Chelomei upped the stakes.
“Transmission test, transmission test. If you can hear me, respond with two microphone clicks.”
Standing in TsUP, Chelomei listened intently. One click, by itself, could be anything; two would be deliberate. Three could make Houston wonder what was going on.
He waited.
Chad’s Russian was rusty, but he was pretty sure he’d understood. Whoever was calling wanted two chirps on the mic.
A thought struck him, and he looked out the window at Earth. The Atlantic Ocean was facing him, but he could see from the western edge of Russia to the eastern edge of America. Someone in that part of the world had chosen this moment to contact him. He could just barely see where Moscow was in the darkness on the eastern side of the ball. Had they known Michael was asleep and wouldn’t be listening? Who would know that?
He decided. Reaching for the transmit switch, he toggled it twice. Then listened.
In Houston, Kaz heard the clicks and perked up his ears since the noise of the mic always preceded a transmission from the ship. When no one spoke, he shrugged. Just static.
On the other side of the world, Chelomei heard the two clicks and was exultant. I’ve made direct contact with the Apollo crew! They can hear me! His eyes burned in triumph. Time to raise the stakes again.
“I hear your two clicks. And so does your brother. Don’t reply. Listen for more in”—he glanced at the clock on the screen—“eighteen hours. After 16:30 Moscow time.” He released the mic.
Chelomei reviewed what he’d said and nodded to himself. That will give him food for thought.
Chad was dumbfounded. “And so does your brother”？
That was the second time the Russians had mentioned him. It was obviously a threat of some kind, but what were they going to do? Chad pictured Oleg—Father Ilarion, he corrected himself—at his church in East Berlin, and looked out the window again, searching for Germany under the northern European clouds. Why would they threaten me with my brother?
What do they want?
The voice had said 16:30 Moscow time. Chad pictured the Earth turning, and realized the person communicating with him had to wait until the Earth spun enough to bring it back around. At least the next 18 hours would give gave him time to think.
He flicked through his flight plan and made a small mark at the designated time, noting that it was about when he was scheduled to wake from his next nap. Right, they wouldn’t call while Michael was listening. That would be too hard to explain. He thought back. They must have heard me telling Houston that Michael was going to sleep.
He considered how to use this new information. He pictured his brother under threat, and took a long look at Svetlana, who was still engrossed with the view of the Moon. Eventually he nodded his head.
That must be it.
But what exactly do they know?
38
Into Lunar Orbit
“Good morning, Pursuit, this is Houston,” Kaz said. “Sorry to wake some of you a little early, but it’s Moon arrival day, and I have your LOI data anytime it’s convenient.”
LOI was Lunar Orbit Insertion, the firing of Pursuit’s main rocket engine to slow the ship down, allowing it to be captured by the Moon’s gravity into a stable orbit.
They’d decided to have Svetlana sleep at the same time as Chad in Bulldog, so Michael had been solo, staring at the rapidly growing Moon and looking back at the tiny Earth, relishing having Pursuit to himself. The curve of the lunar surface’s stark, ancient scars and deep shadows mesmerized him as they drew near, vastly more rugged and beautiful than the pictures he’d studied. It filled him with awe, knowing what they were about to do. “Morning, Kaz, the Moon is getting huge in my window. I’ve got my pencil poised, ready to copy.”
“Roger. CM mass 62161, delta V 2911, ignition 75:49:50, burn duration 6 minutes, 2 seconds . . .”
As Michael scribbled the numbers in the table, he glanced at the clock. The burn was three hours away; just 180 minutes until they committed to staying at the Moon. Everything counting on the one engine to work perfectly.
He read the numbers carefully back to Kaz.
“That’s a good copy, Michael. You’ll make a fine stenographer someday.”
“Roger that, Kaz. Good to have a fallback if this astronaut thing doesn’t work out.”
Floating in his hammock in Bulldog, Chad had his headset on, listening to the conversation. Svetlana was still asleep, floating below him, with Luke’s body strapped to the floor.
He hadn’t been able to sleep much, restless with wild dreams and uncertain thoughts. He looked at his watch, the Omega’s hands glowing in the darkness, and added nine hours for Moscow time. They’re listening again now.