Across the whole world hundreds of millions watched the gleaming rocket climb upward on its tongue of flame, straight and stately as if guided along an invisible taut wire, rising slowly, majestically, then accelerating, higher, faster, into the cloud-flecked blue, faster now, arcing over, flame bellowing from its rocket nozzles, racing across the sky, dwindling from view.
In Moscow a huge roomful of hardened correspondents broke into cheers as the booster hurtled across the sky.
In New York, Walter Cronkite stood up at his desk, startling the cameramen, who abruptly jerked their cameras upward to keep him in frame. Millions of viewers thought they heard Cronkite mutter, “Go, baby, go.”
Jo watched the rocket lift off, its exhaust flame brighter than anything she’d ever seen before. The booster rose in eerie silence, up and up, higher and higher, without a sound to be heard. Then the overwhelming roar reached her, washed over her rooftop perch, wave after wave of solid white noise, making the whole building shake. Jo imagined she could feel the heat from the rocket engines, knew it was all in her mind, but felt it anyway.
Good-by, Keith, she said to herself. Somehow she felt, deep within her, that she would never see him again.
Chapter 41
Man will not always stay on Earth…. Earth is the cradle of the mind, but one cannot live in the cradle forever.
The mind-numbing roar eased away and finally died altogether. The pressure dwindled until Stoner saw that his arms were floating free of the seat rests. He felt light-headed, and for a moment his innards told him that he was falling. Squeezing his eyes shut hard enough to make them tear, he opened them and he was no longer lying on his back but sitting upright in the Soyuz capsule. Nothing had changed but his perspective.
“Shtoner,” Federenko’s deep voice rumbled in his earphones. “You okay?”
He nodded. “Okay, Nikolai. I’m fine. You?”
“All good.”
Stoner’s vision was blurred. “Okay to open my helmet?”
But Federenko was on the radio, checking back with mission control. Stoner waited until he was finished, then asked again.
“Yes, yes. Cabin pressure is normal. All systems are good, ground control confirms.”
Stoner slid the visor up, pulled his gloves off and wiped at his eyes. The gloves drifted out toward the control panel and he grabbed at them, grinning to himself.
“Zero gravity,” Federenko said. “You remember? Do not make crumbs when you eat.”
Stoner laughed and took a deep, easy breath. For the first time in nearly two years he was weightless. The pleasure of it was euphoric.
“Was a good launch, no?”
“Perfect,” Stoner said.
“Now we make contact with Salyut by radio, then go EVA to dock with equipment and supply vessels.”
Stoner pulled out the clipboard that was mounted on the panel to his right. In both Russian and English it listed every task they must do, the day and hour it must be started, and how long they had to complete each.
“You make the first EVA,” Stoner said.
“Da.”
“I’ll watch the store.”
Federenko peered from around the edge of his helmet. “Watch store?”
“It’s an American expression.” Stoner tried to explain it to him.
Federenko listened, frowning deeply. “But there is no one here to steal from store.”
Shrugging inside his bulky pressure suit, Stoner said, “Well, Nikolai, you know how it is in a capitalist society. So many thieves that we expect them everywhere.”
It made no impact on the cosmonaut. “But no thieves in orbit. No thieves aboard Salyut. They are both good Soviet citizens; officers in Red Army.”
Stoner grinned weakly and gave it up.
Borodinski was on the special picturephone that the General Secretary had set up in his quarters. The beefy-faced man in the viewing screen wore the collar of a soldier with the tab insignia of a major general.
“This line is scrambled and secure?” Borodinski asked in a near whisper.
“Yes, comrade. Of course.”
“I have heavy news that must not go beyond your ears until I call you again.”
“I have kept state secrets before, comrade,” the general said, a slight smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“Our great friend is dead.”
“No!”
“Just a few minutes ago. The doctors have confirmed it. There is no hope of resuscitation.”
The general’s face fell. He seemed genuinely grieved. “He was a good man. A fine man. A strong comrade.”
“You understand why this news must be kept secret for the next several hours?”
“Of course, comrade. You have many calls to make, many…details to check on.”
“I have called you first,” Borodinski said, “because I want to impress on you the fact that the General Secretary’s policies are still in effect, still to be carried out exactly as he desired them to be.”
“Yes, comrade. Will the Presidium…?”
“That’s none of your concern at the moment. Of utmost importance is the question of the missiles. Are they ready to be fired if we should need them?”
“The strategic strike force is always prepared, comrade.”
“I mean,” Borodinski explained patiently, “the missiles that are being held ready for the alien spaceship.” Is the man being deliberately doltish? he wondered.
“Oh! Them! Yes, comrade, they are prepared for launching at an instant’s notice. The tracking radars have precise data on the alien’s position. The warheads are armed and ready.”
Borodinski nodded. “Very well. Keep the missiles in readiness. And yourself as well. I will call you, personally, if we should need them.”
“I understand, comrade. They will be ready, and so will I.”
As Borodinski clicked off the connection and the general’s face faded from the screen, he looked across the bedroom at the body of the General Secretary, arranged carefully on the bed, eyes closed, hands clasped on his chest.
“So much to do,” he muttered to himself. Now the real work begins, he knew. And the real danger. It was one thing to be handed the reins of power; it was quite another thing to hold onto them.
Borodinski shook his head. For a fleeting moment he almost envied the peaceful slumber of the General Secretary.
Stoner turned in his seat as Federenko opened the hatch that led from the orbital module and crawled back into the command section. The cosmonaut wormed his way into his own seat and gave a weary sigh of relief.
“It took longer than the schedule calls for, did it not?” He was breathing heavily, and his zippered coveralls were dark with perspiration.
Stoner glanced at the clipboard floating by his knee. “Eighteen minutes longer. Not bad. We still have plenty of slack in the schedule.”
Federenko passed a hand over his eyes. “It is so different out there…hard work.”
“I know.”
Outside the viewing port above his seat, Stoner could just make out the stubby outline of the Salyut space station. The two cosmonauts who had been living and working in the Salyut for the previous month had taken over the task of connecting the supply modules to their Soyuz.
My turn next, Stoner knew. Working in zero gravity sounded effortless, but he knew how easy it was to exhaust yourself. Every motion made in weightlessness had to be consciously, deliberately counteracted by a counter-motion. No friction to bring motions to a “natural” halt. No subliminal visual clues of distance or orientation. No up or down.