It suddenly occurred to him that he was in control of this situation, no matter how it felt. Moscow could only transmit to them when he confirmed that Michael wasn’t listening. No one would hear what they said except him. And he could choose when to respond with mic clicks. They wouldn’t dare escalate and reveal their clandestine communications to Houston—they wanted this kept secret from the United States.
He looked down in the dimness at the sleeping cosmonaut, a blob of spit floating weightlessly from the corner of her mouth. Once she got on headset for them to head down to the surface, the game would change. He’d have to think about how to manage that. But for now, Moscow was his to manipulate.
He could hear Michael’s voice calling through the tunnel. “Hey, sleepyheads, rise and shine. I’ve got breakfast ready, and we’ve got us a Moon to catch!”
As he took a bite of his cereal bar, Michael raised a topic he’d been brooding over. “What exactly are we going to do with Luke’s body on the Moon?”
Chad was eating a sausage patty, and popped the last bite into his mouth. “Yeah, I have a few questions about that too.”
Both he and Michael were wearing their headsets. Chad flicked the transmit switch on. “Houston, Pursuit.”
“Go ahead, we’re listening,” Kaz replied.
“How are the fuel margins for carrying Luke’s extra weight during landing, and where exactly do you want his body?”
“They’ve run the numbers here multiple times, and we’re good on fuel, right through landing and abort scenarios. And the current plan is to have his body strapped down behind you, over the engine mount, for center of gravity.”
Chad visualized how much space that would take up. He looked at the cosmonaut, who was sipping tea, watching them both. “When it’s time to move him outside, is the woman staying inside Bulldog, or does Washington want her to get some surface time too?”
Kaz smiled slightly. Chad had his quirks and lived in a weird house, but he surely wasn’t stupid. “Good question. We’ve been talking with the powers that be, and they think getting her feet onto the surface is important.” It had been a heated discussion here at Mission Control, but the leverage it gave America to have enabled a Soviet to walk on the Moon was too important to pass up. Sam Phillips had said that Kissinger was insistent.
“She can help you move the body, and we’re looking at regolith burial options. You’ll see details of that in the new procedures. For now, though, we need you to resize Luke’s suit to fit her. TELMU’s standing by with expertise, and the interpreter’s here. Let us know if you need help.”
Chad looked at his watch again, picturing Moscow listening to what he’d said. So far, so good. “We have time before the LOI burn; we’ll get at that as soon as she cleans up the breakfast dishes.” He smiled. This is fun.
The inner long underwear with built-in cooling tubes fit reasonably well, Svetlana thought. The arms were a little long, but it was made of a stretchy material and clung to her everywhere else. Michael had turned his back as she changed, but the commander had blatantly watched her.
Tupitsa. He hasn’t met Russian men.
The spacesuit was similar enough to the Soviet design that getting into it wasn’t a problem. She thought the long pressure seal up her back was overly complicated and prone to leakage, but obviously it worked. The shoulders were a bit wide, and the two astronauts adjusted the sleeves, pulling internal tensioning strings and straps to shorten them to fit.
She’d worn many flight suits and spacesuits; they were always designed for men and fit poorly. She felt around inside: the boots were too big, the crotch was a little high, the hips a little narrow. It wasn’t much worse than her Yastreb suit had been.
Michael got the interpreter to help, and walked her through the simple controls and purge on the front, the pressure gauge on her wrist and the backpack plumbing connections. She raised a hand in front of her face and wiggled the fingers, admiring the dexterity they had built into the design. Better than our clumsy mittens.
Michael asked her to flex her arms, moving his own to demonstrate. “Okay?”
She stretched both arms out straight, and then pulled them in to reach the controls on her chest. Her fingers slid back in the gloves, making it a bit clumsy, but she judged she could make them work. “Da, okay.” Michael gave her a thumbs-up, and she returned the gesture with her gloved hand, a small smile on her face. A trustworthy man.
He undid the long zipper up her back, and she squirmed out of the suit, butt first, sliding her arms and legs out. As her head popped free, she caught Chad looking at her speculatively. She held his gaze for a moment, and then helped Michael bundle the suit. It reaffirmed her impression. I need to watch out for that one.