data shortly.”
A pause.
“Yep, thanks, we’re seeing it now.”
The CAPCOM’s voice came into the Honeysuckle technician’s headset, halfway around the world.
“Apollo 18, Houston, we’re with you through Australia. How do you read?”
All she heard was a burst of random noise.
“18, Houston, we heard some static, but you’re still unreadable. Should be fixed when you get rid of the S-IVB, and the high-gain antenna deploys. We’re evaluating trajectory now, but you’re looking good for LM extraction. If you copy, type all zeroes.”