YUKARI DRIFTED ALONGSIDE Kristall-2. From out here, the module resembled a large concrete mixer.
They had jettisoned the whole module—but why? Had it been accidental or intentional? Were they really trying to kill her?
Yukari considered the possibility of some international plot, but then it occurred to her that the cosmonauts would not have had time to get directives from their government. So had they tried to kill her just to keep their sex lives private?
It didn’t seem likely, but she had no way of knowing now.
She tried the wireless transmitter on her backpack, but there was no answer. She hadn’t expected one anyway. The signal was very weak. All long-distance communications had to be routed through Tampopo.
Yukari felt her chest tighten. She looked down at the darkened earth below her, hoping she would get one last glimpse of the blue ocean. Nighttime only lasted thirty-five minutes at this orbit— she just wasn’t sure if she had that much oxygen.
Her heart leapt momentarily when she looked up and noticed a glowing red fringe on the outer shell of the Kristall-2, until she decided she wasn’t seeing the first light of dawn but the impact of thinly dispersed oxygen molecules against the metal hull.
“Looks like St. Elmo’s fire,” Yukari muttered to herself. “I thought that was supposed to signal the end of a storm.”
Yukari’s thoughts drifted until she saw an arc of light appear around the edge of the earth ahead of her. This time, dawn was breaking for real. The light grew until she could see a reddish glow paint the tops of the clouds and blue returning to the ocean.
She turned her eyes away from the suddenly brilliant light and noticed that she was surrounded by innumerable glowing particles, winking at her even in the vacuum of space.
It’s the star children, come for me…Yukari thought, her mind drifting into a fog. She felt a sensation as if someone were hugging her.
“Hoi, Yukari! You alive in there?”
“Kind of.” Don’t spoil the mood, Matsuri. This is just getting good.
Yukari shook her head. “Huh?” She looked over her shoulder and saw Matsuri with a capsule floating behind her. “What’re you doing here?”
“Taking you back to Mir, that’s what.”
“Mir’s okay?”
“Not sure. Guess we’ll have to go see. I brought an extra backpack, so let’s swap yours out. Then you’ll have to hang on to the capsule’s nose.”
“Oh—okay!” Yukari wasted no time in attaching the fresh backpack.
The oxygenated air hit her like a blast of ice water, and her mind began to race, wondering how launch control had managed to get the third ship up here so quickly. It was very nearly a theoretical impossibility.
Yet she looked at the side of the capsule and there it was—the nickname Coconut that Matsuri had given it.
“Getting ready to fire thrusters here, Yukari. You good?” Matsuri asked from inside the capsule. Yukari was straddling the cone of the capsule like it was a horse.
“I’m good. Keep it gentle.”
“Hoi.”
The capsule began to move. Gradually, they left the drifting fragments of Kristall-2 behind. Yukari waved goodbye to the star children, then turned toward the bright point of light shining in space ahead of them. “That Mir?”
“Yup. Or so Space Command tells me. We’ve got another thirty kilometers or so to go.”
“What happened to the two cosmonauts?”
“They’re in the Soyuz. They don’t know what’s happened to Mir either.”
Yukari frowned. She considered trying to contact the Soyuz on her radio but was hesitant. They were close enough to Mir to make out its shape when the Soyuz contacted them.
“You read, Yukari?”
It was Nikolai’s voice.
Yukari tensed, then answered, “I read you,” as calmly as she could manage.
“We are sorry about what has happened. I did not intend to frighten you. I…can look scary at times.”
Yukari listened in silence.
“We were trying to keep you from accidentally going outside, but we made an error and activated the module separation mechanism by mistake.”
“I…see.”
“Yukari, you must listen closely. If you see any light inside Mir through her windows, then there is a chance you can seek shelter there. If there is no light, then fixing the station is beyond our current capabilities.”
“Okay.”
“In that case, you will have to board the Soyuz. Know that we do not have space suits, so once you are aboard we will not be able to pilot the capsule for you.”
“Excuse me? What?”
“I have entered the return sequence into the computer. As long as you are able to communicate with the ground, you should be fine.”
The meaning of what the Russian was saying gradually dawned on her. “Wait…no. Your offer is declined!”
“You must accept, Yukari. Oleg feels this as strongly as I do. It is a matter of our pride as cosmonauts.”
“But, but I’m—” Yukari gritted her teeth. “I’m an astronaut too! If it’s a question of one person dying or two, I know the answer!”
“Yukari, you are still young.” Nikolai’s calm voice sounded in the speaker next to her ear. “We will not steal your future away from you. Especially considering the likely contribution you will make to space exploration.”
“But this will be my only flight.”
“This I doubt very much. Now, you are close enough to Mir. What do you see? Are there lights in any of the windows?”
Yukari strained her eyes. Not even the faintest pinprick of light came from within the space station.
“Yukari?”
“Nothing. It’s completely dark,” she said, her voice choking.
“Very well. Bring your craft alongside our Soyuz. We will be draining our air shortly.”
“No, Nikolai! Please, don’t!”
“Hoi, Nikolai?” It was Matsuri, her calm voice seeming almost comically out of place after Yukari’s panicked tension.
“What is it?”
“I’ve thought of a way to get Yukari into my capsule. Then we can all go back home.”
“You are sure?”
“That’s impossible, Matsuri!”
“No, no, it’ll work. I think. Trust me!”
The hatch on the capsule opened. Matsuri was inside, stooped over, fiddling with some equipment.
“What are you planning, Matsuri?”
“First, I’m getting rid of this,” she replied, tossing something out through the hatch. When Yukari saw what it was, she felt her heart stop.
“You can’t throw out the instrument panel!”
“Hmm. Still not enough room. Guess the whole electrical system’s got to go.”
“Whoa! Wait! Don’t tear the whole thing apart!”
“Don’t worry. It’s not that bad. We don’t need the computer. We can operate the fuse panel manually.”
“Matsuri, this is a reentry capsule you’re talking about, not some rowboat—hey!”
Matsuri had removed the entire avionics bay set behind the instrument panel and thrown it out into space where it floated, an irreplaceable jumble of specialized computers and wireless devices.
“That should do it. Come on in, Yukari. Let’s go home.”
“Matsuri!”
“No, really, I insist. Or would you rather have them take you on board the Soyuz?”
Yukari frowned, faced with a true life-or-death decision.