A Step Beyond by Christopher K Anderson Page B

was checking into it. Or, she thought, perhaps his jealousy stemmed from suspicions that she had married him to secure a spot on the mission. There was some truth to that, but not to the extent imagined. She had fallen in love with Vladimir and would have married him anyway—just not so quickly.
    She had to admit, though, that she was attracted to Dmitri and felt a certain warmth when she was near him. The gray streaks in his hair gave him an air of distinction.
    She remembered an incident back on Earth when all four of them had been submerged underwater in the immersion facility. The facility was used to approximate weightlessness. During the two-hour session, she, at first unconsciously, had stayed close to Komarov through the training maneuvers. As Vladimir grew visibly irritated, Tanya became angered by his distrust and paid less attention to him. That, of course, only aggravated the situation. The tension increased until everyone in the tank felt it. When they finally emerged, she and Vladimir exchanged a few sharp words before charging off in separate directions; under any other circumstance no one would have noticed, but they were training for a two-year stay in space, and their trainers were instructed to notice such things. The trainers filed their report that evening.
    The next morning the couple was called before a special review board, which included several mission psychiatrists. It was just a marital spat, they explained to the board. A perfectly normal thing. These were not perfectly normal circumstances, they were informed by one of the psychiatrists. Confinement of the sort they were about to endure could place unusual demands on the human psyche. Even a spat had the potential to blossom into something of graver consequence. It was their responsibility to select cosmonauts who could control their emotions. If a repeat of such behavior occurred, the board might be forced to reconsider its selection. It was the first and last public outburst between the two. But in private . . . Tatiana didn’t want to think about that.
    “Prepare for separation, over,” announced a voice over the intercom.
    Komarov turned toward Vladimir. Vladimir, without looking up from his console, nodded to confirm they were ready.
    “The
Druzhba
is set for separation,” Komarov announced.
“Sokop?”
    “The shuttle is set.”
    “Initiate separation.”
    Vladimir flipped the switch that instructed the computer to initiate the separation sequence. A message appeared on the main console that the grapples had been released; moments later, he noticed that the stars outside his portal had shifted as a spring pushed the two ships apart. Several tiny rockets, each with 870 pounds of thrust powered by a mixture of monomethyl hydrazine and nitrogen tetroxide, fired on the shuttle when it was a safe distance away.
    “Separation complete,” Komarov announced. His voice was cold, professional, without emotion. It was Vladimir’s duty to announce the separation. But Komarov had noticed Vladimir’s mind had drifted, and this was his way of getting Vladimir’s thoughts back on track.
    “Your orbit looks good.”
    Vladimir glanced over at Komarov. He had a great deal of respect for his commander. Ever since Vladimir’s days in the Furuze Military Academy, Komarov had been a hero of his. Dmitri Fyodorovich Komarov was spoken of with godlike reverence by the young cadets. He was the great Russian test pilot, running neck and neck with his famous American counterpart, Al Carter. Everyone knew that he would have beaten Carter in the race to put the space plane into orbit had it not been for budget constraints. It was not Komarov’s fault he had lost that race. The previous century’s rash of programs to reform the Russian economy, each more chaotic and corrupt than its predecessor, was to blame. Vladimir’s respect for his commander did not, however, alleviate his suspicions.
    He had no proof. He had never caught them in the act. There was