That, and the twinges of nausea, made her move slowly, focusing her eyes on one spot as she turned.
She knew that the core of ISS had as much inhabitable airspace as two Boeing 747s, but it was distributed among a dozen bus-sized modules, plugged together like Tinkertoys into connecting points called nodes.
The shuttle had docked on Node 2. Attached to that same node were the European Space Agency lab, the Japanese lab, and the U.S. Lab, which served as the gateway into the sections of the station.
Bill led her out of the U.S. Lab into the next connecting point, Node 1. Here they paused for a moment to look out the observation cupola. The earth slowly spun beneath them, milky clouds swirling over seas.
'This is where I spend every spare moment,' said Bill. 'Just looking out these windows. It feels almost sacred to me. I call it the Church of Mother Earth.' He tore his gaze away from the view and turned to point out the other node hatchways. 'Directly opposite is the EVA air lock,' he said.
'And the hatchway below into the hab module. Your sleep station's in there. The CRV is docked at the other end of the hab, for quick evac access.'
'Three crew members sleep in this hab?'
He nodded. 'The other three sleep in the Russian service module. It's through this hatchway here. Let's head there now.' They left Node 1, and like fish swimming through a maze of tunnels, they floated into the Russian half of the station.
This was the oldest part of ISS, the section that had been in orbit longest, and its age showed. As they passed through Zarya -- the power and propulsion plant -- she saw smudges on the walls, the occasional scratch and dent. What had been only a set of blueprints in her head now took on texture and sensory detail. The station was more than just a maze of gleaming labs, it was also a habitat for human beings, and the wear and tear of constant occupancy was evident.
They floated into the Russian service module, and Emma was confronted with a disorienting view of Griggs and Vance, both of them upside down. Or am I the one who's upside down? thought Emma, amused by this topsyturvy world of weightlessness. Like the U.S. hab, the RSM contained a galley, toilet, and sleep stations for crew members. At the far end, she spotted another hatchway.
'Does that go to the old Soyuz?' she asked.
Bill nodded. 'We use it for storing junk now. That's about all we can do with it.' The Soyuz capsule, which had once served as emergency lifeboat, was now obsolete, and its batteries had long since drained.
Luther Ames popped his head into the RSM. 'Hey, everyone, it's show time! Group hug in the media conferencing center. NASA wants the taxpayers to see our international love fest up here.' Bill gave a weary sigh. 'We're like animals in a zoo. Every day it's smile for the damn cameras.' Emma was the last to join the exodus to the hab module. By the time she reached it, a dozen people were already crowded inside. It looked like a tangle of arms and legs in there, everyone bobbing, trying not to collide with each other.
While Griggs struggled to get things organized, Emma hung back in Node 1. Drifting in midair, she found herself slowly moving toward the cupola. The view beyond those windows took her breath away.
The earth stretched below in all its magnificence, a rim of stars crowning the gentle curve of the horizon. They were passing into night now, and below, she saw familiar landmarks slipping into darkness.
Houston. It was their first passover of the night.
She leaned close to the window, pressing her hand to the glass.
Oh, Jack, she thought. I wish you were here. I wish you could see this.
Then she waved. And she knew, without the slightest doubt, that somewhere in the darkness below, Jack was waving back.
July 29.
Personal E-mail to, Dr. Emma WatsonFrom, Jack McCallumLike a diamond in the sky. That's what you look like from down here. Last night I stayed up to watch you pass over. Gave you a big wave.This morning on CNN, you were being touted as Ms. Right Stuff. 'Girl astronaut blasts off, doesn't chip a nail,' or something equally hokey. They interviewed Woody Ellis and Leroy Cornell, and both of them were beaming like proud daddies. Congratulations.You're America's sweetheart .Vance and crew made a picture-perfect landing.Bloodsucking reporters were all over poor Elill when he arrived in Houston. I caught a glimpse of him on TV -- he looks like he's aged twenty years. Services for Debbie are this afternoon. I'll be there.Tomorrow, I'll be sailing on the Gulf.Em, I got the divorce papers today, and I'll be honest with you. It doesn't feel good. Then, I guess it's not supposed to, is it?Anyway, they're ready for us to sign. Maybe now that it's finally over, we can get back to being friends again.The way we used to be.P.S. Humphrey's a little shit. You owe me a new couch.
Personal E-mail to, Jack McCallumFrom, Emma WatsonAmerica's sweetheart? Puh-leeze. This has turned into a high-wire act, with everyone on earth watching and waiting for me to screw up. And when I do, I'll be the shoulda-sent-a-man Exhibit # 1. I hate that.On the other hand, I do love it up here. How I wish you could see this view! When I look down at the earth and see how incredibly beautiful she is, I want to shake some sense into everyone living down there. If only they could see how small and fragile and very alone the earth is, surrounded by all this cold black space. They'd take much better care of her. Oh, here she goes again, getting teary-eyed about the home planet.Shoulda sent a man. I'm happy to report the nausea's gone. I can zip around from mod to mod with scarcely a twinge. I still get a little woozy when I catch an unexpected glimpse of earth through a window. It screws up my sense of up and down, and it takes me a few seconds to reorient. I'm trying to keep up the exercise, but two hours every day is a big chunk of time, especially when I've got so much to do.Dozens of experiments to monitor, a zillion E-mails from Payload Operations, every scientist demanding top priority for their pet projects. Eventually, I'll get up to speed.But this morning I was so tired, I slept right through Houston's wakeup music. Luther says they blasted us with Wagner's Valkyrie! As for the divorce being final, it doesn't feel good for me, either. But, Jack, at least we had seven good years.That's more than a lot of couples can say. I know you must be anxious to finish this business. I promise I'll sign the papers as soon as I get home.Don't stop waving.P.S. Humphrey never attacked my furniture. What did you do to upset him?
Emma turned off her laptop computer and folded it shut.
Answering personal E-mail was the last task of the day. She had looked forward to hearing from home, but Jack's mention of the divorce had stung her. So he's ready to move on, she thought.
He's ready to 'be friends' again.
As she zipped herself into her sleep restraint bag, she was angry at him, at how easily he'd accepted the end of their marriage. in their divorce, when their arguments were still raging, she'd strangely reassured by every noisy disagreement. But now the conflicts had ended, and Jack had reached the stage of calm acceptance. No pain, no regrets.
And here I am, still missing you. And I hate myself for it.
Kenichi hesitated to wake her. He lingered outside her sleep privacy curtain, wondering if he should call out again. It was a small matter, and he hated to disturb her. She had looked so tired at supper, had actually dozed off still clutching her fork. Without the constant pull of gravity, the body does not crumple when you fall unconscious, and there is no warning jerk of the head to jolt you awake.. Tired astronauts had been known to fall asleep in the midst of repairs, while still holding a tool in their hand.
He decided not to wake her and returned, alone, to the U.S. lab.
Kenichi had never needed more than five hours of rest a night, and while the others slept, he would often wander the labyrinth of the space station, checking on his various experiments. Inspecting, exploring. It seemed that only when the human crew slept did the station assert its own gleaming personality. It became an autonomous being that hummed and clicked, its computers directing a thousand different functions, electronic commands zinging through its nervous system of wires and circuits.
As Kenichi drifted through the maze of tunnels, he thought of all the human hands that had worked to fashion just a single square inch of this structure. The electronics and metal workers, the molders of plastic. The glassmakers. Because of their labor, a farmer's son who had grown up in a mountain village of Japan now floated two hundred twenty miles above the earth.
Kenichi had been aboard the station for a month, and the wonder of it all had not left him.
