Time to get out of my suit, Svetlana decided.
The two astronauts had already doffed theirs, and had opened the forward hatch of their capsule. The thickset white one—Tschad, he said he was called, and he acts like the commander—had gone through into the connecting tunnel. The other, the Black one—Mikhail—was reading from a checklist and watching pressure gauges.
The third astronaut, suited with his helmet back on and strapped into the chair next to her, was dead, like Andrei was. She felt a surge of anger, but shook her head. “Pazhivyom, oovidim,” she muttered. I’m still alive, so let’s see what’s next.
She unplugged the two hoses to her life-support backpack and wedged it and her helmet, gloves and comm cap behind the headrest of the Black astronaut’s seat, against the underlying structure. He ignored her, focusing on activating the Lunar Module.
She was careful with her actions; on Chelomei’s instructions, she and Andrei had brought weapons outside to defend the Almaz. She double-checked that hers was still safely concealed in her leg pocket. Best keep that a secret for now.
The Yastreb spacesuit was flexible, with an outer thermal coverall and a double inner rubber pressure liner. She slid down the long zipper, peeled back the Velcro flap and started unlacing, like undoing figure skates.
With the long laces floating free, she reached in near her belly and pulled out a rubber stub neck, held tightly closed with double-wrapped elastics. She released and unwound them, and then opened the neck, shaking it loose like the end of a large balloon. She worked her arms out of the sleeves, bent hard forward while prying the neck ring over her head, and emerged through the central opening. It reminded her of self-birth every time she did it. She pushed the upper half down around her hips and slid her legs out, turning and floating free.
She was now wearing only her byelyo—long white cotton underwear—and socks. She thought for a minute, then peeled the thermal coverall off the suit and put it on. That feels better. She rolled the inner pressure suit tightly so that the weapon was in the middle and tucked it beside her helmet.
Svetlana had been in space for two weeks, and had become adept in weightlessness. She pivoted smoothly, found a handhold on a support strut and floated silently next to Michael while she rolled up the cuffs on her oversized coveralls.
Michael glanced at her. “All okay?”
She nodded. “Da, okay.”
——
Michael called down the tunnel to the Lunar Module. “How’s it going, Chad?”
“All the latches look right, Michael. I think we’re good to jettison the S-IVB.”
Michael pushed the transmit button. “Houston, 18, we show good for separation.”
“Roger, 18, concur, you are GO for Pyro Arm and extraction.”
There was definite comfort in the familiar technical jargon and practiced actions. Michael set the switches to power the four explosive charges that would sever connection to the rocket body and push the Bulldog Lunar Module clear.
“Ready, Chad?”
“All set.”
With Svetlana watching beside him, Michael leaned forward, flipped up the protective cover and raised the S-IVB SEP switch. There was a solid thumping sound, and they floated forward against the slight acceleration as springs and small thrusters pushed Bulldog free of its launch rocket. Michael stared up through his overhead window as the ships silently floated apart.
“There she goes, Houston, looks like a clean separation.”
“Roger, Michael, good news. In a couple minutes we’ll maneuver it clear of you.”
Michael glanced at the cosmonaut and gave a quick nod, raising a thumb. She stared at him, unblinking.
I wonder if she’s ever seen a Black man before.
With what sounded like forced nonchalance, the CAPCOM said, “Apollo 18, if now’s a good time, the Flight Director would like to talk with you.”
Chad poked his head out of the connecting tunnel to Bulldog and nodded at Michael to respond.
“Roger, Houston, we’re listening.” Michael realized that Svetlana didn’t have a headset on. Probably for the best. Who knows if she actually speaks English?
Gene Kranz’s familiar voice came into their headsets.
“Chad, Michael, I’m on a discreet comm loop, so we have some privacy. First of all, nice work on the TLI burn and S-IVB sep. Despite everything that’s happened, you’re on your way to the Moon.
“It’s a terrible thing that we lost Luke, and my heart goes out to you both. No one here suspected there was a crew on Almaz, and we sure didn’t know the ship was armed. Your reactions were a credit to the military services, and Luke will be forever honored by the Marine Corps as their first-ever combat fatality in space.