nod.
Thirty-two hours of weightlessness, Connover thought. Once we break orbit and start the Mars trajectory we can spin up the Arrow and get some feeling of weight. Until then, though, it’s zero-g.
He grinned. He enjoyed weightlessness. He had always wondered what it would be like to make love with Vicki in zero-g.
April 4, 2035
Earth Departure Minus Thirty-two Hours
21:14 Universal Time
Earth Orbit
As their ferry module approached the Arrow , Benson glanced at Connover, sitting beside him. The American astronaut seemed outwardly at ease, his arms floating languidly almost at shoulder height, a relaxed grin on his face.
Leaning forward, holding both armrests firmly, Benson focused on the control panel’s central display screen. It showed the Arrow ’s tubular docking station, a big crosshairs painted across its middle.
“Down the pipe,” Benson muttered.
Mission control picked up his words. “On course. Docking in seventy-five seconds.”
“Confirm,” said Benson.
The docking maneuver was fully automated, although Benson was ready to grab the controls if anything should go wrong. Mission control was reading off the distance separating the two spacecraft:
“Fifty . . . forty-five . . .”
Connover said, “Nothing for us to do.”
“They also serve who stand and wait,” Benson quoted.
“Sit and wait,” Connover quipped.
The painted “X” was rushing toward them.
“Fifteen,” counted mission control. “Ten, five . . .”
The screen went blank and they felt a slight lurch. Green lights sprang up on the control panel.
“Docking complete.”
“Confirm docking complete,” came the disembodied voice. “Nice work, fellas.”
“Trained chimpanzee could’ve done it,” Connover muttered, with a smile.
Benson turned to him, made a little grunting sound and scratched under his armpit. Connover looked stunned with surprise. Humor? From Bee?
“Okay,” Benson said to the scientists as he unbuckled his safety harness. “Get up slowly. No sudden moves. Don’t turn your head if you can avoid it.”
Connover floated up from his seat and edged into the aisle behind. The six scientists were unbuckling and getting up slowly, warily.
Connover swam past them to the hatch set into the compartment’s floor, opened it, and pulled himself down into it.
Catherine Clermont moved slowly into the aisle, bumping into McPherson, who flinched back from her.
“ Pardón ,” Clermont said.
“My fault. After you.”
Amanda Lynn pushed herself up out of her chair too hard and she sailed upward, bumping her head against the ceiling panels. “Damn!” she snapped. Virginia Gonzalez, tall and graceful where Amanda was built more like a fireplug, grabbed the biologist’s belt and pulled her gently down to the aisle’s matting.
“Thanks,” Amanda mumbled, her dark face looking embarrassed.
“ De nada ,” said Gonzalez.
One by one they made their way to the floor hatch and pushed themselves through, Benson the last. Huddled together in the narrow access tunnel, they watched Connover check the small display panel set into the bulkhead that held the main hatch. On its other side was the hatch of the Arrow . Its trio of indicator lights were all green.
“Ready to pop the main hatch,” Connover said.
“Open it,” Benson called, from the end of the line of crew members.
McPherson realized he was holding his breath.
Don’t be such a goofball , he admonished himself. If there’s a leak between the two hatches, we’ll all be dead in a few seconds. Holding your breath isn’t gonna help .
Connover pulled the hatch open, then opened the hatch of the Arrow . McPherson felt his ears pop, but there was no other remarkable sensation.
Connover pushed himself through the hatch, then turned back to face the others. “All clear,” he said. “Come on over.”
Prokhorov, hovering at the head of the line, called to Benson. “Bee, come up here. You should be the first. You are mission
Thirty-two hours of weightlessness, Connover thought. Once we break orbit and start the Mars trajectory we can spin up the Arrow and get some feeling of weight. Until then, though, it’s zero-g.
He grinned. He enjoyed weightlessness. He had always wondered what it would be like to make love with Vicki in zero-g.
April 4, 2035
Earth Departure Minus Thirty-two Hours
21:14 Universal Time
Earth Orbit
As their ferry module approached the Arrow , Benson glanced at Connover, sitting beside him. The American astronaut seemed outwardly at ease, his arms floating languidly almost at shoulder height, a relaxed grin on his face.
Leaning forward, holding both armrests firmly, Benson focused on the control panel’s central display screen. It showed the Arrow ’s tubular docking station, a big crosshairs painted across its middle.
“Down the pipe,” Benson muttered.
Mission control picked up his words. “On course. Docking in seventy-five seconds.”
“Confirm,” said Benson.
The docking maneuver was fully automated, although Benson was ready to grab the controls if anything should go wrong. Mission control was reading off the distance separating the two spacecraft:
“Fifty . . . forty-five . . .”
Connover said, “Nothing for us to do.”
“They also serve who stand and wait,” Benson quoted.
“Sit and wait,” Connover quipped.
The painted “X” was rushing toward them.
“Fifteen,” counted mission control. “Ten, five . . .”
The screen went blank and they felt a slight lurch. Green lights sprang up on the control panel.
“Docking complete.”
“Confirm docking complete,” came the disembodied voice. “Nice work, fellas.”
“Trained chimpanzee could’ve done it,” Connover muttered, with a smile.
Benson turned to him, made a little grunting sound and scratched under his armpit. Connover looked stunned with surprise. Humor? From Bee?
“Okay,” Benson said to the scientists as he unbuckled his safety harness. “Get up slowly. No sudden moves. Don’t turn your head if you can avoid it.”
Connover floated up from his seat and edged into the aisle behind. The six scientists were unbuckling and getting up slowly, warily.
Connover swam past them to the hatch set into the compartment’s floor, opened it, and pulled himself down into it.
Catherine Clermont moved slowly into the aisle, bumping into McPherson, who flinched back from her.
“ Pardón ,” Clermont said.
“My fault. After you.”
Amanda Lynn pushed herself up out of her chair too hard and she sailed upward, bumping her head against the ceiling panels. “Damn!” she snapped. Virginia Gonzalez, tall and graceful where Amanda was built more like a fireplug, grabbed the biologist’s belt and pulled her gently down to the aisle’s matting.
“Thanks,” Amanda mumbled, her dark face looking embarrassed.
“ De nada ,” said Gonzalez.
One by one they made their way to the floor hatch and pushed themselves through, Benson the last. Huddled together in the narrow access tunnel, they watched Connover check the small display panel set into the bulkhead that held the main hatch. On its other side was the hatch of the Arrow . Its trio of indicator lights were all green.
“Ready to pop the main hatch,” Connover said.
“Open it,” Benson called, from the end of the line of crew members.
McPherson realized he was holding his breath.
Don’t be such a goofball , he admonished himself. If there’s a leak between the two hatches, we’ll all be dead in a few seconds. Holding your breath isn’t gonna help .
Connover pulled the hatch open, then opened the hatch of the Arrow . McPherson felt his ears pop, but there was no other remarkable sensation.
Connover pushed himself through the hatch, then turned back to face the others. “All clear,” he said. “Come on over.”
Prokhorov, hovering at the head of the line, called to Benson. “Bee, come up here. You should be the first. You are mission
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