Ghosts of Engines Past (29 page)

“So, is it a coincidence that another Ilya is riding Cloudfall?”

“No. I chose the name.”

“Jim Jenkins, ABC Network. As we all know, Apollo 11 is about to launch. Do you have anything to say, any message for the astronauts?”

“We wish them luck in their mission. It is the same as ours, and no less dangerous. They need luck just as much as we do.”

“What is your reaction to the NASA plan to cut seven hours off their flight schedule?”

“To beat us to the lunar surface, the Apollo mooncraft must cut
nine
hours from its outward trip. We are too far ahead.”

The news conference ended soon after that. Nikolai flicked the switch of the radio with considerable relief.

“No, the Americans need considerably
less
luck than we do,” he sighed as he floated in his straps.

“Not entirely,” replied Ilya. “Now they are cutting corners, like us. If we have to make one or two lunar orbits too many before landing, they could beat us to the surface.”

Svyatagor's trip to the moon was uneventful, compared to what was going on behind them. Apollo 11 had been launched on schedule, had left Earth orbit early, and had burned all its reserves of fuel. In the case of the Soviet design there was no transposition and docking manoever, so Svyatagor would keep the same configuration all the way to lunar orbit. The American mooncraft's change in configuration was covered in the most intimate detail possible, yet the world was ravenous for more news. The Svyatagor cosmonauts were saying little, so rumours grew and flourished continually. They were dead, their craft was disabled, the command module had exploded like the discarded third stage. Then would come the next transmission, and a short news conference. Each time the news was the same: all was well on Svyatagor. The fact that they were slightly off-course was raised, but Nikolai just shrugged. A minor correction was needed, he said without any apparent concern.

All was not well on Svyatagor, however. There were minor leaks in the seals, switches were giving trouble, and some monitor sensors had failed. The severe shaking during the launch had scattered minor damage all through Svyatagor's systems. Ilya joked that the rolls of tape aboard were the most valuable of their tools. While they had both laughed, they knew it to be close to the truth. The moon loomed larger in the small port with each hour that passed. Their scheduled mid-course correction burn went as planned, but was only announced after it had been completed. All the while the Americans continued to narrow the gap, hoping for Svyatagor to stumble.

The single engine of Svyatagor's fifth stage fired, and insertion into lunar orbit went so smoothly that one of the commentators joked that it was bad television. Indeed all that was seen on Earth was smiling faces in a very bad television picture. The cosmonauts also reported that the shroud covering Cloudfall, the lunar lander, had been successfully jettisoned, then the transmission was abruptly terminated. Western experts pointed out that both cosmonauts had been wearing their helmets, but Baikonyur insisted that there was no problem. There was indeed no problem, but all was not going according to the original schedule. Yet another corner had been cut, and the landing would now take place during the first lunar orbit instead of the fourth. The Americans were too close behind them.

A hatch opened in Svyatagor's side within moments of the transmission ending, and Ilya emerged, slowly and carefully. He took three minutes to get out. Unlike the Apollo design, the Svyatagor cosmonaut had to make a spacewalk to reach the hatch of the moon lander, rather than just climb directly out of the command module. This had eliminated the difficult docking manoever on the way to the moon, but replaced it with a difficult space walk. Tethered, and using handholds on the hull, Ilya made his way along the complicated structure. He reached the lunar lander, which was a spherical cabin on a four legged landing platform, capped by an ungainly attitude control unit. It was much smaller than the Apollo landers, and Ilya knew that this would be the only Soviet lander that would ever reach the moon. They had taken too many chances, yet their luck had held. Another expedition would be too much of a risk. The Soviet Union just could not compete in a race where sheer wealth and production capacity meant so much. They would win, but what would they achieve? The cosmonaut's legs flailed as he worked a lever and opened the lander's hatch. He began to crawl inside.

“Having trouble getting a purchase,” Ilya reported to the command module.

Climbing in under gravity was no problem, and even in a water tank there was at least some resistance from the fluid to work against. In space there was nothing. The arms of his suit were bloated out just slightly too far by the vacuum, and the hatch was a little too narrow. Nikolai had been waiting in the command module's hatch, and began moving as soon as Ilya spoke. He made his way down Ilya's tether until he reached the hatch of the lunar lander, steadied himself with one hand and pushed against his companion's legs with the other. It was all the purchase that Ilya needed. The cosmonaut disappeared into the lander, then reached out and closed the hatch.

Nikolai began to make his way back to the command module. The design of the command module's hatch was sufficiently different from that of the lander for him to crawl in unaided. By the time he was back inside, Ilya had completed his check of Cloudfall's systems.

“Cloudfall is ready, Svyatagor,” he reported, this time on the main radio channel that was being monitored from Earth.

“Separate at will, Cloudfall,” Nikolai replied.

Cloudfall slowly moved away from the much diminished Svyatagor. By now Nikolai had dismounted the small, internal television camera and was sending Earth a blurred, jerky view through the command module's window.
Strange that it is now Earth, and not Baikonyur or even the Soviet Union,
he thought. On a cue from Baikonyur, Ilya fired Cloudfall's engine. This time there could be no hiding any problem from the world, all transmissions would be being monitored. The fifth stage's engine burned steadily, then barely a mile above the surface it separated.

The lander's main engine cut in. On the television screens on Earth, the lunar surface grew more detailed as Cloudfall dropped, then the lander hovered above a plain that was strewn with occasional large rocks, but otherwise clear. Ilya selected a target site and continued his descent. Dust billowed, he eased back the thrust, then four small solid propellent rockets fired, pressing the lander down against the lunar surface. Ilya shut down the engine and sagged against his straps in the weak gravity.

“Cloudfall has landed,” he declared to the waiting world, almost as an afterthought.

Politics, showmanship and the world media showed no mercy, even in such a moment of triumph. Baikonyur informed him that the American mooncraft had just achieved lunar orbit, and that their lander had already separated.

“You are cleared for a lunar walk and sample collection, Cloudfall,” announced the mission controller, his voice still tense and anxious in spite of the triumph of the moment.

They had won the race, but there were other finishing lines to cross. First walk on the moon, first flag on the moon, first sample collection, even first television transmission from the surface. Leaving his radio on, Ilya opened the hatch and cautiously backed out onto the steps. Even the slight gravity of the moon was enough to re-orient him, and he descended easily and with confidence. The lander's television camera was positioned to record the moment that he set foot on the surface. One boot, then the other, imprinted the lunar soil.

“Frontiers are only as distant as we allow them to be,” he announced in Russian to the whole of Earth.

I am standing on the moon,
he suddenly realised. With all the rush, he had not stopped to think about the significance of what they had achieved.
The first human on another world.
He did not allow himself to savour the moment for long. There was still too much to do. More firsts to achieve.

Ilya walked clear of the lander, scooped up a contingency sample of lunar soil, and poured it into a pouch on his utility belt. Only then did he unpack and plant the Soviet flag. After that, there was the program of photography, geology and exploration. He collected samples hundreds of metres from the lander, took dozens of photographs, scooped out a small trench to examine the subsurface soil, and deployed scientific instruments. It was forty minutes into the ninety minute limit of his suit's systems when Baikonyur called with the latest news.

“The Americans are down too, Cloudfall. You are no longer alone.”

“Pass my congratulations to them, Baikonyur. Where are they?”

“About fifty kilometres from you, on the Sea of Tranquility. Their commander, Armstrong, got out onto the surface very quickly. He said 'That's a small step for a man, and another giant leap for mankind,” then his companion joined him. They planted a flag and collected some soil and rocks. They have just finished setting up some scientific instruments on the surface.”

“Acknowledged, Baikonyur. It will be interesting to compare our findings.”

The Tranquility landing site had been chosen partly because American research had shown it to be the best site, but no more than a dozen people in the Svyatagor project knew this. Ilya returned to Cloudfall, pressurised the cabin and removed his helmet. Although he had given a running commentary while on the moonwalk, the Americans had managed to stage the first formal news conference from another world. It would be his turn next. Svyatagor came within radio range, and Nikolai called him.

“You could have a maximum of forty eight hours on the surface, Cloudfall,” he said. “What is your condition?”

“All systems are operational, and I am preparing for the news conference. After that, I shall become the first man to sleep on another world—unless the American astronauts beat me to—”

“Svyatagor and Cloudfall, this is Baikonyur!” the controller cut in over them. “The Americans have lifted off! Repeat, the Americans have lifted off!”

It was quickly determined that there was no way for Svyatagor return to Earth ahead of the Apollo astronauts. The US would have a string of firsts after all: first to return from another world, first sample return, and first analysis of lunar soil. Moscow responded by ordering its cosmonauts to attempt the maximum stay that the lander could possibly support, fifty two hours. Ilya ventured a kilometre from Cloudfall, dug more trenches, test-compacted soil, and worked under instruction from dozens of scientists back on Earth. He investigated a small crater, did running and jumping tests, and examined some of his lunar samples back in Cloudfall's cabin.

When the time for the ascent came, Cloudfall proved to be as reliable as the legendary horse of the Russian folk epic. The rendezvous and docking took longer than expected, however, and Ilya was down to his last ten minutes of air as he made the spacewalk from Cloudfall back to Svyatagor's command module. The cosmonauts made a brief announcement that all was well, then they closed down the radio.

“We are to remain in lunar orbit until the Americans have landed,” said Nikolai. “We have been given various extra scientific tasks to do.”

“So Moscow is trying to make our flight look like serious exploration, and paint the American effort as just a cheap publicity stunt?”

“Without doubt. We will still be at the moon—and working—when they land.”

“First back from the moon. In a way it is very impressive.”

“Some public relations man will probably get a medal for thinking of that.”

“Still, it will fool nobody. We were first to land on another world. It was all about being first, was it not?”

“Originally, maybe, but not any more. By the end of Apollo the US will have landed twenty men on the moon. We will have landed one. There will be no Svyatagor 2, even though we have more rockets. The space station that we are preparing for launch will be safer and cheaper than these heroics. More firsts. First space station, first permanent presence in space, perhaps even the first screw in space. Svyatagor's problems will be a better kept secret than our Premier's sex life, and the world will think we won by being smarter and more efficient.”

The ascent module of Cloudfall was detached, and then fired into the lunar surface to generate seismic waves for the surface instruments to monitor. The cosmonauts then located and photographed its crater, while instructions for further work were radioed to them. Once word of Apollo's safe landing was relayed to Svyatagor, the two cosmonauts began preparations to return to Earth. The command module's engine was fired for the first and last time, and the enhanced Soyuz spacecraft emerged from behind the moon on a course so good that any further corrections could be done with the attitude thrusters.

Once again, the world stopped to watch for word of triumph or disaster, then changed channel as the boring news of Svyatagor’s safety was confirmed. The cosmonauts listened to the broadcasts as the American astronauts were welcomed back onto US soil. Quarantine procedures were to be shortened, there would be a ticker tape parade in New York in two days, and Armstrong would be in Europe by the time Svyatagor’s command module landed. The words 'first astronauts from the moon’ were being spoken by every announcer. It was as if the Soviet expedition had met with disaster, and was not returning. Aboard Svyatagor there were no disasters, but the discomfort was increasing. By now a problem had developed with the air conditioning system, and the temperature was hovering just above freezing.

“The electricals are rated for lower temperatures than this,” said Ilya as they completed their scheduled checks.

“Maybe so, but we are not,” muttered Nikolai. “The carbon dioxide levels are up.”

“The projection is that we will have breathable air for two days.”

“Just. We will survive, but we will not be happy—except in front of the television camera.”

“And now we are scheduled to do four broadcasts per day. Moscow must be furious about the Americans getting back first and putting their Vaudville show on the road.”