‘FGB,’ he said, naming the Russian module as he floated through it. The space inside was a lot narrower than the Lab, and instead of the mess of wires and cables and equipment, the FGB was bare, save for the evenly spaced handrails and the neatly stacked supply containers and water drums that part-filled the cavity from the floor upwards. A pair of running shoes, attached with Velcro to the wall between two handrails, trailed a lace out in front of him, only moving as he brushed by it and through to the last module.
Ahead a stocky, balding man was pedalling on a compact exercise bike. Padded bungees held him down onto the saddle, and he pedalled with his eyes shut, gripping the handlebars tight and puffing his cheeks in and out. The sides of his navy blue polo shirt were dark with sweat, even seeping into the sleeves, framing the stitched American flag with a dark border.
Before entering the Service Module, the camera took a sudden and disorientating dive downwards, pirouetting round into the Multipurpose Laboratory Module.
‘I’m just dropping into the MLM,’ Mikhail informed them, ‘there’s a better view from the docking port down here.’
Deftly he sailed down through the module, passing more cables and equipment until he negotiated his way into the ball-like docking station. He span as he entered, sticking his socked feet into view and slowing himself down with a controlled flex of his knees. Flipping the camera round, he pointed the lens at himself, and a dark-haired man with skin wrinkled beyond his years stared into the lens. His age would be hard for anyone to guess, as his features were still small and well defined like those of someone in their early thirties, but the ravages of long exposure to the sun had hardened and darkened his cheeks and forehead all the way up to his receding hairline. His eyes twinkled with excitement.
‘You’re in for a treat, Moscow,’ he said, a hint of a grin tickling the corners of his mouth, ‘it’s hard to make out, but it’s there.’
He raised his eyebrows before spinning the camera round and offering it up to the small aft window. At first, the camera struggled to adjust to the bright light of the glowing Indian Ocean, but its innards realigned with a whirr and the white flecks of clouds became distinct. The ocean below blossomed into a rich, velvety blue, and grew bigger as the camera motor whirred again and the lens pulled the distance towards it. Then the camera angled upwards and away from Earth, the view tracking along into the black depths of the universe. The darkness only filled the large screen at Mission Control for a brief moment before breaking down into vibrating lines of static.
‘What’s going on?’ the Flight Director demanded, gesturing at the square pool of fuzzy nonsense. Aleks was working on the problem, fingers clacking at his keyboard, an intense concentration dominating his being as he stared unblinking at his secondary desk monitor.
‘It’s not us, Lev,’ he shrugged, turning to the Flight Director, ‘we’re receiving the signal from the ISS just fine. The problem is occurring at the broadcast end. We’re seeing exactly what Mikhail is sending.’
‘Tell him,’ Lev said, folding his arms. The NASA operative said nothing, but made a note on his touchpad.
Aleks cleared his throat and turned on his mic. ‘RS0ISS, TsUP. We have a loss of picture on your downlink, please diagnose and adjust.’
He waited, wondering if the sound on the feed was also down. His finger hovered over the broadcast button as he readied himself to advise an abort on the PC One feed, but the static washed away and a view of the station’s interior flooded back in again.
‘TsUP, the camera is functional with no obvious faults,’ said Mikhail. ‘I’ve adjusted the broadcast channels, please advise.’
An unexpected wave of relief surprised Aleks as it untightened his shoulders, and even Lev breathed an audible sigh. ‘RS0ISS, we have AOS. You’re looking good.’
As he spoke, he watched the screen as the camera panned back up to that same spot in space and broke down into static again. ‘Negative, negative,’ Aleks said, his heart sinking, ‘loss of signal, loss of signal. Abort PC One and resume Ku Band audio connection.’
With the push of a button, the static disappeared from both his and the main screen. He arched his neck back, shut his eyes and rubbed his face as he waited for Mikhail. He didn’t care if Lev or the NASA guy were watching. His palm, or his forehead, or perhaps even both, were hot and clammy with sweat, and his shirt collar was stuck to his neck.
‘TsUP, RS0ISS, radio check,’ Mikhail said at last.
‘RS0ISS, read you loud and clear.’
‘Loud and clear, TsUP.’
‘RS0ISS, can you give us a verbal on the unidentified vessel,’ Aleks asked. He bit at his pen as he waited.
‘Copy, TsUP. The vessel is, uh, hard to describe because it’s hard to see. It’s there all right, but its shape is difficult to determine because I can’t see that it has any definite edges. It doesn’t seem to reflect the sunlight at all, except to catch it occasionally along its smooth surfaces.’
Mikhail paused, giving Aleks the chance to write down what he was hearing.
‘Copy,’ Aleks said when he had finished scrawling in an almost hieroglyphic shorthand.
‘If I were to say it was any shape,’ Mikhail continued, ‘I’d say it was trapezoidal, with the top most surface leaning away from centre. You notice it most when it travels past a star, because the star will briefly disappear from view. That’s the best I can give you I’m afraid.’
‘What colour is it?’
‘Uh… it doesn’t seem to have one. Sometimes its reflects every colour you can think of, and sometimes it seems blacker than space itself.’
‘Copy, Mikhail, thank you. This will do for now.’
‘Let me know if you need anything else.’
‘Roger. Out.’
Aleks looked down at his notes. Underneath his shorthand glyphs, was a sleek, simple shape scored into the paper with thin blue lines of ball-point ink. As far as he knew, it was the first documented record of extra-terrestrial technology ever made by an official space agency.
‘I think we have a visitor,’ he said.
Chapter 2
‘Give me the full briefing on this one. I want to know every detail,’ said the NASA Flight Coordinator, who turned out to be an American man by the name of John Bales. He had summoned Aleks and Lev to his temporary office only ten minutes ago. ‘And don’t miss a thing,’ he added.
Aleks looked to Lev, who gave him a nod. So it would be up to him, then. ‘How much do you know about the International Space Station?’ he asked.
Bales leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. ‘Assume I know nothing.’
‘Er — okay,’ Aleks said, looking again at Lev who returned the glance with an I’m as confused as you are expression. ‘The International Space Station, or ISS as we call it here, was launched in 1998 as a joint effort between us — the Russian Federal Space Agency — yourselves — NASA — and also the European Space Agency, to replace Mir. It’s built as a modifiable entity made of self-contained modules, and since its launch has been reconfigured many times, including for the recent addition of the Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency JEM research laboratory.’
Aleks stopped, feeling a little silly.
‘Keep going,’ Bales said, smiling in a patronising way.
‘Uhhhm… well, the ISS is reaching the end of its serviceable life, and so we have begun the first of many missions to prepare it for its strip-down, deconstruction and eventual decommissioning. It’s going to be replaced by OPSEK, a smaller platform that will serve as a stopping point for missions to the Moon, Mars and beyond. There will be an overlapping period between the ISS being decommissioned and OPSEK coming online where the ISS will act as a construction site. Some modules from the ISS will also be used in OPSEK. In the meantime, the ISS will still be used for micro-gravity experimentation.’