Now we oscillated from side to side. I knew from my training these motions controlled our angle of attack and were automatic to keep us on our glide path. My hands gripped my seat, but as the forces pushed towards 4g, nothing would have been able to shake me out of it anyway.
Difficult to breathe now. It was as if someone was sitting on my chest and it could get worse. Some landings involved taking up to 9g. Yuri held his controls. This was another critical point in the descent for which he was trained to step in if things went wrong.
‘Ten kilometres,’ he said. ‘Eight hundred kilometres per hour.’
We’d slowed from seventeen thousand to five hundred miles per hour in under twenty minutes and the silence was gone. The scream of the wind whistling past us at almost the speed of sound filled our ears. Noisy was not the word.
‘Drogue chute in five seconds,’ Yuri cried, so he was heard above the din.
We braced ourselves.
Now we were thrown violently in all directions. God, it was hot in the Soyuz and the whole craft was swinging like a pendulum. I was being tossed about as if on the devil’s rollercoaster. It seemed to go on and on and on. What a ride!
Shuko cried out but I was quiet. I was enjoying this – Disney’s Space Mountain didn’t come close as a thrill. It also meant we were almost safe.
Whoa! Another huge tug and the main parachute had opened. The violent swinging gradually subsided and our speed was plunging in line with our altitude.
An expected, yet still surprising, a crash from outside indicated the heat shield had separated and my window cleared as the burned outer layer was sloughed off by the wind. There were clouds and blue sky. The angle of view was wrong to be able to see the land but, as everything had worked, I knew we were somewhere over Kazakhstan and would be down shortly.
Yuri’s stubby hand grasped mine and shook it, ‘Home safe, Eva,’ he said. I watched him repeat the handshake and reassuring phrase to Shuko.
We’d made it.
We hadn’t skipped off the atmosphere to suffocate when our oxygen was gone and spend eternity as seated corpses circling the sun. I glanced at the euthanasia valve above Yuri’s seat. It could be turned to cause the air pressure to fall until it reached the point where we’d painlessly fall asleep and die. It wouldn’t be needed now.
Neither had we plunged too steeply and been roasted alive by friction with the air; the scarier, but possibly the quicker of the two deaths we’d now avoided.
For a fleeting moment a military helicopter was visible through my window. Roscosmos was on the ball.
‘Brace yourselves. Five seconds,’ warned Yuri.
An enormous explosive sound beneath us almost halted our descent as the retro jets fired, but we still hit the ground with the force of a car crash, our seats continuing to fall as their shock absorbers took up the strain. We were home. We were home and we were alive.
Yuri hit the button which detached one of the parachute ropes, so we wouldn’t be dragged if there was a wind and he recited a prayer. But I had no God. To my mind, I’d not been unlucky. I always laughed inside at the people who prayed in dangerous situations. The only ones whose prayers were answered were the survivors. It might sound obvious, but it was a well-established phenomenon. I’d written a thesis on it for my psychology PhD. Those who prayed and died never got to tell people it didn’t work. Those who lived believed it was because of their prayers and God had specifically assisted them to be saved.
These and other thoughts passed through my mind as we lay in our seats, as weak as new-born lambs, recovering from what seemed like a voyage in a tumble drier. Slowly, I became accustomed to the weight which now bore down upon all my limbs. Had we landed on Jupiter by mistake?
A veil of dust billowed outside my window. Soon it settled and a cloud-dotted sky reappeared. By forcing unfamiliar muscles to lift my head I saw there was a parked helicopter with its blades slowing in the distance.
We heard the sound of Russian voices and equipment being moved around. I visualised the procedures they were undertaking as I’d attended a previous landing. A framework was being lowered over the Soyuz to allow them to lift us out without putting too much strain on muscles which had forgotten the gravity of Mother Earth.
‘You okay in there,’ shouted a voice in Russian.
‘Okay,’ bellowed Yuri.
My head seemed so heavy, even after I’d removed my helmet, that I gave up the battle to watch the action and relaxed back into my seat. Even my wristwatch seemed to weigh a couple of pounds when I lifted the apparent dead weight of my arm.
‘God, it’s hot in here,’ I said.
‘Yes. Not good. Hatch open soon and cool air,’ said Yuri.
Seconds later, the hatch opened and there was a beaming smile from one of our landing crew as cooler air entered. We’d trained with these guys, so we knew them all. There was some welcome conversation.
Our ordeal was not over. Getting out of the Soyuz was not easy in our condition and our rescuers had to crawl in to help us out of our harnesses then hoisted each of us bodily onto the framework where we sat until we were ready to be lifted to the ground. The capsule itself was still radiating heat. Amazing. Four hunky Russians carried me over to a special seat where they deposited me in a semi-reclining position to recover.
‘Thanks,’ I said in Russian, still struggling to even move my head against the force of gravity.
Photographs were taken. Two camera crews were filming us. Gerald, who’d asked to participate in a landing, walked over and shook my hand.
‘Lovely to see you safely back, Eve,’ he said, then introduced me to Ivan, the voice of secure Roscosmos. The heat in my suit was awful. I was sweating like the proverbial pig. I wished I could free myself from it. My flight surgeon removed one of my gloves.
‘Ouch,’ I said as he pricked my finger and positioned the red bead against an electronic device.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Just need to check a few things.’ Next he materialised a finger blood pressure monitor from his bag.
After about twenty minutes we were helped to our feet. How unsteady I was. We boarded a helicopter to take us back to the Baikonur Cosmodrome where I knew Mario would be waiting for me. So strange, experiencing lifting, turning and banking in the chopper.
We disembarked from the helicopter onto a bus for a half mile drive to the press centre where there was a surprisingly large crowd.
One delight was how we were all treated like great heroes. I was given a huge bouquet of roses by a young girl in national dress, we got a specially made mission plaque to take home, and a Russian Matryoshka doll in the form of an astronaut. The outer doll of mine was a likeness of Valentina Tereshkova, who had flown into orbit seventy-two years previously in 1963.
‘Oh!’ I shouted as I dropped it. How stupid I felt. I’d been turning it over in my hand, examining the detail then just let go, expecting it to float beside me. How silly I felt as it tumbled earthwards and someone recovered it from the carpet and returned it to me, thankfully undamaged. What a souvenir to treasure. Shuko’s doll was of Yuri Gagarin.
Mario was standing quietly at the back. I could see him and flashed a smile, but we were marshalled into seats for the presentations and it seemed to go on forever when all I wanted was to be in his arms.
Once the fuss was over, I managed to get to my feet. Mario came and took me into his embrace. ‘Eve, Eve,’ he said and there was the slight embarrassment of a Russian doctor supporting me while his charge concentrated on her lover’s kiss. He turned his face away politely.
‘God, I am so heavy,’ I said as our lips finally parted.
‘You look and feel wonderful.’ He kissed me again and squeezed me fiercely. Wonderful. I felt tears stinging my eyes. How much I’d missed him.
Next a trip to a hospital ward at the cosmodrome where I was relieved of the awful space suit, unsoiled but sweaty diaper, and sweat-soaked clothes. Once in hospital gowns, they wired us up w
ith ECGs, blood pressure monitors, and the usual medical kit, but at least we could talk to whoever had come to meet us.
‘That was scary,’ said Mario.
‘Scarier for me.’ I laughed.
‘No. It was awful waiting to see if the parachutes opened. You have no idea of the relief when we saw them in the distance on the television monitor.’ He squeezed my hand.
‘Some ride,’ I said.
‘I bet.’
I saw Ivan and called to him to bring my diary.
He returned a few minutes later with my small personal bag. It didn’t look as if it had been searched. I removed the diary and feigned writing a few words while the fingertips of my left hand checked for the slight bump in the top corner. The micro-memory card was still there. I’d wondered if it might get picked up by Roscosmos security. Apparently not. I guessed they weren’t expecting space criminals yet!
Most of the next day was spent undergoing tests before I was released. I must admit I was occasionally a little disorientated if I moved my head quickly, but other than that and general tiredness, I’d no serious problems.
We’d be returning to Amsterdam on a scheduled flight the next day.
That evening, we were in our own hotel room in Moscow. I showered in real water. Bliss. We enjoyed a welcome steak supper and my first glass of wine for seven months in a superb restaurant outside the Kremlin. I picked up the bottle to read the label and almost dropped it. My knife and fork both took a tumble on a couple of occasions too. I resolved to pay more attention to the force of gravity. It was most strange no longer being able to leave things suspended in mid-air.
Our reunion evening ended with Mario hanging the Russian DO NOT DISTURB sign on the bedroom door. At last we could make up for seven months apart, extremely joyfully – but exceedingly gingerly indeed. How wonderful to experience his love again!
Part Two
GOONHILLY ENIGMA
10 Goonhilly CEO
Mario and I had discussed the post at Goonhilly fully, but secrecy prevented me telling him why I’d been selected as the preferred candidate for such a prestigious position. It was making life difficult.
'I know you have your astronomy background, darling, but to be parachuted in as director of this huge establishment seems unbelievable,' he said.
The Mullion Cove Hotel was spectacularly situated, and I turned my gaze to the rolling Atlantic breakers crashing against the cliffs. I was a little miffed over his lack of confidence in my abilities.
'They’ve decided an astronaut would add a unique perspective to the post and if I get the post – a big if – I'll be working with the ISS from Earth. I have done rather well during my seven-month mission, you know,' I said, adding an element of disappointment to my voice.
His hand descended upon mine. 'Sorry, Eve. I realise you must have impressed. I'm just gobsmacked, that's all.'
Fortunately, his graphics business could be run from anywhere, owing to the Internet. It meant he was happy to relocate to Cornwall if I obtained the post. The biggest problem for him was getting a residency permit. Now England was no longer in the EU, it no longer had open borders.
In the morning, Mario booked a nine o'clock car to take him to Helston to get an idea of property prices and local services, while I waited in reception, in my finest suit, for my vehicle. It was due to collect me at nine forty-five.
My watch vibrated when the small vehicle pulled up outside the hotel. I punched my booking code into the door lock, climbed into the rear, told it the twelve-character location code for the reception door from my interview letter and the car pulled smoothly away towards the Goonhilly Earth Station.
The Lizard peninsula is one of the most ruggedly beautiful locations in the British Isles with amazing coastal scenery and quaint villages. The road from Mullion is single-track and it was fascinating to experience my vehicle negotiating with other autonomous road users to travel the road. The only delays were caused when avoiding manual-driven cars at passing places. I noticed how they always forced my vehicle to reverse to the previous space even when their passing place was closer, so the system wasn't perfect. Really, they were abusing the submissive nature of autonomous software. Once clear of the single-track roads, the car drove me across windswept moorland and, eventually, the radio telescopes came into view. We skirted the site perimeter and I got a good idea of the size and layout of the complex. It was huge, the size of a small airport.
Goonhilly was instrumental in the first ever live transatlantic television broadcast through a famous satellite called Telstar. That was back in 1962. Today it is owned on a thousand-year lease by the Goonhilly Earth Station company.
If I was the successful candidate, I'd be working in the new government UKSA base at the site. It has a lease through to 2045.
The car stopped at the security barriers and I showed my appointment letter. The guard tapped a code into his terminal and the car was released, passing through the gate and arriving at a clutch of single-storey buildings. I told the car to park itself and wait for me. I looked around at the open moorland and the incongruous satellite dishes. What a wonderful place to work. I entered the main glass-fronted building.
Reception was clean, shiny, and spacious, with a long curved desk. A smartly dressed, short, stocky young woman was standing on my side of the reception desk and walked towards me as I entered.
She smiled genuinely and offered her hand, 'Welcome to Goonhilly, Doctor Slater. I'm Janet de Vries. Can I take your coat?'
I supposed, as a returning astronaut, I should get used to being recognised. 'Nice to meet you, Janet,' I said as I handed over the garment. Another woman behind the desk took it from her.
'This way, please,' she said, and we headed towards a secure door to the right of the building. She punched in a code and we emerged into a long corridor. The first door on the right was open and I was ushered in.
Facing me were three people behind a long conference table butted on to a desk, so forming a letter T. They stood as I entered, introduced themselves, and invited me to sit opposite them. Janet de Vries closed the door as she exited.
One was a senior civil servant, another was Mrs Bray, the science minister whom I recognised from news pictures, and the third was the director of Jodrell Bank, Sir Henry Edwards, with whom I had spoken occasionally during my month-long project at Jodrell Bank as part of my degree course. A prestigious interview panel indeed.
The interview went well. I wondered how many others were on the shortlist. I'd been told I was the preferred candidate so just needed to avoid any pitfalls.
Although the dishes and the commercial operation were still to be operated by GES Ltd, the post I was being considered for was Chief Executive for the United Kingdom and European Space Agencies' Anomalies Commission. GES Ltd's director, a man called Michael Brown, would be autonomous, but my role would take ultimate responsibility for day to day operations. It had to be organised in this way to explain why my role would be in regular communication with the Cabinet and, potentially, with heads of state of the USA, European countries, Russia, Canada, and Japan. Such contact would be incongruous for a lesser post than the chief executive.
The way the interview progressed, it was a questioning of my commitment to the secrecy of what was now known simply as "The Cluster Project". I had no problem convincing them, even though I felt guilty for still having the incriminating microSDXS card concealed in the leather skin of my personal diary. Perhaps I should destroy it. They certainly made a lot of fuss about maintaining confidentiality. A surprising amount, actually. It was almost as if they knew I had in mind to blow security if the project was permanently hushed-up, but only Yuri had heard me say that. Perhaps I was just paranoid. My confidence was rattled.
After about an hour, Ms de Vries was called back into the room and she took me to the reception area where I was asked to wait.
The wait was only fifteen minutes before I was taken back into the conference room and told
the job was mine. I was offered a surprisingly large salary and various other benefits. I would also have an exclusive autonomous Jaguar for my personal use. I was having a real struggle controlling my smile.
Then Sir Henry said, ‘Now we’ve got the appointment finalised, please tell us about the discovery. We’re all bursting to know all about it.’
I was surprised. These prestigious individuals wanted me to tell them about the artefact. I suppose it was at that point that I realised that I would forever be a celebrity to those who knew about the secret.
I delighted in recounting the story and they kept me there for a further forty-five minutes with their questions and speculation. I wished I could also be telling Mario. Nevertheless, I left Goonhilly brimming with confidence.
The start date was the eighth of January 2036, just three weeks hence but I was to be given encrypted access to Goonhilly's UKSA computer network to get up to speed on its operations. My deputy would be Tim Riley who had previously been Mr Brown's second-in-command and he would help me understand the complex over the coming months.
The discovery of the alien craft had begun to change my life. My new post offered me the chance to make a real difference to the investigation of AD1. I was determined to make the most of the opportunity.
11 Number Ten
The thirty days after my return from orbit were a whirlwind of activity.
Firstly, four days debriefing by Roscosmos, NASA, and ESA teams in Noordwijk. Next, Mario and I took a seven-day break in Madeira for fun, food, and to compensate for seven months of imposed celibacy. On our return, we rushed off for the Goonhilly interview and then Christmas was only a week away. Mario returned to Holland to tidy up his affairs there and arrange for our furniture to be packed and put into a container to be moved to Truro, ready for us to equip our new home. Meantime, I organised a furnished cottage in Helston for us, until we bought somewhere suitable. I fantasised about owning an idyllic, chocolate-box cottage in a quaint Cornish fishing village. I was still in a state of shock over the size of my salary and elevated status and wanted it reflected in our new home.
The Visitor Page 9
